I had to get some money out of the ATM today. (A Bank of America ATM!)

The bank I went to has the building, then a teller lane, then the parking lot, so there is a crosswalk over the teller lane. There’s also a huge sign that says, “Please do not block crosswalk.” If you can’t figure out why that sign is there, even without a visual depiction of the area I’m talking about, you may not wish to read further.

I turned to walk back to my car after getting the money and there was a girl – like, mid twenties or late twenties, on her cell phone with one of those small dogs in her lap. I laughed at the situation because – first of all – since when do people younger than sixty use the drive up teller and – secondly – it isn’t a particularly small sign. This is completely ignoring the fact that crosswalks are for pedestrians to assume some pseudo safety across a road that vehicles use. So I decided to take a picture, got her lined up properly with the sign in the picture and everything. She then rolled down her window and said, “What the fuck are you taking a picture of?” The dog began barking immediately. I’m pretty sure she’d lowered the phone, thus making it so that whoever was on the other end was just hearing yips.

I laughed and pointed to the sign, which prompted her to say, “So what, asshole?”

I said, “It’s funny because the sign is clearly visible and yet you’re blocking the crosswalk.” Because it is funny.

Her response? “That’s fucking rude,” with one of those frustrated exhalations of air.

My reply: “It isn’t rude. Either you didn’t see the sign or you don’t care: it’s funny.”

Then came the golden question, the one I used to love getting when I worked customer service since I have so many ways of saying yes to it: “Are you calling me stupid?”

I made a quick summation of her character and explained, “If you had a sign in your bathroom for male guests to either not pee on the seat or to clean up after themselves, and you found pee on the seat, what would you think about the guy who did it?” She was able to pick up what I was putting down and appropriately cursed at me, 800 words per second.

When she finally wound down she finished with, “You dumb shit, like you’re mister perfect!”

I couldn’t have asked for a better declaration. I said, “Well if the situation was reversed then I would either say, ‘Oh man, I didn’t see the sign, how dumb of me!’ or ‘Aw shucks, you caught me not caring about the sign!’ and then I’d have backed up and that would have been the end of it.”

Probably guessing I’d made her look stupid, the obvious only response is an ad hominem attack: “Whatever. Fuck you, faggot.”

This caused me to laugh even more and I said, “Yes, since being a civil human is a characteristic that only gay people have.” Before I could say anything else, though, she peeled off! Didn’t even wait for the car in front of her to move up to the window – the girl simply drove off angrily!

It was then I realized: Shit! I didn’t get the picture!

My only solace is that she probably was angry for the whole rest of the day, maybe composed a Tweet about it or something with hashtags along the lines of douchebag or hatersgonnahate. Oh, ‘Murrica.

There’s a web campaign I noticed today that is trying to end using the word “retard” as a pejorative.

http://r-word.org

Several of my friends shared it because today (March 5th) is their awareness day. I am not here to somehow defend the use of the word or to crap all over the people organizing the campaign, though. I am here to share an embarrassing story of mine as a show of support for this. While I generally don’t mind insulting someone for things like their religion, personal habits, annoying Facebook activities, and a myriad of other criteria they all pretty much have a single thing in common:

You can choose to do or not do any of those things.

Granted, some people have addictions or mental illnesses, and I understand that. But most people choose (consciously or otherwise) to continually use hashtags or pick their noses in public. Someone who falls under the category that the word “retard” used to cover did not ask to be born like that. You’ll probably find that a lot of the things I get super up-in-arms about boil down to that or, at least, are nuanced enough to be in the same vein. Note that I said, “used to cover,” there – that’s because it’s a word that shouldn’t be used to corral all kinds of disabilities together.

My story is this:

After moving to Long Beach, California earlier in my life I started to get more exposure to gay people. While I considered myself a supporter of gay rights I never involved myself in any way and I used to call things “gay” all of the time. “Oh, that shirt is so gay,” and etc. Within some time, my friends started to tell me that while they appreciated me arguing for them with people on the internet and such, that my continual use of the word in a pejorative way was confusing. Initially, I responded in the way that most social Conservatives respond to that sort of thing – “Why are you being so sensitive?” “It’s just a word,” “I hate politically correct language,” “I’ve got all these gay friends so I can’t be a homophobe.”

Of course, in time, I realized how undeveloped and puerile those points of view are. I developed a simple way to weed it out of my vocabulary. Whenever I called something “gay” I would also say, “as in bad.” (To this day, if I slip and call something gay, you’ll hear me add it.) That probably sounds counterproductive but what it did was put it at the forefront of my mind. “This traffic is so gay… as in bad.” “What did that guy do? Wow, that was gay… as in bad.” and so on. It did not take very long for me to realize how stupid and mean I sounded.

It’s tough for me to specifically point out what people are using “retarded” for and to help develop ways to stop people from using it negatively. However, the picture I attached to this story is an example of what I mean. Campaigns like the one I mentioned are great starts and are making good progress. Calling people out for it also works if you’re thick-skinned enough to deal with the kind of dolt who would call something retarded.

If you’re someone who is mature enough to realize you shouldn’t be calling things retarded, or labeling someone some sort of “-tard” yet don’t have the self-control or vocabulary to weed it out, try to find something like I did. When you use it derogatorily like that, you’re implying that there’s something “bad” about having a developmental disorder.

Come to think of it, maybe replacing “retarded” with some of my criteria above or something may be worthwhile. “What are you doing? You’re acting like such a Catholic right now.” “Dude, stop saying that, you sound hashtaggy.” “You just went full nose-picker. Never go full nose-picker.”

A week or so ago, the Internets were in an uproar because of the news that Ben Affleck will be the next actor to don the Bat suit (albeit in the Superman sequel).

A few days ago, the useless spectacle known as the MTV VMAs happened and Miley Cyrus apparently shook her nonexistent ass – much to many peoples’ horror.

As per usual, I was critical of the Internet’s response to both incidents – and by “Internet” I mean Facebook since it’s the dominant platform. My specific problems with the Internet, of late, have run fairly parallel:

• Re-sharing unfunny images/memes – like those “Some eCards” or the Joker meme.
• Sharing shock posts that a simple Snopes search would reveal to be fake.
• Posting links to Upworthy/Buzzfeed.
• Talking about inane things – such as who Taylor Swift broke up with or whatever.
• Linking to some group’s rendition of a popular song on YouTube.

I made a mistake and decided to utilize the events in Egypt and Syria as a counterbalance when referencing the Affleck/Cyrus nonsense, figuring that these Facebook cretins wouldn’t be able to connect to what I was saying without some sort of topical reference. What I should have done was simply stuck to my original intent, the heart of this web site, and (in honor of R. Kelly) done some real talk:

I’m trying to make you feel stupid for talking about the casting of a movie character or what some worthless entertainer did at a wholly pointless awards show performance.

Someone sent me the image I attached to this rant in response to my multiple bitch-fests, and it helped me to clarify my position. So I thank that person for helping me to state my position more clearly. I don’t really care whether you feel bad about ignoring/glossing over the events in Syria/Egypt/wherever else. You’re an idiot for caring about Ben Affleck as Batman, Miley Cyrus shaking her booty, and sharing those un-funny images/YouTube videos/Upworthy articles/hoaxes.

And that’s what’s important. If you happen to also feel bad as a result, all the better.

Dumbasses.

My father had a ranch; we used to have 50-60 wetbacks to pick tomatoes. It takes two people to pick the same tomatoes now. It’s all done by machine.

Alaska Representative, Don Young. Man, I don’t even know where to start or begin here. I’m just going to have to stream-of-consciousness this one:

• I realize this is an old guy but even my grandparents – older by at least six years – know you don’t just casually toss around racial slurs.
• He can’t possibly have thought that it was an acceptable term, could he? I mean, he hasn’t actually apologized for saying it.
• If he had used the term, ‘spics,’ what kind of reaction would that have generated?
• Why wouldn’t he have just said, ‘workers,’ instead? What purpose does using the pejorative serve?

That’s all I can think of right now but man, that is just too funny. I know I’m a pretty liberal dude with no love for the GOP but I’d like to see how the crazies are reacting to this – probably trying to somehow pin this as a platform of the Republicans or something when it’s really just some out-of-touch old dude.

Of course, this does remind me of the time that Billy Ocean’s “Caribbean Queen” happened to be playing in the background (at a low volume) during a car ride and my grandmother on my father’s side interrupted whatever conversation was happening to note: “This sounds like a bunch of coloreds, jazzing it up!”

So a Girl Walks into a Comedy Club…

It’s been a bit since anything happened that I felt was worth bitching about on here. And there’s so much wrong about this that I am delighted to tear this douchebag apart.

It’s pretty much a societal rule that if you heckle a comedian you deserve whatever comes back your way. If I went to see that asshole Nick Di Paolo and shouted at him for saying something racist or conservative, then it’s pretty much his duty to tear me down and make me look like the asshole I am for interrupting his bit. It’s his fucking comedy bit: not Nick Di Paolo featuring stupid commentary from Calliander.

But let’s say you don’t go to comedy shows enough. How would you know not to interrupt the comedian? Oh wait – COMMON FUCKING SENSE tells me that if I’m seeing any kind of performance and I don’t like what I’m seeing then I … GASP … leave! If I buy tickets for a band I really want to see and they just suck, I leave and find a way to get my money back. If I spontaneously decide to go see some unknown band play and it turns out they only cover Journey, well that is my money lost for taking the chance. And that’s what you did, you took a chance:

We saw that Dane Cook, along some other names we didn’t recognize we’re playing, and while we both agree that Cook’s style is not really our taste we were opened-minded about what the others had to offer. And we figured even good ol’ Dane can be funny sometimes, even if it’s not really our thing.

So with those things in mind, let’s go over events here.

So Tosh then starts making some very generalizing, declarative statements about rape jokes always being funny, how can a rape joke not be funny, rape is hilarious, etc. I don’t know why he was so repetitive about it but I felt provoked because I, for one, DON’T find them funny and never have. So I didnt appreciate Daniel Tosh (or anyone!) telling me I should find them funny. So I yelled out, “Actually, rape jokes are never funny!”

You felt provoked because you, for one, DON’T find rape jokes funny. Well, good for you but guess what: if you didn’t appreciate the comedian trying to tell you that you should find the jokes funny, you leave. You don’t yell something out. In the paragraph prior to that you spent so much time making sure that everyone knew you were paying your hard-earned money for this comedy show so you’re really trying to justify being a dickhead instead of acting like a normal person and exiting the show.

I did it because, even though being “disruptive” is against my nature, I felt that sitting there and saying nothing, or leaving quietly, would have been against my values as a person and as a woman. I don’t sit there while someone tells me how I should feel about something as profound and damaging as rape.

No, you did it for the reason I mentioned. This is just further trying to rationalize being disruptive. “Saying nothing, or leaving quietly, would have been against my values as a person and as a woman.” So you’re an asshole, and probably a social conservative, since those are the kind of people who justify their having been a jerk (especially in public) with that kind of phrase.

Now in the lobby, I spoke with the girl at the will-call desk, and demanded to see the manager. The manager on duty quickly came out to speak with me, and she was profusely apologetic, and seemed genuinely sorry about what had happened, but of course we received no refund for our tickets, but instead a comped pair of tickets, although she admitted she understood if we never wanted to come back. I can imagine the Laugh Factory doesn’t really have a policy in place for what happens when a woman has to leave in a hurry because the person onstage is hurling violent words about sexual violence at her. Although maybe I’m not the first girl to have that happen to her.

Hmm. Funny how we are suddenly talking about a refund. So not only did you interrupt the comedian, you spoke to the manager. I think I know what’s going on here!

I should probably add that having to basically flee while Tosh was enthusing about how hilarious it would be if I was gang-raped in that small, claustrophic room was pretty viscerally terrifying and threatening all the same, even if the actual scenario was unlikely to take place. The suggestion of it is violent enough and was meant to put me in my place.

I was right! So here’s what ACTUALLY happened. You couldn’t help yourself and heckled the comedian which, as we’ve discussed, is an asshole thing to do. Then, because you’re such a self-entitled moron, you got all butt-hurt when the comedian rightfully heckled you back. You got what you deserved but because you’re too thin-skinned to take what you dish out, you went and cried to the manager about a refund – even though you admitted it’s your bad for taking the risk on the show! And now Tosh has to issue an apology to you because a bunch of other entitled asshats re-blogged your whiny, self-indulgent missive? Could you get any more cloying: “gang-raped in that small, claustrophobic room was pretty viscerally terrifying.” It’s none of those things, but since you feel like such a special snowflake, all the other ones will rally around you. The worst part about all this is what I italicized in the quoted text: you totally know you were in the wrong and you realized he was trying to get you back for fucking with his set. So that means you’re just being vindictive. At least Tosh was trying to be funny, even if you don’t think he succeeded.

Don’t take me for a Tosh.0 fan – his show has some funny points but it’s completely uninspired. His comedy performances turn me off in the same way as Adam Sandler movies – the, “LOOK, LAUGH AT THIS, IT’S FUNNY! I’M TRYING SO HARD TO MAKE YOU LAUGH!”

Just over a dozen years ago I was hungover coding the first version of Insult. It was a Sunday in April.. I had great night the night before. See, it was my freshman year in college and I was doing new things and seeing new things (live, not online). Sure, there were some assholes at this party the night before, and of course the Overtly-Sexual-Fat-Chick flashing her boobs. Some folks were playing the How-Drunk-Can-You-Get game while others were trying to hook up. Most seemed to just be trying to figure out how to define Fun.

Fast forward a bit, and I think life became a mix of Doing-What-You-Got-To-Do, Doing-What-You-Like, and Figuring-Out-What-Else-To-Like. See, you redefine the meaning of Fun throughout life.

Returning back to present day, the situation for me is the same on a high level but my definition of Fun has changed and what I like is different.. that’s part of getting old.

The fucking douche-bags still exist. They’re not wearing their backwards hats anymore, now they’re in Ed Hardy and probably Penazzle their junk. It tends to be a new wave of douche though. The douche of 10 years ago has evolved into Generic-Guy and while he continues to be a douche has lost his luster.. Generic-Guy doesn’t Penazzle.

Now, there is another type that is pissing me off. We all know this guy because he is now Never-Going-To-Grow-Up.. he may never have been Cool-Guy, but wants to be now. He gets older, while the girls stay the same age. Despite the fact that it became a bit weird when he was 25 and hanging out with high school girls, he won’t let go. Another variant of this guy is just hanging out with 21-year-olds. Sure, he’s old but he knows he can hang. He can still hold a keg stand, in fact he is so experienced at it he can really show these youngsters how its done. He can compete in the How-Drunk-Can-You-Get game and flirt with the Overtly-Sexual-Fat-Chick. He doesn’t need to figure out how to define Fun anymore, but he doesn’t really add spice to the party. He won’t fuck shit up anymore, his joints hurt and needs to be functional tomorrow so he can file for his unemployment and wander around town all day.

Fuck you.

Pants. I’ve recently found that one of my most hated things in life for me is pants. I find them generally uncomfortable… They just wind up getting stained… and they keep me from seeing girls genitals. Pants suck. I also wish it was socially acceptable to drop trow and take a whiz at a urinal. Instead I have to unzip the fly, fish out my junk, let ‘er rip, try and expel all the whiz, pray to ceiling cat that I don’t have any left over pee left in my ding dong (which is possible because depending how tight your pants/unners are, your wang may be compressed slightly, think a kink a garden hose)… hopefully I haven’t visibly pissed myself at this point. Fuck pants.
Mike’s Rant about flash. Fuck you. Flash is the industry standard for streaming video right now. Deal with it. Are there better technologies? Yes, but I don’t see them being adapted by the public. Betamax was a superior recordable technology. Laserdisc was the crispest audio/video experience of its time. The Atari Jaguar had super slick 32 bit graphics, years before the Playstation. Just because a technology is better, doesn’t the public will back it, and if the public won’t get behind it, you ain’t got shit. Some companies just can’t deal with the fact they don’t live in a vacuum, where only tech they approve of exists and is used by the public. Flash rulez and I can view it on my netbook at any time.
Upper respiratory infections. I’ve been fighting this bastard since late December. I’m starting to worry I caught the Gay Cancer like Freddie Mercury. Me and Jim Henson are going to be the only ones in the last 40 years to die of pneumonia.

Reading through the September issue of Money magazine, I became infuriated. No, it wasn’t about how badly that one person messed up trying to make a loan payment; nor was it about the couple who couldn’t agree on financial matters. It was a different, smaller article tucked in between a few others. The title of the article is, “The Right Price for Your Kid’s Rite of Passage.” The tagline is, “Teen celebrations are getting expensive. Does showing the love always mean spending the cash?” The article talks about stuff like a Sweet 16 party, a Bar Mitzvah or a Quinceañera and the average cost being $10k, $9.5k and $8k, respectively. How to plan the party, how much to spend and etcetera.

What a crock of shit.

“We all want to mark these milestones in a way that lets our children know we’re proud of their accomplishments,” writes Jean Chatzky. “If you don’t throw a humdinger of a fiesta, do you risk sending the message to your child that you don’t love him as much as his friends’ parents love their kids?”

All I can offer Jean in response is, “Wow.” Actually, I can offer somewhat of a response: tell your fucking kid to grow up. What kind of spoiled brat expects their parent to spend between 8-12 percent of their salary on a stupid party? Coming of age, my ass! I still haven’t grown up, let alone the absurd idea that I actually became an adult the day I turned eighteen. Why not have your kid work to pay for the party? I had to start working at 16, but I never got a damned thing, and I’m okay with that. What’s wrong with kids today that they have to be so friggin’ materialistic? Apparently, Money asked some parents and kids how much they would spend on a party.

Tarita said her max on a Sweet 16 for her son, Dominique, was $2k. Meanwhile, Dominique (he looks like he’s got 50 Cent playing in his head twenty-four hours a day) feels that $15k would be adequate. If I were Tarita, I would take my not-fully-grown son over my knee and spank him for fifteen hours straight. Fifteen thousand dollars! What in the world is wrong with that boy?

Maybe I just don’t get it because I don’t have kids. I know for sure that my parents love me and they didn’t spend diddly squat on my ass until after I moved out of the house, though. To me, it seems ingrateful to think something like, “sending the message to your child that you don’t love him as much as his friends’ parents love their kids.”

Perhaps I’m thinking about it too hard.

Someone linked me to one of those "make your own online quiz" things. I remember us doing that before but my questions were really unfair because I tried to make them tricky. So, here's another one which might tax your Filthhole memories. I had a few folks test it to see if the questions were difficult enough to where you guys would do well.

Up Close With Mike

Calliander, keepin' it fresh since '21, you suckas.

Yeah, I don't get it either. For the third time today, black people have accused me of being famous. Actually, today it was TWO black ladies. I hear an "Excuse me, sir! I know you from the movies!" on my walk back from grabbing a burrito down the way. True to form, they then both freak out when I turn around to talk to them.. which, well, that's an interesting feeling. Of course, when I press them on it, they have no idea who I am or what movie, just that "they know me from the movies". Other black people have yelled at me from across the street about it. Now, this has only happened down-town (that's where we have black people in LA) and only on this one street between work and the burrito place... so, fuck, maybe it's the lighting or something. Well, anyway, black people think I'm famous - but who the fuck do they think I am? The only hint I can give you is that they all freak out specifically in the sense that I'm a "movie star", so no made for TV roles here, herpes commercials, etc. Like I said to Lib one of the other times it happened, at least they're not shouting "kill whitey" or calling me "cracker ass cracker" (quite fond of that moniker, fwiw)... these days I just get to be the white guy they mistake for that other white guy.

I'm just scratching my head on this one.

Wilson out.