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I love pancakes as much as the next guy (and that guy would spray orphans with agent orange if promised a plate of flapjacks for his hard work) and yet I've only eaten at IHOP twice. Not impressed. We have these things in Jersey called "diners" where one could order pancakes with a side of disco fries and liquor on a Sunday afternoon if he or she were so bold. 24 hours a day, seven days a week on every street corner, diners are serving up pancakes like they're going out of style (although, if pancakes were going out of style, why would the diners make more of them?), and they'll make them extra delicious if you call ahead and tell them that you're showing up drunk or stoned.
|A pancake stole my identity, officer, you have to believe me.|
rooty tooty fresh n' fuck me in the ass oh god right there never stop | Tuesday, 11.28.06
Dinerslave: Thank you for calling Generic Diner Name, this is Claudine, how may I help you?
You: I'm swimming in like... an electric river, and I --
Dinerslave: Never-ending order of extra delicious pancakes, coming up!
You: Far out, maaaaaaaaaaaan!
IHOP gives off a synthetic diner vibe that I just can't get behind. The waitresses have moustaches, sure, but I can't help but feel that they're painted on. Same thing with the armpit stains. Oh, and the goofy names have got to go. "Yeah, let me get a Flippity Flappity Happity Slappity Combo Platter with wheat toast, please. Oh, and an order of dignity if you have any in this place." Plus, sometimes I get myself all geared up for pancakes, and then maybe I'm struck by a stray open faced turkey sandwich hunger bullet on the way to the diner. Do they have that at IHOP? Do they even have a turkey sandwich of the non-open faced variety? I have no idea, but in order for this paragraph to work, I'm hoping the answer is a resounding, "No." I guess the point that I'm trying to drive home here is that IHOP is not my cup of tea (which comes free with every Hippity Hoppity Blammo Blammo Breakfast Fun Meal).
|IHOP, UHOP, we all hop for pancakes.|
When I read the poorly worded headline, "IHOP changes policy of asking for IDs," I sighed audibly in hopes that someone within earshot would hear me. No one did. I read the headline again and announced, "IHOP IS AT IT AGAIN, HOW MUCH OF THIS ARE WE SUPPOSED TO TAKE I MEAN SERIOUSLY GUYS C'MON." Nothing. Stupid IHOPers. The headline raises many questions, such as, "Why was an identification card required for IHOP dining in the first place?" and "Does pushing back really mean I'm gay?" I found the answer to one of these questions in the actual story, and I have my assumptions about the other one (and my god I hope the answer is another resounding, "No.")
QUINCY, Mass. - John Russo has been a victim of identity theft. So when he was asked to fork over a photo ID just to be seated at an IHOP pancake restaurant, he flipped. "'You want my license? I'm going for pancakes, I'm not buying the Hope diamond,' and they refused to seat us," Russo said, recounting his experience this week at the Quincy IHOP.
The restaurant now has agreed to reverse the policy of requiring customers to turn over their driver's licenses before they can order - a rule that was enacted to discourage "dine and dash" thefts.
How ridiculous! Buying the Hope diamond at IHOP? It's not the International Hope (diamond) Observatory Pit... that would just be silly, John Russo! I don't even think you'd want to view the Hope diamond in the ol' observatory pit... pits aren't exactly conducive to diamond viewing, or in this case, purchasing. Diamond or no, I did a little research (in the next paragraph of the story) to see if people were being carded at all IHOPs around the world to battle the international rise of "dine and dash" pancake thefts. Nope, just that one in Quincy.
So what we have here is the biggest non-story in the history of non-stories - a stupid restaurant made a stupid rule, then they changed it and John Russo taught us all a little something about life and diamondz. That's not news. It's like writing a story about your neighbor's garbage cans getting knocked over by a gust of wind and giving it a headline like, "HURRICANE GOES ON NATIONWIDE MURDER SPREE: THOUSANDS KILLED TO DEATH." I wasted a good thirty seconds of my life reading the article, then another seven hours writing this, all for a single stupid IHOP in Quincy, Massachusetts. And the only people that will be reading this are people searching google for the phone number of the International House of Pancakes (IHOP) found on 115 Parkingway St in Quincy, MA which is (617) 770-9414. I hope they enjoy this update as much as they enjoy shitty diner knockoffs. Because that means they would enjoy the update lots! Because IHOP is a shitty diner knockoff. And I hate it. Did you know I've never eaten at Denny's? True story.
I'm so pissed. I missed the coverage of the annual Rock Paper Scissor tournament again this year. In fact, I haven't seen any live coverage since its inception in 2002, unless it's the "wacky" portion of the news usually given to the weatherman on the off days when weather ceases to exist. "And you'll never believe what people are playing in Canada this weekend, I think you're going to get a kick out of this Diane, yes, it's the Annual Rock Paper Scissor tournament!" And then Diane gives out a small chuckle, "I can't believe this!" Back to the weatherman, "Oh ho ho, you better believe it Diane. This year's tournament features more than 500 contestants, including national champions from Australia, Norway and New Zealand. We here at the Action 27 News Department wish them the best of luck." And now for the post-story banter, starting with Diane, "Heh-heh, I hope they're all wearing the proper equipment, y'know, like um, helmets, kneepads, uh..." Cut back to the weatherman, "You're right, and I hope your family is torn to shreds by wild animals this weekend, Diane. Up next... UH OH, it's the weekly SPORTS FOLLIES FROM AROUND THE GLOBE!" *BOING-BOING* *A-OOOOGA* *TARZAN YELL* *GUNFIRE* *HITLER SPEECH* *WILHELM SCREAM*
|Rock, Paper, Scissors, O.J. |
nothing beats O.J. | Friday, 11.17.06
The idea of a Rock Paper Scissor tournament is pretty corny, so why don't they X-TREME it up a bit by handing every contestant a rock, a sheet of paper and a pair of scissors? Let's see how well paper covers rock when you're whipping a stone across the room like a 95 mile-per-hour fastball. And have the crowd throw foreign objects into the ring (I'm assuming they do this in a ring) like a wrestling match. Can paper cover a chair? Can scissors cut through a sack of angry babies? Can rock beat... a bigger rock? Throw in some busty cheerleaders, tag-teams and guaranteed fatalities and you've got yourself the greatest event in sports entertainment history.
Thankfully, I haven't missed O.J. Simpson's upcoming television special, "I didn't kill my wife and her friend, but let's just hypothetically assume I did, here's exactly how I did it." I smell a series! It would be just like The Fugitive, except O.J. plays Dr. Richard Kimble and the one armed man, and they're both guilty guilty guilty! I was a freshman in high school when the verdict was reached, and I can remember watching everything unfold on TV in my biology class. Yes, school grinded to a halt to see if a famous football player with bad knees was guilty of murder. We couldn't express our disappointment in the verdict because there was one African-American girl in our class who was jumping up and down, screaming, "We won! We won!" like Ed McMahon just dove out of a beige minivan and knocked on her door with balloons and an oversized check in hand. We all just quietly took our seats and let her have this one while we listened to In Utero or played with our pogs or whatever it was pasty white teenagers did in the mid 90's.
|It depends on what your definition of "brutally slaughtered in cold blood" is...|
Say what you will about O.J. (like, he's a murderous lunatic, he killed his wife, he killed his wife's friend, he has a winning attitude, etc) but the man has balls the size of two severed heads swinging pendulously between his legs. And they're beautiful, glistening in the morning sun. Say what you will about O.J. again (like, the glove didn't fit, everyone associated with the trial is now dead, LOL Dancing Ito's, etc.) but the man loves money. Whether he's running through the airport, clotheslining people that get in the way of his rental car or brutally murdering the mother of his children, he'll do anything for a buck. This TV special and book deal are going to bring O.J. back to the superstar breakfast drink status he once enjoyed, and I can't wait to see who he kills next! Maybe it'll be you!
|Life is like a video game with no chance to win.|
INTOTHEDEATHGOGOGO1234!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! | Monday, 11.13.06
I wish everything in life was like Guitar Hero. I picked up Guitar Hero II last week (after completely missing the boat on the first one) and it hasn't released me from its addictive death grip since. If you've never played it, think Dance Dance Revolution for your fingers, but instead of dancing around like an idiot, you play a five button guitar and rock out -- like an idiot. But, every night I make beautiful music behind closed doors... unless you're in the next room over, because to other people I'm just making annoying clicking noises as I try to nail that solo in Suicidal Tendencies' "Institutionalized." Click-click-click-clickity-clickity-clickity goes the strum clicker thing. Squeak-squeak-squeak goes the whammy bar so that I can extract more star power and rock your goddamn face off.
|It's like being a pinball wizard, except you play a guitar and the soundtrack is more meTal.|
The problem with this game is also its greatest feature - I now think that I can play guitar. Unfortunately, it's not like Microsoft Flight Simulator, where if you log enough hours you could probably get in a cockpit and at least turn the thing on before careening down the runway, onto the freeway and off the edge of the earth. Guitar Hero isn't like that. And that's fine, because it's still a lot of fun, but it's filled me with a false sense of confidence that will get me in big trouble when people start showing up at my door, asking where they can plug in to try out for my new band - Tears for Beers. Oh how I'll laugh when I point at my PS2 and tell them that they better learn "Carry on Wayward Son" on Medium difficulty, because that's going to be Tears for Beers' hit single. And if they don't extract enough star power on those long notes, they are soooo out of the band.
Another great feature of Guitar Hero is the tunnel vision... apparently staring at a TV screen without blinking for a few hours warps your perception a bit, and turns the world into this scene from Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. I didn't notice it until I took my eyes off the screen to check the time, but the goddamned hands wouldn't stop moving, and the numbers were floating around the room in time with Danzig's "Mother." I quietly placed the guitar controller on the floor, crawled towards the PS2 to turn it off, clicked off the TV, curled into a ball and waited for the bad vibrations to cease. A few hours and rails later, the world made sense again, and I was ready to rock out, both with and without my cock out.
But as I said in the first sentence of the first paragraph, "I wish everything in life was like Guitar Hero." Writing this update would be as easy as hitting the colored keys in time with the curses and bloggy topics scrolling down the screen.
"INSERT MUSIC/MOVIE REFERENCE" "PERIOD"
"EVERYTHING" "IS" "RETARDED"
"AND" "FUCKING" "GAY"
"EXCEPT" "FOR" "ME"
Instead I'm sitting here, stringing words together with my brain like a chump. Without a score, without multipliers, without nuthin' (wait, "without nuthin'" would be "sumthin'" so let's change it to "with nuthin'"). What am I working towards, here? A sense of accomplishment? Ooh boy, that'll give me something to talk about on the Guitar Hero II gamefaq.com forums... 95% of those fucking mongoloids can't even read. I don't write to silence those zany demons in my head anymore, I have a new friend named Alcoholism to get me through those tough times thank you very much.
|There's a uh, big machine in the sky, some kind of, I dunno, electric snake, coming straight at us.|
So since this was a nerdy video game update, allow me to wrap it up like a real-life video game blog, written by a real-life video game journalist, who could possibly be edgy to the max.
So there you have it. Our review of Guitar Hero II, or, as we've been calling it around the office, "the greatest anything that ever anythinged in the history of everything, anything, and nothing." No, seriously, that's what we've been calling it. We need help. We can't even say, "Hey, are you done playing Guitar Hero II, yet?" We have to say, "Hey, are you done playing the greatest anything that ever anythinged in the history of everything, anything, and nothing, yet?" Please make it stop. Are you there God? It's me Dungeon_Frag_Thomas.
Pros: Guitars, boobs, stuff explodes sometimes
Cons: The controller stops working when your tears seep inside
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