Author: Sharkey

Remember the fat “Star Wars Kid”? His parents are suing now because he needs psychiatric care to repair his damaged little mind. I use the word “little” in the loosest of terms.

Personally, I don’t see what the big deal is. 50% of the Southern Californian population is under the care of a psychiatrist, why does this kid feel so special? I’m sure his life was peachy keen before this video. With a body like that, I’m certain that his social stature sat somewhere between the skinny feebs that play Magic The Gathering and the guy who plays the triangle in the school band.

Blatently stolen from the forum.

According to Billy Ray, today is the delicious Anna Paquin’s birthday, so he’s demanding that I make her slice of the day. I’d normally be indignant and do nothing just to spite him, but I found some pics of her that I didn’t have. Plus she’s hot, and it gives me an excuse to put this pic on the main page again:

Damn.

Happy now, Billy? Good. Now go back to not playing Star Wars Galaxies.

So my girlfriend wants to go on this diet that her Mom got her interested in, right? It’s one of those retarded half-fasting diets. The kind that’s basically a binge diet that claims to work forever if you do it correctly. So she and her Mom get the shakes, and the liquid fasting drinks, and the snack things, and all of the pills. Then yesterday, when they were both supposed to start the damned thing, her Mom tells her that she can’t because she’s “too stressed” to fast for the next two days, which is what the diet calls for. So now the girlfriend is upset, because as we all know, girls can’t do a damned thing by themselves. So she comes cryin’ to me about how she doesn’t have anyone to fast with, and then works the old female charms on me. And by “female charms”, I mean “threats of sex deprivation.” Since I’m trying to get back into the gym more often and since I am a man and have needs, I decide to placate her and do the stupid diet. What can it hurt, right? I only have to do the fasting shit with her, which is two days. I’ve gone without food for two days before without any problems. Although I was in a liquor coma at the time, so I’m not sure if it counts.

So after a half-day of fasting, she’s bugging me like crazy trying to make sure that I’m not cheating. I tell her to worry about herself, because I have what we call “willpower”. That was a bold-faced lie, I have the willpower of a paper plate, but I can stop myself from eating by cramming my body full of water 24 hours a day. So after a solid 10 hours of fasting, listening to her incessently asking about my status, listening to her blab on about how good this is for us, guess what happens?

Damn right, she caved.

I, however, am nearly through day 2 and haven’t even thought about caving. Why did I continue? Guilt. That, and for some reason I like to rub victories in other people’s faces, no matter what the cost (ie: sex) or whom the victim.

Ladies, these binge diets are pointless. None of you can stick with them, and even if you do, you’ll never keep the weight off. Some people just can’t seem to realize that binge-anything does not work because your body just snaps back into its old routine the minute you stop the binge. If you’re a fatass and you lose 30 lbs. at the gym, chances are that you’ll have to keep going to the gym for the rest of your fucking life in order to keep those fat wrinkles from reattaching themselves to your formerly colossal ass. Learn, damn you all, learn!

This may seem to you like a completely pointless post, but consider this: I don’t think I can feel my feet, and I really have to pee. Food for thought.

Hey look, a couple of murderous cockbiters got what they deserved!

Hey look, a bunch of crybabies doing what they do best!

Soldier’s Response To Incessant Blubbering: “So sorry we couldn’t catch them alive for you, stereotypical liberal-guy. We tried bribing them with a bouqet and some candy, but they were too busy trying to fucking kill us to listen to reason. “

We’re a nation filled with people who like to laugh at the misforutune of others, yet you’re shocked and outraged when we poke fun at the deaths of child-killing criminals? Somehow it just doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, but maybe that’s because I’m not a liberal. If I were, I wouldn’t have created that incredibly tasteless image that you see to the immediate right of this post. But that’s not the world we live in, dear reader. You’ll just have to deal with that.

I think I’ve got the nerd-stink out of my clothes, so I feel safe posting again. Actually, the real reason for my silence is a fried motherboard (mine) and many tears (also mine, and also the guy at Frys who wouldn’t take it back.)

It’s been a pretty busy week for me. We all took a trek up to LA to see The Producers at the Pantages theatre on Saturday. Some of us went out to a pie place afterwards (‘natch) to unwind. I have to say, it was the best musical I’ve ever seen in all my days. Although, I think it might have been the only musical I’ve ever seen, but with all of the liquor that I’ve subjected my brain to, I wouldn’t be surprised if I turned out to have a past as a theater aficionado. The uh… non gay kind I mean. …I hope.

We had a good ol’ time at the Con. I was still reeling from the previous week’s dosage of absinthe, which somehow made me feel clumsy and incoherent. I can usually deal with those symptoms individually, but in combination they can be a bitch. Anyway, I don’t usually go down there to meet people, but I did shake hands with both Sean Astin and Tycho from Penny-Arcade. I think Tycho recognized me either from BAMF, or from swapping Scientology stories years ago. I didn’t ask, because at that particular moment I was trying to figure out why my teeth felt so funny. Stupid absinthe, why anyone would drink it habitually is beyond me. My girlfriend got all hot and bothered from meeting Sean Astin, which is pretty funny because I didn’t think anyone who constantly played the underdog in films could get a girl excited. Oh well, says I, whatever gets her crank turning is fine by me.

By the way, I’ve had to ration out the various portions of my life in order to maintain my unhealthy addiction to Star Wars: Knights Of The Old Republic. For a game that I thought sounded pretty stupid (that whole dice throwing shit is not my usual cup o’ tea) I’ve developed a mighty affection for the dark side of the force. There’s something deeply satisfying about telling your character to lie to a Yoda look-alike just to get your hands on a lightsabre. Satisfying, and pathetic all at the same time. I feel no remorse about my plans to immerse myself completely in the game until my girlfriend decides to pull me out for some nookie. Although knowing girls and how evil they actually are, that could take a very long time. She’ll probably pull me out of it so that she can watch A Knights Tale or something. All the more reason to immerse myself in this sad little pastime.

Did I mention I was still feeling a little out of it?

On the road down to San Diego, to experience the last day of the Comic Con. Day four is always the roughest since, as I’m sure you already know, nerds don’t exactly have the most exemplory track record for personal hygiene. Also, ill be busy fending off nerd gropers since my girlfriend is wearing a groin-swellingly fantastic shirt that makes it seem like her titties are going to leap out and smack you in the face. After three days of nervous interaction with booth babes, their level of self control will most likely be at a profoundly low point.

If any of you readers down there catch this, you can easily spot me down at the con. Ill be the big angry fella in the mofo baseball jersey who’s fending off a barrage of sweaty nerd molestors.

I don’t want to speak too soon, but according to the official court document in my hands, I won my court case. Porn seems like an excellent investment these days, don’t you think?

I know, you missed me yesterday. Unfortunately the near-death of the home machine coupled with my legal hassles have left me a little bit behind on damn near everything. But now I’ve hucked a new 120 Gig monster in this thing and I’m back in business.

But enough about me, let’s talk about guys with dinky wangs. Like the poor fella in this story, which was sent to me by John, who’s wang is no business of mine.

The victim testified that she and Peters were sipping tea after he finished installing a deadbolt lock when she saw Peters’ semi-erect penis sticking three inches past the bottom of his shorts.

That’s impossible, according to defense attorney Gary Asteak. “She’s mistaken,” Asteak said. “He’s not that big.”

According to Asteak, physician Eric Schoeppner examined Peters and found his penis is only 1 inches long when flaccid and four inches erect.

You know what’s funny? That could be the newer, more pathetic version of the infamous South Park “Chewbacca defense.” Matter of fact, it’s just like the Chinpokomon episode of South Park. Odd, usually it’s The Simpsons that covers this kind of ground. Anyway, good for you on your legal maneuver, dinky wang man.

By the way, I’m sure it’s been linkified all to Hell and back (since 80 people emailed it to me), but a tug on the junk a day keeps the cancer at bay. Or something even more witty. I guess this means that if you have male friends, you should forward them to Sliceoftheday immediately, just to show how much you care. And then get back to work, sinner.

In the waiting room again, across from the former employer. Wish me luck.

*crosses fingers*

*UPDATE*

Well, I think that went well. I state that I think it went well because I won’t know for about two weeks. The lady could have at least given a percentage on whether or not she thought myself or the company would win. Instead she wrote a lot of stuff down on a jumbo legal pad and remained rather indifferent to either side’s case. She did, however, get rather perturbed when my former employer kept interjecting out of turn, and generally giving 5-paragraph answers to yes/no questions. I gave it my best shot though, and I put the screws right back at ’em so let’s just hope that I’m found to be non-exempt, and that my times were not exaggerated.

I guess in two weeks we’ll know whether or not I’m going to pay more taxes this year. Or would it go retroactively towards last year’s return? Oh well, never count your asses before they’re tapped.

Or the hearing officer, to be more exact. My court date is today. No, dear reader, I am not going before the gavel to defend my innocence. Today I am pleading my case to the Division of Labor Standards Enforcement against my former employer for unpaid overtime wages. It’s for a good chunk of change (all legit, mind you) and they’ve tried to make it clear to me that if I lose, they’ll try everything in their power to find a way to sue me for lawyer fees, etc. I don’t think that’s possible in these cases, but who knows. Everybody seems to think that I’ll win it with minimal hassle, but I don’t buy into their optimism until I see the money in my hand and the smile on my mug.

Wish me luck in my fight against the man today. I’m about to strap on my Sunday’s best and go get my litigation on.