An 18% tip? ‘Suck My Dick, Fuck Face’ Should Work

You know how they say that Europeans don’t know how to tip? Now you know the truth:

This bill comes from Joe Delucci’s Italian Restaurant in Bird Street, Lichfield, Staffordshire. How very British. The owner claims that the message was intended only for the kitchen staff, and that he has no idea how it ended up on the bill. Though they apologized profusely to the patrons (who paid a whopping £284.68, which only included a 10% gratuity. Can they adjust accordingly?), I think I’d still be pissed if I were them — even if it wasn’t MEANT to be on the check, “Suck My Dick Fuck Face” was still said by the restaurant in reference to them.

And they think we’re assholes in America….

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Although, speaking of being assholes in America, I was at a Red Sox game recently, and the beer prices were absolutely insane. But here’s the catch: Miller Lite, Coors Lite, Bud Lite, Bud ‘Heavy’ (as some Neanderthal called it) all cost $7.25 for a cup. Guinness, Smithwick’s, Harp, Sam Adams Lager, Sam Adams Seasonal, and Harpoon IPA all cost $7.75. Amstel Lite and Heineken also cost $7.75, because apparently they qualify as “Premium” beers (side anecdote: I did a order a Bud Lite at one point, but just said ‘Bud’ because all they had at that specific station. The woman directed me elsewhere for a ‘Bud Heavy,’ and I told her ‘Lite’ was fine, but I couldn’t help but wonder how many people at a Red Sox game are that adamant about Bud ‘Heavy’ versus Bud Lite. Is there THAT big of a difference?). Naturally, it’s a baseball game, and I want to get drunk, so I bought the beer despite its steep price tag, and naturally, I splurged 50 cents more to get the “Premium” shit.

But I didn’t tip.

Maybe this does make me an American asshole. I realize that the people slinging the beer don’t set the prices, but I’m already paying twice as much for a beer as I’d pay at a normal bar, which is already about 5 times what I’d pay at a liquor store, but especially with a job and a bank account like mine in an economy like this, I need every dollar I can spare (for more beer). My girlfriend, who works in the service industry, was quite irate when she learned of my refusal to tip, but I just couldn’t help it. So now, I turn to you, dear culturefuckers:

The Problem with Public Education

Death By Bacon

…And no, I’m not talking heart attacks (that’s why I cook mine in a George Foreman — more bacon, less death). Below, you will find unfaltering that, once the tension rises to armed conflict and the Great Omnivore-Carnivore Wars break out, it won’t be cannibalism that wins it for our side. Oh no. It’ll be bacon (which is, coincidentally, often held responsible for bringing people back to the side of the meat-eaters. It’s kind of like the anger, fear, and aggression that lead to the Dark Side of the Force, which, as we all know, is far superior to the Light Side.).

That’s right. It’s a BACON FLAME THROWER. You self-righteous Vegan types better watch the fuck out. Your puny cucumber got nothin’ on my meat! But don’t worry: after I torch your ass, I’ll shove some bacon down your throat while the flame broils your flesh like a Whopper, so at least you die happy.

Now, I realize that there are some of you out there who do eat meat, just not bacon. I call you “Jews.” And while I can at least appreciate and respect your adherence to your strict religious moral code, and absolutely admire your strong, Jewish willpower, I just want to know what kind of God is so wrathful as to be forbid this succulent, salty, hickory-smoked pleasure from ever crossing your lips (a number of you out there are saying, “Well, the Old Testament G-d,” or, “My G-d, bitch,” to which I say…well played). Still, as far as religious laws go, I find this baffling. Take pre-marital sex: at least in case, you can still indulge in the pleasures of the flesh after marriage, if you want to stay moral about it. Why can’t bacon get a stipulation like that? I think bacon should strike up a deal with the G-man. Maybe something like, “If someone is willing to have their foreskin chopped up in front of their entire fucking family, you’ll let them him/her eat bacon,” or maybe…no, that sounds good to me.

Unless someone else has a better idea?

The Truth About Brownies

It’s that time of year again.

Warm weather sneaks through the clouds. The snow melts away only to return with a light dusting the next day. The sunshine is destroyed by a torrential downpour that is gone within 8 minutes. And 3 boxes of Girl Scout Cookies have finally arrived on my door step.

I salivate at the thought alone. Too bad I ate all my Tagalongs on the first day. Damn my lack of self-control! As my gluttony got the best of me, however, a few things came to my attention.

Like, why has no one successful been able to reproduce Girl Scout cookies to available year round?

The potential profit there is enormous Everyone loves Girl Scout cookies, and when they’re available, people buy them en masse. Research into the Official Girl Scout Cookies Website (yes) reveals that the cookies are a product of one of two bakeries: Little Brownie, and ABC Smart. Unfortunately, both companies sell exclusively through the Girl Scouts. An honorable notion, sure, but a damn foolish business model!

You want to know how to jump start the economy and get people spending again? GIRL SCOUT COOKIES. There, I said it. Try to prove me wrong.

Bailout plans aside (mmm, Tagalongs), what really struck me upon the delivery of these boxes to my home was an apparent inconsistency in cookie nomenclature. While I’ve clearly revealed my own personal passion for Tagalongs (mmmmm, Tagalongs), I’m also well aware of the popularity of Samoas. What? They’re called Caramel Delites now? Why, that’s ridiculous! Something about the term Samoa being offensive? Preposterous! What could possibly be offensive about the flavorful combination of coconut, caramel, and chocolate, other than that their name exploits that of a delightful indigenous island culture?

In a street survey of over 3,000 people*, 92.7% reported that they were aware of some controversy surrounding the name change from “Samoa” to “Caramel Delites,” mainly due to the explosion of political correctness in the 1990s. 99.8% said that they still call the cookies “Samoas” regardless. Because they are delicious. Just like Samoans.

Allow me to rewind the story to November, when my lovely older sister e-mailed a bunch of people to tell us that her Girl Scout troop was selling cookies. No, she’s not IN the Girl Scouts still, she’s the Den Mother, or Queen Bee, or whatever else the leader is called. I, in turn, being the wonderful brother that I am, sent out an All-Staff e-mail at my job, which saw a rapid response; it also caused a brief fall out between me and co-worker in another department whom I still haven’t met, who apparently sells Girl Scout cookies for a troop that she sponsors as well.

I felt kind of bad about creating this conflict, but I saw no real need for competition: my sister sponsors a Girl Scout troop in Crown Heights, Brooklyn, and my co-worker in Newton, MA. Which one needs the money from the cookie sales more?

Or, more importantly: why did the caramel-coconut-chocolate-delicious cookies from Newton arrive in boxes labeled “Caramel Delites,” while the caramel-coconut-chocolate-delicious cookies from Crown Heights arrive in boxes labeled “Samoas?”

Could it be that the Girl Scouts had a surplus of “Samoa” boxes that pre-dated the name change, and figured that poor, low-income African-American children wouldn’t mind, or wouldn’t be able to tell the difference? Of course they would distribute the politically correct boxes in Newton, Massachusetts. They wouldn’t want to offend any of the uppity rich white Democrats, would they?

The Girl Scout’s law** states:
I will do my best to be
Honest and fair,
Friendly and helpful,
Considerate and caring,
Courageous and strong, and
Responsible for what I say and do,
And to
respect myself and others,
respect authority,
use resources wisely,
make the world a better place, and
be a sister to every Girl Scout.
Pawning of the political incorrect boxes on low-income African American girls? I’d hardly call that fair, considerate, responsible, or respectful.

But then again, I write for a site called “culturefuck,” so what do I know?

*I made this up.

**The Girl Scout motto is “Be Prepared.” Way to blatantly rip off of the Boy Scouts there. At least pretend to claim some originality and dependence, instead of relying of the men! Isn’t that in part what you’re about?

Now, my research into the bakeries responsible for these culinary delights (is it still culinary when they’re baked, not cooked?)

Nappy-headed Angels

Much like the Wu-Tang Clan, which ain’t nothin’ ta fuck wit’, I can’t really discern any way to culturefuck with the video below; quite frankly, it speaks for itself. Still, here it is, a celebration of culture to start your weekend, and proof that nappy hair is apparently more efficient than chainmail armor:

Helter Skelter, baby

California State Corrections Officials have released a new headshot of Charles Manson, the former Beach Boys collaborator who is facing a life sentence for threatening Dennis Wilson after not receiving proper royalty payments for music he had and eventually driving Brian Wilson to madness as a result.

That is why he’s in prison…right? Or maybe it had something to do with that whole “‘Helter Skelter’ foretells of a coming race war” thing he had going on. Either way, it doesn’t really matter.

What does matter is that The Boston Globe filed the article under “Arts & Entertainment: Theatre/Arts.”

So a recent photograph of a convicted mass murder/cultist/unofficial Beach Boy/Beatles Conspiracy Theorist…is apparently entertaining. Dare I say, theatrical! I don’t think I really have to point out to you all that is hilarious and wrong about this, although I’m sure there are a number of jokes about conspiracy cover-ups and media manipulation that are inherent in the situation.

That, or they confused the real-life Charles Manson with his stop-motion puppet counterpart:

Thanks, Boston Globe. And you wonder why you’re reportedly losing $1 million A DAY (which also makes me wonder why you’d publish your own article about the fact that you’re losing $1 million a day, but I guess that serious journalism comes at a serious cost)…

Rites of Passage or, Why I Am Awesome

Anyone who’s ever read culturefuck can attest to the fact that it’s mostly just a self-important sounding board for extreme, hyperbole-laden opinions on things that most people probably don’t care about which the authors have spent entirely too much time thinking about. Coincidentally, this is also why culturefuck is important, and brilliant, and beautiful, and sexy. But until recently, there was something missing — Anonymous Internet Slander, the cultural significance of which is clearly demonstrated in the diagram below:

Previously, culturefuck had fucked culture both loudly and vigorously (and usually missionary style), but still remained under the radar of these so-called “Internet Fuckwads.” While some culturefuckers and other internet aficionados might breathe a sigh of relief at this, I was in fact quite bothered by it. To me, the presence of an Internet Fuckwad is a marking, a rite of passage, that verifies one’s existence on the World Wide Interweb. Simply put: if your online presence (whatever it may be) has garnered enough attention that another human being (see: Internet Fuckwad) is uncontrollably compelled to register on your website with the specific intention of anonymously slandering you, you have proven yourself worthy. Whether you are a blog, or a band, or a web comic, or anything else, your significance to the vast annals of the internet does not matter, until a person has found him and herself so overcome by jealousy and rage that he or she must strike at you anonymously through the internet: only then have you truly made it.

Ladies and gentlemen: culturefuck has finally made it.

At 6:58pm on Saturday, March 14, we fell victim to our very first Internet Fuckwad. This Internet Fuckwad goes by the name of “spastic,” which is terribly, terribly clever. With an IP address of 81.106.102.13, “spastic” hails from the East Sussex region of the United Kingdom, and is apparently a HUGE fan of U2 (because apparently Irish-English rivalry and tension just isn’t what it used to be). Here’s the rest of the info based on the IP Address search, which may or may not be accurate:
OLO Management Group
Dawn Darbon
NTL House
Bartley Wood Business Park
RG27 9UP Hook, Hampshire
UNITED KINGDOM
+44 1256 753583

What I find most amusing about this whole thing is that, of all the posts here on culturefuck — you know, the ones about Gays, and Jews, and Asians, and the Pope, and Starving African Children — it was the one about U2 that offended someone so much that it inspired him or her to take action (albeit anonymously). Up until this point, I had never actually encountered a single person who really cared about U2 beyond the casual enjoyment of a few songs.

So thank you, “spastic,” for being a spastic and anonymous Internet Fuckwad. This whole thing would have never been possible without people like you to get pissed off at things I say and then post anonymously about it. I’ll make sure to include you affectionately in the acknowledgments of the culturefuck hardcover coffee table book, whenever that finally comes out.

And the award for best culturefuck goes to…

Maybe I’m just bitter that Bruce Springsteen’s awesome tune from The Wrestler didn’t even get a nod, or maybe I’m pissed about Slumdog Millionaire being the new bukkake. Probably both.

More like “SUCKdog Millionaire!”

After seeing Slumdog Millionaire (“Mill-a-naire!” as that adorably dot-headed Regis Philbin wannabe excitedly cries all the time), I turned to my mother, my date for the evening, and asked her what she thought of the movie. “It was awful!” she cried, and with a furrowed brow I asked her why. “Because no one took care of all those poor, starving children. How could they just leave those poor Indian children there to die? They need to give the money to the children. This is ridiculous.”
“But what about–”
“No, just-just no. It was awful. I can’t believe that with all the talk about the movie, no one’s talked about that.”

Okay, so her reasoning doesn’t quite add up, but the more and more I thought about it, the more I started to really hate Slumdog Millionaire. It’s not that it’s a bad movie, per se; in fact, I thought it was phenomenal (at least, at first), so I’ll admit that the (absolutely brilliant and clever) portmanteau pun of the title above is really just me being facetious. Hell, I’ll even admit that I structured the previous sentence the way that I did just so I could use the word “portmanteau” in it (which I did. Victory!). So as long as I’m being honest with you, I would implore you to be honest with me in return and just admit that, while it was certainly a good film, Slumdog Millionaire did not nearly deserve the ridiculous amount of praise, adoration, and bukkake that it received.

So why did it win so many awards (aka, everything)? Because Americans, especially wealthy Hollywood moguls, are completely enamored on all things “cultural.” We look down at every non-white civilization in the world, and not necessarily in a condescending way; it’s the same way we look at a puppy dog. “Aw! Look at those Indian people with their brown skin and crazy cloth patterns and beads! Ooh, and the way they worship cows? How adorable! Who’s my little Slumdog? Yes you are!” It’s fucking kitschy! We’re too blinded by adoration for these delightful indigenous stereotypes to notice things like, oh, how come every single question Jamal was asked on the game show ran chronologically parallel with his life? OH HAY WELL THAT’S JUST A BIG COINCIDENCE. Right. Just like the coincidence that an Indian actor from a wealthy upper caste would ever fly randomly into the middle of the slums by helicopter, right where our protagonist is swimming in poop (unless I’m just being terribly ignorant on this like a real American?)

Most importantly, do we think that Danny Boyle was at all aware that is movie consisted almost entirely of flashbacks-within-flashbacks? If any other film maker had tried this stunt, he would have been crucified. And sure, the idea of revealing through flashback how Jamal knew every answer was a clever framing device. It also became an incredible tedious crutch after the millionth time it was used. Allow me replay the entire movie for you in broad strokes:

• We are from India!
• Here we are watching you on TV giving answers on a game show!
• How could you know the answer!
• I’ll tell you how I knew the answer!
• Cue glittery 70’s harp glissando flashback music!
• OMG FLASHBACK
• Terrible stereotypical happen in the Indian slums!
• I’m in love with a sexy sexy Indian girl who is devoid of all personality or character!
• My brother is a total douchebag!
• OMG! Somehow, a minor detail of the scene coincidentally correlates with the question I was initially asked in the first-step flashback in the present!
• More heartbreak, angst, and further complications!
• Benign authority figure in the present begrudgingly believes me while fat authority figure in the present is a total dick!
• DRINKS CHAI TEA
• We are from India!
• Here we are watching you on TV giving answers on a game show!
• How could you know the answer!
• I’ll tell you how I knew the answer!
• Cue glittery 70’s harp glissando flashback music!
• OMG FLASHBACK
• Terrible stereotypical happen in the Indian slums!
• I’m in love with a sexy sexy Indian girl who is devoid of all personality or character whom I met briefly over 12 years ago, but love knows no boundaries!
• My brother is a total douchebag!
• Cue glittery 70’s harp glissando flashback music!
• OMG! Somehow, a minor detail of the scene coincidentally correlates with the question I was initially asked in the first-step flashback in the present!
• More heartbreak, angst, and further complications!
• Benign authority figure in the present begrudgingly believes me while fat authority figure in the present is a total dick!
• DRINKS CHAI TEA! Wait, I thought I drank this already!
• We are from India!
• Here we are watching you on TV giving answers on a game show!
• How could you know the answer!
• I’ll tell you how I knew the answer!
• Cue glittery 70’s harp glissando flashback music!
• OMG FLASHBACK
• Terrible stereotypical happen in the Indian slums!
• I’m in love with a sexy sexy Indian girl (*now with a sexy sexy scar!) who is devoid of all personality or character whom I knew for all of 2 months about 12 years ago and I am still completely infatuated with her even though my brother is a total douchebag!
• OMG! Somehow, a minor detail of the scene coincidentally correlates with the question I was initially asked in the first-step flashback in the present!
• More heartbreak, angst, and further complications!
• Benign authority figure in the present begrudgingly believes me while fat authority figure in the present is a total dick!
• DRINKS CHAI TEA
• We are still from India!
• Completely contrived and stereotypical Hollywood ending cop-out that rivals even 28 Days Later!
• Exploitative tongue-in-cheek dance sequence supposedly created as an “homage” to the Bollywood films that the movie otherwise barely references but pretends to!

I read a review somewhere praising the movie for, “The best use of flashback I’ve ever seen.” This person must have written that review after just the first one, when it was still new and exciting, and not after the credits where its tiresome repetition turned it into little more than a cheap, over-glorified and wonderfully forced plot device. Such glaring errors and plot holes were, of course, easily overlooked by the feel-good nature of the thing (which I personally felt great about while watching), and the fact that it featured those cute widdle India people and their silly cultures. Aw, look! That God has tusks! And that one has lots of arms! Isn’t that just precious?

Well, at least the Indian chick was sexy. And that scar! Rawr.

Suck My Benedict

Not too long ago, we reported on the Pope’s public disapproval of online social networking. Pope Benedict XVI — you remember, used to be in the Hitler Youth? Man, I just can’t get enough of that one — made a few hilarious comments about the sinful nature of teh Intarwebz (“If the desire for virtual connectedness becomes obsessive, it may in fact function to isolate individuals from…healthy human development.” Thanks, bro. Can I call you bro? I don’t know where I’d be without your OFFICIAL DECLARATION). You may have also heard about the excommunication of several Catholic Bishops, including Dick Williamson (can I call you Dick?), who were apparently tight with Mel Gibson’s Daddy and liked to shoot the shit over a few beers while denying that the fucking Holocaust happened (there was also some nonsense about an unauthorized ordination that actually set the whole thing off, but that’s beside the point). Anyway, Benedict finally removed the stain left by that Papal smear and lifted the excommunication.

Nice guy, right? Except that some people were (understandably) pretty pissed about the whole thing. And by some people, I mean Jews. Now, I’m well aware that most young adult males in Germany around the time of World War II were forced to enlist, but that admission totally ruins the irony and ensuing hilarity and generally fucked-up-ed-ness of a former member of the Hitler Youth and leader of the Catholic Church pardoning a gang of Holocaust deniers. Ahem.

Of course, none of this crossed the mind of our dear old Pope (who is, in fact, the oldest Pope to ever be Pope’d) until after the fact. Oh…whoops? Now, less than 2 months later, Benedict has admitted his mistake (which makes me wonder — when the Pope goes to Reconciliation, who does he confess his sins to?). But he didn’t stop there! As he realized the error of his ways, Benedict learned the hard way about the power of The Intarwub:

• “I have been told that consulting the information available on the Internet would have made it possible to perceive the problem early on.” (how eloquent and politically neutral! Good boy!)

Benedict goes on to say that the Holy See (which is apparently the name given to the Pope’s domain and which sounds so terribly, terribly grammatical ignorant even though it isn’t) “…will have to pay greater attention to that source of news.”

To this, of course, the collective consciousness of World Wide Net-o-web responded:

p0p3 = pwn3d

(also, 0111010001001010010010110101111001)