Saturday, November 21, 2009

What Is An Emo?

Some people in blogland don't know what an "emo" person is. I figured I would take it upon myself give the best description of "emo" that I can. I'm going to do that, and attempt to be humorous at the same time. I fully expect to have a bunch of emo kids at my door with mascara and razor blades, lookin to cry a bit. Goes with the territory I guess. 

Anycutter, here goes. 

Lets start with a pic. 



Sorry for the language on that.

But yeah.

I'm not gonna give you a Wiki definition here, folks.

Emo's are pretty much gay. Makeup and shiz. Horrible music about pain and teenage angst and how hard it is to be alive in a world that won't accept them for being sad all the time. Really, emo kids are one step removed from country music stars. The only real difference is, country music stars drink, and emo kids cut themselves.

They prefer to be individualistic, but only if they can do it in groups. "Do you wanna hang out this weekend and be non-conforming together? We're all gonna be there. Do you have any makeup?"

The world is tougher for them than it is for you, because, well, they wear makeup, and they are sad. "I steal this makeup from my sister and that makes me sad. My parents should buy me makeup. But they don't."

They cut themselves because they like pain. But not too much pain, because that would be conformity. "I like to cut myself while I'm cutting myself. It just makes the pain in the pain that much more painful and sad. So it's beautiful."

Most of them are vegetarians, because that's how they stick it to the man. "Oh yeah? You want me to eat meat? Well. I'll just have a salad. F you, establishment."

They use about 654 bottles of glue a year. For their hair. "Glue makes it do that thing. You know. That thing were it all looks shitty. Yeah."

They all hate their parents. Parents are totally not cool, man. Parents are lame. Parents try to get them to use hair gel like normal kids instead of glue. Parents try to get them to listen to music wherein the lead vocals DON'T sound like a guy named Anthony getting nailed by some dude named Tiny in the prison shower. "I love that one part where the guys just screams for the entire song. It's so beautiful. It really gets me in the mood to cut the initials of the girl I like into my upper thigh."

The music has a name. Wanna know what it's called? Screamo. Yeah...

They will almost never look into a camera directly. Fatty up there in the picture was most likely tricked by someone saying "Cheese" as they took the picture, and he thought there might be actual cheese, which isn't meat, but it's still dairy, and dairy is kind of just as bad because they make all those poor cows be conformists and do the same thing all the time and they won't let them use glue on their hair, and that's just wrong, so he was going to say something about how he hated cheese and was sad about it, but there wasn't any cheese and the picture got snapped before he could look away again. Usually they are always looking down and away, as if they've just been touched by the gym teacher, and are being made to lie about it at the parent teacher conference. "We took school pictures the other day. I refused to look in the camera. They gave me detention. I cut myself in detention. It was beautiful."

They like to hang out and skateboard. Why? Because skateboarding is the most inconvenient way of traveling known to man, besides those little scooter things they sold at Wal-Mart a while back. If it is difficult to do, emo's will do it that way first. "You wanna go down to the mall and skateboard? It'll really be a statement about how we don't like cars or ourselves."

Tight pants. Oh my word. Tight pants. These kids will wear pants so tight that in order to get them on, you need butter, two shoehorns, and a crane operator with at least 23 years of experience. It's ridiculous, really. Like, they aren't the sexy kind of tight pants. Not the kind of tight pants that you spend a good portion of your teenage years dreaming about. These are shapeless tight pants, that somehow have the ability to make even MY legs look like they are about the size of dowel rods. "Can I borrow your jeans? Yeah, the ones that look gay. Gay is okay, right? I mean, I'm totally not gay, but I like my pants to be. If they are tight enough, you can see my cutting scars."

They will cry. It could be about anything. There is no reason at all for the crying. It could be because someone in Laos trapped a dolphin in a tuna net and then ate the dolphin instead of the tuna, or it could be because they got a vanilla milkshake instead of a chocolate milkshake at the food court while they were riding their skateboards. However, if the situation actually CALLS for crying, like say, the funeral of a lame parent, or a lame grandmother, they will not cry at all, because that's conforming. "I lost my entire family in a car crash last week. Yeah, I didn't cry at the funeral. That story about the dolphin is Laos really got me going though."

Anyway, I hope this kind of clears things up for you. Like I said, this is MY definition of emo. It's not an official definition, and if you don't like it, well, come see me, and I'll get you some razor blades, and we can cry about the fact that I don't keep glue in the house.

Gay.





Friday, November 20, 2009

Who Has Two Thumbs And Saw New Moon Last Night? I'm Not Gay.

I am guest posting today at Batcrap Crazy, which is the blog of Mrs. Daffy! I won her "asshat" definition contest. If you want to read it, click here! I have also been featured in a a blog by Tamara over at Cheapskate Mom. If you want to check that out, click here!!

The Missus called me yesterday.

"Guess what?"

"What's that?"

"Carmike has a midnight showing of New Moon!"

"I'll go get the tickets."

So yeah, I went 4 hours early to get tickets, and the place wasn't even open yet. Kid Funk tried to introduce me to Fandango, but it didn't like me too much.

I went back, stood in line, and got the tickets.

As I got the tickets and was leaving, I did the funniest thing that never got laughed at. There were about 100 people in line, and the theater guy came out waving his little arms and said, "Does anyone here want to see something that is starting NOW?" And I piped up above the crowd and said, "I want to see A Christmas Carol!"

cricket
cricket

Finally, from the very back, I hear a guy.

Haaaaaaaaa.

Yeah. I was pissed. But, it proved why I'm not a stand up comedian. Actually, I don't think it was the right venue, what with little teeny boppin emo retards worrying about whether or not they'd get a ticket and whether or not they'd pop a boner at the sight of Edward without a shirt on.

By the way, I'm totally Team Edward. That's real. Vampires are so much cooler.

I won't post anything about the movie, other than it was great. I really think it was much better than the first one.

Be jealous, I saw it before you.

However, as we were waiting in line to get into the theater, shit got crazy. First of all, I met a fellow blogger whilst standing in line. I looked at The Missus and said, "I'm totally blogging about this." And this lady behind us said, "Oh, I am too." So of course I demanded asked her the name of her blog, and of course started braggin on you guys being the best followers in the world. And guess what? She only has 19. Why don't y'all go show her some love! She lives in my town!!! Click here to go visit her. I haven't really read through the blog, so I take no responsibility for what is on there!

I really am running on like 3 hours sleep here, so I'm not funny today. I may come back later for more, but I just don't know. I need sleep. Go read the guest post! Then go check the post of Cheapskates, and then go give Ruby some lovin. Not literally though. Her husband looked like a pretty solid dude.

Oh. And I should mention, there is something big headed your way. And no, it's not me on a bike. I've collaborated with a certain blogger named Lauren, and let me tell you, great things are afoot. It's still in development, but we'll let you know something soon.

Thursday, November 19, 2009

TMI Thursday: Yes, I HAVE Had A Gay Man Touch Me With His Penis.

(Ladies and Gents, once again, I've picked up some newbies. I'd like to welcome them all aboard! All of them should know about TMI Thursday, invented by the ever popular "cool chick" LiLu. For those of you who don't know about it, well, now is your chance to leave. It's where I tell a very embarrassing or personal story about myself. If you aren't thoroughly disgusted, click on the picture of those two old people having more fun than you did last night. She's got more. Don't say you weren't warned!)


TMI Thursday

The penis wasn't out.

I really feel like I should say that in opening. Somehow, it seemed very important that I should clear that up.

I also think I should say that I don't have a problem with gay people.

Yeah, that's not how I was raised, but the way I see it, there are a lot of other things we need to clear up in this country before we go hitting the gays in the head and tell em they're all headed straight to hell. That ain't cool.

Also, I'm not one of those guys who thinks that every gay man wants my junk. I know that I am not an especially attractive sight for the FEMALES, much less a gay man.

That being said, I have had a gay man who has wanted to have a 3 way with me and The Missus, only he wanted her to "just watch."

Thanks. Really. Thank you. But...no thanks.

However, this story involves a hair cut.

I was in Oklahoma City, and I had a work party that evening. The Missus decided I needed to look a little more like a respectable employee, and a little less like a "guy who just touched a wiener in the bathroom for a line of coke."

I love her.

So I sat down in the chair, and this rather...gay...black man stands next to me, and starts cutting my hair.

Right away, I'm kind of weirded out, because he starts scissoring it. Well, scissors and my hair don't like each other much. It's a clipper kind of hair. You know, buzz buzz, I pay them 10 bucks, come again. Right?

Naw.

This guy scissors the whole thing. And, I have to say, he did a damn fine job. Damn fine. Except for the end.

On the very last snip, he leans in.

When he leans in, I feel something.

Something on my arm.

I move my arm.

IT POKES MY ARM AGAIN.

I look up, directly into the eyes of a man who is boldly poking me in the arm with a semi-erect penis, and eyebrows kind of up in a "Eh? Eh? What do ya think? You want some of this silky smooth chocolate, husky boy? Just the tip. Just for a minute, just to see how it feels. Eh?"

Oh. My. God.

I don't remember specifically how I expressed my distaste, but I know I did it quietly, and quickly. My arms went straight down to my sides, and I just stared straight ahead like someone who had just been raped. I really felt like I had.

I came up with a new rule that day.

If I get a tip, you don't.

That's real.

(I totally googled "gay man touches arm with penis," Moog style, just to see if a funny picture would come up that I could use. I'm very sorry I did that.)

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

The Life And Times Of One Travis Sloat.

****UPDATE****
You have until 11:59 PM of November 18th to get to 46 comments. I don't really know why I'm even doing this, because it's obvious you won't make it!!! Suck it, bloggy readers!

So I'm gonna be pretty lame today.

"Hey. Isn't he always pretty lame?"

Shut your whore mouth.

Anyway, I've had a busy Novemeber, and I just thought you might want to hear about it.

Novemeber 1st was my birthday. I turned 27. Since most of the men in my family die at 40, this means I have 13 years left to live. A lot of people get upset when I talk like that. I still don't understand why. I guess maybe they want my fat ass around a little bit longer, and I'm okay with that. Thanks.

Anyway, November 1st also started something called "No Shave November." It's something that one of the colleges in Oklahoma claims to have started. Either way, I decided to participate in it. The Missus, being the lady that she is, decided she didn't want to walk around with a husband that looked as if he had pubic hairs glued to his face. Which is what my "beard" happens to look like. So she started a new tradition in our home called, "No Sex November." I made it to the 12th. I don't really even remember why I held out that long. I'm an idiot.

I've been busy on my novel. Last count, I was at 25k and some change. I made it to that by the halfway deadline, so I was proud of myself. I haven't written in two days though. I've just been contemplating the ending and how I want to wrap things up. I'll start again soon.

My Duke Blue Devils started their season. They are 2-0, and I'm excited. We have a bunch of tall skinny white boys on the team that look as if at some point during the season, I might be able to call them monsters. I don't think it's a National Championship team yet, but I do know that Ed over at Ed's Funny Pages will be wearing a Duke cap come March.

I broke up two fights here at the school last Friday morning. The first one between two boys, the second between two girls. In the boys fight, the one I grabbed looked down at me and said, "Get your fuckin hand off my chest." Then he saw who I was. His temporary moment of insanity cleared up, and just in time. That was the extent of my injuries. The girls fight? Oh, I'm glad you asked. We just said, "Hey, gals? Can we break this up? And they stopped and hugged and cried and had popcorn and watched Twilight together. It was so sweet. Yeah... I'm lying. You know how I'm always talking about punching someone in the throat or neck? That happened to me. Upon restraining one of the girls in the fight, the other one got loose FROM TWO FREAKIN TEACHERS, and punched me twice in the neck and once in the throat. Yeah. Do you have any idea how hard it is to not punch someone who has just punched you in the throat?!? I do.

I learned yesterday that no matter how funny that you think racism in the state of Kentucky is, not everyone is going to find it as funny as you. I guess we've not yet reached a point in this great country where pointing out someones backwards way of thinking is funny, but we can damn sure make fun of Jesus all the time. Talk about a comment killer. Hell, I had to double check my following to see if they were still there. But then, everyone showed up and loved my video blog, but hated Nic Cage. Note to self. Nic Cage and racism are bad blogging topics.

Speaking of followers, I picked up 3 new ones yesterday with that vlog! That's exciting stuff! I'd like to welcome you all to the fold, and I just want you to know that any Kool-Aid offered to you is sure to be poison free. That ain't how I roll.

I'm wicked ready for New Moon. Yeah, I know that makes me gay. But guess what? I totally have the chance to have sex with a woman tonight. So does that make me gay? Yeah, chances are, I'll say something to ruin it, but that's just because I'm a man.

I guess I'll leave you alone. Told you it wouldn't be funny today, but I have a challenge for you. Let's rise to it! I asked the question a while back "What song would you want stuck in your head for the rest of your life?" I asked you not to answer that in the comments, but in an email to me to be part of something that may or may not go down as the biggest fail since Palin hooked up with that grizzly bear that told her "he had connections, so she would win for sure." Anybeastiality, I now want you to answer that question in the comments! Let's see how many people respond! If you came over from Facebook, you can leave one anonymously! Lets set a goal, shall we? 93 followers on blogger, 61 on Facebook, taking into account that Facebook people never comment, 93 and 61 is 154, lets say, 30% of that. That's 46 comments!

I want 46 comments, people. You can do it. Show me you can! The question is, "What song would you want stuck in your head the rest of your life?"

Go!

P.S. I love you guys, I really do. If I get 46 comments on this blog, all by different people, I promise you this. I will take suggestions on something humiliating for me to do on film, and post it here on this blog. That is my oath to my readers. Let's see if you can do it.

Monday, November 16, 2009

Monday Mingle: Poppin The Cherry.

Wow. Who knew that posting a blog about racism in Kentucky would be a comment killer?

Lesson learned, I guess, and I now bring you Monday blog # 2.

The Monday Mingle.

Lauren over at (Mis)Adventures in Theatre has been after me to do this up. My face rarely appears in internet videos, and I thought, "Hmmm. Maybe I need to get this glorious mug out there." Well, the only person besides The Missus that can fully understand what I went through to get this video edited and uploaded is Lauren. It was a bitch. Windows Movie Maker is quite possibly the stupidest thing in the world. That's real.

Anyway, the whole thing is brought to you by 80 MPH Mom, which I think is a cool blog name. She's got a shit ton of followers, so maybe I can convince a few of em to stick around by posting this video. I'm sorry you can't see my face real well, but I can give you an idea of what I look like. Think George Clooney in Batman, with Brad Pitt body in Snatch. That should give you a rough estimate.

"But Travis, in the video it looks like you're a husky fellow."

The camera adds a lot of weight, person who ruins fun.

Enjoy! I'll probably be doing it again!

P.S. If you're new here, and you maybe like what you see, feel free to look around a bit. Hit that follow button over there to the side. I need to bust 100 on this bish. Thanks!

Memoir Monday: "They" Like To Steal My Stuff...

(Hey guys! It's Memoir Monday! Everyone should know what to do, just steal my little button code down there, then paste it onto the Edit HTML section on your post. Type up a memoir, spank yourself a little, and call it a win! The only rule? It must be true. So go on! Get you some!)


Photobucket

Today's Memoir Monday could not have been possible without The Missus.

Or Kentucky.

Or racism.

So beware, if you are easily offended by The Missus, Kentucky, and/or racism, you might want to just go read something else.

When she and I were dating, her family decided to go visit their family in Kentucky. That's where they're all from.

Yep. Those people.

So anyway, we'd been dating awhile, and I didn't really have anything else going that week, so what the heck, lets go East, shall we?

I get told we're staying with "Uncle Willie and Aunt Margaret." I chuckled, but only briefly.

We packed up, and headed that way.

When we arrived at my wifes dear aunt and uncle's house, I immediately noticed some things. Uncle Willie was not a particularly tall man, and he had some...ahem...tendencies.

He was a nervous fella. Twitches and what not. Like maybe his nostrils had seen or were currently seeing large quantities of cocaine.

We get the pleasantries out of the way and get settled. It wasn't too long before I heard some bass coming from the road by their house. Uncle Willie looks at me and says,

"Those are those...negroes. They like their music up loud. Get's on my nerves."

Yeah. Willie didn't like black people, but he spoke his racism quietly, almost at a whisper. I really don't know if it still counts or not. I think it does.

I would like to point out at this juncture, that I am not a racist. I know several black people, and they all seem to like me okay, with the exception of one or two, who wouldn't like me no matter what. I once was the recipient of a bear hug from a black man. Let me tell ya, when this guy hugs you, you stay hugged. Anyway, just wanted to clear that up.

Willie, however, was not so enlightened.

The next day, I noticed Willie walking out to his lawn quite frequently. Like, every 15 minutes or so. He'd just wander out the back door, look around the yard, and then go into the front yard, then amble back into the house. I thought this was weird, and I asked him about it.

"Well, sometimes, the darkies, you know, the black people, will take your lawn ornaments and stuff, and then go pawn them. 'They' like to steal stuff."

Darkies? Wow. I will say this though, I didn't once hear the "N" word, and I'd have probably drawn the line there and said something, after I was done laughing at his ignorance. For the record, yeah, there are a lot of black people in Kentucky, but for the most part, it was the white people that scared me.

I didn't really talk to Willie much after that, and I don't think I can be blamed. I found out later on in the week that they also Scotchguarded their towels, which kind of made drying off after a shower a difficult thing. It was like using a shammy.

That was also the week I became allergic to pork chops. By allergic, I mean that every time after that for about 4 years, I'd get a mean set of the hot poops if I so much as looked at a pork chop.

Then there was the ol covered bridge, which saw a lot more of me than it probably wanted to, and was easily the best part of the trip.

Oh, and I can also tell you that it takes approximately 2.5 seconds to get out of your girlfriends bed and onto the ground where you are supposed to be sleeping if you hear a noise.

That's real.

Other "Non-Racial" Trips To Somewhere Besides Kentucky This Week: (GO READ THEM!)



Friday, November 13, 2009

I'm Totally Stealing, But I Asked First.

We all know Mooooooooooooog over at Mental Poo, right?

Come on now, I know we might all be a bit embarrassed about it. But we do. And we love him.

Sometimes, we even dream about him. His short, powerful body as he squeezes it into a child's size karate outfit...

Damn.

Fantasy juice.

He'll get that. You won't.

Anyway, I am totally using his idea for Motivational Poster Friday. He apparently made this thing up, and I guess there is someone else using the idea named Mike, and he is not giving our boy any credit. This guy Mike is a doucher. Someone should find his site and go tell him he's gay.

*raises hand*

"Yes Mr. Sloat?"

"I have the site right here."

"You do? Would you share it with the class please?"

"I sure will. Just click HERE!"

Anyway, here's my first one.



In Mooooooog's words, click to enlarge. (twss)

Don't you like it? I think I did good. I made it over at Big Huge Labs, just like our boy.

In case you don't get it, I'll tell ya.

(It's cause if you knew Spanish, you could totally tell them to touch your wiener. But you don't know Spanish, because you spent those two years of classes totally trying to see down your cousins shirt. Wait. That was French. Either way, really.)

I may or may not make a habit of this.

I'm out like a hymen on prom night.

Peace.