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So with less than a day left before I hit the big 4-0, I realize there's quite the last minute scramble to pick me up a little something special for my birthday. Always eager to help out my loyal readership ("Hi Mom") here are a few gift ideas to avoid. Any of which are guaranteed to rocket you not just to the top of my shit list, but to extract tiny, tiny tears of hate from little Baby Jesus as well. However, if for some reason I've ever really pissed you off or if you've got a fucked-up sense of humor or just really like it when Baby Jesus cries, well... knock yourself out.
I know what some of you are thinking: "Dude, if wearing the severed foot of a rodent around your neck at the club doesn't get you 'Goth Gothic' laid then I don't know what will?" Sadly though I must report that it will in fact only get you promptly maced by a belligerent wiccan at the bar.
Admittedly, yes, its genius is awe inspiring. As evocative as Munch's 'The Scream' in expressing the raw anguish of the human spirit trapped in a modern world that systematically dehumanizes it before devouring it whole. For who amongst us hasn't felt like a silver masturbating velociraptor at one time or another? However I got something like twelve of these last year for Christmas... four of which came from some guy I met on chat roulette last year. Long story that.
Great now I don't want to be your dog!
While Ronald McHateCrime might raise some serious money for charity in the province of "Whathefuckia", here in the States it would just place me on some dreary terror watch list or another before earning me a visit from a tire-iron packing Grimace along with a wolf pack of feral lawyers.
The Gary Spivey White Afro Wig of Telepathy looks good on paper, but this real life Cerebro will soon reduce its wearer to a sort of poor man's Ricky Gervais.
The amazing thing about this watch is that when you wear it the 'Time to Fuck' magically becomes never.
At first I was all like - "Fuck yeah! Black Metal Pasta, Bitches! I'm eating me some marinara like a rock star, tonight!" I then proceeded to break out into a five minute air guitar solo accompanied by much banging of the head and waggling of the tongue. However, I managed to five finger discount the bag and upon boiling it up discovered the infernal power of the pentagram when it is combined with the most seductive force on the planet - carbs. Sadly friends, my guts just weren't metal enough for the rockin' might of True Pasta.
Suddenly I remember the cop asking me: "Okay, show me on the doll where he shaved you son." Worst trip to the barber shop yet and why I shave my head to this day.
I know what some of you are thinking: "Dude, if wearing the severed foot of a rodent around your neck at the club doesn't get you 'Goth Gothic' laid then I don't know what will?" Sadly though I must report that it will in fact only get you promptly maced by a belligerent wiccan at the bar.
Admittedly, yes, its genius is awe inspiring. As evocative as Munch's 'The Scream' in expressing the raw anguish of the human spirit trapped in a modern world that systematically dehumanizes it before devouring it whole. For who amongst us hasn't felt like a silver masturbating velociraptor at one time or another? However I got something like twelve of these last year for Christmas... four of which came from some guy I met on chat roulette last year. Long story that.
Great now I don't want to be your dog!
While Ronald McHateCrime might raise some serious money for charity in the province of "Whathefuckia", here in the States it would just place me on some dreary terror watch list or another before earning me a visit from a tire-iron packing Grimace along with a wolf pack of feral lawyers.
The Gary Spivey White Afro Wig of Telepathy looks good on paper, but this real life Cerebro will soon reduce its wearer to a sort of poor man's Ricky Gervais.
The amazing thing about this watch is that when you wear it the 'Time to Fuck' magically becomes never.
At first I was all like - "Fuck yeah! Black Metal Pasta, Bitches! I'm eating me some marinara like a rock star, tonight!" I then proceeded to break out into a five minute air guitar solo accompanied by much banging of the head and waggling of the tongue. However, I managed to five finger discount the bag and upon boiling it up discovered the infernal power of the pentagram when it is combined with the most seductive force on the planet - carbs. Sadly friends, my guts just weren't metal enough for the rockin' might of True Pasta.
Suddenly I remember the cop asking me: "Okay, show me on the doll where he shaved you son." Worst trip to the barber shop yet and why I shave my head to this day.