Matikeef “Makh” Daniels, 28, of Pacifica, was ejected from the 2003 Chevrolet van, which had been heading south on Interstate 5 north of Medford at 5:30 a.m. He was pronounced dead at the scene.

According to Oregon State Police, the driver – 24-year-old Justin Garcia of Fresno – fell asleep and allowed the van to drift off the right shoulder of the freeway.

Police Lt. Gregg Hastings said the van carried five members of Daniels’ band, Early Graves, as well as four members of Garcia’s band, Funeral Pyre, which is based in La Habra (Orange County). The men had played at a weekend concert in Eugene and were en route to Reno.

If only this had happened in the early 90s. Then that waif Ethan Hawke could have just showed this to that other waif Winona Ryder.

No. fucking. shit.

I shouldn’t be so hard on Discovery News, what with their recent hard-hitting exposé “Sun, Kristy Swanson: Both Hot but for Different Reasons”. It’s understandable that after such exhaustive investigative reporting, the crack team at Discovery would want to downshift and report on something people have known about since, oh, I don’t know, for-fucking-ever.

Pay attention, dipshit. It's science!

My favorite part of the article is a little feature Discovery News calls “The Gist”. You see, “The Gist” is a really clever way for  those of us who are too busy with the workaday world to really get down to the brass tacks of an article.

Let me tell you, if finding out that booze makes you think ugly people are prettier comes as a shock to you, then these little factoids are going to blow your fucking mind. The only item that might be new information is number 3, and that’s only if you’ve never gotten a girl drunk enough to sleep with you, and, let’s be honest, everyone has — except maybe mormons or al qaeda or their offshoot splinter group/improv troupe: mormqaeda .

Although, all of this is pretty meaningless to me. I’m pretty easy. I’d fuck a tree — two, if I could afford it. I probably wouldn’t even have to be drunk, as long as it’s symmetrical.

Seriously, this guy looks like he’s at least 23% monosodium glutamate. Do you really think you needed to perpetrate a Shock and Awe campaign to get this guy to wolf down some of your (what we laughingly refer to as) pizza pie? You don’t think that at some point, at some moment of desperation and gluttonous self-loathing that is probably all too common in the fictional Shoyer household, that Scott wouldn’t eventually have compelled his area food poisoning dispensary to make good on their “30 Minutes or Less” policy?

And why does the big greasy tucking in come off like a promo spot for “To Catch a Predator”?

Personally delivering to all area slumber parties

Pizza commercials creep me the fuck out. Look no further than literally any commercial for Papa John’s, which, for some reason I can’t fathom, always feature the company’s founder looking lecherous as all-get-out. Never mind that eating their pizza is pretty much the equivalent of  committing incredibly prolonged suicide, this guy looks like a total creep. I’m not one to cast any dispersions, but his name is Papa John for chrissakes. “There, there. Grab another slice of Papa’s totally rohypnol-free triple meat pizza and tell ol’ Papa all about how your boyfriend doesn’t understand you. Just make sure to eat it real fast — you don’t want it to get cold.” They advertise a specialty pizza called the “Big Papa”. Let that sink in. Just make sure you wash it down with their authentic Special Garlic Dipping Sauce®. It’s so authentic, you’d swear you were in a real New York City pizzeria eating retrofitted industrial lubricant and salt.

It was on a recent grocery trip, when it dawned on me: why not mix Mexican hot sauce with peanuts? You see, the Sachs company makes a Tobasco® Hot Sauce flavored peanut that is pretty good, and I figured, if a multi-national corporation with over 100 years of food industry experience, advanced industrial food preparation equipment, and experienced food technicians at its disposal can do it, so can I.

The Peanuts: I just used the cheapest I could find at the store. Make sure you get raw peanuts, unless you want to get über crazy and buy already roasted peanuts and go for a refried bean type deal. I don’t think it will work, but if you’re that much of a loose cannon, you’re probably already saying to yourself, “Fuck this guy. He doesn’t get me. No one does,” before hauling ass on your motorcycle (Vespa scooter) to pick your stripper girlfriend (Applebees waitress). If you’re law-abiding and don’t steal your hot sauce from burrito restaurants, you’ll want to pick up your Cholula® while you’re at the store.

I know they look gross. Kind of like bloody alien testicles. Try getting that image out of your mind.

Sauce and Stuff: 2 tablespoons of oil and 2 bottles of Cholula® sauce is all you need. Soak the peanuts in the mixture.

Put the peanuts on a cookie sheet and sprinkle generously with salt. Cook at 350° for a long goddamn time. The peanut packaging say cook for 15-20 minutes, but that’s pretty much bogus after you’ve drenched them in hot sauce. I cooked them for about an hour.

Result: Not great. Basically the peanuts taste like unsalted roasted peanuts. I thought maybe the coating, because it rubs off on your fingers, would rub off on the peanuts, but no. I think maybe if I had soaked them longer, say several hours, they would have turned out better. I’ll probably try that next and report my findings never. They are pretty good if you eat them with the shell. That’s also a great way to get some extra fiber in your diet, and we all could use some more fiber in our diets. I know I sure could.

My love of Cholula® remains unabated, as does my love of oral copulation, girls with skinned knees, and genuine Liberian legal tender. My desire to cook things, however, is severely abated.

Anyway, here’s an item-by-item counterpoint:

Put down the cell phone if you’re ready to order.

Well, no shit, Dick Tracy. Everyone knows that (everyone reading your article, at least), and even if they don’t, they have no obligation to offer the cashier more than their order. From the article:

I think it helps if the customer acknowledges the worker right off the bat, like asking, “How are you?” rather than just barking the order and not making eye contact,” Renae says. “A little skotche of humanity.”

“A skotche of humanity.” Just say that to yourself. “A skotche.” You are a cashier. Your job is to take my order, barked or otherwise. If I can do that and operate a phone at the same time, more power to me. Something that also bothers me, is this idea that, as a customer, I have to acknowledge the cashier “right off the bat” with some form of banal pleasantry. Let me get this straight, you work part time for an hourly wage that is above minimum, you get insurance, and, on top of that, you want tips, and I’m the one that is supposed to initiate conversation?  Fuck that. I don’t want to pull a Mel Gibson, but shouldn’t you also blow me?

Realize that menus aren’t universal or open to interpretation.

“Take a minute to evaluate where you are when you step through the doors,” begins this idiotic Pro-Tip®. Turns out these baristas can’t handle it if you order a frappuccino and all they offer is a mochaccino, even if it’s exactly the same concept. Also, know your sizes. Don’t be up in my coffee shop ordering some Venti® Frappuccino® bullshit when all we gots is Mochaccinos® and, it’s Large® here, not Venti®. You know where the only place I get size bullshit is? Starbucks. I don’t go to a different coffee shop and order anything other than standard sizes (small, medium, large). Only at Starbucks do I get obnoxiously corrected: Smalls are Tall, Mediums become Grande, and larges of course are Venti. The best thing is that this information is cheerfully relayed to me in the same fashion as an under-the-breath “fuck you”, after I order. They know what I mean, they just have to correct me. It’s probably corporate policy.

Don’t treat the shop as your personal space.

Actually, I don’t need to quote anything from the article for this. I’m just going to give you a big Pro-Tip®: Treat the shop as your personal space. That’s exactly why they have upholstered couches and free wi-fi. They want you to stay because the longer you stay, the more likely you are to buy more of their shit. That’s their whole plan, so hang out, charge your laptop, surf the interGoogles®. See if they kick your ass out. Starbucks subsidizes these expenses through their overpriced food items, coffee mugs, and shit heel Kenny-G/Alanis Morissette “That’s What I Call Easy Listening” CDs. It pisses their cashiers off, because if you’re on the interGoogles® updating your FaceSpace® twattles, you’re not tipping them. Also, their advice uses the phrase “follow protocol” at. a. fucking. coffee. shop. Follow protocol and fuck right off.

Tip when it’s necessary, and sometimes even when it’s not.

Don’t tip when it’s not necessary. It defeats the purpose of tipping.

And check out this gem: “It takes a village to get you that cup of coffee.” Woah, shit. I had no idea. They’re right, though. It takes a village of underpaid, underfed child laborers to get you that cup of coffee. I kid, but I kid with hate. It also takes a village to get you that Arch Deluxe® and fries too, but I guess that’s beside the point. Other things that take a village to bring to you include your mail, your cable TV, and your groceries, so get to tithing motherfucker. I guess those things aren’t delivered by a chipper, acne-free face with a plastic smile so fuck them, right?

Be patient.

It takes time to concoct your beverage. It’s not just a cup of coffee with some cream on top of it. That’s some handcrafted bullshit right there. It’s not like corporate doesn’t have that shit on lock down. No way! It takes years to learn how to properly concoct these caffeinated libations. The apprenticeship program alone takes upwards of four hours a day for nearly a week of training just to work yourself up to ice mochas. So you’re going to want to be patient. I know to the untrained eye it just looks like they’re pouring liquid from one container into another container, blending that liquid, and transferring it to another container, but really there’s a lot going on behind the scenes that you’re not seeing.

Side note:

Every time I end up ordering something at a coffee shop, I’m reminded of this:

It’s gotten so bad that I’ve started having dreams — nightmare’s really — about it. Every night that I’ve had one too many limoncellos (which is every night), is a night that I inch closer and closer to snapping.

So, using a modified version of this recipe (which is pretty close to Prince’s), I’ve concocted a vegan tribute that is pretty goddamn close, except no disgusting filthy animals with brains the size of a pea had to die for it.

Preparing the Seitan: I used store-bought Seitan strips which were kind of dry, so I covered them with a little almond milk. I know it looks like I soaked them, but I didn’t, so I don’t give a shit what you think that picture up there is telling you. This is probably a step that you can avoid if you make your own seitan but I was high and lazy. The Veganomicon has a pretty good recipe for seitan. After that, drag the seitan through plain ol’, regular self-rising flour.

Fry that Seitan: I use a 3:1 blend of vegetable and peanut oil. Also, I use a cast iron skillet, which is what Prince’s uses. The pan probably doesn’t matter as much, because Prince’s never washes them and uses lard. Let the oil heat up first and then fry using medium to medium-high heat.

Hot Stuff: After the seitan is good and crispy, that’s when you cover it in sauce. Here’s how I made it:

• 1/4 cup shortening, melted
• 3 tsp brown sugar
• 1 tsp onion powder
• 1 tbsp seasoned salt
• At least 3 tbsp cayenne pepper

Instead of shortening, it probably would have been better to use something like Smart Balance. I also used way more cayenne because I likes it hot. 3 tbsp makes it about “Mild/Medium” hot, or hawt, depending on your preference.

Success: After covering one side in sauce, put the seitan on some white bread (sauce-side down) and cover the other side with sauce. Serve with crinkle cut fries and a pickle, if that’s your thing (ie you’re a communist). Above is a picture of the final product. Below is what Prince’s generally looks like:

Bon appétit, chumps

]]> http://www.godiloveme.com/2010/07/25/vegan-hot-seitan/feed/ 0 http://www.godiloveme.com/2010/07/20/word-of-the-day-onanism/ http://www.godiloveme.com/2010/07/20/word-of-the-day-onanism/#comments Tue, 20 Jul 2010 06:45:56 +0000 Me! http://godiloveme.com/?p=1088 o•nan•ism

definition:

1. masturbation.
2. coitus interruptus.

usage example:

“In order to be adept at onanism, you have to take a ‘hands-on’ approach.”

see also:

]]> http://www.godiloveme.com/2010/07/20/word-of-the-day-onanism/feed/ 0 http://www.godiloveme.com/2010/07/11/wtf-stock-photography/ http://www.godiloveme.com/2010/07/11/wtf-stock-photography/#comments Sun, 11 Jul 2010 20:33:04 +0000 Me! http://godiloveme.com/?p=1321 Online stock photography collections offer graphic designers an affordable selection of royalty-free images that suit nearly any project (read: billboards for questionable legal advice or bus bench ads for even more questionable medical products).

However, with great selection comes the great possibility of finding truly mind boggling and inappropriate images — images that make you wonder not only what in christ’s name compelled them to take that picture but also what in christ’s name someone would use it for.

Lavender Bowl Celebration

How's that for homoeroticism? Seriously, there's nothing gayer than football. Unless of course you count the post-victory locker room champagne facials.

This is one of the best pictures of Sarah “Gotcha” Palin ever.

Fiendish Mr. Han

I don’t know if it’s the red white and blue wind chime (those are wind chimes right?) earrings or the frilly mandarin collar à la Han in Enter the Dragon or the way she tries to pass off safety glasses as actual spectacles. It could also be the “Stepford Wives my life is a total sham and I’m a hateful vacuous shell of  a human and I’m just realizing that and, oh hey, what’s that off in the distance?” expression on her snare drum of a face.

I think maybe the biggest draw for me is the bedazzled “Alaska” pin that she had to have gotten at some flea market in whatever circle in hell people like her have to visit to renegotiate their contract with Satan for another 15 minutes. Now, I want her to run for president, and now I want her to win, but only under the condition that she wear that stupid fucking pin every single fucking day. Maybe Satan could hook something like that up.

Because of his hermit-like existence, it’s actually surprisingly affordable to affect one of the richest men in history. You’ll find, once you get past the stares, odor, and total lack of sunlight, that the lifestyles of the rich and famous are, firstly, not only reserved for the rich and famous, and, secondly, truly are the only way to live. Just follow this handy guide, and you’ll be on your way to the abyss faster than you can say, “Freemasons run the country.”

What You Will Need:

Cotton Gloves

They’re not just for mimes, debutantes, or deranged killers anymore! Cotton gloves serve a protective barrier between your delicate fingertips and all the creepy crawly microbes floating on the surfaces of everything around you — microbes that are just waiting patiently to get inside you and everyone you care about.

Old HH required that all employees wear white cotton gloves. So strict was his requirement that the gloves be changed regularly and that used gloves be incinerated,  his employees ordered the gloves by the gross. Luckily for Hughes and you, cotton gloves can be gotten for a mere pittance. Wear gloves while doing everything. Make your family wear gloves. Put gloves on your pets. Force gloves through your door’s mail slot and insist the mailman put them on before delivering your disability check (and, of course, your next order of fresh white gloves).

Yellow Legal Pads

Howard Hughes was partially deaf. Because of his refusal to be seen and that little germ eccentricity of his, he primarily communicated with his subordinates through long, rambling messages scrawled on yellow legal pads. Aids would sit beside his door waiting for messages to be slid through the door, which would then have to be replied to in the same fashion and slid through the door back to Hughes — countless times throughout the day and night (he rarely slept). Sometimes they were transcribed by his aids and hand delivered to the recipient (while wearing gloves, of course).

Don’t believe they were rambling? Here’s a short excerpt from one of what was probably one of his terser memos:

There are certain areas within the Bungalow 1 C area that have been set aside by Johnny Holmes for the storage of my personal things. There are also other areas that have been set aside for future use by Johnny and his people. These designated areas, which Johnny will mark clearly or designate verbally to all concerned, should be avoided by everyone outside of Johnny’s area of operation. I do not want anybody, under any circumstances, no matter what the emergency may be, to touch these areas or go anywhere near them. I do not want anyone to touch the telephone that Johnny uses, nor any of his equipment that he has put away in storage in the Bungalow or any of my things there, or anything connected with my things.

It is extremely important to me that nobody ever, under any circumstances, no matter what the emergency may be, no matter how extreme the emergency, no matter what pressures are put on, no matter how unusual the circumstances may be, goes into any room, closet, cabinet, drawer, or any other area which is either used by Johnny or indicated by Johnny to be reserved by him for my things in connection with my food operation or any other phase of my operation that Johnny takes care of. I want to make sure that nobody opens any doors to any rooms, closets, cabinets, drawers or in any way, touches any portion of these areas.”

So, yeah, you’re going to need a lot of those pads. This is especially true if people continue to insist upon touching areas within Bungalow 1C. In all likelihood you’re not going to have a lot of subordinates to send memos to, so you’ll want to get creative. Try breaking up with your wife and girlfriend via the yellow legal pad. If you write your facebook updates and tweets on the pads and then scan and upload them, you gain 1,000,000 OCD points — plus you get to put your own eccentric spin on it.

Kleenex® brand Tissues

You’re going to need boxes upon boxes of Kleenex. Like Tammy Faye Baker levels of Kleenex. And, no, you’re not going to use the boxes for your feet. That’s actually an urban legend (although he did wear them in one instance). In reality, you’re going to need those tissues to act as a barrier between your delicate, vulnerable hands and whatever you happen to touch. Peep this memo excerpt so you know exactly how to use your Kleenex® brand tissues:

…obtain a brand new knife, never used, to open a new box of Kleenex, using the knife to open the slot. After the box is open you are to take the little tag and the first piece of Kleenex and destroy them; then using two fingers of the left hand and two fingers of the right hand take each piece of Kleenex out of the box and place it on an opened newspaper and repeat this until approximately fifty sheets are neatly stacked…”

Once, you’ve gone through a couple dozen boxes of tissues, the fun is not over. One of Hughes favorite past times was carefully and neatly stacking and arranging empty tissue boxes. And you thought you’d be bored after locking yourself in your own isolated chamber of shame and phobias.

Pro-Tip®: If you need to blow your nose, you’ll want to have a protective layer that is 25 tissues deep for each hand.

Keds® brand Canvas Sneakers

These were Howard’s preferred shoe, even while wearing a suit. In fact, they were pretty much the only shoe he would wear. Rarely replacing them, he would wear his shoes until they fell apart, opting to go barefoot until some societal pressure or another forced him into a new pair of plain white canvas sneakers. Actually, it was Martin Scorsese’s The Aviator that inspired the Keds company to reintroduce their signature canvas shoe.

Luckily, canvas tennis shoes aren’t exactly haute couture, so it’s not like they’re going to break the bank.

Poland Springs Water

Hughes was obsessed with fluids. While his penchant for hoarding his urine in mason jars is well known, his biggest liquid-based obsession was drinking water. While living in a hotel suite with the windows blacked out in Las Vegas, Hughes threw his obsessive energy into protesting the Southern Nevada Water Project for fear of germs and contaminants polluting his hotel’s drinking water, going so far as to state in a memo to his top assistant Robert Maheu:

Nevada must not offer its tourists water from a polluted, actually stinking lake. This water is, in truth, nothing more or less than sewage, with the turds removed by a strainer so it can be pumped through a pipe.”

Even before his self-imposed seclusion in Nevada, Howie insisted on drinking only Poland Springs water, and only bottles from a specific plant in Maine that Hughes himself had personally inspected. And they had to be in quart bottles.

The closest you can get nowadays is the 1 liter bottle, which is 1.8 ounces more than a quart. So I dunno, maybe some math whiz can figure it out.

Entertainment

A famous filmmaker and producer, Hughes had a film projector installed in his hideout so he could repeatedly watch his favorite films. In 1968, he bought Las Vegas television station KLAS, because he was upset that the station went off the air after midnight. After he purchased the station, he kept the station operational into the wee hours, showing movies of his choosing, oftentimes having an assistant call up the station to rewind and repeat parts he may have missed. You probably don’t have a film projector or a local television affiliate in your back pocket, so you’re going to need to stock up on some DVDs.

He was obsessed with the film Ice Station Zebra, starring Rock Hudson, having watched his personal print of it over 150 times. Other films he was obsessed with included, Myra Breckinridge, and The Poppy Is Also A Flower [VHS].

I really don’t think anyone should be subjected to Myra Breckinridge even once, so really the point is you’re going to want to get cheeseball movies that have a limited irony factor and watch the hell out of them. You probably already have a burgeoning library of horrible movies anyways, so you won’t have to spend a penny.

What You Won’t Need:

Family

They’re just going to get in the way of your new lifestyle, what with their glaring stares and intervention attempts. Plus they’re going to be all up in your place touching your stuff and coughing and sneezing on you. You can’t risk an infection. Kindly explain this to them in a letter that you write and re-write over and over again on your legal pad.

Personal Grooming

So long, haircuts. See you in hell, daily showers. No room for you, nail clippers. It’s going to take about a week or two, but you’ll get used to the itchy beard and the numbness in your fingertips and the smell. I promise. Plus, think of all the money you’ll save! If you’re like me, you’re no longer going to have to shell out top dollar every month for Armando’s exclusive European straight razor hair cut and the obligatory bi-weekly mani-pedi.

Clothing

Don’t you hate pants? I know I do. That’s convenient because HH spent most of his time naked zonked out on codeine watching looped movies that I wouldn’t even force a hardened criminal to watch. He did occasionally wear a tissue over his genitals for modesty when his aids checked his pulse, but I leave that up to your own personal preference.

Uncited Sources:

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