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.

Guilt By Association: Why Romney May Wish To Avoid Bloomberg

Among Mitt Romney's rumored choices for running mates, one name stands out above all: Michael Bloomberg. But the old-school Republican could bring something else to the Romney camp that could destroy the campaign entirely, the New York Blizzard of 2010.

December 27th, 2010 has been hailed as the "busiest day for 911 calls since Sept. 11, 2001" in an article published December 29th, 2010 by the New York Daily News. That day was faced with the helplessness of being trapped by seemingly endless drifts of snow, and a city government that seemed unwilling to protect its citizens.

By December 30th,  Mayor Bloomberg finally ventured out to see the aftermath of the four boroughs and how they fared without the support that Manhattan had received. It is speculated that since Manhattan is a major tourist destination, the city went out of it's way to ensure the streets were cleared. New York Public Advocat Bill de Blasio, second-in-line to the Mayor, had sent a letter to the office of Bloomberg demanding an explanation for the late and ineffective response, which remained unanswered. Even after plows finally made it to the outer boroughs on and after December 30th, the streets were not salted, thereby weakening any effect that plowing would have to the 20 inches of snow; a final insult to the lives lost during the storm.

Flash forward two years later, and the man at the helm of this city is now being hailed as a 'safe' choice for Mitt Romney by ESPN columnist L.Z. Granderson. It seems that the memory of the Republican party, once again, is fuzzy and measurable in nano-seconds. This textbook result of ineffectual leadership should be foremost in the mind of Romney, and to head off any bad press at the proverbial pass, he'd ought to look to another running mate. Preferrably a running mate with less blood on their hands.

Bloomberg's track record of attempting a $34-million dollar cut in childcare services and the forced layoff of over 4,600 teachers in the City of New York is -comparatively- light work in the face of the blizzard. This does nothing to give the impression that he is an "old-school" Republican and is more in-step with the modern incarnation of the standard issue Republican: "All for None, and More For Me" being the generalized concept.

Given Bloomberg's history, and the already shaky foundation of Romney's campaign, choosing Bloomberg as a running mate may prove to be the winter of Romney's discontent.

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.

An Open Letter To The Idiot With High-Capacity Gun Magazines

Dear "Rookie",

I love firearms, weapons, things that go "boom." You really don't understand how much admiration I have for these things, you really don't. Not in an obsessive, right wing, I-feel-the-need-to-protect-myself sort of way, but in an appreciation of the devastating power these instruments project. It is not unlike the admiration a storm chaser experiences staring down a tornado or, on a grand scale, flying into the eye of a hurricane.

One would expect such appreciation to close my eyes to the fact that the United States leads the world in gun violence. Truth be told, I am used to this fact, not unlike the fact that my nation does not have universal health care unlike other nations. But just because that's the way things have always been done, that does not make what has been done inherently a good idea.

The Second Amendment to the Constitution of the United States, or "right to bear arms," is almost a mantra to gun owners. Like a mantra, it is uttered in reverence, in motivation, in deference and also indifferently when confronted with the dark side of this coin. For every "law abiding" citizen who enjoys this right, there are other citizens with less intent to abide the law who enjoy the right. Still, many gun owners will say that this only reinforces their need to own a firearm. Multiple firearms, in strategic locations around the house. But that's just not enough for some, which brings in the issue of high-capacity magazines. Some argue that the magazines give a person an edge in defending themselves, but there are others who'd disagree. I'm more than certain Sen. Gabrielle Giffords can vouch for the fact that high-capacity gun magazines aren't the best thing anyone can own.

I can definitely say on my end, that the ownership of high-capacity magazines is foolish and pointless. It didn't impede the Virginia Tech shooter from gunning down 32 people. High-capacity magazines don't make you look badass, or cool, or even remotely proficient in the use of firearms. To those of us who know how to handle our steel, you look like a novice, an amateur or as they say, "a fuckin' rook." I've seen you, you lover of extra rounds on the range. I'm the guy firing center mass with less than an inch difference between shots. Yeah that was me, the guy who rolled his eyes and refused to talk to you. You're an embarrassment to true marksmen, and that M4 you painted pink with a Hello Kitty face on the stock for your girlfriend? Alright, yes, that was cute and I'm probably going to buy one for my girl, but my girl doesn't need more than a 15-round magazine. Meanwhile I got a good giggle out of watching her freak out when an expended shell landed on her jacket.

If my words have not deflated your desire to run out and buy a 50-round drum magazine for your AR-15, then remember this: Learn to fucking reload. Because if you can't take the guy down with the 15 you already have, you may as well point the business end of your nickel-plated sissy pistol at yourself; that's the only head-shot you'll ever score.

Respectfully (I guess?),
Rey Ignatius Fawkes

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