Category: News

On Saturday we were heading out to grab some food, and it was pretty late in the day, 9:50 or so. Arby’s was still open for another few minutes, so we went up to the drive-thru. I didn’t even listen to what she ordered, I was on the phone. So when it came time for me, I ordered one of those Corned Beef Ruebens and some jalapeno poppers. We get up to the window, and the guy is acting kind of antsy. I’ve never seen a Mexican get antsy before, I thought maybe the guy had to take a piss or something. We get the bags, and they get passed to me, and she asks if everything’s in there. The bag is stuffed to the gills, so much so that it’s like brickwork inside, a solid object of sandwiches and fries and such. So I say “Jesus, with this many sandwiches I hope so.”

We get back and I open the bag, and inside I pull out everything that wasn’t mine. When I’m finished, I have a bag with jalapeno poppers. I look back at what hasn’t been claimed, and there are four Beef n Cheddar sandwiches. Everything else is present and accounted for, but in lieu of my Corned Beef Rueben, I now have four Beef n Cheddars. By now Arby’s is closed, and I’m stuck with the wrong order. So I start in on the first one, and it has no cheese. No thanks, into the trash with you. I’m pessimistic of the second one, but thankfully it has the necessary cheese. The third one, however, has bacon. Then the final one is an Arby’s Melt.

Those sons of bitches didn’t want to assemble my Rueben, so they just stuffed in four random sandwiches from their stack of pre-made shit and piled on everything else so we wouldn’t be likely to check.

My cousin ate there the next day, and the food made him sick. They’re displaying powerful “Don’t Exist” signals, so I’m going to abide for a little while.

For the first time ever, I’m going to split a post up. If you care enough to read my ten ideas for how “Lost” won’t suck, click on the “more” button and read on. If not, sit around and wait, I might put up some pie soon. And now, on with it…

I didn’t catch on to the whole “Lost” craze until the first season had been out on DVD. The only episode I had subjected myself to was subtitled on the TV sets that suspended over the stairmasters at my local gym. Then once I moved into my current place, I was handed the first season and told that if I knew what was good and decent, I would watch it with the urgency of a small bladdered midget who had been force-fed an entire gallon of Arrowhead natural spring water. So… as I moved my shit into this place a couple of years ago, I watched as Locke clocked Sayid in the head, Boone got crushed by a plane (and fucked his hot adopted sister!) and we were introduced to the mysterious hatch. The whole process from episode 1 to the season 1 finale took me about 8 hours, because… it was fucking good. Like my first older woman in the sack kinda good. Surprising, demanding, and respectable in a whorish kind of way.Then we had season 2, which introduced us to Mr. Eko. It also introduced us to Anna Lucia (and her death), the hatch map, and a whole episode devoted to Claire saying “MOY BAYBEEEE!” Just like life, Season 2 was all about give and take. Yin and Yang. Good and Evil. Adam Corolla and the ever-fucking-yapping Bonaduce.

Now we’re on to Season 3, and there have been numerous setbacks already. They introduce precognative visions, an “alcatraz” mini season, and the death of the only prime-time negro that I get all weak-kneed over. They even introduced a hot chick who prances around in tiny shorts and bikini tops, and found a way to make me hate her. How could this happen? Did George Lucas start sitting in on brainstorming sessions? Is it the Ricky-Gervais predicted curse of the third season? Whatever the case, “Lost” is losing a lot of viewers and it needs to get back on track. Here are some of my ideas on how they could steer the show back on track, without any spoilers about upcoming episodes for you squeamish bitches:

Yummy news from the McDonalds front. This book called “The Omnivore’s Dilemma” has some mouth-watering information about the fast food joint equivalent of the Boardwalk / Park Place combo in Monopoly. Take the McNugget, for example. It shouldn’t surprise you that the chicken(ish) objects are mainly comprised of corn. We’re a society that stuffs corn into just about everything, which sounds healthy right up until you deep fry it and cover it in butter. Then it just sounds delicious. But did you know about all of the other ingredients that go into the McNugget? Check this out.

Then there are “anti-foaming agents” like dimethylpolysiloxene, added to the cooking oil to keep the starches from binding to air molecules, so as to produce foam during the fry. The problem is evidently grave enough to warrant adding a toxic chemical to the food: According to the Handbook of Food Additives, dimethylpolysiloxene is a suspected carcinogen and an established mutagen, tumorigen, and reproductive effector; it’s also flammable.

But perhaps the most alarming ingredient in a Chicken McNugget is tertiary butylhydroquinone, or TBHQ, an antioxidant derived from petroleum that is either sprayed directly on the nugget or the inside of the box it comes in to “help preserve freshness.” According to A Consumer’s Dictionary of Food Additives, TBHQ is a form of butane (i.e. lighter fluid)

So if I light a McNugget on fire, can I expect to get some chicken flavored popcorn? I’ve always had a love/hate relationship with the poultry-based entree, especially during those excellent times where McD’s offers the 20-pack for a few bucks. I appreciated that deal because back in the pre-all-white-meat days, you could expect between 40-50% of your nuggets to be the deliciously breaded treat that most people love. The remaining pieces were filled with a very strange alien-like substance with the consistency of what I’d imagine is inside my ball-sack. Therefore, the 20 pack would essentially get you about nine or ten edible pieces, making the supplemental cheeseburger purchase unnecessary.

This one time when I was 14 or so, my friends and I wandered over to the McDonald’s to cash in on the monopoly game pieces that we’d stolen from neighbor’s newspapers that summer. I handed over a “free McNuggets” piece, and probably some fries and a drink piece as well. I sat down with everyone, and started the treacherous stroll through the McNugget minefield. Piece after piece, I crapped out. Every single McNugget was one of the snotty, fat-filled alien testicle delights that we all dread. I was so pissed that I de-shelled (or to respect the corn, shucked) each nugget and brought it up to show the ESL employee who had given them to me. His response?

“Dose are de good one.”

Improper grammar aside, this Mexican twit was trying to tell me that these inedible hunks of shit were actually a delicacy where he comes from. I pointedly informed him that his tastebuds were as retarded as his grasp of the English language, and demanded a new set of nuggets. He haltingly responded by asking me to get out. I guess I shouldn’t have tested the uneasy truce between my group of friends and the McDonald’s employees whom we had terrorized by going through the drive-thru in shopping carts, breaking into the ball room after hours, and throwing pickles at the Mayor McCheese statue.

That was a really long story for explaining that there’s lighter fluid and other shit in a fast-food product. It did make me want some McNuggets though, so I guess there’s a light at the end of every tunnel.

I’m not dead. Bamf is not dead. The possibility of many daily posts is also not dead. It’s just that…. this whole Anna Nicole thing has hit me really hard.

… ok, so that last one might have been a lie. But I’m not abandoning my post. You guys have to cut a guy some slack. I’ve been running this site since 1999, at some points with little to no encouragement to even attempt to do so. I do this, because I’ve always loved this site, and it has always been an excellent outlet for my rage and disappointment towards humanity in general. Neither target has diminished during those years, but perhaps my need to verbally assault said targets has been lacking as of late.

I, as many of you may know, run my own business. This can be a difficult proposition for anyone, especially when you are accustomed to a lifestyle that borders on arrogant belligerence. My life has, recently, consisted of selling new clients and winding down, whether that entailed substance abuse or Xbox Live. This has unfortunately left me with little energy to effectively express my hatred towards mankind in the style to which you, my e-alimony recipients, have become accustomed.

I don’t want to quit the site. I don’t want to quit you. But the fact of the matter is, most people associate this site with me… and that pretty much chases away all of the other writers and puts the burden of updating this dog-n-pony show upon my shoulders. So when I’m hitting hard times, you in turn must hit hard (and sometimes silent) times with me. But that is not where I’d like our story to end, my e-concubines. I’m going to press on, and try to continue my hard work in breathing new life into BAMF, like I intended to do at the start of this year. If you feel like offering words of encouragement… well shit, it couldn’t hurt.

It’s really fascinating what fame, fortune, and a white trash upbringing can do to a gal. Especially when that gal is Britney Spears.

As if the satan-possessed, clean shaven (multiple ways), rehab-bouncing mother of two couldn’t have any more emotional duress, it seems that there’s more wood to throw on the fire.

Things are about to go from bad to worse in the saga of Britney Spears. While the beleagured pop princess is holed up in rehab, celeb snipers are bidding on pics of the fading star’s bare behind.

The asking price for the shots – which show Britney playing dress-up with two dancers at New York’s nightclub One Feb. 12 – currently hovers at $150,000.

But even more damaging is video footage that may follow – Britney’s dancer buddies are telling friends that the club let them go when management discovered a security video of them doing some serious partying with the mother of two.

Does Ladbrokes offer some sort of Britney package yet? Like odds on when she’s going to lose custody of the kids, or at what point we’ll see her mommy bags in full-on grotesque glory? These days are coming, and I really, really don’t want to fucking see it. Yet like a reality show (the new phrase to replace “train wreck”) we cannot turn away.

I say tits in 5 weeks, legal document stating her diminished or non-existant custody of the children within 8 months, btw. Who’s buyin?

You know, the one who was on that one episode of “Married… with Children” and hosted a bunch of Comedy Central stand-up shows? Richard Jeni passed away when he put a gun to his face and pulled the trigger. Autopsy reports and the cause of death are still pending.

…wait, what?

An autopsy was performed Monday on comic Richard Jeni but the official cause of death won’t be announced for several weeks, according to the Los Angeles County coroner’s office.

Hold on…

Jeni died Saturday at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center, Winter said. Los Angeles Police found Jeni alive but gravely injured after responding to a call that morning from a woman who said: “My boyfriend just shot himself in the face.”“It was reported to us as a possible suicide,” coroner’s Capt. Ed Winter said Monday. He did not disclose what kind of weapon was used.

No suicide note was found, said Lt. Fred Corral of the coroner’s office’s investigative division.

Who was Richard Jeni dating that we need to question the cause of death, Courtney Love?

I bet you thought that I was ignoring you this past week. Nothing could be farther from the truth, my world-wide-web enabled sex objects. I was, in actuality, embarking on the next journey in the Sharkey saga: the quest for Raygun.

You see, Spencer disappeared about a month ago, and I’ve gone on a Carmen Sandiego-like excursion to uncover the truth. Except instead of travelling through history, I’ve managed to travel through liquor bottles and hallucinations. It’s been a long journey, but I beleive that I am hot on the trail of our elusive forum moderator. Hopefully this will end without the need for The Trial Of Raygun 2: Electric Chair Boogaloo.

I turned on the TV earlier to check what shows the DVR picked up last night, and Police Academy was on. I haven’t seen this flick since I was a kid, a time when I still found Michael Winslow’s noises funny. I hadn’t planned on watching it ever again, but I felt compelled to give it a few minutes after Steve Guttenberg casually stated that “sleep is for fags.” About five minutes later, one of the “bad” cracker cops called the mousy black chick a “stupid fat jigaboo.”

I think I should own this on DVD.

I admit that I watched the first round of “American Idol” as I am quite entertained by people making asses out of themselves, intentionally or not. One girl that caught a few eyes was the Jersey-raised Antonella Barba. She had a great voice, a hot ass, and was light years better than her best friend who would inevitably be forced off the show in one of those hilarious tear-jerker moments.

Then lil’ Antonella surprised us. My cousin will be quite pleased about the latest flurry of photos that have been circulating the Interspace.

Along with these blowjob and titty pics, there is allegedly a nude calendar that she made for an ex boyfriend that will soon be gracing our eyes. Gotta love those trashy Jersey chicks. Just like trashy chicks everywhere else.