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July 2003

THISMAYHURT.com: Ultra Definitive Special Director's Cut xXxtreme Edition
$79.95 MSRP | Wednesday, 07.30.03
FAILED ATTEMPTS AT HILARIOUS AND INSIGHTFUL UPDATES II


I hate writing for this site. I think I'd rather have a clump of rotting asshair perform open-heart surgery on my face than share my interesting and histerical observations with you. In fact, I try to make the updates so horribly retarded and unfunny in hopes that I will be fired from the intarweb. Well, I'm down to about 1.7777772 hits per day, so I must be doing something right!

Every once in a while, however, I get the urge to rock your fucking socks off, mothafuckin' tmh style, yo. Then I write two paragraphs, become disgusted with myself, throw my keyboard across the room, and pout like a whiny bitch. Enjoy my failed update attempts!

Failed Update Attempt #1: Metallica Doody
05.07.03
Comments:This update was funny in my head for about three seconds. Although I thoroughly enjoy making fun of Avril Laveenegne, I just ran out of steam afterwards.

LOL LOL LOL!!!1 My office supplies are much funnier than thismayhurt.com.
Last night, the unthinkable happened. The moons aligned, the seas turned red and then parted, half of the planet exploded and then somehow taped itself back together again. Why? Because Metallica decided it was time. Time to unleash the metal fury that courses through their ragged veins. Time to show this new pussified metal how to blow people's assholes out. All right, actually, MTV decided it was time to give Metallica their own hour and a half of precious airtime just so they can sell us new Italian-flavored bread at Subway.

So, did Metallica deliver? Um... yes. I mean, no. They were ok. Truth be told, I only wanted to see this MTV special to watch Korn, Limp Bizkit, and Avril Lavigne perform horrendously shitty renditions of classic Metallica songs. And boy did they all suck.

First of all, Avril Lavigne needs to be shot in the face. Seriously. You're not L7, okay? You're not even Courtney Hole. You're like one of those fucking mallrat kids that Affleck would drag into a corrider and beat up in an attempt to try and screw your girlfriend in a very uncomfortable place. Seriously, go to the mall, enter the food court, and find the table full of "unruly street toughs." They usually don't have enough money to eat, so they just run around the table playing duck-duck-goose in an attempt to "freak you the fuck out." Now, walk up to one of them, give them $70 million, and viola! Avril Laivignengne! "OMG I AM xXPUNK RAWKERXx"

Avril "My Real Name is Lucy" Lavinnnge covered the song "Fuel," from the album entitled "That Metallica Album That No One Likes to Talk About." She did a great job, if you place the words "did a great job" with the words "sucked ass," and then replaced all of those words with the words "LOL ADVIL LAVEENGNE SUCKS ASS LOL!!!!111"

Failed Update Attempt #2: X2
05.05.03
Comments:I don't know what the fuck I was thinking with this one. For instance, if you walked up to me and asked, "John, what was up with that X2 update you tried to write?" I'd be all, "Don't even mention that update in front of me again, or I'll split your wig." Enjoy!

All right, the rest of you geeks gave your braindead opinions about X-2, and no one really cared. There you were, standing at the watercooler, proclaiming to anyone within ear shot, "I SAW X-2 OVER THE WEEKEND! OMG SO GOOD!" and everyone just kept walking past, shoving you out of the way to reach the crispy, refreshing water supply. You, being the persistent nerd-geek that you are, started shooting optic blasts from your imaginary Cyclops visor in between semi-coherent rants about "saving Jean Gray" and "being a huge fag, just like Cyclops." Still, no one cared. Finally, security removed you from your death-grip stance over the watercooler, and warned you for the last time, "Stop sneaking into our office building for the sole purpose of dispensing X-2 reviews." And then you went home to update your stupid website with your experiences, had your mom tuck you in, and you went to bed. You make me sick.

Failed Update Attempt #3: Rollins vs. Knowles
05.29.03
Comments:Again, another update that seemed like a good idea at the time. This one reminds me of a kooky SNL skit that lasts 4 and a half hours. Luckily, it only took me 12 hours to write it and give up in disgust.

Two out of two scary old guys agree: the death of a loved one is waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay funnier than thismayhurt.com.
I was cruising about on the interweb superturnpike today, and stumbled upon an interview between Dave Grohl and Jennifer Anniston, which was basically a forum for her to advertise her possible trainwreck of a new movie, Bruce Almighty (it may not be a trainwreck, I'll let you know when I finish downloading it[omg im a hacker]). It was a good read, since it had absolutely no point, no direction, and it was hard to tell who was interviewing whom. Plus, Dave Grohl seems like a pretty decent guy, and Jennifer Anniston was in the greatest movie of all time, Office Space.

This interview got me thinking. What if I could set up some celebrity interviews? What if I had the cajones to make some chances in this dump? What if I had the power to decide who lives and who dies? Ahem. Anyway, after deep levels of soul searching, I've come up with the greatest celebrity interview of all time, although the interviewer isn't really a celebrity, and the interviewee is my personal Jesus.

Harry Knowles: Hey folks, Harry here, overweight Jabba-like webmaster of Ain't it Cool News, a website in which I kiss the asses of movie studios that can supply me with car cover-sized t-shirts. With me today is former Black Flag frontman and the definition of intensity itself, Henry Rollins.
Henry Rollins: ...
Knowles: Okay, Henry, it's great to have you here today! It says here--
Rollins: Hold on, tubby. First off, let me just say that it pains me to share a room with a man who could lose 700 pounds and still barely fit into size 42 pants.
Knowles: Well, I may be a bit on the portly side--
Rollins: I wasn't done. Do you realize that I could bench you with my face? My fucking face has more tone than your entire body.
Knowles: And how! Now it says here that you're going to be touring this summer. Henry, can you share with the audience what you've done to prepare for the tour.
Rollins: No.
Knowles: Oh, come on Hank, please?
Rollins: Fuck you.
Knowles: Uh... have you seen any good movies this summer? I hated the Matrix because the Oracle mentioned werewolves and vampires, and then the filmmakers had the audacity to leave out actual footage of werewolves and vampires. Just thinking about it makes me cry tears of liquified pork.
Rollins: Huh? Oh, sorry, I was counting the number of orphaned chocolate chips in your beard.

I hope you've enjoyed these horribly shitty attempts. I'd just like to give a shout-out to my girl Rachel, seeing as how it's our two year anniversary today. For the record, I received the most romantic gift in the history of anniversaries: a 120 GB harddrive. Greatest girlfriend in the world? Check. Happy Anniversary my little tenderloin!

 
PC Load Letter? What the fuck does that mean?
Get a job, you pig. | Thursday, 07.24.03
"Hey, how's the job search coming along, John?" asks the entire world in unison. "It's coming along great," I reply, "if you replace the sentence 'It's coming along great' with the sentence, 'I have absolutely no skills, but I'll suck your dick for $5.'"

When applying for a job, I've learned that it's best to lie about your abilities to increase the chances that "the man" will give you the time of day. Also, it's good to lie about your gender, date of birth, race, disability status and previous job experiences as well. Worked at Burger King all your life and dream of becoming the CEO of Johnson & Johnson? Just replace "Imitation Meat Toaster" with "CEO of an Important Company" on your resume, and -SHAZAAAM- instant job and (401)k. Then you just get some reams of blank paper from Office Max, load them into your new filing cabinet, kick your feet up onto your desk and RAKE IN THE FUCKING CA$H!!!!!11.

Employers love confidence. And whores. But mostly confidence. When a potential employer calls you back, follow the script below for instant respect, or, as the young people say, "the props."

Employer: Hello, is Billy Schlomo there, please?
Billy: Maybe. Who wants to know?
Employer: My name is Thurgood Von Moneynipples III, and I run a very respectable company. We've received your resume and--
Billy: Can you hold on one second?
Employer: Well, I, uh... I suppose so. Yes.
Billy: Thanks, I was on the can when you called, and now I've got half the poo in my butt and the other half in the toilet. I'll be right back, you pig.
Employer: Well I never!
Billy: ... OK, I'm back. Now what were you saying? Something about having some shitty job that I'm too qualified to take?
Employer: Son, you've got spunk, and I want you to run my company. You're hired!
Billy: ... Wait, what? Did you say something? I was too busy giving a fuck less what you were talking about.

See? Didn't Billy Schlomo just ejaculate confidence all over the face and stomach of his future employer? Now he owns the company! And look at you... just sitting there. All stupid and shit.

Parents on your ass every waking minute of your disgusting and worthless existence? "Get a job," they say. "Change your pants," they suggest. "Nevermind changing your pants, just get a job," they ballyhoo. Ask them to use their connections to score you some green, brutha. Your dad's a raging alcoholic, maybe he can get you a job at a brewery! Your mom is sleeping with the mailman, maybe she can get you a job at the post office! Or an abortion clinic! But call the post office first, they offer amazing benefits, and you get free magazines.

Utilize these tips and you'll be working faster than you can say "Thanks for the advice John. I now have a job, a home, a wife and three kids. I'm also going to give you 2/3 of my income because you're super. Thanks again." Now, that sounds like a lot, but it actually only takes about 10 seconds to say all of that if you don't take long pauses after the periods. Maybe 20 seconds if you're not good at reading, or if you didn't test well in grammar school.

 
NEW GALLERY NEW GALLERY NEW GALLERY
(new gallery) | Saturday, 07.19.03
It's the new and improved THISMAYHURT gallery! Including all the picture you've already seen, plus brand spanking new photos of London and Ireland! It works on a highly advanced PHP script that doesn't allow me to type apostrophes in the picture descriptions! Also be aware that setting it up turned me into an alcoholic almost overnight. So check out the brand new gallery, guaranteed to increase the blood pressure of ex boyfriends and girlfriends across the globe, or your money back!

 
If you don't dump the poo, the poo dump you.
LOLPOOFUNNYLOL | Thursday, 07.10.03
Poop, poo-poo, shit, cleveland steamer, crap, dookie, brownie... poo certainly has a lot of names, eh? Now, everyone loves the refreshingly pleasant feeling of emptying the old bowels in the comfort of their home, apartment or neighbor's kiddie pool, but I find taking a shit at work is the "bee's knees" of poo excretion.

Once again, Google image search provides an extremely appropriate search return.
First of all, I get to leave my desk for 10 - 40 minutes, thereby injecting some excitement into my life-draining, soul-sucking, scrotum-eating office life. Secondly, there's all sorts of fun stuff to look at on the way to the terlets, such as broom closets, server rooms and confused Freshman who, for some reason or another, thought the Fall semester started in July. Step aside Shorty McFreshman, my ass' patience grows short! Finally, I enjoy dropping a deuce at work because there's a good chance I won't clog the industrial strength toilets, and if I do, I really don't give a shit (lol pun).

Now, it's not like I take these catastrophic shits that have the power to travel through time and alter history... at least, I don't think my shit can do that. It's just that the toilet at my house has absolutely no pressure, and the poo-chute simply can't handle my dainty dookies, let alone a slither of toilet paper. I feel like such a handyman when I unclog the toilet with my mini-plunger, but nevertheless, it's a pain in the ass (lol pun x2).

So, for me, dropping anchor at work is like swimming in the Atlantic! So much room to work with! The only way to clog a work toilet is to accidentally drop your kid in there, and even then, there's a good chance they'll be "swimming with the fesces" before you can call the fire department, and what the hell are they gonna do, anyway? And yet, despite the awe-inspring power of the work toilets, people still manage to clog them with poo, vomit and accidentally excreted organs on a daily basis.

That public restroom is a dangerous place! Follow these simple rules to attain poo-riffic nirvana...

1. Scope out the stalls before making your final decision. You should avoid stalls that contain one or more of the following: a) a toilet full of poo b) an empty roll of toilet paper c) sodomy.

2. Keep in mind that even the cleanest toilet is full of crotch germs. Also keep in mind that I am totally insane when it comes to cleanliness. I'm like the father from Full House, only I'm hilarious and very, very not really gay. Now, I'm not crazy enough to line the bowl with toilet paper before sitting down, because in my head, crotch germs cannot penetrate ass skin. I am crazy enough to put a single ply square of toilet paper on that one part of the toilet where porcelain and penis swap STD's and crab-flavored recipes.

3. Don't answer your cell phone while taking a shit. It's just fucking weird. "Hey. How's it going? That's good. Me? Oh, nothing. Nope. Just taking a shit and talking to you at the same time." Only answer the phone if the caller ID reads "Jesus," because only He will understand. The guy died for your sins for christ's sake.

4. Have a great time, but not too great. Enjoy your poo. You've earned it! Just don't be all, "Damn... there is some good poo action up in this stall, yo!" A slight sigh says so much more than, "It's like my ass simply hates poo! There's so much coming out of it! Whoooo!!!!11" Just leave your deposit in the First National Bank of Poo and return to your cubicle and write the greatest update in the world. That's what I did, and I'm not... shitting you! Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha... poop.

SHHHHH... SUPERSECRET MP3
DON'T TELL NO ONE OK?

 
Guide to being a gooder journalism person.
Also, dead monkeys. | Monday, 07.07.03
Allow me to be totally honest for a second here. When I'm devoid of interesting update material, I turn to the news for inspiration. I mean, I'm a journalist, right? Sometimes I'm disgusted by what I see, other times I'm thoroughly disgusted by what I see. And still other times, I land face-first in a pile of journalstic perfection that makes me proud to have wasted four years of my life earning a degree in America's most despised industry outside of "elephant fesces taste-tester."

A successful story requires a successful headline. It should include alliteration, onomatopoeia, the phrase "hot, sassy cumshot," and / or a silly monkey that visits a pizzeria and breaks a toilet. For instance, Monkey Visits German Pizzeria, Vandalizes Toilet, is a Pulitzer Prize winning headline, if that's the award journalists receive when they write a kick-ass headline. It's simple, it flows off the tongue, and it gives me just enough information to picture a silly monkey, knee-deep in parmesian, holding a German pizza chef hostage with a banana.

Now that you have successfully mounted your reader's skull with a randy headline, you must now penetrate their brain-meats with a smashing "nut graph." Lots of journalism professors ask me, "John, what's a nut graph?" And I reply, "It's a chart published by the Planters Corporation that documents the company's yearly peanut production, you stupid jerkface." Then I storm out of the classroom, shedding clothes and tears along the way. Turns out the "nut graph" is actually a opening summary, or "lead" if you will.

An escaped circus monkey dropped into a pizzeria in a small German town and vandalized the ladies toilet even though the owner had tried to pacify the animal with salad and rolls.


Now, I was hoping that "pacify" was a synonym for "violently bludgeon" or at the very least, "passionately seduce." Now, this opening paragraph is okay, but with a few slight changes, I can turn this stale rotting sausage into a real spicy meatball. Observe...

An escaped circus monkey dropped into a pizzeria from a stolen FBI helicoptor piloted by another monkey in a small German town named "Boobville" and vandalized the ladies toilet even though the owner had tried to passionately bludgeon the animal with salad, rolls and 3,000 DuckHunt NES cartridges. The monkey, who spoke fluent monkey, was heard to say, "Oo oo oo ah ah ah!" The monkey was shot 150 times in the face, and it looked like it hurt.


See? This is why I get paid the big bucks. Now, the rest of the article doesn't really matter, since no one ever gets past the first 20 words without getting distracted by something shiny in their peripheral vision. I can remember writing (ooh... a McGriddle commercial) this one article about (my ass is so itchy right now) something or other (ATARI TEENAGE RIOT GO GO GO) and... uh... it was great. Wait, what was this update about again? I vaguely remember a monkey and sassy cumshots...

 
I find your lack of 1977 Mark Hamill hair disturbing.
RotAotRotEtwESB | Wednesday, 07.02.03
Hello. I'm Anakin Skywalker, the handsome Canadian Jedi from the upcoming smash Star Wars prequal, Episode 3: "Return of the Attack of the Rise of the Empire that will Eventually Strike Back" (RotAotRotEtwESB). According to Star Wars lore, myself and my hockey hair will be seduced by the Dark Side of the Force, and I'll then rid the galaxy of the Jedi. Doesn't my pouty face and pointy finger induce fear and unmatched terror? It will be totally normal to hear James Earl Jones' voice coming out of a voice box attached to my super disco Sith helmet. Also, I don't like sand. Itís coarse and rough and irritating and I can't believe I wasted my entire life looking forward to a movie in which the main character has a five hour soliloquy regarding his feelings toward sand. Fuck.

 

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