Stop Buying American

First and foremost: Sorry for the hiatus. Deal with it.

Secondly: Stop buying American -- I'm serious, and here's why.

Back in the day it used to matter if something was made in America. I distinctly remember all kinds of nicknacks, appliances, and even complete cars that were manufactured and assembled in these United States. When you went shopping you wanted to weed through the cheaply made plastic shit from Asia and the quality American made stuff to make sure you got your money's worth. Why? Two reasons: (1) your red, white, and blue brothers made that for you to enjoy it, and (2)it kept your money in America, which is a very simplified way of saying it won't create a trade deficit.

However, that was a thing of the past and we are in the here and now. And here and now most of our shit is made in China. To that end, China will continue to make cheap shit for us until the Great Chain of Economic Being is completely shattered, i.e. our politicians get their heads out of their asses, or China tries to attack us or vice versa.

THEREFORE, and try to stick with me because this shit is gonna get so mind blowingly easy you'll wire $350 to my PayPal account, you need to buy local. Here's an example: Name a product that is wholly manufactured and assembled in the United States of America. ... ? No, you're wrong. The only products completely manufactured and assembled in the USA are made by women with beards.

So what do we do about this, O Beaner Schnitzel? You buy local. Sure, you're still buying cheap Chinese shit, but now you are supporting your local stores. And by supporting your local stores you are paying the wages of the people that impact you the most -- the ones that live next door. Don't send away on the Intertubes for that LQQK NIB GIANT PURPLE DILDO LOT OF 12... Go to your friendly neighborhood dildo emporium and pick one up in person.

I've found that there is generally two reasons why people don't buy local.

1: They're too much of a fucking fat ass to get off their cellulite-ridden backside to walk down to the store and get it for themselves. This type of person sits on their derriere all day and collects Social Security and welfare benefits, but I digress...

2: They have this baseless idea that since they can get their dildos off the Internet at a cheaper price it is actually better for them to do so. Nothing makes me want to eat barbiturates as if they were Smarties than this argument. True, in the short term you will be saving yourself money if you purchase the dildo that's $3 cheaper online than down at your local emporium, but what about the long-term effects? You've kept that three dollars out of your economy, your tax system, and have taken money out of your neighbors' pay check.

Let's not forget to mention that you and all your fat fucking friends buy their dildos off the Internet, so it is likely that entire businesses have to close down due to lack of customers. Now that businesses have closed down, the State realizes that it's losing money because it is generating less revenue from its business taxes, so it raises your income and property taxes, and so on and so forth.

So in the end I hope you enjoy the three fucking dollars you saved on the cheap Chinese dildo you bought on the Interwebs... Congratulations, you're a fucking retard that should have bought locally.

I pity the fool...

That can't enjoy some good shore fishing.

There are some out there that need one of these vessels of elitism known as "boats" to enjoy fishing.

Don't get me wrong -- I enjoy boat fishing as well, but sometimes a boat is a pain in the ass... You have to have a trailer to put it on, a truck to haul it, and at least one competent friend to help you launch it, and put it back on the trailer when you're done. Let's not forget $300 to put gas in the fucking thing.

So, if you're like The Beaner Schnitzel, you live in more simpler times. You grab a pole, and either walk or drive your happy ass down to the river. In our case, the Saginaw River.

Sure, pretty much the only thing you can catch in the Saginaw River is catfish, sheepshead, and Herpes Type II, but who could ask for anything more? The catfish are plentiful, the sheepshead put up a good fight, and I'm pretty sure they have pills for that other thing you could catch.

But it's different when you're fishing off the shore -- especially a shore smack dab in the middle of a city. It's peaceful, yet busy. You're on cruise control while the townies drive by. Almost oblivious to the fact that they could be down there with you having their own vacation as well.

You can also get a wicked sweet tan. Yes, that is my forearm up against my bicep.

Check out the photo album.

Where do all the hot chicks go?

I'm not sure if this is something that is just Midwest-specific, but I have noticed an incredible phenomenon lately.

As you all know, your trusted Beaner Schnitzel pays attention to everything. I don't need to have sex with the dead horse anymore. Or is it "beat the dead horse?" Either way my back is starting to hurt.

As I'm driving in my car I like to look at the other drivers. The stuff you'll see is amazing. You can find people screaming at their children, drinking alcohol, and having sex with dead horses, to name a few. However, I just realized within the past week that you see more hot chicks as the weather gets warmer.

What causes this? What makes the hot chicks come out in warm weather? On the contrary, what makes said hot chicks hermits in cold weather?

Since I got a 99 (out of a possible 100, I'm sure) on my IQ test I was able to figure out the answer as soon as I asked myself.

I'm a leg man. Tits; meh. Asses; they're okay at best. Nothing gets me more excited than a nice pair of thighs. A woman with a set of supple thighs makes me want to run to her and squeeze them as if they were the safety spot in a game of tag and the ugly girl with the overbite is on my heels.

What do hot chicks like to wear in warm weather? Skirts, mini of course. Skirts are the best article of clothing ever invented. They allow the woman to move freely throughout the day, and they allow the man to ogle and objectify her as a piece of meat, just like God intended.

Now I know there are some guys out there that like to say that they prefer booties to boobies, or vice versa. But the fact is that every man with a wiener that works can't deny the power of a thigh.

The women know this. How could they not? What is a woman's purpose in life? To please men (note the plural), obviously.

Can a woman wear a miniskirt in cold weather? Well, she would, if she knew what were good for her. However, there is this silly little thing called "frost bite" that stops women from baring too much skin in winter. They tell you, "No, I can't wear a miniskirt today! It's only seven degrees outside!" Bullshit.

I bet this "frost bite" malarkey was made up by a woman. I should look into that...

Objection!!!

I recently made the decision that I want to go to law school.  I figure that if I become a cop, before I go to law school, then it will never happen -- I'll be too busy being a cop to want to quit and go to school.


I've been asking myself recently, "Does the law school matter?"  Sure, it matters if you want to be a hotshot corporate attorney, Supreme Court justice, or a high profile criminal defense attorney.  But what about someone that just wants their own practice, and doesn't have the flashy private boarding school upbringing?


I think I want to go into family and probate law -- the type of stuff that deals with marriages, child abuse, custody, adoptions, wills, estates, etc.  So, I ask you, my e-friends, do you think it really matters?  My choice of law schools in Michigan are limited to Michigan, Michigan State, Ave Maria, Wayne, and *gasp* Cooley.  


The only way I'll go to a law school out of state is if it's one of the top, and unless I get a 170 or better on my LSAT, I don't see that happening, considering my major isn't considered "tough." 

Drink Etiquette

I'm a fan of sociology.  It's not my first academic love (criminal justice), but I can't help but watch people.  It's probably my favorite thing in the world.  My most recent foray of my informal study of sociology is bar sociology.  Basically, it's the face to face intimate actions and reactions of drunkards, skanks, and douche bags.

My friends and I visited a few bars this past Saturday night.  One of the bars we visited (let's just call it The Bar that has Shitty Wait-staff) was absolutely packed.  It's the type of bar that has the meat heads with goatees at the door asking for your ID and a $3 cover charge, loud shitty music, and a dance floor just waiting to be filled with Long Island Iced Tea induced upchuck.  

We get into the bar and walk through a sea of swaying bodies.  I ask my friend what she wants to drink, and I squeeze into an open space at the bar.  I get my money ready and hold it in my hand on the bar and wait.  And wait.  And wait.  I was under the impression that the bartender always knows when someone needs a drink, but I'm pretty sure this lady just made a hobby of running back and forth from one end of the bar to another.  As I was sitting there waiting to get our drinks, I noticed this girl flirtatiously dancing with a guy.  The girl must have been shnockered beyond belief, because this guy was really gay.  You didn't even need gaydar to see the aura of sodomy around this fellow.  I feel as if I describe anymore, then I might start looking at men differently.  Let's just say he was wrist-breakingly gay.  But she wouldn't stop flirting with him.  Placing his hands on her ass, pulling his head down to her neck, all the "Wanna go back to my place?" motions, but the gay man didn't have the heart to tell her.  I was amused, yet terrified.  It was going to be a good night for bar sociology.

Then I noticed this girl next to me.  She was anywhere from 21-24 years old, but a typical bar fly -- tight outfit, heels, and a pleasant perfume.  Standing by herself, waiting for her prey.  Don't get me wrong, she was cute.  

She looks at me with liquored eyes and, over the sound of some onomatopoeia named guy that goes by Chingy, asks, "What do you need, honey?"

"Two Bud Lights."

She smiles at me and sticks out three fingers at the bartender.  Amazingly the bartender notices her and the bar fly says to her, "Three Bud Lights."

I thought to myself, "Okay, whatever... Perhaps I'm in some bar that has some dumb ass protocol for buying drinks.  Wait.  THREE?!  I said two.  "Two" doesn't sound like "three" at all -- not even in French.  Maybe she just needs a drink too."

Oh, pity me.

The bartender walks back and sets three Bud Lights on the bar.  The bar fly looks at me and smiles.

Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't there a verbal agreement before a man buys a woman a drink?  This crazy bitch just volunteered me to buy a drink for her.  As if I'm running the charity arm of the Anheuser-Busch Companies.

If she were a friend of mine, or even a mutual acquaintance, I would have been more than happy to get this girl all liquored up so I could take her into a corner and nibble on her neckline.  But no.  Fuck no!  You can't do that shit to me and get away with it.  She wanted to fuck with me, so I fucked right back.

I asked the bartender for the price of two drinks.  Almost instantaneously the fly scoffed and grabbed her fake Coach purse and left.

Me: 1

Barfly: 0

You'd fuck her...

And you know it.

Every once in a while there is a hot female that becomes a celebrity. As soon as she becomes a celebrity, every man in America wants to have sex with her, of course there are anomalies, but you get my point. Then there is another point in her career when, for some odd reason that hasn't been researched by any credible scientists, most men vehemently deny the fact that they want to have sex with the particular celebrity. It's as if the denial of coitus with the celebrity becomes cool.

You know, it kind of pisses me off. I can be driving down the street with a couple of friends and see a mediocre woman walking and say, "I'd put it in," and they would all agree. But I bring up a name like Britney Spears, and half of them act like they would rather wrap a broomstick in sandpaper and sit on it.

You know what I'm going to do? I'm going to make a preemptive strike on any comments by saying there is going to be at least one that denies wanting to have sex with Britney Spears, Lindsay Lohan, or my personal favorite, Jessica Simpson, because she's dumb. Hey, guess what? She's a multi-millionaire, she can't be too fuckin' dumb. I digress. Besides, one of you dumb fuckers is going to spite me and spew your mind diarrhea, anyway.

You see, here's the thing. Let's use Britney Spears as an example. Now, imagine yourself chilling in your living room on an idle Sunday morning. You have your window shades open and there is a warm amber glow splashing on your walls and floor. The kind of sunlight that allows you to see the particles of dust floating aimlessly through your air as they constantly remind you that you don't really give a fuck about dusting.

You hear someone knocking on your door. You're surprised because you weren't expecting any guests, so you jump from your seat and walk briskly toward the door only to have the door swing wildly open as Britney Spears charges into your living room. She's frantic and excited. She says to you in her cute Southern twang, "I need to fuck -- bad. And I want it to be you."

You'd fuck her.

Matthew 19:24

Nah, this won't be all that religious. I'm not going to tell you that you need to put your money in the bowl for Jesus, my gardener.

I kid.

I drove to the bank today to make the company's daily deposit. I pulled into the parking lot and I noticed a new Lexus IS. I wouldn't have thought anything more of it, but I'm a bit of a freak about reading license plates. I read every single license plate that I see. I don't know if anyone else does that, but I pay so much attention that I remember people on my daily commute by their license plate. It's kinda stalker-ish when you think about it -- so don't.

The license plate read "APASTOR." My blood pressure rose immediately.

I work in Saginaw, Michigan. During the heyday of the automotive boom, Saginaw was a very promising place to live. You could move in, get a job at an automotive parts plant with excellent pay and benefits, retire young and live the rest of your life worry free. Now you drive through Saginaw and you can't help but stare. Abandoned houses, urban prairies, and a heavily saturated liquor store market... It's a Philip Zimbardo experiment unfolding before your eyes.

As I walked inside the bank I scanned the lobby to see the man that was the PASTOR. He was wearing gold jewelry, a bluetooth headset, a Crackberry, and a very expensive pinstripe suit, with a hat to top it off. A preaching pimp, if you will. His wife was his female counterpart, complete with Dooney & Bourke purse, only her Crackberry wouldn't stop ringing.

Normally this wouldn't bother me. I generally try not to get jealous of other's fortunes. However, this man, and his marital lottery winning wife, made their fortune off the hope and tears of the poor.

I can't even begin to imagine this con's congregation. You know the misled give ten percent or more of their already measly incomes hoping that God will give back to them.

I know he's not the only pastor that does this. It's a common thing among inner-city churches. What I find so hard to understand is how the faithful stay duped. How can they give the money that they work their asses off for to these guys? The sheep drive rusted jalopies, buy five gallon buckets to catch the rain through the ceiling, and eat macaroni & cheese and Ramen noodles like they're going out of style while their pastor lives off their vision of heaven.

And what of the young men growing up in this situation? If the young man is normal, to contemporary American standards, he has to walk through gang territory, watch his neighbors get mugged and killed, decide if he should do drugs, and go to school where all of the aforementioned seeps through the brick walls of the classroom.

If he's smart he'll become a pastor.