I Hate Horses

I might be a little late to the party on this one, but I just saw this blog that might be one of the funniest things I've seen in a long, long time. Check it out:

http://horsehater.blogspot.com/

Come on... tell me that's not funny. Unless you're a horse. And if you are a horse, and you're reading this, then that is simply amazing. Wait... horses can read and surf the internet now? Hmmmm. Maybe the Glorious Horse Uprising of 2008 is upon us. If it is, then what that horse did to Christopher Reeves is gonna seem like a gentle summer breeze rustling your hair compared to what they have in store.

What? Too soon?

P.S. This gives me the opportunity to post the gayest horse picture ever made. Huzzah!

Does the Pope Shit in the Woods?

All hail a new partner blogger, Pope. Ninja Please is happy to have Pope blogging on his own and along with me, and undoubtedly will expose me for the drunk hack that I truly am. The good news is he is a drunk hack as well, so if you like listening to two inebriated fake superheros argue about the mating habits of comic book characters and many other non-sequitors, then this is the place to be. If not, then FUCK OFF. We never liked you anyway.

An Open Letter to the Football Jesus

Dear Mr. Football Jesus,

First off, let me say Thank You- you gave us Cheeseheads 17 years of entertainment, an embarrassment of riches and winning, really. We will always love you for this.

But...

Please stay the fuck away. You're done, you said so, you even cried at your retirement press conference. It was hard, fond memories, blah blah blah. We wanted you back, you said there was nothing left.

We found someone else. His name is Aaron, and since he's following you he's been fucked since the day he was drafted. There is no way he could live up to your image, your mythology. But he may be pretty good, if he can stay healthy. Now you want us back? Why in god's name did you retire in the first place, then?

We call you the Football Jesus because you resurrected football in Green Bay. It cannot be overstated how depressed and sad football was before you came. Mossy Cade was raping women and Forest Gregg was a delusional psychopath. Sure we still sold out every game, drank beer, ate brats and danced to polka in the parking lots during pregame, but it was more a celebration of culture and the past than it was any kind of preparation or excitement for the present, let alone the future. You changed all that, with your Howitzer arm and disarming lack of knowledge of the fetid putridness of the Bart Star, Forest Gregg and Lindy Infante years. I can feel the bile rising in my throat just mentioning that 30+ years of dark, dark hell- but you changed it all. Now we expect to win. Now when you rally the youngest team in the league at 398 years old to a 13-3 record and one stupid, stupid interception away from another Super Bowl (oh sweet Christ was that interception terrible), we're really not that surprised, just happy.

So, uh, thanks for all that. But we've moved on, and you need to move on too. And I don't mean to another NFL team- It's not hyperbole when I say that I simply cannot bear the thought of you wearing another uniform, chucking 50-yard interceptions for another team. It simply cannot happen, it would ruin everything for me. I'm starting to understand how Bulls fans felt seeing MJ shooting jumpers in a Wizards uniform. Nobody needs that.

You're a competitive guy; Jordan tried his hand at baseball, maybe you could do something else. Bullfighting, perhaps? Don't even tell me that the skills you honed dodging and diving away from a crazed Warren Sapp wouldn't translate to you skillfully taunting an enraged and half-dead animal into charging you, then just escaping at the last second to thrill the crowd. That's exactly what you did, and it was great. But it needs to happen somewhere else- anywhere else.

In closing, please stay retired. Not for you, but for us. I don't really give a shit if you have an 'itch' to play. Scratch that shit and get on with your life. We have. I don't want the Football Jesus tag to mean you rose from the dead of retirement to play again. Has that ever, EVER, been a good idea? I don't mean to doubt you, but in the immortal words of Stephen Colbert: "Just because you're infallible doesn't mean you can't be wrong."

Sincerely,

Ghost

Shit, Piss, Fuck, Cunt, Cocksucker, Motherfucker, Tits

What a sad, shitty day. It's raining outside, seems like it has been for weeks, and now a hero of mine is dead. George Carlin was 71, and if there is an afterlife, he's probably rolling his eyes and pantomiming beat-off gestures behind God's back right about now.

My friend Joel first turned me on to George through his book "Brain Droppings". Of course I had heard of him before, but reading this book was truly one of the seminal moments of my life. It's crass, and his literary style leaves much to be desired, but the ideas... holy shit. Just the sheer fact that one person could be such a confident, logical, unapologetic atheist blew my mind. I was a junior in high school, working at a movie theater, and my life basically revolved around watching movies for free and trying to scam older people to buy me beer. I was also about to be confirmed in the Catholic Church, and these questions and ideas were in my mind, somewhere, trolling below the surface, never showing their face. This book, and George, brought them out front and center, slapped me in the face with them, but most of all legitimized them to me. Maybe I'm not the crazy one for doubting that there's some magical man who lives in the sky and hears all of our thoughts all at the same time. This doesn't seem logical to me, but I'm the crazy one? Fuck that and fuck everyone else who tries to make me think so.

With George and his writing and monologues, it wasn't the actual dogma that he preached, but the way he preached it. He was one of the rare cats that was able to cut out all of the stupid bullshit surrounding him, look internally and think, truly think for himself. That why his shows were so entertaining: you knew you were seeing something special, the unfettered, unfiltered internal dialogue and thought process of a truly creative, intelligent person. George had an uncanny ability to hold up a mirror to us, as a society, and show us how truly fucking ridiculous we are. He was, and is, completely unique, as many acts have tried to rip him off, but they only come off as hacky and sad, and it lifts up the brilliance of his performances even more. If you don't know what the title of this post means, you need to Google that shit. It's his life's work summed up in seven words, and there are far, far worse legacies to leave.

The world is a worse place for him not being in it, and I'll miss him. My writing can't really do him justice, so listen to the words of the man himself- and enjoy.

George On Religion:


The Seven Dirty Words (I think he was pretty coked up here... in fact, I'm sure of it):

RIP, George.

John Locke Changes Lives

The following is a verbatim text-message conversation I had with my Attorney, Pope.

Pope: Dude. I just watched the season finale of Lost. What. The. Fuck!?

Ghost: Right? Sooo fucking sweet. No way Locke is dead, either. Also found out the dude who plays Locke is from the U.P. (Ed. Note- Thanks Ade!)

Pope: He better not be fucking dead! Hell Yeah! Think he'd come drink with us in Esky?

Ghost: Oh he would put down a double shot of Wild Turkey then lightening quick throw a knife across the room into an Indian's head.

Pope: And then wrestle a bear! How did the bear get into the bar and why is it wearing a Mexican wrestling mask? Don't know and don't care.

Ghost: In his defense, that bear had just fallen on hard times- just lost his job and caught Mrs. Bear fucking a black bear-

Pope: Well he WAS drunk on the job and kept nagging Mrs. bear about her hibernation weight.

Ghost: ... so he took a degrading carnival job as a heel wrestling vagrants and hobos for table scraps and was hitting the bottle pretty hard. Locke put him in a choke hold and changed his life.

Pope: Then we'd all have ice cream sundaes. And by "ice cream" I mean "whiskey" and by "sundae" I mean "sandwich". That's how Locke does.

Ghost: Whiskey Sandwiches?!? All that great, smooth whiskey flavor now in sandwich form? Fucking sweet!

Pope: Locke took two great things and made them into one!

Ghost: All hail John Locke!

Are You A Religious Man, Mr. Pierce?

This crying, despondent, crippled wretch of a poor soul you see here is Paul Pierce of the Boston Celtics. What led up to this pitiful display of a grown man crying in public was Pierce coming down awkwardly on his right knee, then immediately crumpling to the ground in agony. It was terrible to watch, like Barbaro breaking his leg and knowing that he was imminently going to be shot. Only, you know, they would tell the other Celtics they gave Paul away to a nice elderly couple who owned a farm, so he would have lots of room to run around and play on his knee, which totally wasn't shredded.

In fact, ABC ratcheted up the drama scare by following Pierce as he was rushed to the locker room in a wheelchair, Michelle Tafoya, Danny Ainge and Ric Bucher following breathlessly behind. It was sad to see an athlete work his entire professional life to get to this point, this pinnacle, right to the edge of being a champion, only to see it all so unfairly ripped away with what appears to be such a dramatic, season-ending, possibly even career-ending injury on such a public stage. Because based on his reaction, and the fact that he had to have his teammates literally carry him off of the court, it had to be that serious.

So now the Celtics will be without Paul Pie- wait... oh, my God. Incredible! Shades of Willis Reed! Pierce is coming back into the game! The crowd is going nuts! It's an Act of God! DO YOU BELIEVE IN MIRACLES?!?!?!

No, actually, I don't. I don't believe in miracles, and for Pierce to have that kind of reaction, literally crying on the court, as a grown man when one of his legs is hurt to have his teammates take him by his legs and back and put him in a wheelchair, the grimace and the pain showing on his face, then to have him come back in the game and run without a noticeable limp? No fucking way. Here's the man himself:

Said Pierce: "I thought I tore something; that's the way I felt at the time. Usually when I go down, I'm getting right back up, but it was an instance where I turned my knee and it popped, and I was just in pain where I couldn't move."

No, Paul, you usually don't get right up. My new nickname for you is "The Farmer", because you milk every goddamn foul and incidental contact to comical extremes.

Paul Pierce is a whiny, faking bitch. I don't know exactly why he did it, but I have noticed all through these playoffs Pierce is probably the biggest over-reactor to contact or being fouled by far, and that includes Rasheed Wallace and Rip Hamilton. Maybe it was to have an excuse if he sucked, maybe it's just to elicit sympathy. Either way, if he gets beat on D, he falls down and lays there, giving the impression he was bowled over by some obviously non-called offensive foul. He'll lay there with his arms in the air and his eyes agog until his teammates pick him up. After he came back in the game last night, he was fouled by Kobe on a jump shot, Kobe's forearm brushed his face, and he ran around covering his face and grimacing as if he had a red-hot poker shoved into his orbital socket.

Pierce is like that guy you play pick-up hoops with, the one who acts all badass and has all the most expensive, up-to-date gear, but every time he's touched he thinks to make the point he was fouled has to limp around or flop like a fish out of water or pretend that hand you brushed by his abdomen knocked the wind out of him so bad he can't breathe, let alone get up. Then if you call him out on it, you're the jerk for being so callous! I hate that asshole. And Paul Pierce is that asshole.

Well no more. I'm on to your shenanigans, Paul Pierce, you shady bastard. You're like Manu Ginobili only with no bald spot. Don't know why nobody has caught onto this yet, but they will. Especially the next time Kobe blows by you on D and you fall to the ground, crying and grabbing your groin, telling everyone in earshot you pulled your vagina. Not buying it.

Ghost's Super-Teriffic Happy-Time Awesomeness Advice

Dear Ghost:

I’ve just awoke from a 20-year coma. Of course, my first action was to e-mail you for some advice. Here’s my problem: back in 1988, I was up on all the great music- Bon Jovi, Whitesnake, Poison, Def Leppard, those guys ROCKED! I was totally tits, and up on all the rockinist bands. But now, twenty years in the future, I’m lost. I love and miss that music, but I don’t even know where to start with today’s bands. Help!

Eddie
Terre Haute, IN

First off, Eddie, congratulations. Not on coming out of your coma (anyone with regular-functioning brain activity could achieve that… in fact, what took you so long? I’m surprised your family hasn’t Terry Shivo’d your ass by this point), but on immediately e-mailing me with your concerns. It shows an inherent intelligence on your part to turn to an oracle like me, but sadly, the idiotic content of your question betrays your underlying stupidity.

Fortunately for you, Ninja Please is an equal-opportunity advice blog (sometimes), answering queries ranging from kick-ass ninja badasses (such as myself) to primordial fucktards (such as yourself). So in order to help you get up to date what the kids are listening to today, I’ve complied a profile of some of the shittiest bands I could think of, and helpfully graded them on some of the lame-ass things you loved about those other craptacular bands from the late 80’s. So now, instead of writing “RATT” with magic marker on your jean jacket and frizzing your perm with hairspray with your buddies, you can compare your tribal tattoos and talk about what kind of hair gel works best to get that “half my hair is spiked up in the back but my bangs are really greasy look” that every fan of these bands is sporting today. These bands are the suckiest of the suck- you should enjoy them immensely. This is what’s commonly referred to as “dude rock” nowadays, which was the eventual bastard child of your shitty hair metal. This is going to be painful. You’re welcome in advance.

Nickleback: If we’re going to start talking about music by douche bags for douche bags, this is the place to start. The rundown:
Totally nonsensical yet vaguely douchey-sounding one word name? Check.
Lame faux-toughguy vocals sung in an over-the-top gravely voice? Check.
Lead singer has feathered hair just like a girl? Check.
Tribal tattoos, unfortunate facial hair, or trying way too hard to look badass? Some, but surprisingly restrained.
Surprisingly lame-ass pussy lyrics? A sample:
If everyone cared and nobody cried
If everyone loved and nobody died
If everyone shared and swallowed their pride
Then we’d see the day when nobody died
Are you fucking kidding me? That’s got all the lyricism and poetry of a 14 yr-old girl’s D-minus English paper. Way fucking deep, man: What if nobody died? Think about it! DID I JUST BLOW YOUR MIND?!?! Plus, if we ever got to the point where nobody died, then we’d be robbed of the anticipation of the sweet release that would come with the lead singer of Nickelback’s death.
Bonus Douchiness: They’re Canadian, eh? Fuckin’ Cannucks. How dare you come to this country and spread the disease of your music. Most people think we’re friendly with Canada, but just look at the horrors they’ve inflicted upon us: Celine Dion, Bryan Adams, gravy on French fries, fucking Nickelback. We’re so willing to start wars unprovoked, but this seems like a clear and direct attack on our musical tastes. I’ve decided I’m voting for whichever candidate promises to declare War on Canada the soonest.

Hinder: If you loved the musical diarrhea that is Nickelback, then you’ll love the musical abortion that is Hinder. The rundown:
Totally nonsensical yet vaguely douchey-sounding one word name? Check.
Lame faux-toughguy vocals sung in an over-the-top gravely voice? Check.
Lead singer has feathered hair just like a girl? Check.
Tribal tattoos, unfortunate facial hair, or trying way too hard to look badass? Not quite… but somehow worse.
Surprisingly lame-ass pussy lyrics? A sample:
And I never wanna say goodbye
But girl you make it hard to be faithful
With the lips of an angel

It's really good to hear your voice saying my name
It sounds so sweet
Coming from the lips of an angel
Hearing those words it makes me weak
Oh sweet Christ. Where to even start with this one? “The lips of an angel”? So you took your lyrics from a bastardized version the shittiest pickup line even spoke in any language? Congrats. Also, her lips are what make you weak? What the hell is wrong with you? If this song was called “Tits of an Angel” that would be way better, because tits > lips. Also, everyone knows that angels have kick-ass tits, but are kind of butter faces. I was even going to make up some fake lyrics to pass off as theirs to hyperbolize their suckitude, but I couldn’t even make up fake lyrics as pussy as these. They defy imagination.
Bonus Douchiness: Their lead singer’s name is Austin Winkler. Just repeat that to yourself out loud for a second: Austin Winkler. Is he trying to make me want to hit him the face with a crowbar? Because nothing would make me happier right now. NOTHING.

Lifehouse: A band I hated and didn’t even know it. But god do I hate them. Their song “Hanging by a Moment” was playing every goddamn time I turned on the radio a couple of years ago. The rundown:
Totally nonsensical yet vaguely douchey-sounding one word name? Check.
Lame faux-toughguy vocals sung in an over-the-top gravely voice? Check.
Lead singer has feathered hair just like a girl? He did in the past, and one of the dudes in the band does, so I’m going with a “Check” on this one.
Tribal tattoos, unfortunate facial hair, or trying way too hard to look badass? Not so much… more of an emo-we-think-we’re-sort-of-punk-but-buy-our-clothes-at-Hot-Topic look. Blech.
Surprisingly lame-ass pussy lyrics? A sample:
I finally found a love of a lifetime,
A love to last my whole life through.
I finally found a love of a lifetime,
Forever in my heart, I finally found a love of a lifetime.

With every kiss our love is like brand new,
And every star up in the sky was made for me and you.
Still we both know that the road is long,
But we know that we will be together because our love is strong
Please give me a moment while I blow the remaining vomit out of my nostrils. There. That’s better. I almost feel guilty posting these lyrics, as this band provided a veritable smorgasbord of ridiculously cheesy lyrics. It was honestly hard to choose, but I couldn’t read these lyrics for any sustained period of time, on account of all the puking and eye bleeding. Seriously, their albums should come with a gas mask and a revolver loaded with a single bullet. You know, so you can play some russian roulette to pass the time.
Bonus Douchiness: According to their Wikipedia page, “The group first came together as a Christian band called Blyss…”. Seriously. This isn’t a joke or anything. THEY ORIGINALLY WERE A CHRISTIAN BAND CALLED BLYSS. The name “Lifehouse” is pretty terrible, but “Blyss”? Wow. Just wow. And I won’t even get into the insurmountable mountain of suck that is Christian Rock. OK, I will: it’s crap. All of it. Remember that one good Christian Rock song? Yeah, me neither. Let’s just move on.

Saliva: Jesus this is getting tiring. You better appreciate this, you coma-having asshole. The rundown:
Totally nonsensical yet vaguely douchey-sounding one word name? Check.
Lame faux-toughguy vocals sung in an over-the-top gravely voice? Check.
Lead singer has feathered hair just like a girl? Not feathered, but Christ look at this guy. I think he might have a touch of dwarfism or even a bit of Downs. Or maybe both? Either way he looks like the world’s biggest Oompa-Loompa Metallica fan.
Tribal tattoos, unfortunate facial hair, or trying way too hard to look badass? This category was pretty much made for this band. Double check.
Surprisingly lame-ass pussy lyrics? A sample:

I always wanted to be president, I always wanted to be Superman.
I ended up a fuckin' superstar.

I'm better off than either one of them.

I wanna take you to a higher place.
Say all the things that you could never say.
I'll even help you try to make a change.
Before the whole world blows up in your face.
What? I mean… this is baffling. What in god’s name is this full-sized midget rambling about? You wanted to be President? Really? Do they let people with fetal alcohol syndrome take elected office? Not only that, but you think you’re better off than Superman? Really? Let’s compare: Superman can fly, has x-ray and laser vision, super strength and bangs ultra-hot Lois Lane whenever he feels like it. You: dwarf-looking overweight tattooed D-bag lead singer of a marginally successful band. You cannot fly, your eyes do nothing cool, you’re probably a total pussy and at best you bang the skankiest Hooter’s waitress in every mid-sized town you travel to. Hmmm… Lois Lane, or Krystal from the Fort Wayne Hooters? Tough call. Asshole. And are you really a “superstar“? Me thinks not. This is getting really irritating.
Bonus Douchiness: Here’s a quote from the lead singer himself: “We’re going to go in the studio probably around May and record our next record. It’s called Monster, and if you like “Ladies and Gentlemen” and “Click Click Boom,” and more dynamic stuff, it’s going to be an ass-whooping of a record. It’s going to be 45 minutes of ass-whooping!”
Do you even need to hear anything else about them? Case closed.

Daughtry: What happens when you give a no-talent ass-clown from American Idol his own band? This. This abomination against all that is holy and good happens. The rundown:
Totally nonsensical yet vaguely douchey-sounding one word name? Check.
Lame faux-toughguy vocals sung in an over-the-top gravely voice? Check.
Lead singer has feathered hair just like a girl? Unfortunately not, but he is a bald-ass bitch. Look at what a brooding bad-ass he is! Look at the intensity!
Tribal tattoos, unfortunate facial hair, or trying way too hard to look badass? Mos def. Nice highlights, guys. Also, your lead singer is just like Vin Diesel, only dumber. Let that one sink in.
Surprisingly lame-ass pussy lyrics? A sample:
The miles are getting longer, it seems,
The closer I get to you.
I've not always been the best man or friend for you.
But your love, it makes true.
And I don't know why.
You always seem to give me another try.
“Your love, it makes true”? What the fuck does that even mean? My god, I just read lyrics for several different Daughtry songs. I am truly ashamed of myself.
Bonus douchiness: This guy took 4th on American Idol. This proves the fact that if you’re a good karaoke singer, it doesn’t necessarily mean you have talent.

Fuel: The band so shitty, they offered Chris Daughtry their lead singer job, and he turned them down. Ouch. The rundown:
Totally nonsensical yet vaguely douchey-sounding one word name? Check.
Lame faux-toughguy vocals sung in an over-the-top gravely voice? Check.
Lead singer has feathered hair just like a girl? Who the fuck knows, they might not even have a lead singer at his point.
Tribal tattoos, unfortunate facial hair, or trying way too hard to look badass? Of fucking course.
Surprisingly lame-ass pussy lyri… ah fuck this, I can’t do it anymore.

I hope you’re happy, Eddie from Indiana, because researching these bands was less fun than having all of my pubic hair plucked out one-by-one. Now make sure you and your buds get your spiky highlights done in time for that big Puddle of Mudd show next week, you fucking ponce.