You Need a Butterfly Knife, Don't Delay!

So after a few conversations, I've felt forced to answer a question that should answer itself: Why should one prefer butterfly knives? Now honestly, this is a question so silly that no one else would entertain the thought of answering it, but since I'm such a kindly fellow I'll take a stab at it.

Pun intended...

It should seem obvious that this is like asking why men have nipples, even though the obvious answer is "how else can one tell if a man is cold or not?" Sure you could ask, but that's just odd and off-putting to have another person walk up to me like a bolt of lighting from clear blue skies and ask if I'm cold, or excited, or craving sexual satisfaction that I have yet to attain that day; this, provided she is not some type of samba girl or rap video model of course. Forgiving my digression from the point (pun intended), allow me to answer with a question or two.

Let's take a look at conventional knives: They don't fold, and are therefore inconvenient. You could put it in a sheath round your belt, but unless you're Rambo you're going to have your admission withheld at the door to the strip club, and there's nothing more embarrassing than being turned at the door of a titty bar. Furthermore, they're difficult to conceal. How in the hell am I to swiftly mug you in an alley on the fly? Now I'll have to plan for it in advance, and opportunity comes when one least expects it, so I'd be missing out which simply can not stand. I mean, have you seen someone flip a butterfly knife out in front of you? That's some intimidating shit, you'll have their wallet in no time. A note to the reader: Try the line "scream and I'll cut ya" after whipping it out; never fails. 

Folding knives, while easier to conceal, more convenient in carrying and far cheaper in most cases seem to have the following issues:

It's bad enough I need to pull this thing out, this folding knife, but to use both hands to open it? That's just madness. True, there's always the assisted unfold, but you still need both hands to close it! What the fuck is this? You mean to tell me, my stout chap, that I must condescend to using two hands to close it? I thought we were past this.

But fortunately we are. Enter the "Balisong" or "butterfly knife."

Originating from the Philippines and to date one of the few good things to come from that island apart from -I can't think of anything- the Balisong can be used anywhere a folding knife can. The difference being that it is approximately twenty-percent "cooler" (which is just science)  when unleashed upon an unsuspecting block of cheese or an unfaithful spouse who can't keep it in his pants, tricking around the neighborhood and thinking you'd never find out, that cad.

I'm so sorry, you're better off without him...


I hope this answers the question for those of you still holding out on an answer. To be honest, knife manipulation and implementation with a butterfly knife is just better and easier. Some even speculate that OJ Simpson would have gotten away with double homicide within a shorter period of time had he mercilessly butchered his two victims with a butterfly, ask any attorney! So if the increased likelihood of getting away with the wanton slaughter of a person isn't enough incentive, I don't know what to tell you. You must live a lonely life, enshrouded by confusion and doubt.

An Open Letter to Stereotype Enthusiasts

To Whom it May Concern,



If you've ever said, "you're not *really* black," then you're part of the
problem. I hope that got your attention, because this is going to be a long
and painful read for some of you. This letter is to inform all concerned
that I am identifying only with the "human" race, as opposed to identifying
as "black" or some other such designation. If you think it's cool to tell
someone they're "not really" a specific race based on their behavior not
sticking to a specific stereotype, then you are an idiot. It is one of the
most appalling yet subtle pretenses we've used to divide ourselves.

Perhaps I'm speaking as the victim? Not exactly. I'm guilty of this
stupidity myself. The difference is I've learned from it, and you to whom
this is addressed have not. A note on the "you're not really
black/white/asian/latino" phenomenon that has permeated our society, I'm
not. No, I am "not really" black. I'm a human being and my character or
behavior is not defined by my color or ethnicity, it's defined by my
fucking behavior; tell me this is not a difficult concept to grasp. The
fact that I've even heard the phrase in its several iterations at this
stage in human history makes me want to vomit.

Then there's the low-calorie version, the "what are you mixed with"
question. I'm mixed with... well I don't know. Carbon? Yes, carbon. Does it
really matter what the hell my ethnic origin is? Are you asking because
it's gonig to change your opinion of me? It probably won't, but many think
it will. You automatically establish a dividing line between yourself and
the person you ask that same vile question in the subject's mind. If
the subject of the question doesn't think anything of it, then perhaps they
should, because your ethnicity does not define your conduct.

Who gives a shit about ethnic pride for that matter? As George Carlin put
it, you've won a "lottery." A completely and utterly arbitrary system of
vetting in which people are born into a nation, into a family of a certain
bloodline, and are then faced with the cultural/economical/social
landscape which they were spat upon. Pride, again in the spirit of Carlin,
is earned. John Locke's Theory of Value and Property, holding any weight,
would put ethnic or national pride at absolutely "nil."

So don't look at it as being politically correct when I urge you to take
any and all of what's stated into account. Take it as encouragement to be a
world citizen, take it as news you can use towards a better cohesiveness.
But whatever you do, at the very least, take your anqituated notions to the
dumpster and be a human being; nothing mundane about that.

Sincerely,
Rey Ignatius Fawkes

It'll Get Finished When It's Finished!

(I promised myself this blog wouldn't turn into a personal gripe page, but I personally don't give a shit what gets posted on it now.)

I think we all get a little bent out of shape on our purpose in life. Some of us may achieve great things, while others become the "anti-example" by which to live. No doubt, the times we live in are dicked up like a gangbang. But do we every truly admit to ourselves what we want out of life?

Sometimes, some important times, we have to give ourselves a gut check and take a little inventory on what we want. Lets use myself as an example: I enjoy video games, eating, sleeping, working out and getting drunk. I'd add "getting laid" in that equation but that would require me to "give a fuck" (nyuk-nyuk). In that little list, you'll note that I didn't include my occupation, and there's a reason for that. The truth of the matter is that none of us actually want to work for a living. Some of us aren't even fucking passionate about what we do, we'd like to think we are; we're not. But for those of us that really don't care about the end-state of our environment, our neighborhood or our fellow man, there's hope. Hope in the fact that there are others who do give a damn, and we should be gracious enough to stay out of their way.

But how? How do we help those people without stepping away from our double xp weekends on Call of Duty you ask? By simply being honest with them. I can assure you, many people would be beyond thrilled if you just admitted to them that you really don't care about their neighborhood watch, their food drive or their petition (unless there's something in it for you.) I should know, I drop the "no, I don't think that's really worth getting worked up over" spiel on a regular basis.  Be wary, however, of those who are so civic-minded that they want to drag you into their pile of horse-hockey.  These motherfuckers will do nothing good for your peace of mind and totally destroy your chances of getting to that next prestige level on whatever game you're playing online. 

The civic-minded volunteer is the worst type of individual. They give a hoot for the sake of giving said hoot, which is no reason to ever give a hoot unless someone is hooting up in your business. So be the smart field mouse and hide from these bird-brains whenever it can be managed. Couldn't their time be better spent masturbating or otherwise finding a way to go fuck themselves, I ask you? 

So, if you're lazy, are only motivated by that which will pay or entertain you, and only work because it keeps you in the life you're most comfortable living then take heart. You are closer to happiness than Mr. Save-the-Whales will ever be, and far closer to getting what you want out of life.

Question everything, or not; not my problem.

FLATWARE: NOT AS WELL REGULATED AS YOU MAY THINK

In the wake of the obesity epidemic gripping the United States, have we overlooked the main accomplice to the sometime friend and enemy, food? Moreover, have we actually asked ourselves the hard question: Can flatware be the blame?

With the increasing prices in high-grade, high-performance, high-capacity food rich in nutrients our eyes have been blinded by costs. It begs to be asked however if we're actually seeing the farm beyond the dinner table, but in fact the dinner table may hold the key to the issue. Utensils otherwise known as flatware are responsible for the vast majority of the food we eat. Food -as has been well documented- is one of the major factors contributing to obesity. Looking at the sum of its parts, flatware seems to be a dangerously overlooked factor. Flatware is imperative in bringing most foods to our mouths, but those who suffer from obesity may very well be abusing such a major tool in eating, resulting in their higher chances of suffering from diabetes and heart failure.

This is not to say that all flatware is bad, and that anyone who uses flatware will inevitably use it to make themselves obese, though it may be time to ask precisely what level and how strictly flatware should be issued to the general public, if issued at all. Flatware has had a long history of going without regulation. According to the Sheffield Knife Book (Tweetdale, 1996) flatware's use and inventory has been documented in British Tax Records as early as 1297. But in our modern times, why have we failed to heed the lessons from our past and not maintain register and accountability of our flatware? Instead, the populace has been roving about, utensil in hand and ready to give themselves a hard case of indigestion at the very least.

High-capacity kitchen utensils are not to be ruled out, as was mentioned in a previous article. It begs to be asked why so many people wish to have restaurant-grade cooking implements in their house. True, some may enjoy the thrill of cooking and the security that you can prepare haute cuisine in their own home at their leisure. On the other hand, is it really necessary when there are fully qualified culinary specialists able to make better use of it? Even if the restaurant is closed, there's always prepared meals to be had from the grocer's freezer.  Not to mention, the multifunctional mass murder machine known mainly as the "spork."

As a people, we'd ought to count the gravestones of those who've died from obesity-related disorders. Can it not be asked if there was limited access to flatware, these people would be living fulfilling lives instead of the dreadful fate they've met? But without doubt, it can be said that in the defense of regulating and limiting access to flatware, "forks can, and will, make you fat."

Dear Nutrition-Fascist,

Hello, it's Rey, the guy you said shouldn't be in such good shape given the fact that he smokes, drinks and puts gravy on everything? The fella who can (and will) smoke your ass in sprints or any other physical challenge you throw at me?

Yeah it's me, and I've got a proposal for you...

Normally, I'd tell you to eat a dick, but this time I've got something special cooked up. Cooked up especially for you; it is bacon. Yes, cut-from-the-hog, thick-cut, applewood-smoked bacon. An entire plate of bacon, from me to you, bitch. I wish to force-feed you bacon through a funnel. Like bacon water torture (bacon-boarding?)

Lets be honest, I didn't like meeting your ass that morning while I was on that business trip. I enjoy business trips, and you tried to wreck it for me. This affront to my business-trip happiness will not go unanswered. Especially considering you are, to put it lightly, overweight. Pardon me if I may seem rather untoward and vociferous, but I am confident in the fact that you'll understand my next question, since I know I'm not too "ghetto":

How in the fuck a fat bitch like you thinks she can roll her jello-ass in and tell me how to eat? I should have cut some bacon off your back for that! Seriously, what makes you think you're even fit (no pun intended, well, maybe a little) to do so? Were you the butt of a joke? Did you lose a bet? Did you not think someone besides myself would react this way? That's like a Victoria Secret model lying face-down,ass-up with no pants on at Tiger Woods' house and expecting NOT to get fucked!

...'cause she's getting fucked, no way around that...

Before you carelessly use the excuse that you're "recovering from food addiction" as I was recently informed, let me just say that I have seen the face of addiction. I've known alcoholics who would boil down aftershave to get at the sweet alcohol that lay within, and heroin addicts who shot up in some of the most incomprehensible body parts (here's a hint: their fucking cock!). When you don't care about the quality of what you're getting so long as you get it, then you're "qualified" to call yourself an addict. I don't see you fishing around a dumpster to get at a Big Mac, so please spare me that load of bull.

I hope this letter speaks to the part of you that know's to hold itself accountable, or drives you to the brink of sanity; either/or.

Sincerely,
Rey Ignatius Fawkes