Biggest Loser?! More Like Biggest...Loser--Shit [Rants]

The Season Finale of BIGGEST LOSER aired last night and god DAMMIT did it piss me off. Pound for pound...

...that was not only the worst episode of the season, but one of the worst episodes of anything I've ever seen. Excluding, of course, that one episode of Frasier where Kelsey Grammer discovers he's really in to scat play.

Shit on my chest.

The biggest problem I had was the running time. IT WAS 3 FUCKING HOURS LONG. 3 hours. Just for a little perspective, here are all the things you could accomplish in 3 hours:

1. Tile and grout an entire rape room.

2. Successfully negotiate peace talks between Israel and Palestine.

3. Watch 6 Donkey Shows.

4. ANYTHING ELSE

Think of the thing you love doing most in the world. Now imagine doing that thing for 3 hours straight. Still sound like fun? No, no it doesn't.

Do you like heterosexual sex? --Er, I mean, just plain sex? Great, so do I. I swear. Do I want to do it for 3 hours? No.

Do you like food? Eat some for 3 hours straight. Still like it?

People have a hard time getting through The Godfather, arguably one of the best films ever made. The Godfather is 5 minutes shorter than last nights episode.

Michael, what is this shit? You know I don't eat carbs...

They could have fit all that content in to a 30 minute show and still had 12 minutes to spare. It's like stretching out an orgasm to 3 hours. At a certain point it stops being fun and starts being painful, just ask Rihanna.

We like to eat everything., including your will to live.

TV is supposed to make you happy. It's supposed to help you forget about the family of Guatemalans squatting in the pantry. Is it still considered squatting if you make them walk 3 steps ahead of you to dust the path? I don't like getting the soles of my shoes dirty, lay off.

Note To Self

I live with my wonderful girlfriend Emily. She's female and lets me touch her. Emily's mom is coming in to town this weekend, and boy will her arms be achy! That's how the joke goes, right?


She'll be the first real guest we've had stay in our new apartment, unless you count that "friend" of Emily's that stunk up our couch and stole most of our food. I still think it was a homeless dude that took her for a ride.

I thought it would be prudent to compile a list of things I need to do/hide/have surgically removed before she arrives. This will be in an effort to convince her that her daughter isn't dating some loser with a shitty blog.

1. Get morning wood under control.

2. Conceal the 2 packs of baby wipes I keep next to the toilet. I think Emily's mom knows she doesn't have a granddaughter.

3. Stop my morning ritual of blasting "Single Ladies" while I nakedly march to the shower.

4. Get afternoon through evening wood under control.

5. Remove the display of questionable photos of myself from the mantle. It's not my fault I look great sans pants.

6. Realize my dream of shaving a lightning bolt in to the cats fur is never going to happen.

7. Remove the chalk board hanging in the bathroom where I tally how many times a day I have a solid BM. Replace with this:

Poop is funny.

8. Have more solid BM's.

9. Stop making lists for myself which ultimately go ignored.

I think I can definitely do at least 3 of these.

I'm Back [Fuckers]

Due to sheer boredom and a love for my own ramblings, I'm back! Not much has changed; I'm still sickeningly good-looking/wealthy, I still have a deep rooted hatred for all non white (read: pure) people , and evidently I still remember how to type.

As I type this I'm trying to "procure" a copy of Photoshop in order to wow you with my image compositing skillz. In case my clever use of ironic quotes hasn't clued you in, I'm pirating Photoshop. It looks like I'm still Jewish, so that hasn't changed either.

Read my blog!

Update: Photoshop.com appears to be awesome and free.

I'd like to talk a little about traumatic experiences. Not my own so much, there isn't nearly enough time or accredited Internet Therapists for that.

Update 2: Photoshop.com sucks. If I wanted some fancy method to remove red eye I would stop smoking meth.

Anyway, this morning I was leisurely minding my own business, NOT looking at porn, when suddenly I hear my name being shouted from across the way.

"Hammer! Hammer!"

I've convinced everyone at work that my birth name is Hammer Rapenstein. It was surprisingly easy.

"Come here, something is on fire!"

I looked toward the first logical place, my loins. Thankfully, they were not. So I strolled next door to find the kitchen engulfed in smoke and smelling of burnt toast. I looked down at my loins again, just to make sure. Then I looked to the toaster. Ah ha!

It looked like this but not nearly as dramatic or tasty.

Let's call the person who discovered this...Panicky. I was then told that "since the car burned down," Panicky was uncomfortable with fire. Just to be clear, yes, I am a classically trained (Julliard) firefighter. The extent of my fire fight with the bread however, amounted to me inhaling and quickly exhaling. Imagine blowing out the candles on the world's shittiest birthday cake.


I'm all for avoiding situations that rehash traumatic experiences (Ask me when the last time I used a broom was. 1989.), but c'mon! Everyone needs to calm the eff down and put things in perspective. A flaming piece of toast is relatively harmless. Unless it's Rye. God DAMMIT do I love Rye bread.