Immigrants are Assholes

Yes. They are. When I refer to immigrants, I am eluding to all Americans of a European descent. I am one of them so I know the deal. We all know the story. Also; Italians and the Irish are the worst. Here is my reasoning as told by Giuseppe and then his friend, Patrick.

Giuseppe: Yeah so my family had it rough. I mean my great great great great great Grandfather came over here in like who knows and basically was dirt poor. I mean we have the family bible that he brought with him from the old country. We don't know why he left but we know that he and his three little brothers came over together. They were real poor, ya know? So they had to swim over! It was brutal but my Grandfather, he was resourceful. I guess that's where I get it from. He decided that one of the little brothers would be better off dead so they stabbed him with an iceberg and used his corpse as a raft. Of course they needed food so he and my great great great great great Uncle ate the other brother. Apparently it was a good meal but they were angry because there was no bread or 'gravy.' So when they got to Brooklyn they got jobs building stuff. They only had three cents in their pocket when they got here! (They collectively, only had one pocket.) So then after years and years they built themselves up and now look at us! My dad owns the biggest picture of the Pope in the free world! Eh its funny how life goes, ya know?

Patrick: Well after my family was crucified by the English and then thrown into a burning lake of oil, they decided they had enough. So my great x7 Grandmother decided to send her 24 children to the new world. But they had no money so they had to volunteer to act as furniture on a British ship that was coming to America to drop off all the bodies of the Irish orphans they had killed on St. George's day. The famine had killed the other 68 siblings and the cat. The dog was shot by the British for treason and buried under a statue of a British soldier chopping a baby's head off with a shamrock. So they finally got to Boston and got jobs as cops and priests. Sometimes the priests would be arrested by the cops, for shooting other priests, and the cops would arrest other cops for shooting other cops and then the priests would be there for Last Rites at the executions. They made themselves into the amazing family they are today and in fact there is a rehab center in Southie named after us! Too bad everything absolutely sucks and I hate my life regardless of what is happening. Ah that's why I need to drink.

The problem with most family stories, is that if you actually count the number of, 'greats' in front of the Grandmothers and Grandfathers in the stories, the families in questionwould have left their home countries when the United States would not have been discovered yet. Shit, it'd still be part of Pangaea, if you took the time to do the generational math. No one came here with more than three cents. Yet somehow everyone has a family bible and a crest and a motto and the mummy of their great Aunt Trudy up in the attic. Everyone seemed to come here and get involved in careers which had something to do with the building of something we can all easily recognize. If every Italian who says, A. they're family had people working on the Brooklyn Bridge actually did; it would have taken three hours to build as there would have been 9 billion workers, B. had family who were, 'connected' then the mafia would have been so strong that if wouldn't have taken this long to get an Italian elected president... oh wait. If every Irishman who says they're family had people who were oppressed by the English actually had family that were oppressed by the English, then the population of Ireland would have dropped to 0 by 1680. Every Irishman seems to have had family that were effected by the potato famine. My own family survived it and came over later. Know why? Because they ate fish. "Well, Johnnyboy, not every Irish person lived near the coast ya know." Clam up pal, the country is the size of Indiana, just take the week it would take and walk to the coast. It is a special pet peeve of mine when Italians decide to be super Italian during oh... the World Cup and when they watch the, Jersey Shore. All of the Italian words they know are shitty pronunciations of swear words and words having to do with food. We get it, you drown everything in tomato sauce. Get over your damn food. It is not the end all be all of cuisine. When the Italian chef is up at 8 am preparing the dishes for the day, the French chef has been up since 4 reducing. No, I will not call it, "moozarell" or "gabbagool." It's mozzarella and cappicola and it always will be because we live in America you pretentious greaseball. The Irish... ha. Everything is misery with the Irish. No; drinking copious amounts of alcohol doesn't make you Irish, it makes you an alcoholic. Guess what, Paddy, your magic whiskey does the same exact thing as rum or any other spirit. I also love how the Irish claim to be so socially liberal and accepting of other races and creeds yet you can count the African Americans in a sold out Fenway Park crowd on one hand. The Irish love their Catholicism. They love it. It defines them. Yet almost like clockwork, they continually vote in politicians who are pro-choice. I guess they were asleep that day in religion class.. (or drunk.)

In the end we are all a bunch of jerks. I am Irish as I stated before so I can get away with saying what I did about the Irish. I am not Italian. But ... I really don't care if I offended any Italians because one of my bestest buddies in the whole wide worldy and co-writer of this blog is Italian and he agrees: We are all douchebags.

It Happens

My Grandmother died today.

It happens. It happened to me today.

Nothing more need be said. Grab a family member or a friend. A loved one. Hell... grab a complete stranger. Embrace them. Life is too short.

Sorry I can't be funny about this. Just don't feel like being a clown tonight.

Eugenia Melnikov. God hold her.

Hold us all.

-John

The Decline of Western Civilization Part One Million

No, I’m not going to insult the Jersey Shore. I watch the Jersey Shore. I like the Jersey Shore. I’ve made many foolish mistakes in my past, but this show broadcasts public displays of stupidity out to the public and it actually makes me feel better about myself. One of the foolish mistakes on the show is right on cast member Deena’s face. No, it’s not a herpe, although it may be a bedazzled herpe nonetheless. Yes, it’s that weird piercing the ladies of this era have, where a natural beauty mark would be. 

Cindy Crawford reluctantly has kept her trademark beauty mark, but weird fans have made her want to get rid of it, while Enrique Iglesias wisely removed what looked like a squashed bug from his cheekbone. The point is people don’t want/need shit on their face. Yet girls that don’t have a beauty mark pierce one on their face. I’ve seen and heard of piercing the ears, nose, breast, tongue, even clit, but face? I was at a college recruitment event and as the presenter speaking she turned to the side, the light hit her face at a certain angle and I noticed this same piercing. A professional recruiter?!? Her presentation still had about 15 minutes to go, but now the only presentation going on was in my mind, imagining how good and raunchy at sex she must be.

Fellas, ever been with a girl with a piercing in a “non-traditional” area? Three thoughts come to mind.

1. The sex is going to be great 
2. I’m definitely not bringing her home to the parents
3. I better use protection

It tends to play out this way every time too.

Once the back tattoo was officially classified as the “tramp stamp,” it became cliché for whorish girls to have. What better way to announce your sexuality rather than a weird piercing that makes absolutely no sense? I sought answers, so I went to a local Black Bear Saloon (a shitty bar/restaurant chain) to investigate. Within 16 seconds of being in that sweat hole, a shot girl approached me asking me if I’d like a gelatin drink that tastes shit, but thinks I should purchase because she’s been told she’s attractive her entire life. Now, stupidity, but ultimately guilt makes men purchase these drinks. If we don’t buy, the pretty girl might make a frowny face. This particular girl had a frowny disposition given her lot in life, so naturally she happened to have the face piercing. I asked her why she had it. She replied, “Five dollars.” I asked again, this time pointing to my face where her piercing was. She wiped her face, thinking something was on it (other than body glitter, tanning lotion and that cunty piercing) and replied, “Five dollars.” I’d bet hookers have better bedside manners, so I turned around bought my own shot at the bar and tried to black out what had just happened.   

Girls, we'll never notice nor give two shits about piercings. I never been erect due to noticing a piercing, but if you're going to pierce, stick to the ears or places we can't notice right off the bat. In terms of Deena's (or Black Bear shot girls') piercing, I'd adhere to Christian Bale's line in American Psycho, “Not in the face! Not the fucking face!!” 

Fuck It: A 2011 Bucket List

Everyone wants to get rich, go skydiving or share an intimate last moment with a significant other before they die. My goals are a little different than most, so with that said, here is my own bucket list of things I want to do before I die.

• Walk into a hot girl’s house and start playing the beginning to Van Halen’s Right Now. After finding out that the girl has no frame of reference because she is hot and thus unimpressed with my piano playing, I flip the piano over and set it ablaze.
• Recant a story to my children about running over a bunch gang bangers that attempted to mug me with my car. When my pussy son asks if any of them died, I reply, “Don’t know. Never turned back to look.” Then I put a cigarette out on my tongue.
• Break an iPad in half over my knee like a baseball bat.
• Give someone a VCR as a Christmas present.
• Pull off my father’s mustache and yell, “A-ha!!” He later tells me I’m adopted and disowns me.
• Jump into a public swimming pool with a knife between teeth.
• Take a girl out to a smoky jazz club, whisper something to the doorman that gets a chuckle out of him and gets us in for free. When the girl asks what I said, I look at her like she’s crazy.
• Fend off a large Samoan with a tiki torch.
• Get rich and famous enough to tell my current Facebook friends to go fuck themselves.
• When a girl refuses to kiss me due to a scruffy 5 o’clock shadow, I pull out a bowie knife and shave in front of her. We make love for several hours afterwards.  

In the end, I'm probably just going to take a last breath, crap my pants and be buried in my suit that I wore for my Confirmation when I was 15, so I might as well enjoy life before my body says, "fuck it."

-JF

Books That Should be Written Vol. 3

Hey people. How are you? I don't care. Last night I posted something quite serious about, 9/11. To offset the somber note I left this blog on, I shall honor you with more books that I think should be written. Read, become inspired, and then don't bother me.

1. SHIT!
Shit follows the story of the darkest day in this blogger's life. The day I was coming home from breakfast and shit my pants instead of the innocent fart which I had anticipated. A story of pain, it is only a few pages long and ends with me getting my front seat steam cleaned.

2. Winds of Time
An ancient mariner, Morty, returns to his mystical land to find that nothing is as it seems. His wife is nowhere to be found, his children are missing and the council of elders' chamber is empty. After a pretty slow moving three days, Morty the mariner stumbles upon some bullshit dog and pony show about the end of the world and realizes his kids and all the rest of 'em have taken off on a long hike to find a gold fleece or something. Morty gets tanked and takes a nap.

3. De-fence
A scrappy, rough-and-tumble football team made up of inner city youths finds itself thrust into the limelight when their coach finds out he has, cancer, AIDS, Diabeetus and Crabs all at the same time. This inspires the little team of minorities to come together and play some serious Gatdamn football. They reach the national championship where to their horror, the coach finds out all of his diseases are gone. With nothing to play for they end up robbing the other teams.

4. Lets Get the Lead Out
A pencil company exec has to face reality after his pencils end up in the hands of stupid kids. He must come to grips with the fact that lead is much more than just a writing instrument, it is also a Zeppelin. He spends the rest of his days stalking Pete Townshend who to his bemusement, is almost enjoying the stalking until he realizes that Townshend was in, "The Who." He then shoots himself.

5. Just This Once, Phil
Badger Whackstick is a new father. He is terrified and wants to do a good job. He absolutely obsesses over his baby son. Nothing but the best for Badger's boy. The words, "Just This Once, Phil" will however, forever haunt Badger after a night of drinking where his overweight, dipshit of a friend Phil swears that he can juggle a rabid possum and a baby at the same time.

Were you there? 9/11 Tribute

As a Christian, I have heard the hymn, "Were You There" many times. It is usually sung during the Veneration of the Cross on Good Friday service in my Parish. I am sure, many of you have heard it. It is haunting and solemn. The way it should be. Recently, however, I have listened to the lyrics and paid closer attention. So, on this ten year anniversary of the most horrific attack on our American soil, I ask the Lord; were you there?

Were you there, when the planes were hijacked? When the innocent faces of the passengers turned from the dull gaze of a plane trip to the terrified stares of a confused people?

Were you there when the first tower was hit? Did you feel the anguish of the lives that ended too suddenly?

Were you there when the second tower was hit? Did you feel the anguish of yet another group of people who's lives ended before their time should have been up?

Were you there in Pennsylvania and Washington when the planes took more lives? Were you there when the United States of America was brought to its knees by the misguided hatred of those who swore to serve your mission on Earth? A mission that humans manufactured in order to serve a purpose born of hate.

Were you there when the towers collapsed and buried their sons and daughter under tons of debris?

Did you hear the prayers of those who jumped from such a great height?

Did you hear the prayers of the families left behind who begged you to let their wives, husbands, daughters, sons, aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews, friends, co-workers, live?

Were you there when the terrorists screamed your name in invocation of the murder of thousands?

Are you present in the tears of the families who will never see their loved ones again?

Were you there when we cried and begged you to make it stop?

Are you here now?

Does our pain still ring in your Spirit?

Do you feel us when we give up on you?

Do you try to bring us back to you?

Are you listening?

Do you know why I feel it is alright to be angry with you sometimes?

Because I know that you will always forgive me.

But...

Sometimes,

It causes me to tremble.

9/11

Roids For Jay!

The Lovely Bastards Podcast 2: Super Bowl Shuffling/Audio Fun

Better late than never...join The Bastards as we review the Super Bowl as special guest Peyton Manning drops by. Plus disturbing tales of our pal Drew along with some fun with real audio.

He’s White, He’s Loud, He’s Conservative…

No, I’m not talking about Rush Limbaugh either. I’m talking the lazy co-author of this blog.

Truth be told, I’m half white, fully loud and I respect a man that can say he’s right wing (and makes sense like a Dennis Miller for example). My problem with him is, while self-deprecating at times, he is proud. Being an only child, the gap of having human contact has been replaced with John’s ethnic pride.

Don’t get me wrong, if it were national, honest, too stupid to be wrong American pride, I’d be on board. If he drove a Chevy Silverado and brandished a 2x4 everywhere he went, he’d be an icon, like this dude…

 

As it stands he’s Irish. A lot of my best friends are Irish…and they piss me off. While, St. Patrick wasn’t even Irish, the “holiday” is an excuse to get drunk, have a parade and drive tourism. I have no problem with the Irish fabricating a holiday just to get more loaded than usual. Kiss me I’m Irish, ladies? No thanks, you probably have a swollen, clotted, gin blossom of a nose, a gut and some form of depression that will kill my buzz and libido. Oh and fellas, when you realize you better “cash in” on you (mis)forutune of being Irish and try to score with the ladies and inevitably strike out, you’ll try to start a fight and, of course, ruin everyone’s time around you, not unlike the Italians.

But back to John, nationalities aside (which we’ll get back to shortly), he really dislikes the decade in which he was conceived and born…the 1980s.

Keep in mind that he hated high school (started in the 90s) all the way to present. I’m pretty sure he’d hate the 70s and complain about disco…he’s essentially has the perpetual disposition of a male (or just) Penny Marshall. While I shout, shout, shout it out loud that the 80s where a decade of big hair and even bigger guilty pleasures, Johnnyboy screams, “Feh!”

When talking about the movies of the 80s, Johnboy says,

The Breakfast Club - I wanted every kid in that library to die. The Big Chill - I wanted everyone in that house to die. Rain Man - I wanted everyone in that casino to die. Top Gun - I wanted everyone in that plane to die, and got lucky by getting to watch one crap out. Back To The Future - I wanted everyone in 1955 to die. I don't think I need to go on.

He wants everyone to die. That’s for comedic shock value, right? Not quite, let it be known that ole Johnnyboy is actually half Russian and this pretty much falls in line with the country’s sentiments in the 1980s.

If I were to sit my 5 year old nephew down and have him watch 80s tv and movies, he’d probably hate Russia. President Reagan told us they were the evil empire. The 1980s US Olympic hockey team defeated the evil Russians in one of the most iconic sports moments in history. Ivan Drago took steroids, kills Apollo Creed, then gets pummeled by Rocky on Christmas and eventually Russia turns on Drago. Even Russia knows they are evil. But John doesn’t think he is evil and he damn well should. If tar and feathering could still exist, may Johnyboy be the first.

God Bless America and the Happiest of Belated Birthdays to one of the funniest pricks I know.

 -JF

Tiny Bauco

Recently, my old pal Johnnyboy got into a Twitter-war with his buddy, Gentle Ken. Ken is a longtime partyer, but trying to keep a clean professional image on Twitter of all places...naturally John chose to tease him until he was blocked. So, who won? Well Ken looks a lot like Elton John, so let this video sway your vote.



Face it, you love that scene in Almost Famous...unless you're John, he hates everything.

-JF

The Fixie Bike Craze

Well this post may raise the ire of some people. A few which I know on a first name basis. I harbor no ill will towards them and I think everyone should have interests. Schizophrenics have pacing, the obsessive compulsives have washing their hands, mathletes have masturbation and the chronically dull have fixie bicycles. Don't know what a fixie is? Well you lucky devil you... here is a picture...Take a look at that. It's what the product of an incestuous relationship between one of Dr. Seuss's nightmares and one of his wet dreams would look like. This notwithstanding, scads of young people have taken to this nonsense like flies to shit ; which truly is the perfect analogy. It is a bicycle my friends, no more, no less. The bicycle which for all intents and purposes is a lovely creation stemming from the need to get around is nothing more than a mode of transportation. In some instances it is used for competitive sport and in others, for exercise. Some people like to just take a leisurely ride on a Sunday afternoon in the warmer months. Yet my generation for some reason has decided that this utilitarian way of getting around has to be artistic. It HAS to be, or else the passion would be exposed for what it is ; a hobby.

The sad truth folks is that when people look back a hundred years from now they will look at this generation as a group of people who were pissed off that they had nothing to be pissed off about and that was so bereft of anything truly inspirational that they tacked, "art" on to anything they could find. Biking counter-culture? For the love of God why? The cynical need for everyone to have their own niche is getting frustrating to the point of angering. Must everything have a counter-culture attached to it? From now on I'm going to gussy up my Q-Tips. Dye them, maybe import synthetic materials to form the swabs. OH OH OH I know... I'll get groups of other depressing fuckers who cling to these hobbies for the fact that they are personally boring and need these pursuits to have something to talk about together, and we can swap stories about particularly "gnraly" veins of earwax we had "shredded." I will call them, "Tipsy's' and it will become the next sensation! It's not too far from the truth.

Is there merit to the fixie bike craze? You'd think that I would say no but you'd be wrong. There is a tremendous amount of merit to it and the most glaring kernel of merit is this ; it keeps these kinds of people away from me and from other like minded people who don't have their heads in the clouds about bicycles or sing songs about Druids. I suppose that anything that inspires you to the point of creativity or passion is meritorious. That being said, I am smarter than you and thus my opinions hold much more water. To then end this post after the last point... save yourselves youth of America, contribute your piss an' vinegar to something that really matters, find hobbies that don't make others point and stare... and get some fucking jobs.

-Johnnyboy

Grab Back, Fight and F***

Who doesn't want to be back in their glory days? I for one, miss them more than anything. For me, they were quickly arrived and even more quickly gone. I wont go through the guts of the days I miss, because frankly, they are my memories and I want to keep them as such. Just think back for a moment... to your fondest years. Soak those memories in and then open your eyes. How can I forgive myself for letting them go by so quickly?

Songs flood my memory, images, instances, feelings of immense happiness and dread. Sometimes all the same. Where are those faces that run past my mind's eye at this moment? All alive but yet some are dead, truly. Some of those faces are gone. Never really gone though because I am thinking about them and writing about them. Can I be angry at myself because I never said some of the things I should have said when the time was right? No. The time wasn't right then, but now it is past due. So my apologies and thank yous are in the mail . Better late than never right?

Warm Summers gave way to cold Winters, yet ups and downs not withstanding the seasons were and are just as vibrant and alive in my mind as memories from earlier today. Something had to make them stand out. Skating with Scofield and Dro (may he rest in peace in God's hands) behind Border's in the parking garage, and that weird puddle, Phil and his old house with my best friends watching Prime Time Glick, Jon's old house in Bridgeport which to this day even though he no longer lives there I would NEVER, ever beep my horn in front of, Kevin's basement and writing songs which were played live to kids by myself and my old band who will never remember the night they heard our efforts nor felt our nervousness, kisses, kickflips, 40's, Saabs, mix CD's, addresses, faces, names, numbers, faces, parties, beers, shots, blunts, smiles, instances, faces, time, memories.... I'll never be there again. I just thank God that they're all in my head and I pray not for salvation, but that those memories never leave.

And maybe that is salvation. Who knows?

-John

About the Lovely Bastards; and Why You Should Listen to our Podcasts

Greetings. Jon eluded to the man-hours it takes to put this amazing oasis of literary gold on the Internet. For the first time ever. we are going to show you step by step how it's done. First off a little background on the Lovely Bastards themselves.

By: Graham D. Dee

John M. and Jon F. have been associates since they attended high school together in the late 1990's. They met whilst playing truly inspirational baseball for their beloved, Crowszerton High School for Gifted Fellas High School, High School.

In the Summer of 2001, John and Jon had a run in with a gang of skate-boarders and the two quickly became interested in all forms of roller-sports. After being exposed to such music as Camp Kill Yourself, Deftones, Hed pe, Nonpoint and other forms of angry white boy music, the two realized that they had a very different view of the reality which we all see around us. They hated it! After brief stints in and out of prison, Jon eventually trained and became a very influential and elusive abortion doctor. He currently resides in Connecticut and blogs about his brutal calling. After commercial success with his DVD series, "Celebrity look-alike 'Bortions" Jon decided it was time to leave the placenta behind and concentrate more on his beloved writing and disturbing hair. Here is the latest portrait painted of Jon, during his effeminate years

John has found major success in his drinking and slow procession to an early grave which he so dearly desires. As of now, no presentable photo of John is available and he likes it that way. Pathetic, he has taken to furious bouts of masturbation which leave him weak and unable to clean up. His friend and trusted colleague J. Son, : "I don't know, ya know. He's a beautiful guy, mind, body, soul and body. His powerful hands really have a power to them, I don't know.... ya know." At present neither heads nor tails can be made of this string of non-sequitors. John enjoys such hobbies as, writing imaginary dialogue for his two cats, siphoning whiskey through his penis and sneezing at babies.

The Lovely Bastards, which are almost a year old, is the offshoot blog of a former blog which in the end was a waste of time. The owner of said blog has fallen into a deep depression since the two intrepid authors declared their Independence and began their own page. He is currently the President of the Hamden Chapter of Diner Waitress-obsessed Zoophiles, or the "tan ten" as they are known. The Bastards, take huge amounts of time out of their lives to create and bring to you, FOR FREE, they might add, excellent literature, poetry and voice-entertainment.

The Bastards do most of their work here,

Once an idea is given ample attention, it is then decided if it, "has legs." Most of them do and it is then off to the races. The two will feverishly work on their prose until it fits their most demanding standards. Then, it is allowed to become a bonafide Lovely Bastards blog post. The podcasts, are another story all together. To hear what goes into an LB pcast, you must listen to the boys as they broadcast CONSTANTLY.

Yes the boys have come a long way and in other ways, little or no progress has been made. They will however keep on trucking and we can only thank God for that.

-G. D. Dee

Internet…As Defined By a Lovely Bastard

When I am not finding new ways to stick it to The Man, I oft contribute to this blog. Hmm, I guess I haven’t posted in a while. On second glance, I haven’t posted in a long while. I suppose that I have been sticking it to The Man a whole lot these days. With good reason I might add! Simply by looking at our title graphic, we love our music and movies ‘round here. Thanks to technology, I have been finding newer quicker ways to get the music, movies and television I so desire at my fingers through any means necessary (except anally, that’s just not practical, you sick fuck).

All you have to do is YouTube a video tutorial and you can find what you want without even having to read much…


This is because of Internet. Internet has dictated how we ignore others, watch sexual acts that I dare not try on a lady before 3 or more drinks, reconnect with old train wrecks and talk shit about (un)loved ones we only wish the worst.

Internet is also what helps keep me employed and provides the means I need to post my essential opinions to this Information Superhighway. While this post may turn out to be a bit on the short side, I want you all to know that writing a blog is truly hard work that takes many grueling hours. It is severe and unrelenting task and I want to give you all a little window into our blog infrastructure with this hi-resolution photo of Johnnyboy, myself and “the gang” hard at work. Enjoy…

Oh Internet, how I love thee.

-JF

Some Resolutions

Well Happy New Year I guess... so far none of the resolutions that I decided for myself have been working out. That's ok. I feel that I'm pretty perfect as it is, and it's you, the reader who needs to shape up to fit my specific needs. That's a topic for another post though, without further ado... some resolutions which I will actually TRY to make a reality.



1. Watch Jersey Shore Religiously

And why not? The girls are hot, except for Snooki and there is nothing more satisfying in our modern world of feminism and progressive thought than to hear a big, hulking neanderthal with a thick (put on) NY accent call girls, "creatures." I'm not Italian and as someone with Irish blood, I'm pretty happy that I'm not. In fact the Irish and the Italians don't really like each other. That being said, I love these guys. There's a fight every episode! Snooki has had her clock cleaned twice in three weeks! It's great stuff. If anyone says that there arent anymore extreme forms of entertainment like feeding people to lions, or gladiator fights... show them this freak show. By the way... the hot chick on the show, J-WOWW, with the huge fake boobs who wants a "guido"... her last name is Farley. Sorry Guiseppe go dunk your balls in some "gravy."



2. Watch Teen Mom Religiously

And why not? Once again, it's a freak show. MTV has really upped the anty with these horrible, yet addictive shows. I love this show for the simple fact that it makes me feel better about my life. I'm not a teenager anymore, but at least I don't have a fuckin kid. Also it's a great show to drink to... and yes by the end of each episode we're all talking about which one we'd bang. Plus when we watch the show, there is usually a moment in every episode where the obese chick with the squinty eyes cries, and that's just TV magic. There is something about watching that land-whale bawl that warms my heart and makes me smile. The sad thing here is the kids will all grow up to be awful wastes of life who will end up killing their mother's for exploiting their statuses as bastards during their infancy's. Oh man even better, when is it gonna be Tuesday????



3. Use a Chainsaw

And why not? I feel like a man should own a chainsaw. I don't really have any trees to cut down, but if one crops up, what the hell am I gonna do? Use an axe like my great great great granpappy did? Hell no, homey don't play that. I also want to get a picture of me wielding the chainsaw in a menacing fashion. So really, all I need is a camera and a chainsaw for like two minutes. If anyone out there could hook that up, that'd be dynamite. Get back to me.



In the end folks, I have a pretty good feeling about these three little resolutions. What will 2010 bring us? Last year, we had alot of celebrity deaths, our young energetic President didn't do a single thing he said he was going to do, the war in Afghanistan got worse, more jobs were lost, people got poorer and I got a really bad sunburn on vacation. I have a feeling it will be more of the same this year, but as long as I have television, alcohol and my best of the Monkees CD, I'll be all set. As for you, dear reader, I could care less, just don't bother me while I'm watching my stories.

Every Battle Is Won Before It's Fought

Jon and I like to have fun with this blog, and although our readership is minuscule, we do this for your benefit. So after my holiday post I feel it important to make this post. It's 1:15 on Christmas night... or more like 1:15 in the morning on Boxing Day. I didn't go to church today, but I spent the whole day with my family and sending Christmas pleasantries with my friends via texts and calls. I take this opportunity to say, Merry Christmas to you. CHRISTMAS. Not happy holidays. Whether you are Christian, or not you have to understand that the reason that you have a tree in your house, and that your received presents from loved ones today is because that Jesus Christ was born today. Or at least we've chosen this day to celebrate His birth. Love Him or not, believe in Him or not, without Him there's no Santa Claus, there's no egg nog, there's no nothing without Him, or the people who still have the balls to say they believe in and love Him. I say this for the simple fact that when I see a Jewish friend around this time of year I make it a point to say Happy Hanukkah. Because, after all it is Hanukkah time and I respect faith. If I see a Wiccan, after I stifle my vomit, I say Happy Solstice. Because I respect faith. When I see someone around Christmas, I as a Christian, am inclined to say Merry Christmas, just as the Wiccan is inclined to say Happy Solstice, or as a Jew is inclined to say Happy Hanukkah because it is something they believe in. Do I hold belief against someone if it is different from mine? No. I hear alot of keep Christ in Christmas talk. That's fine. He belongs in Christmas. The fact of the matter is that Christmas has taken on a mythic position in the minds of all. We're all a little nicer, and maybe we give the Salvation Army Santa a fiver instead of the dollar we give to the war vets who then hand you a cray paper flower. I say it is time to respect what the meaning of Christmas truly is. A time where we all realize that we are human beings with flaws, shortcomings and not all of us drive luxury cars. A time where I realize that alot of people don't have a beautiful Christmas tree next to them as I do, people who don't own a computer to blog on, great friends who would crawl for hell through them as I have, and a family that stands as a standard against time who's love is truly divine as I believe I have. Those people who don't... they need Christmas. We like it, they need it. Don't take Jesus out of Christmas. If we do, we eventually lose all of what Christmas means, as it is and is always, a very slippery slope. So I say to you as a Roman Catholic, Merry Christmas and glory to the world, as we have been given not only a Savior, but a time of year where we care a little bit more. If that isn't a product of the divine... well I really don't want to think about that.

Merry Christmas from Jon and John. Try to keep it through the year... you might surprise yourself.

Happy Holidays from the Lovely Bastards

Merry Christmas from Jon and myself. Probably won't be blogging between now and ol' Xmas so let me take this time to say... Enjoy your fucking egg nog and your over-cooked turkey. I hope your tree doesn't catch fire in the middle of the night on Xmas Eve and burn your house down. I truly wish that you aren't arrested for drunk driving on Xmas morn and raped by trogaladitic mongoloid inmates on Three Kings Day. Have a wonderful Kwaanza and any other bullshit, made up holidays that you feel important enough to celebrate. I know that this year I am truly looking forward to Crum Day, the day on which you profess your love for your family by eating cheesesteaks and drinking copious amounts of whiskey. May your Chanukkahdhsahjklfsd be filled with the glory of cheap oil heating, as it is this miracle which kept the Jewish people in affordable housing with utility costs at a bare minimum. All you lovely Wiccans out there... well... just die, please, seriously you're pathetic. Go read your "Cathy" comic strips and drink Chai Lattes until your gout finally claims your right foot and you have to hobble around like a chunky disabled witch. I'd sooner believe in the power of Dumbledor than the power of chanting nonsense words in a basement of some spinsters house while Enya endlessly drones on in the background.

Let me end this by paraphrasing the immortal words of The Night Before Christmas...

To My Dear Children, Love... Dad.
"Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house,
not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
and I was upstairs backdooring your mother, and pulling her hair.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I pulled out of ol' mom to see whats the matter?
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
my boner regally poking up against the glass.
When what to my wondering eyes did appear,
but some fat fucker in a red suit chugging a beer.
The moon on the crest of the new fallen snow,
made me realize that tomorrow I'd have to shovel and that just blows.
More rapid than horses his coursers they came,
and he whistled and shouted and called them by name:
On Slippy on Drippy on Gassy and Faggy,
on Dermot on Mongo and move your ass Mackey Sasser,
to the top of the house to the top of the wall, now dash away dash away
do it you fuckers!
His deer didn't look healthy and neither did he,
his clothes were all sooty and he was covered in piss. (Thought I'd say, 'pee' didn't ya?)
Snot was running all down his 'stache and his pants were worn away
at the seat of his ass,
His bag of toys was a joke as it was all filled with trash,
and he referred to Mrs. Claus as, "his old, whiney gash"
Santa said I, what the fuck bro?
He looked at me and told me where to go.
He turned and he farted and pull out his hog,
he pissed on my tree and shit on my dog.
He threw some crap into the stockings,
coughed violently for a minute and vomited from hocking.
Santa, do you need some help? I exclaimed
"I don't need your help clown, now get back upstairs,
finish banging that broad but go easy on the hair."
The next morn we woke up to find the presents all there,
but so was Santa as he had passed away on the stairs.
The tox report said that he'd been on ludes and blow,
and the cold air didn't help nor did the snow.
But I'll never forget the last thing he said as turned with a wink,
"Merry Christmas you jagoff, go puke in the sink."

The End

Happy Holidays!!!

The Lovely Bastards Speak!

Join the Lovely Bastards as we exploit the world of podcasting with special guests Alex T, Sweet Daddy Wargs & play "Where In The World Is Jayson Sandiego" with Jayson Smuckface.

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2009 : A Baseball Odyssey

Ok, so let me start off by congratulating the New York Yankees, the greatest team in the history of sports... the most wonderful group of human beings on the planet for their victory over the Phillies in the 2009 World Series. Phillies? Yeah... I want to root for a team named after a female horse. Blow me Jimmy Rollins, you are an idiot. Moving along, I want to convey to you dear reader, what it's like watching a baseball game with my friends. It is exhausting, angering and utterly disgusting at times. I watched the majority of the Yankee games I saw this season (probably close to 145-155 if we're counting radio broadcasts and blackberry alerts) In my own home. The rest of them, I'm gonna say maybe 35, at my friend's house. Lets call him Ray. That's alot of baseball to watch with someone who asks questions like, "are they playing at home right now?" Most of the time, I just shrugged the questions off and enjoyed the game, but after a while it got painful at best.

I don't pretend to be the biggest Yankee fan in the NY Metropolitan area, I am the biggest Yankee fan in the NY Metro area. I live and die with this team and have since my first game at the old stadium against Cal Ripken's Orioles in July, 1990. My Great Grandfather called a game with Mel Allen in the late 1940's, at Yankee stadium, in the booth. That's fucking cool. Needless to say, I am a bit obsessed. Sportswise, I enjoy football. Basketball is alright if its the playoffs. Hockey is cool live. Soccer isn't a sport, its a torture, but baseball, in my eyes, is the greatest game ever devised on this planet. The timing, accuracy and pace are pure perfection. Ken Burns put it best, "It is a leisurely game, that demands blinding speed. The only game, where the defense has the ball." Ok now that you understand where I'm coming from, you will see why Ray, our other friend Gill and Gill's dog, Flerberus made my post season a living hell.

I love my friends. They are great and I depend on them, I can only hope they look at me as someone they can depend on. Watching baseball with them though, well that's another story. Here are a couple instances from the 2009 post season which made my blood boil. Everything in Quotations is from the lips of Ray, Gill and Flerberus.

1. "Ok so wait, why is Jeter out?" Well, because he bunted it foul for a third strike. "But it went foul." Exactly, that's a strike. "I know bro, but it's a foul ball." Yes, but it was a fucking bunt... when you bunt it foul for a third strike, you're out. "Since when?" SINCE BASEBALL WAS INVENTED IN THE 19th CENTURY. "Calm down, I just didn't know."

2. This ump isn't giving Pettitte any room to breathe tonight. "Yeah well I mean shit." ..... Yeah, well? "Well what?" What do you mean? Do you think he's not throwing strikes or... just not getting the calls? "Either way dude." (I don't need to explain why this is aggravating.)

3. "Bro don't even worry I'm getting like 50 wings in about ten minutes, so we can just eat em and then get all drunk and fucked up" That's not the point Gill, we need to wrap this up tonight, I can't take another night of this stress. "Whatever bro its whatever, I mean shit we can win it at home, and so what if it goes to seven games dude, the Yankees always win game 7 at home, you know that." Um, the Yankees have never played a World Series game 7 at home. "Well whatever bro I mean seriously dude, its gonna be fine dude, we got CC going Wednesday." No we don't, its Pettitte on short rest. "Well whatever bro, I'm gonna go get the wings."

4. "Woof." Shutup Flerberus.

5. "When the Yankees win tonight..." - FUCKING JINX. Didn't these idiots ever play a sport before?

6. (I just pulled up to my friends apt. about 15 minutes into the 1st inning, Game 5) Why are you guys out here and not watching the game?? "Flerberus beefed pretty hard dude, we can't go in there right now." Wait, we can't go in because your dog farted? "Yeah bro it was pretty gnarly, he's been eating alot of cheese an shit recently." This is fucking stupid dude, I wanna watch the game, that's why I came here in the first place. "Well it should be kosher by the bottom of the 2nd at the latest."

Ladies and gentlemen, the problem here is that Ray claims to have played baseball as a kid so his questions about rules and the like are even more absurd. Gill likes the Yankees if they're in the playoffs. Palex Mudor, my other friend was there for a couple of games but he kept quiet and enjoyed the baseball. Thank you Palex. Flerberus is just a fucking goon who was put on this Earth to eventually eat Gill's dead body after his girlfriend inevitably shoots and kills him. The Yankees won though, and it was a fun post season I guess. Next year if the Yanks are good and lucky enough to get back to the tournament.... I may just catch the games at home.

Getting To Know Me...

So I've been blogging in some form for a while now and I feel I have failed you the reader to get to know me. With that said, I'm finally submitting my staff biography here at The Lovely Bastards...enjoy!

"Both as a wannabe graphic designer and co-author of this blog, Jonny F is a lifelong problem solver. Companies and semi-professionals of all ilks turn to him for help resolving their graphical and assorted nonsensical concerns. A human being in Connecticut for nearly 27 years, he knows the state's alcohol and Italian cuisine infrastructures in depth. Drawing upon his extensive knowledge and his knack for creative thinking, he prank-calls local laughingstock John “Beatboy” Melnicough on a weekly basis recurrently making fun of the same incessant individuals, oft “beating a dead horse.”

Mr. Jonny’s life encompasses virtually any type of dispute, whether between associates or involving outsiders. Mr. F cut his teeth in the schoolyard, being bullied and picked last in the “gym room”, making him bitter at individuals better suited for success than he. Through the years, he pigeon-holed his life to where it is today. While drinking and pointing out the shortcomings of others remain key areas of his focus, he now represents a wide variety of losers in a vast array of matters. Of particular emphasis to him are sleeping, eating, doing the same routine at the gym, spend money he really does not have and sabotaging any relationship he could potentially have due to his crippling fear of commitment and monogamy.

As his practice has grown and diversified, so has his involvement in community affairs and state and local politics. Mr. F sits on the board of directors of 4B Land-trust Foundation of Connecticut, Local 12 of the Ball Buster’s Union, The International House of Sauteed Onions, and Greater New Haven Alchemist’s Aid. He is extremely inactive in many local non-profit organizations, and has written many articles including Short Arms, Deep Pockets: I Need a Tax-Write-off, Okay? and Volunteerism Only Masks Your Deep Insecurities and Constant Need for External Approval.

Growth and diversification likewise characterize Mr. F’s leadership of the firm as its managing partner. He has been instrumental in helping The Lovely Bastards become one of Connecticut's leading organizations in underachieving. Under his management, the firm significantly lessened and weakened its practice areas. His lack of commitment to community has been a catalyst for the firm's greater captivation in doing absolutely nothing. Additionally, he was recently elected to the Bridgeport Bar Association with limited access to sleep on hardwood floors when applicable.

For his clients, Mr. F’s experience is key - experience in the lunchroom, in the bathroom and in the bar. Clients know that these elements add up to a man they can barely trust to solve any business problem they face, all the while keeping in mind what great hair he has…"

Thanks for reading,

-JF