Why George Washington Invented the New Years Resolution

I'm sorry.

What I did to you last night was inexcusable. Inexcusable!

That half-assed blog was very rude of me, and I apologize (in fact, that wasn't even a half-assed blog. More like a quarter-assed blog [which is a lot less sexy than it sounds]). The tempting powers of Colin Farrell and Samuel L. Jackson were just too much for my weak, human soul.


So, tonight I set out to right the wrongs of past Nick Doll (that lazy basterd... er bastard!). Since my Time Machine is not yet complete, all I can really do is try to write a really kick-ass blog. So, here goes nothing...

Fortunately, the God of Blogs hath smiled down upon us. Today, while hanging my 67th poster with Harrison Ford's likeness, I put a massive, hammer sized hole through the wall. After cursing the God of Poster Hanging, I found this wantless destruction was actually a blessing in disguise (as wantless destruction often is [I don't think "wantless destruction" is actually an expression]).

In this hole in the wall, I found an ancient box with a dragon on it. In it, were letters of an ancient correspondence between George Washington (yes, THE George Washington) and Alexander Hamilton (yes... well... Alexander Hamilton). Imagine that (I don't mean the final nail in Eddie Murphy's coffin)! Ancient letters between George Washington and Alexander Hamilton! In the wall of my apartment! In Los Angeles! In an apartment building that was built in 1990.



Well, as crazy as it sounds it is 100% true. I found ancient letters between George Washington and Alexander Hamilton in the wall of my Los Angeles apartment constructed in 1990 while putting up my 67th Harrison Ford poster. In these astounding letters, lays (lies? [not in this blog! Only truths!]) the discovery of a lifetime. In it, Washington and Hamilton outline the creation of the age old tradition of the New Years resolution. I have transcribed the letters below, for I fear the act of scanning them may cause them to crumble into dust.



First Letter from George Washington, Addressed to his Cabinet, 1789

"Dear Cabinet,

G.W. here. Capital job on that revolution dealy. I honestly though we were fuckethed. I mean, who would have thought a rag-tag group of sodomite farmers like us could beat an empire like that of bloody old England. Stupendous!

That crossing of the Delaware was a particularly inspiring maneuver, if I do utter so myselfth (and I do so utter such a proclamation). From now on, when anyone attempts an attack on Christmas, whether it be crossing a river or upon a yet to be invented commuter flying machine, they will certaintly think George Washington. There is nothing more American!

Now that praise has been garnished all around, like Franklin's seaman at a brothel (we need to do that again sometime, you old poop), I must cum (like Franklin!) to why I have taken the time to inscribe such words on parchment. Grave words! Grave words, indeed.

As you are all quite aware, I recently opened the world's first gym, which, I of course, named after the man whom I murdered for the idea. Unfortunately, Gym's idea was not as sound as he led me to believe that night at the brothel, after Franklin left to father more illegitimate hooker children.

My gym is, so far, a huge disaster. More disastrous than the time all the Indians threw that tea into the ocean and the British blamed us for it (someday they will pay for such treachery). That was the worst tea part ever.

Attendance is lousy. Fucking lousy. I have even made Jefferson the manager, but apparently, writing a half-decent Declaration of Independce does not qualify you to run the world's first gym. His ideas to increase attendance bloweth. They bloweth harder than a redcoat does to save his life (and they bloweth very hard, yet it was never hard enough to prevent their beheading).

Jefferson suggested I allow women to attend the gym! He says men will be more apt to work their bodies at an establishment where they can ogle oodles of women. Jefferson always has been a pussy. Who wants to get shirtless and sweaty when there are women around? What a queer idea. I think Jefferson is a fag. A total fag.

I write to you this morrow in hopes you can solve my quandary. I want a way to increase gym membership that does not give women any more rights than they already have. For they already have far too much.

Sincerely,
Prez 4 Life
George Washington

P.S. We also need to come up with a good ole' tradition to accompany the New Years holiday. Any suggestions?"

So ends Washington's first letter.


What follows, is a response from Alexander Hamilton...

"Dearest Prez 4 Life, George Washington,

My liege, I may have the solution to your troubles. BOTH your troubles! To kill two redcoats with one stone, as if were (I remember you were quite of fond of this in wartime. The boys and I are working on getting some redcoats and some very large stones for the office party).

Why not make the new years tradition encourage gym membership? Perhaps, the tradition could be that people make "resolutions" for themselves. These resolutions could be a number of things, but they would always include improving one's body. And what better way to improve their body than at your gym (as long as you keep the women out, that is)?

Food for thought.

Sincerley,
Alexander Hamilton

P.S. I agree that Jefferson is a total fag. Fucketh that cockface."

So ends Hamilton's world altering suggestion.



Which brings me to the final document in the ancient box. Washington's final response to Hamilton.

"Hamilton! You scally-wag!

Have you been smoking that plant the Indians like so much?

No matter, just as Jefferson has always credited the Mary Janice for the Declaration of Independence, it has led you to the most ingenious of conclusions. Why, did you know, Franklin was smoking Mary Janice when he decided to fly that kite in the lightning storm? Sure, it seemed like an unwise decision at the time, but now that he has super human strength, we have all been shut up. All been shut up indeed.

I shall implement your idea forthright!

I must suggest, though, that you consider faking your death. If the American people (bunch of bloody scoundrels!) learn that we have invented a tradition simply to sell them gym memberships, they will tear you limb from limb, just as they did to King George. Perhaps Aaron Burr can help you in this matter. He is quite astute, and a good listener.

It is regrettable that your brilliant solution means you shall have to fake your death, but as super human Franklin always insists "With Great Power Cums Great Responsibility." You have truly saved this seedling of a nation with your unconventional pondering brought on as a product of smoking the Mary Janice.

With Much Love,
Prez 4 Life,
George Washington

P.S. Franklin and I are going to the brothel tomorrow night. Wish to join us? Hookers are on Washington."

Wow. What a discovery right? I can hardly believe I found these papers in that dragon box in the wall of my apartment.

If you wish for prove, I can show you the lett...

Oh shoot. I just sneezed, which caused them to crumble to dust just as I feared the scanner would do.

Look like I was right. Again.

Anyway, seeing as how I have just shared a discovery that alters US History as we know it (in more ways than one), I think I will take the rest the evening off. Maybe watch SWAT again, which this time, I have truly earned.

I am a great potential husband.

That's right. I have created my first trilogy (well, my second trilogy, if you count "The Quest For Quest." [Hopefully you have no idea what I am talking about]).

I am speaking, of course, of my "I am" blog trilogy. It started two nights ago with the now classic first chapter, "I am a parasite." The epic story of Nick Doll was continued last night with the engrossing middle part, "I am not a dick," which, like all second chapters (The Empire Strikes Back, Temple of Doom), was a dark departure from the first in it's usage of the word "not." Tonight, after an over 24 hour wait, comes the third, thrilling and final blog in the "I am" Trilogy, that you didn't even know was comming, "I am a great potential husband."

I am a great potential husband.

If you can put up with my being a parasite and not a dick, you will find this to be true.

But don't take my word for it... take my evidence for it.

I may not be funny, or entertaining in the least, but I can put up with the same thing, over and over. The "same thing" being you, my potential bride (unless you are a family member, or a dude, cause that's disgusting... Or a fat chick. No fat chicks. Handicaps [or handicapables as I call them] may actually be okay. Just don't be a fat handicapable chick).

I mean, come on ladies, isn't that what's most important when looking for your great potential husband? Someone who can put up with you for the rest of your life (as soon as you die [and I will outlive you if it's the last thing I do] I am using my wealth and fame generated by this blog to hook up with an 18 year-old.)?

And yes, I have that evidence I promised. I saw Sherlock Holmes 3 times, in less than one week. I have seen Raiders of the Lost Ark and Fight Club almost innumerable times. I have watched every episode of Arrested Development (that's 53 episodes!) over 50 times. If I really love something, I will watch it again and again. So, if I really love you, I will put up with you for the rest of your life (until I am free to hook up with that 18 year-old after what the media will refer to as your "suspicious passing").

But, and there is a butt in our relationship (yours, I have no measurable ass), I can only put up with certain kinds of people for eternity (by which I mean 23 years, which is when you meet your untimely end by nearly untraceable poison). Sure, I can watch Sherlock Holmes forever and not get bored. But, for every Sherlock Holmes, there are over a hundred movies I could not sit through more than once.

If you are sexy, engaging, clever, exciting, and action packed (okay, that last one may not explain a lady as well as it does a movie) like Sherlock Holmes, we're in business for 23 years (less if you get fugly too fast). If you are a long, stupid, bore with blue skin like Avatar, then, I'm sorry honey, our relationship just won't last (I know it's not always easy to tell if a person is stupid and a bore before marriage if the sex is great enough, but hopefully the blue skin will be a dead giveaway [and yes, I will stop insulting Avatar as soon as all the "Avatar fans" come clean and stop lying to themselves and others]).

So, what do you say? Will you marry me?

...

...

What else do you want? I just proved that if you are the female equivalent of Sherlock Holmes (the movie, not the fictional character) I will stay with you until I poison you! That's a guarantee of no divorce (because if you try to divorce me, I'll just poison you ahead of schedule [I already have the poison!]!)! Exclamation point.

What more do you want in a husband?

Hmmm, okay... let's see what else I got...

I bathe daily... twice daily if I go to the gym after my morning shower... I'm not a dick... I have a dick... and if you say no, I'll poison you (one way or another you are getting poisoned.)!

That's about it. But hopefully that is enough (the threat of poisoning is enough alone, I would think). Because it's all I have to offer.

So, you know, think about it. Maybe sleep on it (but not too long, because it may be the last sleep you ever take on it).

Because I am a great potential husband.

And so ends another trilogy. Where each chapter was more disappointing than the last (Pirates, Matrix, Austin Powers, Lord of the Rings, I'm looking at yous guys).

I love you!

AVATARD Vs. TRANSFORMERS 2

As I've said previously, the movie AVATAR reminds me of most is STAR TREK: THE MOTION PICTURE (1979). Both have about 20 minutes of plot spread out over several extra hours of what were state-of-the-art special effects at the time of release and therefore have no entertainment value three decades after they are released.

That being said, the movie that AVATAR is most like in the past decade is TRANSFORMERS 2 (but only because DANCES WITH WOLVES and FERNGULLY were made in the early 90s). So, I decided to compare the two side by side in several categories to determine which was the better film. Join me, if you will, in examining two of the longest, most boring films of 2009.


As with my previous AVATARD blog, if you haven't seen AVATAR, don't read between the happy smurf and the bored smurf. Because, between the happy and the bored smurf lies the plot of AVATAR (Get it this time? Because between the a happy and bored Nick there was a viewing of Avatar. [Gee, I love my own shit]. There is only 1 instance of spoilers. So enjoy the rest all you smart people who skipped AVATAR!

CAST

TRANSFORMERS 2 : Shia LeBeouf, Megan Fox, John Tuturro, giant robots.

AVATAR : Sigourny Weaver, Uhura from STAR TREK (sort of), that general from THE MEN WHO STARE AT GOATS, that dude-from-TERMINATOR: SALVATION-who-Hollywood-keeps-trying-to-pass-off-as-a-star-but-I-don't-see-it, that gawky dude from DODGEBALL, smurfs.

Advantage: TRANSFORMERS 2. Sure, Megan Fox is one of the worst actors of all time (if not the worst), but nobody fucks with the beef (Shia). He's Spielberg's golden boy. He's got the good looks, the great arms (as my sister informs me), the charm, the comedic edge... he's the next Ben Affleck as far as action movies are concerned (I bet he'll fade just as fast). And John Tuturro is hilarious. All Avatar really has is Sigourney Weaver, and she is 20 years past "movie star" status.

SCRIPT

TRANSFORMERS 2: Megatron is back and he wants... something. Shia's going to college... yada, yada, yada... explosions. Giant plot holes ensue, dialog stinks, characters are straight from INDEPENDENCE DAY. Typical Michael Bay movie. Written by those two whiz kids who wrote STAR TREK (WTF? Best and worst blockbuster scripts of the year are by the same guys? [Explanation, one script was written before the strike, the other after. Yet both came out at the same time, just a year after it ended... peculiar.]).

AVATAR: Dances With Smurfs. No plot holes neccesarily, but important details are left out, dialog stinks, and characters are straight out of typical Sci Fi handbook. Feels like a Michael Bay movie. Written by James Cameron (who brought you TITANIC).

Advantage: AVATAR. You didn't actually think I would say AVATAR's script was worse than TRANSFORMERS 2 did you? Sure AVATAR's script sucked, but TRANSFORMERS 2 didn't even make sense!

RACISM

TRANSFORMERS 2: The two most racist CGI characters sense Jar Jar Binks. Two robots who speak like they are "gangsta," wear gold chains and have gold teeth, and can't read. Fail.

AVATAR: The most racist alien species since the Gungans (Jar Jar's people). Those blue aliens are obviously like an "African tribe" in all ways except their skin is blue, down to the casting (all the main smurfs were played by black actors). My friend Bobby explained it best in his AVATAR review.

Advantage: TRANSFORMERS 2. It doesn't get much more racist than two "black" futuristic robots who are machines far more advanced than humans, yet still cannot read. But, at least this racism made for amusing moments.

DIRECTOR

TRANSFORMERS 2 : Michael Bay (THE ROCK, BAD BOYS, THE ISLAND, ARMAGEDDON)

AVATAR: James Cameron (TERMINATOR 1 & 2, ALIENS, TITANIC)

Advantage: Tie. After these two three hour spectacles, I honestly can't tell the difference between the two.

SEX APPEAL

TRANSFORMERS 2: Two words: Megan Fox. Okay, three words: Megan Fucking Fox! Okay, many words (that's right, I was too lazy to count them): Megan Fucking Fox oiled up before every scene.

AVATAR: A sex scene between two smurfs? Then, later, a scene where a smurf caresses a human with her blue hands?
And Sigourney Weaver is the only human chick in the movie? What the fuck were they thinking?

Advantage: Megan Fox... er... TRANSFORMERS 2.

LENGTH

TRANSFORMERS 2: 150 minutes.

AVATAR: 162 minutes.

Advantage: God bless you, Michael Bay, for keeping your film under 162 minutes!

SPECIAL EFFECTS

TRANSFORMERS 2: State of the art special effects animate giant robots that look flawless.

AVATAR: State of the art special effects animate blue aliens that look soulless (like every CGI character before them), but also pretty flawless other than that. 3-D is pretty damn cool (though those glasses were not designed to be worn for 3 hours!).

Advantage: AVATAR, only because of the 3-D. Otherwise, both have state of the art special effects and anyone who claims one is "more fake" or "less fake" than the other is full of shit.

FINAL TALLY

TRANSFORMERS 2: 5

AVATAR: 3

(That's 5 points for Trannies 2 and 3 points for AVATAR, not TRANSFOMERS 25 and AVATAR 3. Both ideas terrify The Living Daylights out of me [shit son, there's another Bond reference mother fucker {can anyone say callback?}]).

So, Megan Fox... er... TRANSFORMERS 2 for the win.!

But, it is such a shitty movie, so going against the data, I'm gonna say AVATAR is the better movie. Script is so important to me and AVATAR squeaks by in that category because TRANSFORMERS 2 really has one of the worst scripts of all time.

Still, I hope to God I won't be seeing either, ever again.

Be seeing you.

The Sexiest Death: You're Allergic to Sperm!

First off, let me warn by saying that I am not interested in fact. Sure, I could have researched this topic further (I do have those 13 aliens from Crystal Skull's gift to man [knowledge that will cause me to spontaneously combust if consumed all at once] via the internet), giving you important information that could very well save your life. But, like I said, I'm not interested in fact.

I am instead interested in speculation, that branches off from fact. So, sure, you could research this topic further and put rest to my idle speculation... but where is the fun in that?

Fact: Woman can be allergic to sperm!

I know, right? That's what I said. I said, "What-in-the-what-what?" just like you. No shit!

Fact: Women can be allergic to sperm. So when they have sex with a dude for the first time, they may feel a burning sensation, a real painful burning, and they may have swelling and shit, just like a person who was allergic to peanuts would after consuming peanuts or sperm (if he/she was also allergic to sperm).

Fact: In rare cases, this can lead to death, just like a peanut allergy can. But, in most cases, it just means the woman who is allergic to sperm can't have babies. Sucks, I know, right? I mean, if I can't shoot a baby out of my body, just kill me with sperm right now!

This smiley little guy just may KILL you.

Fact: Doctors can isolate this allergy (I'm sure the lingo is not correct here) using the husband's sperm (if the couple is married... not because he can't do it if they're not married, but because he's not the husband in that case. Aren't you a stupid fucker, you penis, you [now who's offensive, Andrew?]?). This doesn't always work though and if it doesn't work the couple can't have babies that they can force to follow the dreams they were too cowardly to chase themselves.

Isn't that frightening, ladies? When you have sex for the first time without a condom, you might fucking die! That ought to put the wrath of God up inside you (but not without a condom!). The sperm might get all up in them guts, cause you searing pain as you scream and scream until you just die (in rare cases... but can you really take that chance?). I mean, they ought to teach that in schools to get kids to stay abstinent or use condoms or whatever.
"No listen children, if you have sex without a condom and you're allergic to sperm, it might be the last stupid thing you ever do. Because those little sperm will get upside you and boil your blood until your eyes pop out of your skull and you shit your intestines out your butt (I said there was some speculation involved)."

I mean, seriously ladies. Eating a peanut for the first time is one thing. I mean, a Resses peanut butter cup is the most pleasurable thing I can think of (I assume being allergic to peanuts makes you allergic to peanut butter, but I honestly have no way of knowing for sure... someone bring me someone [yourself if you qualify] with a severe peanut allergy so I can shove some peanut butter down their throat, STAT!). But having sex without a condom may not be worth it. Not unless you want a million sperm bullets cutting your baby maker to shreds from the inside.

I would die for you...

Now, this does give rise to speculation (as promised).

Can dudes be allergic to sperm? Can you be allergic to something your body produces? Does some poor gay guy get blasted in the ass (a painful enough experience as is, I'm sure) only to have his ass burn with the searing pain of a thousand deaths?

Also, does sperm just burn... in there? The allergy would take effect where ever the sperm ended up, right? I mean, people who are allergic to peanuts don't need to put peanuts into their vagina (am I aloud to say that word? I am a dude...I avoided saying it thus far because it sounds so much dirtier than penis...) to find out they are allergic to peanuts. So it makes sense that an allergy to sperm would be troublesome no matter the orifice (it should really be spelled oriface, considering how many orifices the face has...).

...So that I can turn it into a weapon!

Anyway, I really don't have a point...

Except to warn you and possibly (no... definitely) save your life!

You're welcome! Though I am not able to give you all the answers because I refuse to research further (because I don't want to spontaneously combust like Irnina Spalko [well, really I'm just too fucking lazy]) it would be best for you to never have sex without a condum if you are a straight female or a gay male. Lesbians are free to lez out.

In fact, condoms can break... so just never have sex. You may either die (if your a female) or murder someone (if you're a male)! Imagine the guilt if you murdered someone with your penis (it may sound like something to brag about ["Yo, bros! I killed someone with my dick!" - "No way, bro!" - "Yes way, bro" - "Bro!" - "Bro!"] but trust me, the guilt would eat away at you like I east away at this here Reeses Cup).

Mmmmm.... Pleasure....

Yes, that's it. I wrote this blog so that virgins reading this blog will never have sex.

Because misery loves company...

I mean...

Er...

I have literally had thousands of girlfriends. And oodles upon oodles of intercourse of the sexual variety...

....

Be seeing you.

The more you know!

Knowledge is Power!

(And yet I would have spelled it knowlege without spell check...)

(....)

Beware Monday the 13th!

This morning I hit the snooze button.

Now there's a fucking pointless invention.

"I'm really fucking tired right now, but if I had, oh, I don't know, maybe... five... yeah... if I had just five more minutes to sleep THEN (and only then) I would feel completely refreshed."Has that ever happened to you? It's 9am (look, I know what you're thinking and you can shut the fuck up! I didn't wake up until 9am this morning, so what? I don't tell you how to live your life.) and your alarm goes off. You feel exhausted, you've never been more tired in your life (welcome to my day-to-day. Every day is worse than the last. 7, 8, 10, 13 hours of sleep, it doesn't matter, it still sucks to wake up). But wait! There is hope! With one clever movement of your arm, you hit a magic little button granting you five more minutes rest! Huzzah! You earned it, friend!

And it works! Five minutes later you wake up 100% rested, wandering why you even needed the silly snooze button before. Has this happened to you before? It has? You're seriously telling me you were dead tired at 9:00am, but at 9:05 you felt like a million euros?

Bullshit, sir or madam.

The snooze button makes less sense than SPEED. In fact, I would go as far as to say that it feels backwards that snooze buttons are reality and SPEED is fiction (maybe I exaggerate just a little. SPEED is total bullshit).

Who came up with 5 minutes as the industry standard for snooze alarms (ISSA for short), anyway?

"You know, Gary, after testing your invention for months, R&D (research and development for long) has come to the conclusion that four minutes is simply not enough sleep to feel 'fine and dandy', while six minutes is a grossly over-sized amount of sleep that has people feeling simply, for lack of a better word, much too 'rested', not being able to sleep again for months."

"Let's make the ISSA 5 minutes then, Reginald." I mean, God forbid I should sleep 7 extra minutes. Or 6 1/2. Or 3.

Does that make my snooze button a freak? Cause mine is 9 minutes. I don't want to be superficial or anything, but should I go looking for a more attractive snooze alarm? One that has the more conventional 5 instead of the larger and less appealing 9? I mean, I've been with my snooze alarm for going on 3 years now, but maybe it's time to call it quits.

"It's not you, it's me. I just can't go on sleeping for 9 extra minutes when the leading study shows that 5 minutes is the perfect amount."

And if 5 minutes makes little to no sense, then 9 minutes does make no sense. How did they come up with that one? At least 5 is a multiple of 5. 9? Whose ass was 9 pulled out of? My snooze button might as well be 6 1/2 minutes. Or 7 and 5/17ths.
Does anyone actually even sleep for those five minutes (or in my case 9)? I usually spend those extra, hard earned minutes dreading the reappearance of the shrill beeping alarm. Sure I sometimes get in a dream or two about showing up to school without pants (or showing up to sex with pants... that cannot be removed) but for the most part, I spend my extra time either watching the clock slowly tick away my sublime sleepy time and/or considering whether or not to hit the snooze alarm again so I can repeat the process.

So really, all I'm trying to say here is "What the fuck is the point of the snooze button?"

It doesn't make any sense. If I really wanted more sleep I would plan on my hitting the snooze alarm the next morning and would simply set my alarm for 5 (or 9) minutes later. That way it would be 5 (or 9) minutes of actual sleep, not just extra time in bed watching the clock.

It's really just a delay of the inevitable. So I guess, it's all a metaphor for life. So if the snooze button is a metaphor for life, is that enough to warrant it's existence?

Fuck no!

Fuck the snooze alarm. I hereby add it to my list of things I hate but still use on a semi-regular basis, joining the likes of COSTCO, McDonald's, and hookers.