drug addicted bicycle thieves

what rare breed of asshole steals a quick release off a bicycle? seriously? way to go dude, you're now one tenth of the way to a third of a fix. it's not like that shit is made of copper, why don't you make like so many of your asshole addict friends and electrocute yourself? now i have to fucking walk home while you bus your ass up to the shadiest bike store in town (i'm looking at you karim cycle on telegraph) to get, at the most, like 3 bucks for my quick release. if i was dumb enough to not lock up my wheel (like bruce mcculloch) then fine, fuck me. but really, am i going to have to remove my fucking quick release shit every time i go out at night in oakland? well, apparently only the front one, since you were too damn stupid to even bother to take the one on the back wheel, way to minimize your profits fucker. i hope somebody cuts your heroin with cancer of the dick.

bagels

i guess this post should be subtitled, "and the people who improperly prepare them. (also bagel enthusiasts)". and i suppose there is a certain amount of self-loathing and circular logic implied, as i am infuriated by bagels, their people who sell them, and the people for whom no bagel is good enough. but let me clarify:

BAGELS: you stupid-ass food. you're all doughy and heavy in the morning and make me fall asleep on the train. and all your toppings are just that: on the top. i need you to be filled with savory (or sweet) goodness through and through. sometimes you make me eat you upside-down so i can get those toppings on my tongue where they belong. when you're good: crispy on the outside, hot and soft on the inside, you are heaven on earth. sadly, you are usually just a big lump of dough with a hole in the middle. and why the hole? i know donuts, and you, sir, are no donut. just be yourself, you punk-ass bread. permission granted: suck it.

PEOPLE WHO PREPARE BAGELS: how hard is it? toast the bagel. yes, fully toast it, so it's a little crispy and browned, not just warmed. then maybe a human-size portion of cream cheese on it. not a pint and a half that if saved, could feed a starving child for weeks. are you a sadist or just wasteful? i bet you drive a hummer. i bet if your hummer ran off cream cheese you'd think twice about that shit. oh, and when you cut the bagel, do it all the way through. that way, when i attempt to separate the two halves of my warmed over, sloppy with "shmear" breakfast item, it won't pull the bottom out from under and fall on my lap and ruin my pants/morning. and why do you call it a "shmear"? that is disgusting. you are lazy, wasteful, and half-ass bagel chef. may you drown in a pile of salmon-flavored cream cheese as you, of course, suck it.

BAGEL SUPREMACISTS: "this bagel is good but it's not like this one place in Brooklyn that makes the best blah blah blah" dude, you spent three days in new york city last summer, and no bagel or slice of pizza has been the same for you since. i feel your pain, but you should probably either take a jetblue flight back to williamsburg, die, or perhaps shut up and eat the goddamn thing. i hate you. i truly hate you. everyone who is still impressed that you know about new york and their delicious peasant food is about 19 years old or lives in wisconsin. long may you suck it.

thanks to the above, this food has now been ruined for me forever.

the san antonio spurs

this one is probably the interweb equivalent of a broken record but i will happily get my 2 cents in on the subject. this team is the representation of everything that is wrong with professional basketball and they won't fucking stop winning. i am so filled with hate that i don't even think i have anything funny to say (do i ever?) about these assclowns. there is not a single person on this team that won't have to suck it come the reckoning: the star-fucking frenchman who feigns pains every time anyone so much as touches him (the frog who cried wolf?), the argentinian dago who, understandably, is a master of ridiculous gesticulation and being a pussy, the D&D playing man-child who's always making sad face, the mustachioed cheap shot artist, the geriatric cheap shot artist, the acne-scarred coach that specializes is teaching his players how to be complete and total bitches, and a bunch of other fuckers i can't ever remember (plus one who's just not worth mentioning). and they're from san antonio. yeah, spurs, i remember the fucking alamo, that shit was tight!

a short roundup of people, places, and things that can, in fact, suck it (vol. 1)

-person who lingers at the cream and sugar counter at the coffee shop, stirring and stirring their little cup of coffee until it's perfect shade of brown, tasting, then adding more splenda and cream until it is that perfect combination of aroma, color, and flavor: dude, suck it. if you're such a gourmet, why are you getting the drip coffee anyway? shouldn't you have some italian espresso maker that you can fire up every morning in your fuzzy slippers and perfect pajamas as you contemplate new ways to make sure your children never have any fun and grow up to be as neurotic and self-obsessed as you? again, you may suck it.

-convenience store manager: you may suck it for this reason: you had a customer appreciation day. i went in, just wanting a soft drink, and you gave me a hot dog for free. why not? and then i bit it. what was that flavor? hot yellow "cheese" injected in the middle of the dog, like a flaming twinkie of disease. god damn you. now i will think of that every time i see a hot dog. and now it's all i can smell. life has lost it's joy for me. you have ruined everything. dear sir, commence to suck it.

-ipods: why do you taunt me? why must your battery die? why must mp3's sound like shit and give me a seizure? why do you have the potential to be so wonderful and then be so evil? it's like a beautiful flower that smells like a dead cat filled with turds. whoops i dropped it. whoops i just flushed $300 down the toilet. i'll just get an iphone, so that when i drop that i can break my phone, my ipod, and my camera all at once. senor ipod, hables suck it?

-modern society: culture, you can suck it. this modern existence blows. where's the wizards? the swords in stones? i want some epic journeys and some fantastical creatures. all i get is pamela anderson nipple slips and a bunch of people caring about it. get me a hobbit on the phone, i'll be riding falcor into the distant sunset as you weep tears of joy and hope for my hero's journey and tears of pain at your own pitiful self. oh world, when you ever stop sucking it?

to be continued.

breeders (not the band)

working on college avenue is like having a window into the future of america and it's looking, in a word, douche-y. no it is not cute that you have a stroller built for two and another in the oven, unless it's coming out with a cinammon swirl and some frosting on it i am not fucking interested. and dudes, your hand's ain't clean either, if i ever hear another one of you say "we're pregnant" i will fucking lose it. until you shoot a hampster out your dick in solidarity she's the one who's pregnant, you're just the asshole. i'd advocate one of those "don't breed when there are so many in need," bob barker type deals but then we'd just end up with jolie/madonna imitators further exploiting the exlpoited, or worse yet some racist asshole like spencer pratt adopting, nobody who isn't blood related should be forced to spend anytime with that waste of air. and speaking of air, wouldn't it be great if all these overbreeding asshats got one giant carbon footprint to their forehead. i'd like the actual cost of their resource consumption to be summed up into an annual kick in the junk, two balls, one stone if you catch my drift. so suck it breeders! i don't hate all babies, i just hate yours.

wes anderson

what asshole went and told this dude he could write a story? if i can track down his high school english teacher i'm gonna beat 'em stupid with a fucking first edition catcher in the rye. sure, i dug bottle rocket (though now i mostly appreciate it for introducing me to the proclaimers' classic first album, and anyone who thinks the proclaimers can suck it can suck it), but come on! i'll admit his shit looks real nice and blah blah blah mise-en-scene blah blah blah, but his movies have got me's-in-censed (you see how i flipped that shit?!). i could give a fuck about all these people. i'm supposed to feel bad for these dudes that are travelling around india by train, doing drugs and screwing a stewardess? i'm sorry, what? that sounds like my dream vacation, why you sad asshat? i got over feeling bad for rich, self-indulgent white dudes when i read bright lights, big city 10 years ago. you know what though, wes? i'd rather watch that fucking michael j. fox trainwreck again than one of your movies and that may be the harshest insult i've ever spat out. go be someone's art director. if i wanna watch a beautiful movie that nothing happens in, i'll go watch antonioni's the passenger for the 57th time, that way i won't have to listen to a bunch of spoiled shits whining for two hours (plus, nicholson is so much sexier than wilson). oh, and, get up off the kinks' jock already, jeez.

common

yeah. i fucking did. i am so sick and tired of this shithead's mug. how come there's never a backlash for conscious rappers? they just go from being loved by hippie kids to loved by liberal yuppie soccer moms with jungle fever (once they've starbucks-ed out their sound enough). yeah, fine, "the corner" was pretty tight but suck it pitchfork that record is not an 8.6. and that new one, jesus, i didn't think it could be worse than the cover art but lo and behold. take your stupid hats and your sensitive little poses and your meticulously groomed facial hair and your fucking i love my strong black sisters (and totally know how to pleasure them) raps and just go away. you made one dope record and that was fucking fourteen years ago! ok, fine, your spots on stakes is high ("i used to love her but i now i bone her") and black star ("my circumstance is between cabrini and love jones") were on point but that's like 2 minutes of verse from 10+ years ago. oh, yeah, and didn't you hear from your buddy kanye? you can't be conscious and hate homosexuals anymore, it don't jibe. go be unconscious somewhere.

p.s. remember when you got sued by the shittiest, limpest ska band of all time? yeah, that was funny.

don nelson

ok. let's get one thing clear right off the bat, i love this kooky old drunk. he was around the last time this team was worth half a shit, when that raging homophobe was running the show (ed note: we would totally do a post on homophobes except that it would be obvious and, well, kinda gay). and he's got this wacky hands off zen approach to coaching that generally rules (suck it phil jackson, you got nothing on nellie). but come on! at some point did it ever occur to you to sit these fools down, slap them around a tad, and tell them to stop shooting up threes with the combined accuracy of an epileptic circle jerk? if you made a video of the ugliest warriors moments from their last 3+ weeks of phoning it in it would look something like this, except, you know, without the sexist, racist, incompetent pistons legend at the helm. well, shit, i guess warriors fans will just go back to punching themselves in the balls, it has the same effect, and you don't have to pay your cable bill to do it.

bret michaels

oh, bret michaels. yes, i watched "rock of love 2". and i am ashamed. i am what is wrong with america. i gave this person my valuable time and consideration. yet i still blame bret. in a way that i cannot put into complete, logical sentences, i hate bret michaels and i hate the people who watch his brand of dating show with the very real possibility of a scorching case of hepatitis, therefore, i hate myself and i hate little baby lips over here for making me hate myself.

in fact, just look at his lips. this man is probably on the dark side of the forties and he's making little baby lips. don't you just want to kiss those baby lips? no, bret michaels, i will not allow you to turn me out as you have so many others. put those irresistible baby lips away. maybe put them in one of your many bandanas or fashion cowboy hats. maybe wrap them up tight in one of those bedazzled t-shirts. i am going to go ahead and say with complete certainty that not only is bret-bret bald underneath those head pieces, but also completely hairless everywhere else on his body. no man who has perfected his baby lips into such a pout can resist manicuring his pubic hair into the perfect little triangle, trimming and primping more and more until there is nothing. nothing but sleek bronzed pure sex. this man actually looks like a penis. look at him. seriously, look at him. get lost in the steely sex gaze of baby lips.


as my friend andy said, "i bet bret michaels tans his dick."

and i think that says it all.

bret michaels, you can suck it.

city of berkeley parking officer #837: a certain ms. blackmon

or perhaps mrs., in which case my condolences to mr. blackmon. this bitch (ed note: picture not actually of parking officer blackmon) straight falsified a parking ticket and the hoops through which you must jump in order to register a complaint are, of course, in the end more trouble than paying the $36. congratulations fucker, you've won. i know, i know, thanks dr. obvious, bureaucracy blows, but that doesn't mean we should stop bitching about it. in fact, it's the only recourse us little people have (and i don't mean midgets). so SUCK IT, #837, you're the reason that meter maids get attacked. sweet name though.

atlas sound

i was hoping to get this here blog started off with a bang rather than a whimper (a "suck it!" for the ages if you will, some asshole we could all agree upon), but shit is all about being timely and this little fucker's blog half-life is awfully short (fingers crossed!). bradford cox's musical cock is getting blown all up and down the interwebs for his lackadaisical spacemen 3 rips and i, for one, am calling bullshit. SUCK IT ATLAS SOUND! oh, you too deerhunter, and animal collective can get them salivating glands ready in the wings.