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Showing posts from 2014

Happy Holidays, why the fuck am I here?

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A long time ago, my family used to have epic Xmas parties. Now everyone has moved away, and it's all gone to shit. From our long family history of merry-making, I have compiled this list of tips to help you survive the holidays.

1. Drink heavily--just a given.
2. Have thick skin. There will be lots of snide remarks and ribbing. See number 1.
3. Going along with number 2, try and look your best. Diet heavily, even if you have to become a  bulimic for a couple of weeks before hand.
4. Your kids and a relative's kids will fight and eventually destroy any fun you may be having. See number 1.
5. Get drunk faster than your spouse, so he/she will be the designated driver.
6. Bring your host a gift, preferably wine in one of those velvet wine bags.
7. Tell your know-it-all uncle to stfu.
8. Your wife never lets you have sex on Xmas Eve, so you don't have to be that nice to her.
9. Make sure you bring pj's for your kids if it's a Christmas Eve party. They will be asleep by…

Real Xmas trees are twats

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When my ex wife and I were dating, before we were divorced, and not after. That would be hawte. We lived in a cozy apartment together. My ex wife, let’s call her Christine, like the car, was and still is pretty short, but full of piss and vinegar. The first Christmas together we decided to get a real tree. Hey, why not? We had our whole fabulous lives ahead of us together. I’ve long since mentally blocked out most of my past life, so I don’t remember any specifics on how or where we got the tree. But I’m sure it was fun. We put it up. There it stood, screwed to its stand in all of its green pine-scented glory. We then decorated the shit out of it.

At the end of Xmas, it was time to tear the tree down. All went smoothly until trying to get the damned tree stand off. The trunk had swollen and had a death grip on the metal eye hooks in the stand. The next scene will go down in the annals of Christmas history as one of the most heart-warming ever. As I was wrestling with, sw…

The cynic's guide to American politics

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Take your poison bitches.


America is a Plutocracy*You can’t fucking impeach Obama or repeal Obamacare, you fucking idiot you. Taking away 10 million people’s health insurance would result in another civil war.Evil corporations rule the US. Politicians are bought and paid for.There’s a thing called, “separation of church and state.” All you batshit-crazy religious zealots stay home and pray that zippers were never invented or something.There’s no magic widget that requires thousands of people in a factory to assemble. Those days are over. Anything that we do manufacture here is massively automated.If your kid gets mowed down in a mass school shooting with an AR-15, would you want stricter gun laws? Or would that just make you and your slack-jawed, Jesus-lovin’ redneck fucking friends move to a ranch in the desert and stock up on guns and ammo, waiting for the apocalypse?Kirsten Gillibrand is hawte.Mormons and door-to-door campaigners are the same thing.If you want to keep …

Best barters of The Old Man

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In my never ending quest to recall every brutal and excruciating moment of my life, I’ve decided to take a look back at some of the great barters of The Old Man. This will be a multi-part series, and I expect some collaboration from The Family. As you may recall, The Old Man was a famed electrician in my hometown. Cut from the same savvy business acumen as let’s say a Lee Iaccoca, The Old Man could smell a deal from a mile away. Not that they ever resembled anything close to a good deal mind you. The orange over-sized down coats My brother, let’s call him, Craig, imparted one such painful, Let’s make a deal moment. So one fall, two of The Old Man’s sons needed winter coats. Let’s call them, Robert and Chris. Well, it just so happens that a certain shrewd Jewish clothing store owner needed some electrical work done at his shop. Oy vey! And he had a deal for my father. Jewish shop keeper: “Aach, I will give you these two luxurious down jackets, as seen in American Werewolf in London, if you…

Fuckloads of pumpkin-flavored heaven

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It’s that time of year when every bloody thing is made with copious amounts of pumpkiny goodness. If you can drink or eat it, odds are, there’s a pumpkin version. But what is it about pumpkin that makes your miserable life just a tad better? Is it a slight reminder of when we had actual fall weather, as opposed to going from summer straight to brutal winter as we have now? And when have you ever just sat down, cracked open a pumpkin and started eating? Does anyone know what an actual pumpkin tastes like?

Years ago, before the pumpkin orgy, the only thing made of pumpkin was pie at Thanksgiving. I suppose that we humans get a taste of something and have to go full-tilt until we go careening off of the ledge. At this point, we’re approaching the ledge, but the amounts of goodies that can be made with pumpkin, are pushing that ledge infinitely far away.

U2: Songs of Innocence. Sure it’s free, but you pay for it with bits of your crushed spirit

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There’s nothing I like more than free music. So when U2 announced that it was giving away their new album during the iPhone 6 launch shin-dig, I was mildly excited. Mildly, because I haven’t considered U2 cool since the 90s. And now, I stand firm in this assertion. The songs are filled with an abundance of “oohs” and “aaahs” and also “weooohs”, “ah woah oh we ahs.” It’s horrific. I would so demand my money back, if I had paid for it. Songs will definitely be at home on any generic pop rock radio station.

Musically, there’s nothing interesting or to write home about. It really could be named: 11 Discarded Coldplay Songs
It’s not that I expected much. But from the band who made Achtung Baby, well, it just falls a tad short. Alas, that was long ago.
Maybe this Apple iTunes album is just the promo for the actual one coming out later in the year?

Oh, your gums are bleeding

Is there anything more depressing/makes you feel fucking old than going to the dentist? Dentists always seem to come up with more and more painful ways to increase the self-loathing. The latest thing is to use these plastic and metal lip prying devices so they can take digital pictures of all of your teeth. It looks like something out of a Marilyn Manson video. Then the hygienist prints them out and shows them to you in all of their excruciating detail. Yes, all the years of drinking coffee and eating popcorn kernels makes a rather hideous close-up.

I’m sure that some of you have experienced the dental pick that shoots a stream of salt water into every nook and cranny. That’s my new favorite. The shear amazement at which the hygienist responds at the site of blood gushing out of your gums is beyond compare. I’m pretty sure that if I jam a surgical-grade steel death pick into any number of soft tissues on my body, blood will come forth. So there you have it. Go to your de…

RIP Robin Williams

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If someone with millions of dollars and the adoration of millions of people can't find happiness, what's the hope for all the rest of us poor dumb bastards?

Disdain Radio

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I recently had the misfortune of listening to FM radio on a road trip. Ever since the invention of the mp3 player, radio has no place in my life. Believe it or not, horrific things like drive-time talk radio and classic rock stations are bloody abundant on these airwaves of death. Apparently every station can afford an excruciating fourth-rate Howard Stern-type morning radio show filled with sophomoric prank calls, jokes and sound effects — with a smattering of wretched overly played, program manager-approved songs.
The classic rock stations are the worst offenders of this most horrible format. Oh, please let us hear the same three Led Zeppelin tunes over and over. And now that most “hair metal” is now considered classic rock, all the top 40 head bangin’ 80s shit has made it into the fray. The same goes for the so called alternative rock stations. Hey, who is this new Pearl Jam band anyways?
I don’t know. Maybe I’m just jaded. Even satellite radio eventually runs into…

Happy happy joy joy

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Happy Birthday to I Hate Craig!
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The Old Man and the engraving tool

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A long time ago there was a brilliant old man called The Old Man. The Old Man had many inventions and unique ways to do things. From cut-in-half propane tanks as pool side ashtrays, to milk carton crate tool carriers, he was the shit. One day The Old Man came home with an electric engraver. No doubt, he bartered for it by wiring someone's whole house. I can only assume that he thought having his John Hancock scrawled on everything he owned would prevent burglars from cleaning him out.

Without warning, The Old Man proceeded to haul in every tool from his work van. There he stood all night long beaming with pride while the immense noise of the engraver carved his full legal name into every hand tool. Pliers, side cutters, hammers, power drills, measuring tape, screwdrivers, nut drivers, Minnie Driver, razor knives, pocket knives, flashlights, anything that wasn't nailed down got his electric-powered signature.

Well The Old Man must have loved that feeling of putting his mark on …

You're all that and a container of lard

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Attending the neighborhood 4th of July holiday puke fest yesterday, I became disturbed and livid at the self-described hotness of some of these wives. It’s almost like a reverse body dysmorphic disorder.

Hag, just because your emasculated and pussy-whipped husband begs you for his weekly spelunking session in your bat-winged vagina, doesn't mean that every man on the planet would kill to bang you. And it’s funny how mean spirited snide remarks are always part of this miserable package. Happy 4th America.

DeathBecomesMe on the Facebook

Come and hangout on my bitchin' new fb page:

https://www.facebook.com/Ericisdeadinside

Khaki sickness

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Is there anything more nausea inducing than khaki pants? I feel such a morbid disdain for their vapid, muted earth-toned cotton-blended fibers. Paired with the uberly© bland Polo shirt, they create the uniform of oppressed conformity.

Men need to rise up and flex some of their atrophying business casual muscles. Please, for the love of Mike, wear cargo pants.

DBM Old mattress

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Yes! I finally found the old mattress somewhere. But, sadly, my hopes and dreams weren't under it.

How to survive scary naked dolls coming to life and trying to kill you

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When I was a young lad, a couple of my older brothers, lets call them Al and Chris, made a nice little sadistic hobby out of trying to scare me. This was the era of The Exorcist, The Amityville Horror and The Omen, three of my favs. Even catching a glimpse of any of them on TV would send me into cardiac arrest. So as you all can imagine, the Two Brothers Grimm would invent elaborate scare-fests for me.

I grew up in that delusional Christian mode of thinking, i.e., Satan is real and you'll burn in Hell for doing bad things. Keeping this in mind, any movie or story that had some sort of demonic being as the central antagonist, scared the living shit out of me. 
One of the more heinous tricks played on me involved a certain doll of my sister's. This doll was one of those walking-types, if you held its hands, it would walk with you. It stood about three feet in height. My sister, let's call her Jen, had long since abandoned the doll and it was relegated to living a l…

My weird family

Check out my new Medium collection:


My weird family

RIP Benji

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Speedos and hairspray

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A very long time ago, in a mystical land filled with big hair, sluts and spritz, lived an awesome high school kid named Eric. One of Eric's main goals in life was to have massive and well designed hair. In his quest for this daily goal, one horrible thing would always get in the way. Gym class. Gym, the bane of a student's high school life. 
As everyone knows, the population of gym teachers are sadistic malcontents, whose only joy in life is to torture hapless students. It's also a known fact that gym teachers aren't the sharpest hammers in the tool belt. It's no surprise that the lesson plans in gym were less than brilliant. For example, the swimming section consisted of titles like, "Make the kids do laps until they puke."
Since I grew up with a pool at home, swimming per se wasn't an issue. If I was your average bowl-haircut dork, fine. Let me swim until I die, master. But I wasn't. The crafting of my hair in the morning bordered on D-Day inva…

Insomnia Hell

Television is all we need

Is there anything better than lying on the couch watching TV for hours at a time? No, there isn't. It happens to be the greatest use of man's time ever. My one lofty goal in life is to just be a part of the couch and cycle through all of the channels in a semi-infinite loop, stopping on any WWII shows until I'm dead. One might say that this is an incredibly mediocre goal to strive for.  I say rubbish. This is extreme ambition at its best.

Unibummer

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You know man, technology sucks. Things like databases, servers, ones and zeros have turned our once easygoing way of life to shit. Do you think anyone in the 50s had to remember 47 fifteen character passwords? No, I don't fucking think so. The Old Man is always griping about how his life is over because he's retired. You're 85, it's amazing you're still alive. The Old Man was an electrician. He worked in a paper mill and had his own residential business. He was always on his feet and doing physical labor. The jobs of the past have not one iota of resemblance to what most of us poor stupid bastards do today. Of course, The Old Man also knelt on concrete for forty years and his knees are shot. So there's that.

I don't really know if "the information age" has made life any easier. Have you tried calling the DMV lately? Wouldn't be nice to know that there's an actual living, breathing person who gets that pdf form that you have to submitted to…

The idiocy of DST

Like most of you, I'm a nineteenth century farmer with no access to electric lighting. So you can obviously tell that I'm very grateful to our all-knowing daylight savings time government overlords. I really have no fucking clue how I'd gather chicken eggs or milk Bessie without that earlier sunrise in the winter. Besides, what else do I have to do in the winter but screw my wife and have as many kids possible to help on the farm? It's not like I need to drive home from work at the end of the day or something stupid like that. Why would I need it to be light out at 5pm? And praise God for the extra light in the summer evenings. After a day of back-breaking manual labor, it's good to sit down with The Good Book and read verse after verse without having to light dozens of candles.

ex·cru·ci·at·ing

ex·cru·ci·at·ing ikˈskro͞oSHēˌātiNG/ adjective adjective: excruciating 1. intensely painful.

Motley who?

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Now that Motley Crue has announced their last tour ever, one has to ask, "who the fuck cares?" Is this supposed to be some kind of sad breaking news story, like a mass shooting?

I can't imagine how long it's been that someone even bothered to download their music illegally. Of course, if you grew up in the 80s listening to them and other hair bands, it'll make you sad that you are now old.

Just think, since grunge hit in the early 90s, record companies have wanted nothing to do with bands like MC. So for about 25 years Motley Crue has had absolutely no relevancy in pop culture. Big deal. Quit.

Also, anyone who appeared on the 2014 Grammys should admit defeat and retire. The American music industry is a massive 72 train train-wreck. So it actually makes you wonder, is there room just plain rock music anymore? It doesn't seem that way. Guitar, bass, drums and a singer has gotten just plain boring. It's all been done. Like beating a dead horse with a dead h…

Sing it Andy Williams, It's the most depressing time of year

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That's right, no more holidays. No more gallons of turkey soup. Time for the seemingly permanent 'case of the Muuundays.' And if you also live in a snowy area, a four month gradient of gray to black that covers the sky.

This is also the time of year that you realize your job will consist of same monotony no matter what awesome "goals" you set for yourself for the yearly review.

So congrats. You've made it another bloody year. And if you need a little help with your cubicle depression®, maybe modern pharmaceuticals can help you out.