chubbuni13's Xanga

Friday, October 17, 2008

Fri, 17 Oct 2008 02:20:49 GMT

Dreams can only take you so far, after that it's all about the hustle. (singing out of tune) Because it's hard out here for a piyimp!

Super Flashy Raft

Friday, October 03, 2008

Fri, 03 Oct 2008 01:48:32 GMT

Am I the only one that noticed that the people who fidget and fuss and complain about people who talk too much end up blathering on the most given the chance? Perhaps it's just misplaced jealousy, but mostly I think it's just hard to see when your eyes are on yourself, neh?

Xanga's in worse shape than the US economy, it looks like. Only the hardcore members are here, it seems. I'm guilty of abandonment too, especially with this zinky site: Guidespot. It's like Yelp, except you know, not homersexual.

Wednesday, June 25, 2008

Wed, 25 Jun 2008 02:37:30 GMT

Who's ready for the Electric Daisy Carnival? I know she is... Makes you want to drop a couple and listen to PPK's Resurrection at home with the lights off for three hours straight, neh? Trippiest song ever. Somewhere in the heavens right now Baby Jesus is crying.

EDC Guide:

Thursday, June 12, 2008

Thu, 12 Jun 2008 17:34:50 GMT

As of late there has been a flurry of reality dating shows on TV lately. Not content to allow the big networks to monopolize this trend, even MTV and VH1 have gotten in on the gig. Hence we get Flavor of Love, Rock of Love, Shot at Love and other ridiculous excuses to laugh at ridiculous people doing... ridiculous things. Much has been written about the outlandish nature of the shows. I must admit that I derive some guilty pleasure out of watching them, but lately I've noticed a disturbing element in Tila Tequila's show, A Shot at Love II.

Is it just me, or does Tila Nguyen totally look like a Pokemon? And for those somewhat familiar with the pokemon pantheon, not just a regular Pokemon, but more specifically the unevolved version? To wit:

Our humble protagonist, open minded enough to take all romantic comers: male and female.

Charmander and Charizard. One is evolved, one is unevolved. Guess which one Tila is?

Of course this begs the question, what would the evolved form of our star look like? Sometimes it's better not to know, but goddamn I'd like to see that!

Tuesday, June 03, 2008

Tue, 03 Jun 2008 05:10:57 GMT

I spent this weekend with friends in Las Vegas for birthday celebrations. Usually, whenever I gamble I try to stay stone cold sober. From previous experiences, I've learned that a fool is soon parted from his money, and a drunk fool has even more proclivities to this unfortunate trend. Most of the time, I play table games that require some rational thought such as blackjack and craps. Constant money management as well as statistical reasoning and adherence to strict mathemagically optimal strategy are all on my mind whenever I play these games. Sometimes I come up, and sometimes I get taken for a significant (at least for me) amount of money. To display the varying range of results:

This is my trademark cocky winning pose with bundles of earnings.

My very pitiful pose after (literally) losing my shirt.

What a fool I was... it's so much easier to just chill out at a slot machine, drink yourself silly and watch the money pour in! Voila! Behold the greatest and most exciting slot machine ever devised by man (or machine):

HAYWIRE!

I don't use the word amazing very often, but I will say with absolutely no hesitation that this machine is the most amazingly amazing form of gambling ever created! Needless to say, I'm sure the vast quantities of alcohol my friends and I drank contributed to much of our entertainment, but seriously, this game really brings the fun-ness. Especially when the machine goes ape-shit and starts to shake as it gives you bonus spins. I'd like to think that all of us are reasonably intelligent, college educated people, but as soon as we began, we started acting like a bunch of baboons... Some of the less intelligent (but infinitely more entertaining) tactics we employed during our play were chanting "HAYWIRE" in high pitched voices, cajoling the machine to pay out more frequently, swishing our hands lovingly across the paylines, and using our chins, elbows and mongolian chops (OK, so only Chan did this) to hit the "Spin" button and psych the machine into giving us the ever-loving HAYWIRE...

In the throes of Haywire mania, my girlfriend exclaimed loudly to me, "This is way better than sex!" to which I eagerly (and unwisely) agreed at the time. Only later did I find out to my great displeasure, that she was totally being honest. Which is just another reason kids, that you should really avoid binge drinking at all costs. Check out my newest guide on that very topic! :)

Dive Bars in LA:

Thursday, May 01, 2008

Thu, 01 May 2008 07:00:40 GMT

As much as I enjoy my many extracurricular activities like yoga, writing and thinking up devious ways to exact revenge on my enemies, I believe that one of my favorite hobbies is to just daydream about dumb shit. To wit, lots of times I catch myself thinking about "what if" questions. Instead of actually acting on my thoughts I'll think of ridiculous things like "What if Allah wills it?" or "What if my parents really were drug dealers" or the tried and true, "What if I become one of those ajusshis that roll around Koreatown on a weekday in a brand new BMW and people think to themselves, 'what the fuck does that guy do for a living?' "

But the latest bout in this trend of is, "What if there were an Armenian version of Elton John?" Think about the possibilities! Of course there could be no other name for Elton John's Armenian counterpart than Elton Johnian. Undercover Armenians like Gwen Stefani(an), Steve Buscemi(an) and Andre Agassi(an) would see his unabashed Armenian music and shamefully think to themselves, "Hey, maybe I should stop being so embarassed and start totally embracing my ethnic heritage". I'm sure the situation would only be exacerabted after seeing Johnian's exciting vocal displays replete with chest hair screaming out from beneath his Adidas sports suit matched with grey dress pants. Even the real Elton John's profligate spending, flashy displays of conspicuous consumption and difficult personal battles with sex and drugs totally mesh with an Armenian alternate. You might say that I'm a dreamer, but all I'm saying is that it would totally work. I mean, Freddy Mercury was Indian and look at how that turned out.

+ = Elton Johnian?

It seems to me, you've lived yourrr life, lahkkk a candle in the wind... BRRRRRO!

And while you're at it, might as well stop by my page at guidespot.com. It's a little like yelp.com with reviews and guides, without any of the religious peageantry and/or the dirty feeling you get after a night of really dirty sex. Come and join me there, we want to start a revolution from our beds! BRRRRO!

Friday, April 25, 2008

Fri, 25 Apr 2008 13:46:19 GMT

So I've been working on this new site called Guidespot. I think it combines all of the benefits of the social networking phenomenon with the benefits of restaurant review sites like chowhound... without any of the stuffiness and total condescension the chowhounds show for everyone not into all things "lemon grass infused" or made of foie gras. Fuckers... Join up so we can take this world by storm... WE MUST PROTECT THIS HAUS!

Tuesday, February 26, 2008

Tue, 26 Feb 2008 22:32:27 GMT

Most girls get a bad rap when guys say that they're just not funny. And I'll have to agree that in the realm of female comics and comedic actresses this is overwhelmingly the sad, sad case. But you have give it up to girls and their unintentional humor. I love well written comedy filled with acerbic wit and biting social commentary as much as the next fellow, but that shit gets tossed aside - a la Biggie pushing that guy by the face in the "Big Poppa" video - after hearing some of the stuff coming out of these womens mouths. My long suffering girlfriend knows this quite well as I have laughed at many of her extremely cute and wholly unintentional comedic nuggets throughout our long and storied partnership.

To this day, I'm still filled with uncontrollable laughter thinking about how we had this five minute conversation when she was under the impression that "Blade Runner" was the movie about Jamaican bobsledders. The whole time she was discussing it, I was nodding and making appropriate gestures to show appropriate boyfriend level interest, but inside my head I was fucking confused as shit thinking to myself, "What the fuck kind of director's edition was she watching??" Although when you think about it, Screwface from Steven Seagal's fucked up Marked for Death, would've made a pretty bad-ass replicant. Wait, didn't he have a twin brother in that movie? Jesus, maybe there really is a Jamaican director's edition!?!?

When you have a gangland moniker as silly as "Screwface" and people still fear and respect you, you know that you aren't fucking around. Word be bond...

Friday, January 18, 2008

Fri, 18 Jan 2008 08:06:49 GMT

Ahh, the days fly by now that I'm only working piece meal here and there. But you know that adage, "The best things in life are free?" and how the people who say it tend to be the ones that you want to slap in the face with your genitals? (Ladies, you know you want to do it too... admit it... admit it... eh? eh? EHHH? *nudge nudge*). Well as money loving as I am, I have to admit that once in a long, long while I'll come across something so undeniably satisfying requiring no money that I am blown away by it. And this revelation is: The pure, unadulterated joy of relieving yourself in a urinal filled with ice cubes.

Primitive, yes? Boorish? Undoubtedly. And yet it is so incredibly fulfilling knowing that your liquid waste heated by your body's basal metabolic rate is the root cause of an element's rapid decay. I especially like to target one section at a time and get a huge thrill when the cubes start melting away as the underlying structure begins to degrade. Call me clazy, but I have a good feeling that most of the guys out there somewhat share this point of view with your humble author. If the mood inclines, I'm sure the ladies could mimic it to some degree, but to this point in time, I've yet to hear about a female equivalent to this utterly male phenomena. Just so crazy, it might work. Plus, nobody I know got killed in South Central LA, so I suppose it was a good day. Love this graph (courtesy of i_am_getting_married):

Friday, January 04, 2008

Fri, 04 Jan 2008 22:56:25 GMT

So for the readers (very few in number I would surmise) that have kept up with this trivial site throughout the years, you've probably latched on to the notion that I have gone through quite a few career changes over the years with multiple instances of gainful unemployment between the rough patches of work. I'd like to think that I'm pretty good at applying, interviewing and receiving job offers, but terrible at retaining said positions. Now with my most recent departure from the family biz, I've been trying to enter a new field but also dedicate my off-time to something that will put a little bit of cash in my pocket. Of course I'm always 100% behind Molly Mcbutter, knowing that her superior business skills and Chinese frugality will eventually make us rich beyond belief, but it would be nice being on the ground floor of the newest moneymaking trend...

(a la 3rd panel) My greatest dream in life - besides the flashy blue M5 and the jealous muttering of people who would invariably look at me and quizzically wonder, "dude what the fuck does he do for a living?" - is to have enough disposable income to walk around carrying stacks of $100 bills and slapping people in the face with it... and when they get angry, just haughtily throwing the pile of money at their feet likes scraps to a dog as they scurry around to pick it up. Hey, it's not a big dream, but it's MY dream!

Like those fucking windshield stickers you see on the back of cars/trucks that relate to fellow motorists the birth date and death date of loved ones, followed by variations on the "R.I.P", "In loving memory" and "You will be missed" messages you encounter on widespread grave markers and over a broad swath of 90's West Coast Gangsta' rap musique... What kind of rational person has the thought process, "Well, hmmm... little Jose died, and as the 8th son of illegal migrant farmworkers, although his life was short and hard, I think the best way to honor him would be to put a decal on our car decrying this fact to all the motorists that pass me on the highways of our fine city"? And yet, we have George Bush turding it up for us in his eighth year now. Epiphany!