Posted by: Rites of Patches | June 29, 2014

Not Cool, Spider… Not Cool

I am on record as stating that no bug should be large enough to have hair. The only time I’ll even consider making an exception is when the bug is in a large glass case carried by The Rock with Tracy Morgan nearby threatening it.

Needless to say, I was not pleased when a spider decided to make itself known to me in my bathroom. It didn’t crawl out from the wall or jump out from a vent. It LOWERED ITSELF FROM THE CEILING like it was the most terrifying 1996 Tom Cruise possible.

mission_impossible
There’s little I’m less interested in experiencing than catching a rappelling spider with my peripheral vision while my genitals are exposed.

Maybe a different scene with laser grids will cleanse my palate…

Entrapment half
There. Now that’s an improvement over spid-

Entrapment_Gin_posterior
Goddammit! Abort! Abort!

Posted by: Rites of Patches | June 18, 2013

Better Bumper Stickers

Bumper stickers are one of my least favorite things on earth. The list probably goes 1) Talk radio 2) The City of Boston 3) Bumper stickers. Actually, we’ll move Boston up to #1. Fuck the Red Sox.

But also, fuck bumper stickers. The vast majority of them try to make some grand political statement in 2-8 words. Can anything worth saying on any political topic be said in that space? Has “Nobama” or “Buck Fush” ever done anything other than piss off the other side and make your own side nod their heads while muttering, “Durr-hurr?”

You know, I’ve been on the fence concerning our incumbent president, but this savvy political analysis has won me over.

I submit not. I also submit better versions of several popular bumper stickers.

catholic

Equality

Gunbortion

Christian Vote

Thank-A-Liberal-Bumper-Sticker-(7146)

bumpers-righthand

Calvin

Posted by: Rites of Patches | February 23, 2013

A Wildly Improbable 2013 Academy Awards

Announcer: Ladies and Gentlemen, the 2013 Academy Awards! Here’s your host, Seth MacFarlane.

Seth MacFarlane: Haha. Hey, everyone. Most people know me as the creator of Family Guy. Most of you, however, know me as the reason no one is watching right now. (Polite laughter from the audience) Haha. Hey, that reminds me of that one time that a thing happened with a person we all have heard of before, but perhaps may have forgotten about. Get it? We know the same things. Good joke. Read More…

Posted by: Rites of Patches | January 9, 2013

My Cleaning Crest

About a month ago, I hosted a holiday party for most of my friends. It’s something that happens far less than it should. I have a house. I have friends. For some reason, I never think to combine the two…

In any case, these sorts of things require cleaning. And cleaning I did… along with a friend whom I paid to come over and help. It was either the laziest $30 I ever spent or the best excuse ever to hang out with a buddy all night.

My half-hearted efforts at cleaning, as well as my love of all things Game of Thrones, made me wonder what my family crest would look like. Pretty sure I figured it out.

Posted by: Rites of Patches | December 8, 2012

WTF…

I don't even want to know who the hell searches for that...

I don’t even want to know who the hell searches for that…

This July, I spent two weeks abroad in the United Kingdom. Two friends and I spent five days in London, followed by seven days in Scotland. The stories that follow are totally true and not in any way exaggerated or embellished.

Days 6-12

We arrived in Edinburgh via train.

Pubs happened.

I’m pretty sure I got the most authentic Scottish experience possible.

This is Scotland, right?

Just to dispel any lingering doubts, that is not a picture of me in the background. I do not own any baby blue clothing and my abs are incredible. Call me, ladies! RAWR!

All in all, this was one of the greatest experiences of my life. I learned so much and can’t wait to travel more. We’ll see whose toilets I will learn from next. I can’t wait!

This July, I spent two weeks abroad in the United Kingdom. Two friends and I spent five days in London, followed by seven days in Scotland. The stories that follow are totally true and not in any way exaggerated or embellished.

Day 5

Our last day in London was spent at St. Paul’s Cathedral and the Tate Modern. Aside from My Friend Baxter (whom you may remember from a tennis-related monologue) totally dismissing a painting so he could get to the bathroom, both places were pretty cool, but devoid of comic relief.

Hence, some miscellany below as we journeyed north to Edinburgh.

Baxter and I somehow managed to discover to every completely innocent word that means something very different in Britain. I discovered that in England, the term “gash” is used less to describe cuts or scratches in something and much more to describe vaginas. Who knew?

At least that connotation exists here. Poor Baxter’s terminology was completely innocuous. He tried to describe his exhaustion as “dogging it,” which apparently means gay sex in a creepy, sleazy environment.

During Wimbledon, he described Serena Williams as very “fit.” To us, this means she is in excellent physical condition. To the English, that means Jesse finds Serena Williams eminently fuckable. I don’t know that Baxter would say that about Serena, although to be fair, I sure as hell would.

There’s something supremely attractive about a person who is damn good at what they do

One of the things that struck me most about London was how much smaller space is than in the United States. Streets are narrower, allies are tighter, and bathroom stalls make it difficult to close the stall door without climbing atop the toilet.

I was blessed with the opportunity to use and evaluate all sorts of foreign toilets and I had no idea how far behind the United States is lagging in toilet technology.

How the hell do we not have dual flush toilets throughout the United States? When you take a leak, you press the small button and you press the big button after you take a dump. Standard flush for number twos, smaller flush for number one.

I can’t think of a single negative. It makes so much sense that I blows my mind that we haven’t converted yet. When my toilet craps out (Haha. See what I did there?), I am installing on of these. I would pay extra for it, even if the economy is in the shitter (Yes!). I would go for the trifecta, but it’s time for bed. I’m pooped.

No?

I know where the door is. I’ll show myself out.

This July, I spent two weeks abroad in the United Kingdom. Two friends and I spent five days in London, followed by seven days in Scotland. The stories that follow are totally true and not in any way exaggerated or embellished.

Day 4

If there was one thing I wasn’t expecting about London, it was the birds. There were pigeons everywhere. I should have remembered this from that horrible song in Mary Poppins, but I didn’t. Was Mary Poppins set in London? Who knows…

If you have ever had the pleasure of walking amongst pigeons, you know something we found out the hard way. When pigeons take off from the ground, they always look like they are going to fly through your skull. Pigeons are instinctually incapable of taking off without making a person freak out and duck for absolutely no reason.

And they shout “Fuck you, asshole!” while doing it too

After checking out the Imperial War Museum and the HMS Belfast, we stopped at a riverside restaurant to eat. There I met my match.

I like bacon cheeseburgers. There’s a burger. And then there’s bacon on top of it. It’s glorious. It used to be my default order at any restaurant. I don’t waste time eating and no burger has survived my onslaught.

Then I ordered the Tower 42 burger, a double-patty monstrosity concocted by Satan himself.

It was the first burger that stymied me. I couldn’t eat it. I couldn’t even fit it into my mouth. I’ll give you a moment to insert your own joke here.

It was this big!

I gnawed the burger more than I ate it, whittling down each side. Despite some last second encouragement from my compatriots, I was defeated. There was a square 1.5 inch chunk of one patty remaining.

I plowed through a bunch of fries afterwards, but just the thought of taking one more bite of hamburger nearly made me retch.

Khaaaaaaaaaaan!

Defeat

Evening was falling when we left the restaurant. We were about to cross the Millennium Bridge when we noticed that it was packed full of people. We joined the crowds starting in the same direction, eventually learning that there was going to be a laser light show to celebrate the grand opening of The Shard, the new tallest building in Europe.

We waited for what seemed like an hour while the crowd grew larger around us.

And then this happened.

It did this repeatedly

Worst. Light Show. Ever.

I’d tell you how long those lights kept flashing, but we left and I never looked back.

This July, I spent two weeks abroad in the United Kingdom. Two friends and I spent five days in London, followed by seven days in Scotland. The stories that follow are totally true and not in any way exaggerated or embellished.

Day 3

Day 3 was all about Wimbledon.

Step One in the process is not getting lost trying to make it to the stadium. We botched that one, but moved on to step two reasonably quickly.

Step Two is to get into The Queue and stay there for a long time. Sports have some things that are so iconic that they are just “The Something.” There’s The Drive, The Catch, The Shot, and plenty more.

Let me say this: The Queue deserves its moniker. It would take about four Andy Murray choke jobs to get from the back of the line to the front. We gained admission to the grounds a mere two hours later.

The first match we watched was Aussies Lleyton Hewitt and Chirs Guccione facing Americans Rajeev Ram and Scott Lipsky. The Commonwealth must still mean something in the UK.

ANZAC 4-EVAH!

We had to have been three of about seven people cheering for Ram/Lipsky and I’m pretty sure the other four was a family of Indian descent cheering specifically for Ram. Of course, we won in the end, just like America always does, except for all the times we tried to do stuff in Asia.

We closed the day by watching the Andy Murray/David Ferrer semifinal from Henman Hill, which apparently became Murray Mound while we were there. There, Baxter and I had the magnificent choice between sitting and staring at the backs of people’s heads or standing for three hours.

Trick question! Both answers are incorrect.

I think there was a screen above them or through them or something

It was, coincidentally, the Fourth of July, a holiday scant few Brits seemed to celebrate. That evening, we ran into a group of Americans walking along the River Thames. They handed us bags of tea and invited us to celebrate America with them by throwing bags of tea into the Thames.

I attempted to explain that British policy towards the colonists was actually quite reasonable, but it didn’t seem to deter anyone. Damn Anglophobes…

I blame ObamaCare. And also that Barack Obama still hasn’t shown us his birth certificate. And is a secret Muslim. And is a terrorist. And tears the hearts out of babies as a form of ritual sacrifice.

I’m pretty sure that’s not where the heart is located

And with a final, satirical, terrible MS Paint job, we retired to see the sights again the next day.

This July, I spent two weeks abroad in the United Kingdom. Two friends and I spent five days in London, followed by seven days in Scotland. The stories that follow are totally true and not in any way exaggerated or embellished.

Day 2

The best part of getting all our shit stolen was dealing with the police the next day.

It was like combining every buddy cop movie ever with every awesome stereotype concerning a team of English constables. One was irreverent and hilarious, cracking jokes all the time. The other played the straight man, making hilarious faces and shaking his head at us whenever the first guy said something particularly ridiculous.

I think my favorite moment was when one of them made fun of the Scots with a Scottish brogue. I had never really considered that people with accents could do accented accents of other accents. It was awesome to discover that other countries have stereotypes for people from other sections of their country too.

Basically, I’m glad Americans aren’t the only assholes in the world. Perhaps the biggest assholes, but not the only assholes. We are Amurica, dammit! We go all out for everything, including being fuckheads.

Artist’s rendition of the world’s biggest asshole

We spent most of the day walking all over the city. Those of you traveling to London who plan on walking, buy walking shoes. I thought my shoes were good enough for the amount of walking we were going to do. I can assure you that if you have the same thoughts, that idea is false.

Remember, no exaggerations here

Very, very false.

I spent much of my day with St. Jerome, St. Sebastian, and my homie, Eurocentric Jesus. Please check out THIS ARTICLE for a very brief explanation.

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