Why “You’re Next” couldn’t happen to my family (s)

There’s always one thing with horror movies I always keep asking myself: “Why doesn’t at least one of them have a gun???” I’m not talking about the killers, I’m talking about the victims. For me, it’s a complete oddity at least one person in a group doesn’t have a gun either with them or quick access. It just doesn’t make sense. Someone aught to have a gun. Then I remember the movies were made by liberal idiots who think people don’t have a right to effective self defense. I mean, every character does what the anti-gun people say to do, and they all die at the hands of a guy with a fucking axe or crossbow. Yeah…fuck you morons. Moving on.

So I was flipping through the craptastic list Netflix currently has and I noticed “You’re Next”. I didn’t know anything about this movie going in except what I read on the synopsis…and we all know how useful and accurate Netflix makes those… I like a good horror movie, but this isn’t one of them. I’m not going to give a huge review here, don’t worry.

Basically, a family is having a get together, three guys start killing them, and they all die. During the entire thing, not one person has a gun. Oh, sure, they use meat tenderizers (I’m not kidding you) and a few kitchen knives to defend themselves, but everyone except for some chick who grew up in a “survivalist camp” (Why didn’t she have a gun???) dies.

I can’t speak for most families, but mine actually likes each other. Well, minus my wife’s side of the family who all but threw her out for marrying me and they don’t talk to us nor anyone in my family (No in-laws FTW!!!!). Even with my parents divorced and remarried, both sides of the family regularly get together and have fun. While you may think that’s odd, I find it odd other families get together just to fight during the holidays, resulting in more hatred toward each other.

Another thing about my family is just about everyone is armed. I’m armed, my uncles are armed, many of my aunts are armed, my cousins are armed, my wife is armed, my father is armed… The nieces and nephews are too young to carry themselves, that’s why they aren’t. There’s no way you could pull off the bullshit I saw in this, and many other, movie with us. One wrong move against us and the result Swiss human cheese. Here’s just a small example of what my family get togethers would look like if someone came in while we were dining together:

This is not an exaggeration, either. Now that many of us are in Colorado, even some of my British relatives will open carry when they get here. Hell, I even got married while my wife and I were wearing our guns. Her gun is up on her leg. Sexy, sexy. So even at our wedding, if someone decided to be a tard, they would have ended up having a very terrible day. Wouldn’t you want that for someone trying to hurt you and/or your family? For them to have the understated bad day of their life?

We aren’t gun nuts or even gun enthusiasts. If the amount of firearms I have makes me a gun nut, then you’re a towel nut and are obsessed with towels. I can promise anyone reading this has more towels in their house than I do firearms in mine. We enjoy shooting, we enjoy hunting, and we like the equalizing power it provides to everyone who wouldn’t be able to defend themselves otherwise. Sure it may be a tool, but it’s a bad ass and fun tool. If I’m a gun enthusiast, then you’re a couch enthusiast. You probably know more about your couch than I do about different guns between brands.

So, no, “You’re Next” couldn’t happen to me and my family. The first sign of some dumbass coming through a window would have resulted in them turning into ground hamburger. Or ground turkey for you low fat people. The movie isn’t bad, it’s just not the realistic horrorfest they billed it to be.

Horrors of working with people (s)

While this entry is marked serious, it’s also very, very funny.  Why is it serious?  Because these are conversations which seriously happened.

Over the years, both myself and many friends have had the terror of working with the general public for different reasons, be it law enforcement, fire fighting, retail, or restaurant server.  During these times, you find out just how ignorant the general public is.

Here are a few stories about different interactions with the morons of the world.  These morons, who to your horror, breed and vote.


I worked at Mexican grill/cantina.  We wore shirts with smart-ass sayings on the back of them. Most of them have things like “Born to part, forced to work!” or “Who said beer wouldn’t make you smart?  It made Budweiser!”  Well, one of the sayings was “Condolezza Rice is NOT a Mexican dish!”

The dishwasher was staring at my back for like…twenty minutes one day.  I finally asked him, “Brian, honey, what’s so sexy about the dead center of my back?”

He tells me, “Nothin’.  I just don’t understand the saying.”

I glance of my shoulder and pulled the shirt to see which particular saying I had on that day.  I looked at it, glanced at him and asked, “Oooookay…what don’t you get?”

“Well…what’s a Condolezza Rice, then?”

To which I replied, “The Secretary of State of the United States of America.”

“…the what?”



At the food court in the mall there’s a really big, really obvious, restroom sign which leads to, guess what?!  Yes, the restrooms.

A fella that appeared to be in good health, as in…not blind…came up to me and asked me where the restrooms were.  I pointed them out, but I guess he still couldn’t see them.  I showed him the HUGE sign and pointed to the restrooms again.

Think that’s the end of it?  No, of course not.  I actually had to take him to the restrooms so he could find them.


Back when I was working as a mall ninja (AKA mall security) people used to ask all kinds of fucking retarded questions.  Mostly it was asking me why the mall was laid out the way it was or where the mall directory was located when I was standing next to it.

One time a woman came up to me asking where the Gap was.  Well, that in itself isn’t a stupid question, except that I was standing in the door way to the Gap.  Their sign was lit.  There were stickers up on all the windows displaying the Gap name.  The mannequins were wearing Gap t-shirts.  Fuck, there were even banners talking about the new deals at Gap.

At first I honestly thought she was messing with me.  Then I looked into her dull, puppy eyes and realized she was serious.  Old woman, you ask?  No.  She was in her early thirties.  So, I raised my eyebrows, pointed directly behind me and said, “Uh…right here…”

Her reply?  “Wow, I didn’t even see any of that!”


I hate retail…I really do, but when the job market is tough, you have to do jobs that you normally wouldn’t ever dream of for the sake of being able to pay the bills.

This mall was only two floors, with the exception of the JC Penny’s which had a third; it was a basement level because they owned their own building and could do what they want.  Other than that, there was the lower level, which I worked on, and the upper level which had the food court, along with some other stores.

What’s very important about all this is that you cannot, cannot, cannot park outside and be on the upper level from where I was at.  Even if you did park outside on the upper level, it’s very obvious you cannot go any higher.  When you are on the lowest level, it’s the most fucking obvious thing ever since it’s all a solid god damn floor, unlike the upper walkway which had the HUGE open space so you could look down and see the other stores.

This old lady…well, okay, maybe in her late fifties old…comes into the store from the mall entrance and looks confused.  So, I ask her what she’s looking for.  She turns to me, stone faced, and goes, “How the hell do I get to the lower level!”

Yeah, it was stated just like that, hence the no question mark.  It wasn’t really so much as a question as it was an accusation, since it didn’t go up at the end.  I kind of just blinked at her for a moment and told her, “You are on the bottom floor.”

“No I’m not.  Don’t tell me that!  How do I get down stairs!?” she demanded again.  I literally scratched my head and looked at her like she lost her mind.

“Really.  You’re on the lowest level of the mall,” I repeated, still dumbfounded at this bitch.  To her, it was as if I had insulted her child and kicked her puppy at the same time, because she started flailing her arms before she even started talking.

“I KNOW I’m not on the bottom floor!  Don’t insult me!  Just tell me where the hell I get down stairs to Zumiez!” she demanded one more time.  Now, what the hell a fifty year old woman wanted at Zumiez, I will never fucking guess, but at this point, I didn’t give a flying shit.

“Okay, well, elevator’s directly across from us.  Go head and good luck,” I inform her and point to where the elevator is sitting between the two escalators: One going UP to the food court and one going DOWN from the food court.

She harumphs, turns and waves rudely shouting, “That’s all I was asking for!”

To this day I don’t know if she made it to the bottom floor or not.


Different restaurant, same type of job…  A large party of people came in, and I swear to god, most of them were children.  I don’t mind children, it’s the parents that I can’t stand.  If the kids are running around, it’s the parent’s fault.

Well, things started off kind of shaky as it was.  The kids were noisy, getting into everything, and at their age they should have been taught better.  The adults were ordering appetizers and drinks.  I had offered the wines and one lady decided she wanted a full god damn bottle, which is fine, because it’s supposed to mean a bigger tip since the tab will be higher.

Well, about the time we bring the soup and bread sticks out, the kids are in full kid mode.  We’re doing our best to contain them all in their own section while bringing out napkins for spilled drinks and what not.  I take their order, asking if they’d like the kid’s food out first, which is what we always ask.

The woman who ordered the wine?  Well, she was queen of the table and was acting like she was the fucking pride of the pack the entire time.  Suddenly, she looks at me, just as the kids spill yet another full glass of water and knock of some soup, and states, “Little lady, this is not an opera.  Let’s make things run a little more smoothly and quieter, okay?”

I had NO idea what the hell she was talking about and I still can’t figure it out.


When I joined the Army, I was part of the Delayed Entry Program (DEP), so I had about six months to kill before I had to report in order to finish up the paperwork and swear in.

What did I do with my time?  Well, I took a part time job at Robinson’s*May…yeah, fucking shitty as hell, too.  Not only was the management the absolute worst thing I have experienced in my life, but the customers had the average lowest IQ that side of Wal*Mart.  No, I’m not kidding.

Where I was working was the top floor in the “Men’s Collection” area.  In other words, moronically marked up merchandise that made most people look like a flaming homosexual.  More importantly, when you came up the escalator, it planted you directly in the department, facing the cash register.

Now, to give you an idea of what I’m about to explain…  As I stated, directly in front of me was the Up escalator.  Where the escalator came up, you crossed the Down escalator.  It looked like a giant X.  Furthermore, there was a huge, and I do mean huge open hole cut out in the floor where you could look down to the lower level and see both escalators.  This hole, no shitting, was at least a hundred feet across and just as long.  Yes, it was big.  Above it were signs that said “Up”, “Down” and “Elevator ->”.

One time a man leaned on the railing and looked down.  He then walked to the Down side, looked down.  He came back to the Up side, looked around, and then turned to me.

“How do I get down from here?” he asks me in all seriousness.

“Uh…the escalator…directly across from us.  It’s on the opposite side of that big hole…” I tell him, shocked, confused, and a little angry.

“Oh!  Yeah, I could see down and couldn’t figure out how to get down there!  Thanks,” he tells me and happily goes to it.

Another time I watched as a man walked to the up escalator and then moved from where it let people off.  Two people came up it.  He began to go down again, but stopped as another group came up.

I really was dumb struck watching this person…but he didn’t stop there…oh no…  This moron then proceeded to once again attempt to go DOWN the Up escalator.  He stands on it, stops, and gets pushed back.  The dude almost fell backwards!

What does he do?  He turns to me and asks, “I guess I can’t get down that way, huh?  Where’s the DOWN?  This place is TOO confusing!”  With a deep sigh I walk him to the railing and point at the Down escalator.  As he departs he tells me, “They should really make it more obvious.”

Isn’t it a shame that stupidity is only painful to the people around them?

There’s a growth between my legs!  I think it’s evil!
Posted 5/12/2010 at 4:24 AM on Xanga

Horrors on the Internet

Let’s face it…there are some creepy things out there on the Internet, and not all of them creepy in that strange, fun way. No, I’m talking about the kind of creepy that makes you go, “What are they doing that for?” or even the all common, “What the hell?!”

For some people, it’s their job to make creepy things, but they do it in purpose. For other people, they are creepy and don’t understand how or why. This brings me to my current write up.

There’s a lady who will take your kids, do a horrible Photoshop job on it, and turn them into grotesque plastic representations of their true selves. Yes, for too much money, you can have your ugly, fat, troll baby turned into a plastic, stiff, ugly, fat, troll baby in a picture. Let’s take a look at some of the examples here…

To the right you can easily see a horribly washed out photo of a child as she tries to be as happy as possible after being forced to dress up for the camera. As if this wasn’t torture enough for everyone involved, Mommy and Daddy have decided they want their child to be turned into a “perfect picture”. The result?

This horrible abomination to the left. See, Mommy and Daddy obviously aren’t happy just to have a picture of their little girl. Oh, no, they must have all the imperfections of their little girl smashed out of the picture with a clone tool. Now they have someone and something to be really proud of when they show off their child. Too bad their child now looks like she’s had wax melted across her face and had it reshaped how they think it should be. They even touched up the hair to make it seem more perfect.

You sick fucks for parents! There’s more torture of this poor girl. I’m thinking this wasn’t Mom’s idea, either.

Okay, seriously, what the hell? It wasn’t bad enough to make her look like hell in the previous pictures…you had to do this? Who the hell, in their right mind, has their child dress up like this, and then edited to look even more grown-up and plastic?

Really, the photo should be this:

Jordenn2 Editl-Right SideAmber alert, fifteen minutes.

Now, some of you might be thinking it’s not really all that bad. First off, you’re sick in the head for thinking so, and second off, I’m just getting started here.

Smashed Faced Lauren It’s not just little kids, it’s older kids. Here’s what must be a girl who was run over by a truck and had her face smashed flat! Seriously, it cannot be just me who thinks she looks like she’s a Hannah-Barbarra character and just got bashed in the face with a frying pan. What the hell is up with her eyes, too?

It’s like someone said, “Hey, I’ve got this daughter who just isn’t quite up to par…so what I want you to do is stretch the few good patches of skin all over her face. Oh, and she has this wicked lazy eye and I want you to pull that into place using a photo editing program. No, I don’t care how much it costs…and do the same thing with the rose I want her to pose with. Make it look like everything in the picture is that way, so it makes her look, you know, natural!”

Ashlyn WhoreWhat do you do when your daughter is already a little guido princess bitch? You let Alycia Collins make her look like a little guido princess whore! Yes, that’s right, you too can have your daughter edited to look like the slut you knew in high school. This gives everyone a great “heads up” as to your knowledge of her future extra-curricular activities as she enter puberty.

Jar-Jar JessicaHave a child with down syndrome and you’re ashamed? Well, don’t worry, because Supreme Pageant Photos has you covered there, too. You can have your child’s face smashed, smooshed, and morphed to look as normal as possible. Of course…this “normal” looks a lot like this:


Vianne Collins - PumpkinFaceYou know…this kid just doesn’t look like a pumpkin quite enough yet! I know I’m not as good as this Alycia Collins (I mean, she has an AOL e-mail address for her professional business after all), but I’m going to try my hand at it.

Well, look at that! The kid’s all ready for Halloween! I guess I’m better at this than I originally thought, huh?!

Horror Child Holy crap… Yes, this is the edited image! Like this kid isn’t horrifying enough! I mean…I can be cruel, but what could I possibly say that would make the parents of this little afterbirth feel worse??? Yeah, I can’t think of anything either!

Posted 10/3/2008 at 5:47 PM on Xanga