It’s the time of year when it gets so humid you pray you don’t drown by simply trying to breathe air. It’s also the time when my patience wears thin and my contempt for the “iced coffee price gouge” boils over. Why does iced coffee cost more than regular coffee, because they are marketing and sales geniuses who take advantage of sweaty caffeine fiends. That’s why. Let’s break it down.

1. It’s ridiculously hot outside and coffee shops aren’t going to sell as much hot coffee.

2. Iced coffee is made from old, leftover coffee. I worked at an ice cream parlor and we never brewed coffee for the sole purpose of using it for iced coffee. The iced coffee urn was full of days old coffee. Yummy!

3. You get less coffee in iced coffee because they fill the admittedly larger cup full of ice. However, I bet a large iced coffee only has as much coffee liquid as in a medium hot coffee. In fact, I’m going to investigate it today and will get back to you.

4. Iced coffee costs up to a dollar more than hot coffee of the same size.

This is a racket. You get a smaller amount of coffee liquid, it isn’t fresh, and you pay more for it. Where does the added price come from? Some claim it’s the cost making ice and refrigerating the old coffee. True it probably costs money to make ice and paying higher fuel costs in the summer, but sodas are still cheap and they’re packed with ice too. Plus, some places will only charge you a few cents for a cup full of ice.

The reason is supply and demand or in laymen’s terms, “because they have us by the balls.” We need coffee, we’re addicted consumers, and it’s too damn hot outside.

I’m not writing this to get people to boycott ice coffee, or picket stores for screwing us. I mean what can we do? Anything short of an anti-trust lawsuit will not break this Axis of Iced Coffee.

UPDATE: Rumor has it that ING charges the same for iced and regular coffee. Give them your business.

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The funniest site on the web other than this one (crickets chirping) is The Onion, but have you seen ONN, the Onion News Network? No, well watch this and laugh your ass off.

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All right, team, the quarterly earnings are down and this company needs a shot in the arm. Each and every one of you has to be a proactive go-getter because we’re experiencing a paradigm shift and some of these old dogs are gonna have to learn some new tricks.

The bottom line is what’s on the line for all of us. The world is changing and we need to be adaptable problem-solvers who can think outside the box 110% of the time. FYI - If you’re not a detail-minded self-starter, you might as well quit now. I want your primary action item to be maneuvering this company to the next level. Make no mistake, we have to be a team of deadline-oriented, success-driven leaders who can stretch their bandwidth when needed.

All right, let’s circle back and touch base again tomorrow.

Contempty says: Everyone knows that you have no idea what you’re doing and that you think using these ridiculous terms makes you sound smart. Well, you’re wrong. You are actually shining a spotlight on your own deficiencies. Guess it turns out that three credit course in Business Lingo Basics at DeVry was a waste of money after all. Ass.

Think you have the worst Boss? Enter the My Bad Boss Contest.

For more office jerks, click here.
While you’re there, check in with the Excessive Cubicle Decorator.

Make meetings less boring by bringing along your very own Bullshit Bingo card!

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The summer weather can be uncomfortable. This week in Premature Exasperations Bryan explains his physiological functions and reactions to the heat.

Sweatin’ to the Summer
By Bryan

As I write this, my belly button is sweating. That’s right, my innie is crying salty tears like it just found out it had sex with a tranny. It’s summertime and the livin’s stinky. I can’t even begin to tell you the amount of sweat I can produce during this season. I produce ungodly amounts whether under a noonday sun or a crescent moon. Time of day is of no consequence.

On the subway, you’ll find me huddled under an air vent, my hair matted to my forehead and my pants looking as though they have been pissed. It’s just crotch sweat. Everyone gets it, but no one wants to embrace it.

When I look around on a hot summer day, I expect to meet eyes with other miserable skin leakers. Instead, most people look at me with smug, collected, icy glares. Sometimes they wear sunglasses. Sometimes they wear long sleeves and jeans. WINTER CLOTHES IN SUMMER! How are they not dying? I’m convinced these people are the undead wearing layers of clothes to hide their rotting skin. And we could get along so well since my damp skin probably smells very similar.

Well, take this as an open invitation for all of those haughty non-sweaters to go climb an equatorial dildo tree. I don’t even know if that’s an insult, but it doesn’t sound appealing, and I would hope it would make them uncomfortable and sweat.

I know other people sweat. I’ve seen the fat businessman poring buckets off of his glistening bald dome. I just give those people a smirk and a nod as if to say, “I feel you, brother-in-sweaty-underarms.” I’ll normally take out my paper towel square and wipe off my face, neck and behind the knee crease. Then I’ll raise that soggy, tattered hanky to my fellow pore pariah as a surrender flag.

“I give up! I can’t sweat no’s more!”

Then my skin creates a new hole on my nose and a drop of sweat drips onto my suede shoe. When I look up on a crowded platform to see if anyone noticed, the fat man is consumed by his own problems, while a chic looking couple stares at my shoe and huff as if I offended a sensibility. Then a Mitchum deodorant ad mocks my current deodorant and emasculates me.

Then I cry. Well, my belly button cries.

FUN SUMMER FACT: Turns out Denver regularly sees 300 days of sunshine a year. Who knew? I’ll tell you who:
“Ah the sunshine state, unbe-, Denver, Gorgeous! Gorgeous!”
-Mitch Martin

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Dude, this rooftop bar is tha-shiiit! It’s such a nice night out. Oh, what’s that a whiskey sour? Yeah that’s going to give you a hangover. I would’ve gone with something with a clear liquor—not as many toxins.

Such a nice night out. Man, 9/11, what was that shit about? I remember I saw the towers fall. That shit was crazy. Man, could it be any nicer out? Twin towers, saw that shit from a rooftop not too much unlike this one. Oooh looks like you got a stain there. Again, should’ve gone with something lighter than that whiskey.

This is fun. Who do you know here? Oh you went to college with that girl? Nice, nice. Yeah college was a blast, right? I remember smokin’ bomb kush back in the day and just getting fucked up! Speaking of bomb, what’s with all of these kids killing each other in college now? Fucked up shit, man. Back in my day kids would never just go in and shoot other kids with guns, I mean maybe a fist fight, BAM BAM, but never would get guns involved. All of that senseless bloodshed, man, really makes you think. PAR-TAY!

For more recreational dick holes, click here.
While you’re there, enjoy a flick with the Movie Theater Dick.

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Here are some links that you may like. Or not. No pressure.

They say a picture is worth 1,000 words, but this picture weighs in at 1,234 lbs. (Not Safe For Lunch)

This YouTube sensation may just be the best song ever written about diarrhea.

We get an absolute shit load of spam here. I’m convinced that the circle of hell right above the paparazzi is reserved for internet spammers. Why do they get off easier than paparazzi scum? Because God has a soft spot for the dim-witted.

Thank the maker they got the ol’ Internet up and running after yesterday’s crash. The team at The Onion has full coverage (via What the Blog).

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It was bound to happen. While all of us sat in stunned silence due to the news of Lindsay Lohan’s recent arrest, the fucking aliens have arrived and caught us all off guard. Well, that’s just great.

I, for one, remember a time when E.T. didn’t just stand for Entertainment Tonight. While all of us have been diverted by Lindsay’s busty, drunken shenanigans, the green ones have been plotting to take over our planet and harvest humans to use as insulation in their vacation homes here on Earth.

I suppose the human race had a good run. If our alien overlords allow me to live, I look forward to discovering which annoying behaviors piss them off the most and then writing mildly amusing sarcastic profiles about them.

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If the three walls of my office cubicle could talk they wouldn’t say a word. They’d SING! You see my collection of knick knacks, doodads, and wacky conversation starters makes Pee Wee’s Playhouse look like an exercise in minimalism.

My collection of Family Circus comics cut from the newspaper tells my coworkers that I know how to read and can operate scissors. I don’t usually “get” the comics, but I just love cutting things.

The Mardi Gras beads tell you that I have a wild side. How did I get them? Wouldn’t you like to know!? I actually bought them at the party store to hang in my cube.

The collage of my vacation pictures tells you that I’m well traveled and invites people to inquire as to where I’ve visited. However, I’d rather not talk about the awkward casual sex I had with various locals on my many trips or the resulting venereal diseases I brought back as souvenirs.

I also have more motivational posters per square inch than anyone else in my department, which indicates that I’m a hard worker with a love for Grand Canyon sunsets and kittens dangling from branches. What’s not to love about an animal in peril? Hang in there, Pussy!

I recently saw some coworkers with action figures posed in their cubes. Not one to be left behind the trends, I ordered a complete set of Star Wars figures off of Ebay. It cost me $2500, but it pays for itself in the amount of young males who flock to my desk to talk about the adventures of Lou Skywalker and Darth Vapor. Live long and prosper, fellas!

For more office idiots, click here.
While you’re there, share a meal with the Co-Worker Who Eats Your Food in the Fridge.

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A group of children said being famous ranks as the #1 thing in the world closely followed by “good looks” and “being rich” according to a survey taken last year in England. Sorry, God, you only ranked #10. But, hey, if you can launch a $50 million dollar opening weekend or “manifest” yourself up some platinum albums call me. I have a feeling that somewhere Adam Smith is gleefully spinning Karl Marx in his grave, although Big Karl can probably take some consolation in the de-emphasis of religion. But what of those people who aren’t celebrities and are merely blessed with the good looks of our blessed stars?

Like this woman for example who during last call at the Purple Shamrock is frequently told she’s a dead ringer for Julianne Moore. Surely that must rank in the top five.

What do you make of the hassle of living in the skin of this girl who is constantly harassed and cat-called at drunken San Diego surf parties due to her mirror like resemblance to Scarlett Johansson? As Bruce Campbell once said in Army of Darkness, “Oh that’s just what we call pillow talk, baby, that’s all.” I kid, I kid. It’s fantastic!
If you looked like DJ Qualls, would you send in a picture boasting about it? Of course you would, because being close to looking like a celebrity is next to the divine.

If MySpace has taught us anything it’s that the right camera angle can make anyone into the next Angelina Jolie.

If Barbara Walters has taught us anything it’s that the fuzzier the photo the more you can look like, who the fuck is Emma Roberts?

Caesar haircut? Check. “Urban” styling? Check. Enormous ego? Three times a charm. Are you Justin Timberlake?

You know what, maybe you don’t really want to look like Britney Spears anymore.

It is a great, no, a godly feeling when you’re compared to a celebrity. I still reminisce about the days when I was compared to the great Matthew Lillard, but alcohol, tobacco, and age have eroded those once magical looks, and I no longer can brag about looking vaguely similar to a third rate goofy actor. Let that be a lesson to the rest of you. The after school PSAs had it right: Don’t do drugs, they destroy dreams. However, these same PSAs were off the mark when they urged you to embrace your individuality. Clearly you do not want to be yourself. Strive to look and act just like the walking deities that have graced us with The New Guy, SLC Punk!, and continuing the gene pool of one Kevin Federline.

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It’s just another manic Monday so who better to take over the site than Crazy Carl Himself? Here Crazy Carl Himself lights an eternal flame for Mike Miller of Staten Island cable access fame in what is by far the longest post we’ve ever had here at Contemptster.

The Ballad of Mike Miller
By Crazy Carl Himself

This is my favorite story of all time, so I think I will share it with you.

Me and my girlfriend had a tradition last year on Wednesdays. We would watch “Lost” at 9 PM, and ponder the mysteries of the island. At 10 P.M., we would watch “Joey G. Presents”. Joey G. Presents is a show on the local cable access network here in Staten Island. Joey G has a business which videotapes weddings, sweet sixteens, bat and bar mitzvahs, and other assorted important events. Apparently, when you sign a contract with him, you give him the right to air the most glorious day of your life on Channel 35 at 10 PM on Wednesdays.

In May of 2006, me and my girlfriend and her sister were enjoying our weekly tradition of Joey G. Presents, and making up plotlines and backstory for the local Staten Island crazies who attended that week’s sweet sixteen or wedding. Now, when you see the name “Mike Miller”, you may think of 2000-2001 NBA Rookie of the Year Mike Miller. Perhaps you went to school with a dude named Mike Miller, which seems like a fairly common name. Me, I think of a story on par with the worst Greek tragedy.

In that infamous May 2006 edition of Joey G. Presents, we were introduced to Alana, a Staten Islander holding her Sweet Sixteen at a local catering hall. As per Joey G.’s usual arsenal, this is how the party is condensed into 1 hour, made for television.
10:00- 10:15 Pictures from Alana’s youth, from baby pictures through that evenings festivities, taking place February, 2006.
10:15-10:20: introduction of the Sweet Sixteen Party. I find it odd that the best friends of a sweet sixteen girl are introduced like a wedding party.
10:20 to 10:21: Father giving awkward speech about daughter.
10:22 to 10:44: Video of 15 and 16 year old girls dancing over-suggestively to Promiscuous Girl and other songs about putting out, with 16 year old boys getting closer to them without grinding.

10:44 to 10:59: The Candle Lighting Ceremony. This is where Mike Miller makes his debut, like MacBeth, entering stage right. The metaphor works well here, because a woman will be Mike Miller’s downfall.

We watch Alana read a 40 page script, and invite people to light candles 1-4, and 10 through 16, and the lucky one at the end, usually reserved for someone who has died on poor Alana. Joey G. knows we are busy people who do not care about Alanas’ aunts and uncles and cousins, and edits out candle 5 through 9 to fit his show. Candle 16 is the aforementioned Mr. Mike Miller himself. Alana gives a touching speech about Mr. Miller, about how they are best friends, and he is always there for her, and she will always be there for him. She refers to the fun (not great, but fun) times that they have had over the years, and she hopes they will continue.

We are left with ambiguity as to whether they are dating or not. She never uses the word love, or even like. In fact, the speech sounds very similar to the one Rosemarie gave before I lit her 13th candle at her Sweet Sixteen back in the mid 90’s, when she was a sophomore, and I was a lowly freshman, and we were making out everyday for 3 months at my house after school, but not technically dating, and I am fairly certain only 5 people knew about our “trysts”.

However, we find out Mike Miller is not a lowly freshman or even sophomore during Alana’s touching sixteenth candle speech. However, she completes her speech, and up saunters Mike Miller, from stage right, onto our television, and hugs Alana and kisses her on the cheek, and helps her light her sixteenth candle. Her last words before that happen haunt me. Those words are “Mike, I hope you don’t go away to college this fall.”

The summer before I went away to college, a lot of people said I shouldn’t go away to college. They were all fucking wrong. The girls who said it were prudish bitches who treated me like dirt. My close friends who were talking shit about me behind my back, and sabotaging me with chicks to my face. I remain glad to this day I went away to school. I found myself, got action, and had tons of fun, and partied a ton. Here was Alana, clearly a cocktease on the order of Jenny Curran from Forrest Gump, telling Mike Miller not to go away to school. He should’ve slapped her in the face right there in front of 15 lit pieces of wax. But, he just went with the awkward hug and cheek kiss.

I wish this story had a happy ending like mine did. It doesn’t. In Late October 2006, me and my girlfriend were at Stop and Shop, on Staten Island, and there was a dispute over the price of carrots. The Cashier grabbed that creepy batphone looking thing, and ask Mike Miller to come to register 8. Sure enough, the Mike Miller, that Mike Miller arrived at the register, Stop and Shop shirt on, to settle our dispute. He worked at the grocery store, and I could not foresee, based on the calendar that he was “home” on break. I think he didn’t go away to college, as per Alana’s orders. Mike Miller made the biggest mistake of his life. I wished I had musical talent, so I could write a song about Mike Miller. It would go like this:

The Ballad of Mike Miller (to the tune of no song I can think of)

Mike Miller from Alana’s sweet sixteen, of the 16th candle fame
Mike Miller, don’t fall for it, playing her game.
She will never let you go all the way.
Yet she’s commanding you to stay.

Mikey, rule of thumb from my experience is this.
Please, please don’t take this as a diss.
Don’t make the mistake trading 20 pieces of poontang for one.
She is not worth sacrificing all that fun.

She wants you to chase and chase and chase.
At some point, you’ll cut bait and end up saving face.
She wants you all to her self forever.
But when will she have screw you? Never.

Pack your bags and never look back.
Don’t ever ever ever crack.
Chasing her and not catching her isn’t a thrill.
She won’t fuck you, but away at school, 15 girls will.

Ohhhhhhhh, The ballad and blues of Mike Miller.
I don’t want to talk about the 2,000 pound goriller.
But, if you know a girl five years, and she hasn’t fucked you yet.
Go away to school, that’s where the gettin’s good, and a guy like you will get.

Fin De Song.

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Submitted by Crazy Carl Himself

I don’t understand why you still live in this house with your mother and I even though you are 24. When I was your age, I was living on my own…
(In a day-glo painted VW van with 11 other college dropouts.)

And had already moved out of my parents’ place…
(Because I was following the Grateful Dead around the country, and indiscriminately boning hot hippie protest broads unprotected. Every girl you bang off Myspace might be your half-sister.)

And living out in the real world, being an adult…
(An adult who did more acid than the audience of a midnight showing of “2001: A Space Odyssey” in 1968, and battling demons and talking snakes in this said real world.)

And supporting myself financially…
(By selling drugs, and shoplifting from every store I went into.)

Your mother had also moved out of her parents house at age 17…
(Because she ran away with a 29-year-old ultra militant Black Panther, giving your grandfather a heart attack.)

And was completely self-sufficient as well…
(If you don’t count hitchhiking or having to huff a few dongs here and there to get from place to place, or to have a place to stay.)

I know you’re in debt…
(From college, because me and your mother blew your college fund when we ran up huge credit card bills in the late 80’s. Did you know a Camcorder cost like $1,000 back then?)

But you need to work harder to get yourself out of it…
(I know you already work 50 hours a week, but have you considered a second job?)

One day you will want to buy a house…
(Speaking of which… You want to buy this house? It only cost your mother and I $40,000 in 1977, and we’ll sell it to you today for the discounted price of $650,000.)

And have a family…
(Of no good rotten slacker children like yourself and a reformed whore/former feminist like your mother for a wife.)

And settle down…
(Like we did after you were conceived in a heroin fueled haze at an Allman Brothers concert.)

And be a law-abiding, successful member of society, like your mother and I…
(If you don’t count the insider stock trading tips we receive and use to pad our retirement account, and the bogus charitable contributions we claim at income tax time. Oh, and by the way, your mother and I haven’t had sex in 11 years. I’m about two weeks away from being interviewed by Chris Hanson on “To Catch a Predator.”)

You seem to need structure in your life, you should join the Army and go off to Iraq…
(Unlike me, who hacked my pinky off to avoid a bullshit war.)

Anyways, I’m glad we had this chat. Now get off this computer and go out there and get a second job.
(And leave me alone to find Jimmy Buffett tickets and porn on the internet.)

For more everyday assholes, click here.
While you’re there, get an earful from the Unsolicited Advice Giver.
For more of Crazy Carl Himself’s musings, click here.
Email the man at CrazyCarlHimself@gmail.com

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Going out this weekend? Be wary of the recent scourge on society: The Ambiguous Bathroom Signs! This week in Premature Exasperations Bryan rails against these needless confusions!

Bathrooms Have Me Questioning My Gender…Again!
By Bryan

I was basking in the glow of a dingy bar, minding my business, downing a few cocktails (floaters left on the bar), and the mood struck me to go to the gentleman’s room, a seemingly easy task. I must have stood in front of two doors for an hour. No signs pointed to a bathroom. I opened one unmarked door and witnessed a non-sanctioned cock fight. I opened another door and a broom comically fell on me.

For some reason I felt the desire to punch Monty Hall.

When I found a bathroom, there was no color scheme or urinal to tip me off to the bathroom’s gender assignment. After a girl walked in on me halfway into my “session,” I decided this was not the room for me. And I finished peeing in front of the girl.

For better or worse, I’ve noticed establishments around town dropping the urinal cake when making (or failing to make) signs for their bathrooms. I remember having the same problem in early elementary school when I couldn’t read.

“There’s a boy in the girl’s bathroom!” the girls would screech. I would then quickly do the tuck trick, use my naturally falsetto voice and convince them that “This ain’t no boy in the girl’s room! It’s meee! Just one of the gals!”

Am I to believe that now that my reading abilities have mildly improved that there are no signs available? What a cruel twist of fate!

An open request from me to bathrooms: Clearly mark your territory so I may clearly mark mine.

P.S. Please be sure to “Shout” this video here
Or vote on Funny or Die

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Submitted by Tambo

Hey there, cutie. You must be new around here. No? You’ve worked here longer than me and make more money? No matter, I’m still going to treat you like an intern and ignore everything you say.

You want to look at that report? That’s so cute the way you asked me for that. Well how about I just summarize it for you and save you some time. You don’t need to trouble yourself with the whole thing. I know what you’re looking for in it anyway, I’ve read it and I’m smarter than you, so I can just tell you what you need to know. Oh, you need to reprocess the data and create a new report so that the executives can …oh I’m sorry, I was distracted by that pretty little smile of yours.

Why don’t I call upstairs and see what they need and then give you what you need. Gee, did it come out that way? I didn’t mean it that way. I would never imply that. Because I’m a professional.

Now why don’t you head on back to your desk and order my lunch.

For more Office Pricks, click here.
While you’re there, get to know the Creepy Lurking Office Creep.

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Grandpa?

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Don’t Just Take Our Word For It, there’s plenty of contempt on the web. I mean other than hosting an incredible amount of porn, addictive games, and destroying print media the internet is a vast sea of rage. Here are some great example, plus some other sites we like.

There’s just a lot to like about this post. He writes under the name Hank Scorpio and uses one of my favorite insults: dickless wonder. (Welcome to the Globex Corporation)

There are some days when I’m just plain embarrassed to be a blogger. I call them weekdays. Here’s some analysis on the tooly “citizen journalists” hunting down the big story at yesterday’s steam pipe explosion. (Cole Slaw Blog)

Tourists in New York, banking conglomerates, and the gym. Where are places you find assholes? I know two of these three things pretty well. I’m going to have to take her word on the gym. (I’m Quietly Judging You)

Utini! Watch out for that piece of dog shit. (New York Shitty)

It’s Val Kilmer week on this site. The Willow section is especially funny (Jebus H Christ)

I won a free DVD from this site so I want to give it some love. Plus, Dallas stars in some funny videos. Look here’s one now. (Dallas Penn)

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In an incredible turn of events, the Who’s Was Tournament was won by the Who’s Was Tournament! I didn’t think it possible, but that just goes to show you how fast NOWness morphs into WASness.

It’s too bad, because with this latest news of Red Sox Nation looking for a “lifetime president” pretty much drives a 10 penny nail into Red Sox Nation’s WAS coffin. We could have seen a #4 seed plow through with an upset, but it’s not to be.

Most importantly, thanks for voting. Your unwavering support and involvement in the Who’s Was process was overwhelming and I’m sorry to cut it short. It was a good run. No, a great run. I mean we almost completed half of the tournament. I think that’s worthy of a few beers.

Now Bryan would like to say a few words. Bryan.

“I think it’s only fitting that as ESPN’s Who’s Now has a changing of the guard to the likes of sports legends like Jessica Biel and Kevin James, Contemptster’s Who’s Was will similarly concede control to apathy. Who’s Was is was. It’s too hard to lampoon something that is so much of a joke. It’s like trying to make a joke of a man being arrested for selling seal penises; it stands on its own. Who’s Now sucks.

I guess my winner for Who’s Was is Perez Hilton. That guy’s annoying.

That’s my two cents”

Thank you Bryan. Touching, touching stuff. Now let’s party ’til dawn!

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Nooooooooooooooooooo!

Story via Yahoo! News

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What’s got two thumbs and can make the most bad ass comic book superhero of all time look gay?

This guy.

That’s right. It’s me, Robin… the Boy Wonder. The impulsive, annoying, primary color wearing ray of light into Batman’s otherwise tortured, dark soul. I’m the hot-pants clad teenager stepping on the back of Batman’s boots everywhere he goes. Sam McKinney to his Arnold Jackson.

I’ve been around since 1940, just one year after Batman debuted, but most of you haven’t seen me in a while because I’ve effectively been shoved into the Bat-closet. There will be no more big screen movies for me, that’s for sure. Not after that nipple costume uproar in the late 90’s. Holy areolas, Batman, I haven’t seen a pair of nipples cause such a stir since Halle Berry in Swordfish.

Listen, I have no problem with gay dudes, but I am not one of them. Go talk to the Riddler. I saw him at a gay bar once and let’s just say he left all the question marks at home. What was I doing at the gay bar? Uh… uh… fighting crime undercover, of course. Robin likes the ladies, is that clear?

To meet more douchebags from the world of pop culture, click here.
While you’re there, see if you can introduce the Star Wars Fan to the Myspace Whore. He could use the help.

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Keeping with yesterday’s theme of “tastemakers” we went to the #1 FOC (Friend of Contemptster) Crazy Carl Himself for his opinion on the matter.


Cool as Ice
By Crazy Carl Himself

An open letter to the asshole who decides what is cool, what is not cool, what is no longer cool, and how cool you are:

While most people find themselves fascinated by what becomes “news” in this country (think Anna Nicole Smith’s Big Dead Tits, or Paris Hilton police car being followed by helicopter), I find myself fascinated by how things become cool and uncool.

Case in Point: I wore Chuck Taylor’s most of my life. I remember owning like 12 different pairs, and pretty much donning Chuck’s from age 14 to 24. Three years ago, my Chuck’s finally got worn down so much, they were thrown out by my Mother, who I am no longer on speaking terms with now. I went to the local mall, and not one store had Chuck Taylor’s in a size 12. I finally quit wearing them. It was not because people, including my friends, always made comments about them, judging my lifestyle (pizza delivering slacker who met women from the internet for casual sex in my spare time), taste in music (a healthy diet of Pearl Jam and Counting Crows), and my income (small) etc. It was not because people accused me of being cheap for wearing $40 sneakers, instead of $140 sneakers (see income above). I stopped wearing them because I no longer could find them anywhere.

However, I knew something was up, because my friend who used to say shit about me wearing them, now proudly owns 3 pairs, and has started wearing them in the last year. And my friend is a trendy fuck. He had 5 $120 Ed Hardy T-shirts, and 3 pairs of 555 Jeans or some shit. In addition, a popular shoe store in my mall, whose name rhymes with Boot Focker had them proudly displayed in the window of the store. Suddenly, Chuck’s were popular. Why? Because you said so, you fucking bastard. Who are you?

What’s going to become cool next, according to you? Spandex Bike Shorts? Bronson Pinchot? Paris Hilton’s Music? Maybe Vanilla Ice will be considered cool again, and not in an ironic funny way. Maybe everyone will start wearing Borat-style Mankinis, and my girlfriend will get on me for not buying one. Maybe it’ll be James Joyce’s novels or teen pregnancy. Who the fuck knows? I’m ready for you, by ignoring whatever you decide is cool. Don’t forget to send everyone I know the memo on what will be cool for the fall, so I can hear shit from everyone I know about I’m not “down with popular culture”.

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Ultragrrrrl and Perez Hilton need not to worry, tastemakers we are not. No, instead we fall in with the no class, unrefined, lowly masses. Relegated to shopping at Wal-Mart having been banned from Target and H & M, we’re not privy to the latest and greatest clothes from the latest and sell-outiest designers. With our bland palates the tasty treats of Mario Batali would be wasted on us. Bravo even called and asked us not to watch Top Chef. But Websense, we thought better of you. We’re kin out here in the internet, but alas, you betrayed us. Here’s an email that our website designer sent us:

“Today, while working on-site at a financial house with restricted web
access, I noticed that contemptster.com is now banned. The company that
catalogs sites and provides the list is called Websense.

Whenever you try to access a banned site, a page appears that reads:
Access Denied - Websense category - “Sexually Explicit”

Or, sometimes the categories can be “Gaming & Gambling” or “Potential
Spyware”.

For contemptster the page reads ….

Access Denied - Websense category - “Tasteless”

Could this be a compliment? In a John Waters sort-of way?”

I for one blame The Founder and his Worst Celebrity Boobs idea, but I guess it could easily have been anything. A word to Websense: Good job, because if you think we’ve been tasteless so far, you haven’t seen anything yet. Downward spirals are infinite.

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“You look fabulous! Who are you wearing?”

“Well, the top is Calvin. I just love Calvin. The sunglasses are brand new Marc Jacobs. The capris I picked up at Dolce and the boots from Prada. They’re gorgeous and I just had to have them. This bag, of course, is Louis. Oh, and this is a scarf I found at a flea Market while vacating in Paris.

“The pretentiousness? That I was born with.”

Related: From Jezebel.

Contempty says: If you think that the initials on your sunglasses or purse somehow make you a better person, you are sadly mistaken. In fact (and this is going to come as a huge surprise to you), your dependence on designer fashion labels is like a giant neon sign pointing out all your insecurities and self-esteem issues. Everyone can see your pre-teen chubbiness written all over that oversized Louis Vitton purse. And that cute guy who rejected you in high school because you found out he said your nose was too big… yeah, we know about him and how your D&G sunglasses help you to forget that it ever happened, like some kind of designer lobotomy. And clear as day, we can all see your desire to be the center of attention despite the fact that you have no personality or any other qualities that would otherwise make you stand out in a crowd. So the next time you want to show off that expensive new designer piece of shit you’ll be paying interest on for the next four years, remember: we know who you really are.

For more everyday assholes, click here.
While you’re there, check in with Fashion Label Whore’s close friend Designer Bag Girl.

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Time to continue with the first round of Who’s Was, Contemptster’s daily feature to find out which person, event or entity that’s still hopelessly clinging on to some form of relevancy is most WAS. Some may call it “jumping the shark” but there’s no WAS phrase more WAS than the WAS-ness of “jumping the shark.” Each bracket is named after the epitome of WAS of its era. Today we break down the MTV Bracket. Click to continue reading…

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Time to continue with the first round of Who’s Was, Contemptster’s daily feature to find out which person, event or entity that’s still hopelessly clinging on to some form of relevancy is most WAS. Some may call it “jumping the shark,” but there’s no WAS phrase more WAS than the WAS-ness of “jumping the shark.” Each bracket is named after the epitome of WAS of its era. Today we break down the MTV Bracket.

We start with the #1 seed Network News vs. the #8 seed CNN

Me: My first question when posed with breaking this match down was, “What news?” There’s so much icky stuff going on in the world that I’d much rather concentrate on my fantasy team and various breads and circuses. I can tell you this much, 6:30 is much too early to be watching the news. I don’t leave the office until well after this time most days so the soothing tones of Jennings, Brokaw, and Rather are far from my ears. What’s that? Couric, Gibson, and Williams? Two morning show vets and the best SNL cast members are reading the news! Wowzer. Or should I say WAS-er? Thank you I’ll be here all week. Really, I’m contractually bound to write on this site all week.

Bryan: Agreed! We should get married. With hundreds of channels available, viewers are not chained to the network news like they once were. Whether it’s revitalizing careers (Charles Gibson) or tanking them (Katie Couric), network news cannot compete with syndicated Dharma and Greg episodes, and everyone hates Dharma and Greg. Does not bode well. Digital cable killed the network news star.

Me: CNN, on the other hand, is a sinking ship having been over taken by the much louder and insane FOX News. I say if you can’t win an unfair fight against a channel with no ethics whatsoever you deserve a chance to rise like the phoenix and read me the news once more.

Bryan: See I think “CNN still cool, CNN still cool!” Who got the first Paris interview? CNN. Who’s HQ is situated in the Dirtiest of Souths? CNN. Who can grow the best facial hair? Wolf Blitzer ergo CNN. If Katie Couric grows a General Burnside, alert CNN and maybe someone will start watching network news again.

Me: CNN you are still a little now. Network news, you’re WAS.

Your Turn

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The #4 seed Page 2 of ESPN.com vs. the #5 seed Working Hard To Get Ahead

Bryan: ESPN.com looks like the bloated gluttony victim from Seven. Page 2 is the endless bowl of spaghetti that keeps being force fed to ESPN.com with contributors like Chuck Klosterman who have no direct link to sports. However, I like spaghetti and Page 2 is still a common stop for many many users.

Me: Page 2 got me through many a long boring work week. That was when the late Ralph Wiley and Hunter S. Thompson along with a fresh faced Bill Simmons were tearing shit up. Now, Simmons is all that remains, but he’s enough to still keep me knee high in 10,000 word columns.

Bryan: As for work ethic, it has been consistent throughout the years. Nepotism and frivolous hand jobs for fame and money have always been prevalent so I don’t think the present situation is any different (how do you think this site was formed…combo of being sons of Ron Contemptsterwitz and cyber handy’s). The free lunch has just been magnified with more media coverage and the internet. Look at how the feudal system worked. Hard work below while royal families sat on their asses. Today, how does migrant labor work? Landscaping the lawns of daughters or sons of celebrities. People still work hard to get ahead. As long as I’m still paying for rim jobs in dark corners of Brooklyn with sugar-free Trident and empty promises, Page 2 is WAS’D out!

Me: My grandfather bought an Exxon station after the depression and managed to build a nice life for himself, raising four kids. He waited in soup lines and worked hard. Lived the American dream if you will. Sure, there were heirs and heiresses in those days, but they weren’t constantly posing their inbred mugs for every camera in town. Sadly, this is the world we live in today. Anyone who makes an honest buck today is a sucker. Working Hard to get Ahead is long dead, and WAS.

Bryan: Oh we finally disagree. I want a divorce.

Your Turn

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The #3 seed New York City vs. the #6 seed Celebrity

Me: I hate this pairing. I’m sick of both of these. I’ve lived in New York for six years and any luster it once had is long gone. Also, let me just say, Frank Gerhy is overated and his half assed designs of multi-million dollar apartment buildings is the last straw. At least there are still a few good dive bars to keep it NOW.

Bryan: This is the closest of all of the match-ups. Both entities are a caricature of their former selves. Like you said, New York City still has cred.

Me: I can name upwards of 100 people who have appeared on The Real World, Survivor, The Surreal Life, and other distractions. I can’t name one living Nobel scientist. Celebrity is WAS.

Bryan: Also, celebrities have lost all respect, mystique and power with media finding all of their flaws. Plus the internet can make anyone a celebrity. I saw a 12 year old girl sing Gloria Estefan while her dog did a flip in the foreground on the internet. Those two are now multi-millioinaires. I just went outside (in NYC) and saw a white, recent college grad gasp as a homeless man pooped on the sidewalk. Now that’s NOW! Which is bad for NYC for this tourney.

Your Turn

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The #2 seed Rap Music vs, the #7 seed Blogging

Bryan: T.I. doing the “rap” for Who’s Now should answer this question, but if you must read on:
We’re blogging right now. If this is a WAS activity then how am I doing it? My head will literally explode if blogging is not around anymore, yet I’m doing it. If I were a robot I’d say “Lodge-ih-cull air-rorr”

Me: Blogging is dying a slow death. I’m glad I jumped aboard the Hindenburg, but alas, I’ve done it. At least it will be a quick and painless death by combustion. Remember when Gawker used to be funny? Or when you had to find out your celebrity scandals via hearsay and email forwards? Those were the days. But I’m doing it so it must be a little NOW. Right? Right? Hello?

Bryan: For its part, rap music had it’s heyday in the 80s to early 90s. I know that mashups, albums featuring hundreds of other artists under the auspices of a single artist, and the rise of hip-hop have put a damper on rap as a pure genre. I see less titty shaking and money flying around these days.

Me: I can’t even get into how bad rap music is today. It’s WASer than Was.

Your Turn

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This is a daunting task to say the least. I’ll give ESPN credit to take on such a huge and annoying tournament process. One match up a day isn’t going to get it done unless it consumes our entire site. So we’re going to tackle the rest of the first round of the Disco Bracket.

Now on to the #4 vs. #5 Match: up the #4 seed Red Sox Nation vs. the #5 seed Rock Music. Click here to continue…

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This Who’s Was business is a daunting task to say the least. I’ll give ESPN credit to take on such a huge and annoying tournament process. One match up a day isn’t going to get it done unless it consumes our entire site. So we’re going to tackle the rest of the first round of the Disco Bracket.

Now on to the #4 vs. #5 Match: up the #4 seed Red Sox Nation vs. the #5 seed Baseball Records.

Me: I’m a Red Sox fan, but I’m not in Red Sox Nation. Why? because I’m not a complete asshole. Red Sox Nation used to be the lovable losers, but after the Sox won the World Series, Red Sox Nation became contemptible douchebags. Plain and simple. QUITE FRANKLY, it’s getting hard to tell the difference between Red Sox Nation and Yankee fans, and Yankees fans are about as WAS at it comes.

Bryan: This WAS tournament could really benefit from some sort of musical intro. Maybe some duet of Mama Cass and Sonny Bono. I think Jimmy Fallon signaled the death of the relevant Red Sox Nation.

Me: Baseball records are about to become irrelevant in the next two weeks or so. When Barry Bonds passes Hank Aaron and validates the Steroid Era by cheating his way to the home run record it will change the books forever. It’s going to be a sad day when it happens, but hey, we still have two weeks right? My vote goes to Red Sox Nation.

Bryan: Baseball’s stats are still the most relevant of any sport, and the records command a lot of attention. Red Sox Nation has been tied to Ben Affleck (he’s still alive?) and sticking pencils in my ears until they bleed to avoid hearing them whine. Neither association feels very “NOW”ish to me, which makes the Sox a winner (I guess…dawg)!

Your turn

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In our next match up we have the #3 Seed Rock Music facing off against #6 seed Britney Spears.

Me: Britney Spears was on top of the world. Her computer generated voice, slutty outfits, and shifting breast size captured a nation. But that was the go-go 90s. But now…look, do I even need to get into it? We know all about her, and in a weird way, despite her facade crumbling before our eyes revealing a talentless, chemically imbalanced shell, she became our Britney. The girl we can hang back with, drink beer with, and probably get lucky with. She’s more attainable than ever and that, in my opinion, makes her NOW. Seriously, she’s here right now installing a new kitchen sink.

Bryan: Oh this is an intriguing match-up in the Disco Bracket. Nothing I like more than giving credence to some arbitrary bracket and discussing the merits of two completely different and incomparable entities. I have to agree with you. When I used to sit naked on the floor and watch Britney Spears’ videos I never thought she’d turn out so….attainable! Maybe I’m in the minority, but I think Britney is better than ever. What other star has taken such a turn that you actually feel that you have a chance with them. Heck, I may even blow her off now! Let me know when she’s done with your sink.

Me: Rock Music on the other hand is dominated by Fall Out Boy, Panic at the Disco, and Avril Lavigne. A far cry from Led Zeppelin, The Sex Pistols, and Janis. In some ways Rock Music resides in a place far beyond WAS. However, there’s more music out there today than ever before with simple and easy ways to get it for free. That’s pretty cool. But it also reeks of desperation, and flashing your vadge to the paparazzi aside, desperation is waaay WAS. I’m voting for Rock Music.

Bryan: People say rock’s not dead! Which means rock’s dead. In this clash of the titans I think Britney’s technical aliveness makes her more NOW then Rock. Since I forgot what we’re arguing I don’t know what that means in terms of this tournament. 2 votes for Rock’s WASness.

Your Turn

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And in our last match up of the Disco Bracket the #2 seeded The Simpsons faces off against the #7 seeded Poker.

Me: The Simpsons had a great run. A great run. When I can make it home in time I always watch the 7:00 episode. I’ve seen every episode…multiple time. It’s really pretty sad but still make time for it. But as more and more of the later episodes creep into the syndicated strip, it becomes less and less enjoyable. I’ll still watch it mind you. I’m holding out for the movie, if the movie sucks they will move into WAS for me. But, like with Baseball Records, we have a few weeks until the movie comes out so my unhealthy crush on Homer and the gang can live on in NOW for a little while longer. Sorry guys, didn’t mean to get upset with you.

Bryan: The Disco Bracket loves The Simpsons (which is bad). I think this has all the makings of an upset. The Simpsons has a movie coming out this summer, 7-Elevens are turning into Quick-E-Marts, and the show is still running! Even if you think the show sucks now, that is quite a bit of NOWing going on…dog.

Me: As for Poker? I don’t even know her. I mean I don’t even know the “sport” all that well. All I know is that every degenerate with an internet thinks they can win the World Series of Poker. Some even have. If some schlub can take down the best players in the world it ceases to be the game of skill Rounders is so eager to point out, and become a game of chance. And I’m sure as hell not going to watch the World Series of Slot Machines. Poker you’re WAS.

Bryan: Poker had a great 1 year run, but overweight, wannabe college kids cannot sustain the popularity of a game that involves sitting, cards, sitting, staring, sitting, drinking, sitting, and sitting. It’s like a beached whale clinging to life while onlookers stare at the great poker beast wheezing and emitting gases in its death throes. Poker’s tied to c-list celebrities, Middle America dreamers and comb-overs. Poker, that makes you a winner in this tournament!

Your Turn

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Not to steal from Gawker, but I was looking online and came across a ridiculous Craig’s List job posting. Here’s the post with my comments in bold italics:

I must start with the fact that there is only $12 and hour in the budget for this project and MUST have your own set up (An editor with their own set up wouldn’t work for under $500 per day unless they have a meth habit. Unfortunately, I do, so I read further) as we will need to work together either in your space (and I provide the space!) that’s not too far from the East Village (and afford to live near the E. Village on 12 bucks an hour?) or in my spacious, low rental apt (blow me, money bags). Lucky me, 16 yrs in it and relatively low rent (too bad you didn’t look to buy over that time, douche. How about passing those savings along to your employees?). That being said, it really is low budget (you think?) so read on if you wish (need meth. need meth). Talented video editor with Final Cut Pro expertise for documentary about couples/relationship work (pervert). Geared to help singles and couples learn new communication skills so as to have more peace and love rather than struggle and pain (worse, hippie).

If you’ve ever had any suffering in an intimate relationship, this work may be a revelation, and maybe not (I’m leaning towards not. Just a gut feeling). It’s not everyone’s cup of tea. My website is [redacted]. I do relationship counseling, give lectures and workshops (Zzzz). My home and office is in the East Village. I am hugely passionate about this work (but not about paying people what they’re worth).

Great opportunity for creative editor/filmmaker (no it’s not. You’re a liar). Graphic design skills are a plus (Jesus, now we’re designing graphics too). $12 per hour. Part Time. Flexible hours. Must have your own set up (word of advice, you shouldn’t keep highlighting the negatives about the job).
(if willing/able to do other tasks, typing, data entry, etc, more hours may be available) (Fuck you)

Please email resume and cover letter that indicates you’ve read this ad. In the subject line say something that really says you read this ad. It helps if your response catches our eye. (Subject: You’re a fucking cheap lunatic hippie bastard - Got your attention?)

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Time for our first Who’s Was debate. What is Who’s Was? Who’s Was is Contemptster’s new daily series to help determine which person, event, or entity that is still hopelessly clinging to some form of relevancy is most “Was”. Just like on SportsCenter this will be a 32 member bracket consisting of four seeded regions, each region named after a person, event, or entity that define Was of its era. Here are the brackets:

The Disco Bracket
The MTV Bracket
The Hippie Ideals Bracket
The R-Rated Action Movie Bracket

Today we start breaking down the Disco Bracket. Every day Bryan and I will debate the merits of each nominee. I’m properly drenched in sweat so let the proceeding begin!

Me: Yo, dogs what the sheezy? Today we’ve got the #1 seed NHL, a sport that’s definitely seen it’s best days. The time of EA Sports NHL ‘93 with the easy juke move that allowed you to score at will are long over. Now they’re relegated to the Versus network after some mad collective bargaining drama y’all. The NHL may play on ice, but they’re not as cool as the other side of the pillow, dogs.

The NHL faces off against #8 seed HBO Original Series. HBO has seen Six Feet Under and the Sopranos retired and Entourage is reminiscent of a barber with an electric razor working the chair – fading.

Bryan: HBO’s original programming has dramatically improved and the expansion to multiple HBOs means a proliferation of bare titties. Nothing wakes you up better for work than HBO Pacific at 8am with a cup of coffee. Now that’s how I define NOW!

Me: And NOW is exactly what you don’t want. Plus those Cathouse honnies are like my telephone when I’m home alone tripping balls – off the hizz-ook.

Bryan: The electronic age made the HBO guide mailer obsolete so there’s less mail.

Me: I have no idea what that even means but I like it, dog.

Bryan: HBO has recently been tied to Real Sex (a stalwart), Bob Costas, Entourage nudity and Bill Maher. Who’s more NOW rather than WAS then that (dog)!?

Me: Bob Costas is the embodiment of NOW, you got that right, playah. He even had a show called Costas Now. Now that’s NOW!

Byran: The NHL has the Versus network, larger masks, and less fighting. This would be the only time it would be a good thing to be tied to Canada, but lately the NHL can’t even claim that! NHL players pull some hotties that they may not have in the past, but those doing so are mainly Russians, and they’re the worst.

Me: I was tied to Canada once. It ended badly. And Who’s more WAS than Russians? FALL OF THE SOVIET EMPIRE, YO!

Bryan: A few years back, even Fox couldn’t spice up the sport enough with their red trailer line to help viewers follow the puck. HBO would never stoop to such lows as using a gimmick. Well, maybe HBO Pacific, but if the NHL decided to use bright boobs as puck trailers then maybe I’d be on board. Until then, the NHL is the obvious WAS choice (dog).

Me: Word is bond. Bright red boobs is exactly what the NHL needs. That would be like Cool Hand Luke escaping – off the chain! I also can’t wait to see how many people end up on this site after searching “bright red boobs.”

You’ve heard the panel. The NHL is the obvious WAS choice. We account for 37 percent of the voting the rest is up to you Planet Earth. Now it’s your turn.

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Happy Monday! Oh, I’m sorry did I startle you? I’ve been standing silently behind you for the last two and a half minutes watching you write that email to your mother. I agree, she should totally give your Aunt Barbara a good talking to after what she did the other night.

Hey, just so you know, you look really pretty today. That blouse really brings out your eyes. Seriously, if I didn’t have a girlfriend who nobody has ever seen or met and I wasn’t on probation, I’d totally force myself on you. That’s how pretty you look today.

All righty, well I’ll let you get back to work. As I walk away I’ll look at you several times to see if you’re watching me. When I get to my desk I’ll wait three minutes and inexplicably stand up to stretch and stare at you until you catch me. I’ll then hold the eye contact just long enough to make you wonder whether I’m silently sizing you up to see if I could fit into your clothes or to see if you could fit into the hole I dug in my mother’s basement.

Hobbies: Writing love letters to you and then eating them, being in the background of every picture taken of you at office parties, never blinking

Dislikes: Boyfriends/husbands who don’t know how to mind their own damn business, sleeping, cops

For more office jerks, click here.
While you’re there, go out for a brewsky with the Boss Who Pretends to be One of the Guys.

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Yippie Ky Ay Mudda Fucka


The R-Rated Action Movie Bracket
1. ESPN
8. Jenna Jameson

4. Shock Jocks
5. Newspapers

3. The Iconic Male Actor
6. The Movies

2. Appointment TV Viewing
7. Perez Hilton

Other Brackets:
The Disco Bracket
The MTV Bracket
The Hippie Ideals Bracket

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The Hippie Ideals Bracket
1. The Democratic Party
8. Las Vegas (This link doesn’t have that much to do with Vegas, it’s just strange seeing Christian Slater’s name on top billing of a movie poster. Seems like so long ago.)

4. Ironic T-Shirts
5. Pam Anderson

3. Hard News
6. The Bush Administration

2. The Olympics
7. Fantasy Sports

Other Brackets:
The Disco Bracket
The MTV Bracket
The R-Rated Action Movie Bracket

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The MTV Bracket
1. Network News
8. CNN

4. Page 2 (ESPN.com)
5. Working Hard to Get Ahead

3. New York City
6. Celebrity

2. Rap Music
7. Blogging

Other Brackets:
The Disco Bracket
The Hippie Ideals Bracket
The R-Rated Action Movie Bracket

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This bracket don’t advertise.

The Disco Bracket
1. National Hockey League
8. HBO Original Series

4. Red Sox Nation
5. Baseball Records

3. Rock Music
6. Britney Spears

2. The Simpsons
7. Poker

Other Brackets:
The MTV Bracket
The Hippie Ideals Bracket
The R-Rated Action Movie Bracket

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Two weeks ago we had Mac Week 2007! I only wish I had stumbled across this site sooner (via AHCJ), because it’s fucking amazing.

Related: Mac Devotee Contemptster.

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Check out our first Who’s Was debate here and vote!

Yesterday we talked about the lame ESPN summer time filler tournament Who’s Now. If you missed it check it out…here. Who’s Now is ESPN’s new tournament designed to figure out which athlete is most “Now”. Get it? Yeah, me neither. I guess by “Now” they mean a popular, pop culture cross over, larger than life, icon for an entire era. Well, if you’re counting on ESPN and a panel consisting of a very sweaty Stuart Scott, Kirk Herbstreit, and Keyshawn Johnson, plus all the dimwits who vote for this shit to define which athlete transcends the globe, well maybe you’re looking at an era without an athlete that is Now. As sad as it is, this may just be the Not Now Era. No music is Now, no athlete is Now, no celebrity is Now, no politician is Now, no one is Now. We’re all involved in our very own sub groups and sub-sub groups that cling to individuality and originality over anything else. So a Who’s Now tournament in an this “anti-Tyler-Durden everyone is a unique little snowflake” age is just plain stupid.

Ah, but what about a Who’s Was tourney?

Who’s Was is Contemptster’s new daily series to help determine which person, event, or entity that is still hopelessly clinging to some form of relevancy is most “Was”. Just like on SportsCenter this will be a 32 member bracket consisting of four seeded regions, each region named after a person, event, or entity that define Was of its era.

We’ll start the voting process on Wednesday so if you don’t see something on here that deserves to be let us know in the comments. On the flip side, if we’re being overly harsh to a subject that may just be temporarily down on its luck tell us or forever hold your peace. Hold your peace, that is, until the voting starts. Then have at it.

Here are your brackets and seeds:

The Disco Bracket
1. National Hockey League
8. HBO Original Series

4. Red Sox Nation
5. Baseball Records

3. Rock Music
6. Britney Spears

2. The Simpsons
7. Poker

The MTV Bracket
1. Network News
8. CNN

4. Page 2 (ESPN.com)
5. Working Hard to Get Ahead

3. New York City
6. Celebrity

2. Rap Music
7. Blogging

The Hippie Ideals Bracket
1. The Democratic Party
8. Las Vegas (This link doesn’t have that much to do with Vegas, it’s just strange seeing Christian Slater’s name on top billing of a movie poster. Seems like so long ago.)

4. Ironic T-Shirts
5. Pam Anderson

3. Hard News
6. The Bush Administration

2. The Olympics
7. Fantasy Sports

The R-Rated Action Movie Bracket
1. ESPN
8. Jenna Jameson

4. Shock Jocks
5. Newspapers

3. The Iconic Male Actor
6. The Movies

2. Appointment TV Viewing
7. Perez Hilton

UPDATE - More on Who’s Now:
Here’s the Pig Pen’s take on Who’s Now.
Pittsburg Sports and Mini Ponies has been linked to not liking Who’s Now as well
And, as stated in the comments here’s The Grand National Championships take.

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Damn, did you see how close David Beckham was to beating LaDainian Tomlinson in ESPN’s “Who’s Now” tournament? I haven’t been that excited in years. Wait, you could care less about the inane and arbitrary Who’s Now feature being forced upon every SportsCenter viewer?
Yeah, me too.

I was on vacation last week without access to the internet so SportCenter actually became a useful tool for finding the scores of my local team. I usually avoid SportsCenter like the plague because, QUITE FRANKLY, it’s unwatchable at this point. However, when you need a score and don’t have a newspaper, computer, blackberry, telephone, or radio handy SportsCenter is the perfect source for your sporting news needs. Or so I thought. Not only were the highlights of my team buried near the end of the show, but I had to sit through the stupidity that is Who’s Now. What make an athlete “now” according to ESPN?

“The ultimate sports star considering both on-field success and off-field buzz.”

Damn, are people still using the word “buzz”? I though that shit went out with Zima and the 1990s. But seriously, I think I expect the buzz created by Kobe’s rape trial and off the court bitching to carry him until at least the final four. You just can’t beat the buzz created by sex crime accusations.

ESPN and anchors like Stuart Scott are groupies who love to jerk off pro athletes, that is the sole reason for the Who’s Now tourney, that and the dog days of summer. The results are utter bullshit. You know how I know that? Because Keyshawn Johnson’s opinion accounts for 10% of the voting. Other than being hired by ESPN and having some free time what qualifies Keyshawn Johnson to account for 10% of a vote that, as ESPN would have it, defines the next Michael Jordan? Nothing, it’s just more athlete ass-kissing nonsense. Awful Announcing said it best when he said “ESPN is Now Officially MTV” that about sums it up.

Stay tuned for more on Who’s Now.

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If you noticed that the blogs were especially laugh out loud (LOL) funny last week it was because Bryan was tending to them. Like David Letterman rushing back from quadruple bypass surgery after watching Jerry Seinfeld, Regis Philbin, and Vince Vaughn kill audiences in his absence, I cut my vacation short and am here with you today. With that said, Bryan’s reign of terror is now over, but he’ll still be dropping soy bombs of humor every Friday with Premature Exasperations or when all I feel like doing is bathing in Adsense dollars and gloating about our Technorati ranking. Let me be the first to congratulate Bryan on a job…done.

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SHAME! SHAME! SHAME!
I caught up with a resident that lives near the intersection of Franklin and Gravy Street. It’s a small crossroads that sits tucked away from a great deal of the public, but now it finds itself at the center of a growing public concern.
“Ever since they put that four-way stop sign up, my commute home takes thirty seconds longer. Sometimes even forty-five.”
“Sometimes even forty-five?”
“Yeah, or maybe like thirty-five”
The city says they haven’t had any complaints. Well, I caught up with the city planner at the country club where he was playing tennis which he drove to in his new Bentley. In between sets he would burn money in a trash can and discipline other people’s children. I asked him about the four-way stop.
“We’ve had no complaints.”
He was lying.
“Sir, we’ve had one interview where someone complained. Why would you lie to me right now?”
The city planner is in our Hall of Shame, and as a result of our story, the resident has made a formal complaint to the city.
SHAME! SHAME! SHAME!

Contempty says: He’s Latin America’s answer to John Stossel, and he’s on Fox to investigate the most pressing, trivial, geriatric concerns of our time. He even has a Stossel inspired waxed mustache. Is a laundromat using generic detergent to save a few bucks? Is a popular infomercial company overcharging customer’s credit cards by a nickel? Arnold Diaz is on the case.

For more Pop Culture contempts, click here.
While you’re there, get to know the Mac Devotee and find out why he loves Macs so much. Hint: They’re so fucking intuitive!

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These people commented and left their websites/blog/URLs info. They are now in our blogroll, or as I like to call it “step one towards World Wide Interweb domination.” Godspeed Great White Snark and Rock Me TV Guy. Godspeed.

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Finally, it’s Friday and time for another installment of Premature Exasperations. This week Bryan recounts a troubling experience involving a crashed computer, the cops and porno.

Dude, You’re Getting a Dell to Facilitate Porn Admissions
By Bryan

“People always say, ‘Life is 24/7.’ Well, ‘My sex life is 24/7.’ I wish I could say I was exaggerating because I’m so sore from it, but you gotta take it where you can get it, which is everywhere if you’re me.”
-Me

I replay that monologue in my head every time I listen to ‘90s gang-star rap. In all honesty it doesn’t truthfully apply to me, but it will be my response to every question I answer if/when I hang out with Snoop Dogg, Dr. Dre, and Goldie Loc.

In fact my sex life is maybe ½ of 24/7. So if my math is correct ½ of 24/7 comes to 24/14 or 2/1. Yep, looks right. Normally, it’s 2 to 1 or 2 on 1 situations in the bedroom when I’m involved. I find that a “versus” mentality in sex makes for extra romance (1 on 1, 2 on 1, 3 on 14 on tiger). So that’s my sex life.

One seemingly inconsequential addendum to my sexy life’s background lies in a folder previously saved on my computer labeled “Statistical Data and Regression Lines.” It held mainly excel files and a gigabyte of porn videos, but without the excel files. Surely, not a tremendous amount of porn since videos command a lot of memory and two large movies could easily occupy that much hard drive. I think everyone can agree that, space-wise, there’s no difference between two big videos and forty-five really small, short, deeply researched ones. So, forty-five videos, N.B.D., ya know, No Big Deal.

This folder garners “previous” status since, quite unexpectedly, my Dell Inspiron 8600 notebook’s hard drive crashed.

My first thought: “Man! I was going to back up everything today, too! Shucks! Maaan, that’s ironic.”

My first spoken words: “F&#$, balls, tits and ass and pubes, and pubes, and pubes!”

A seething hate brewed within me toward Dell. I tried reviving the drive by blowing into it like a Nintendo game. Nothing was working. I needed a pro. I hired a female escort from the Geek Squad, but her troubleshooting disappointed. For one, she couldn’t fix the problem, and second, she gave me the dirtiest look when I put my hand on her thigh. She certainly seemed quite distinguishing for a geeky escort.

I enlisted my parents out of desperation, whereupon hearing of my misfortune, my father, who has a job attached to law enforcement, told me he knew a guy that could take a crack at resurrecting the drive. The police resources, seemingly extravagant and thorough, presented a tension. An appreciated search for data from the police abutted a secret cache of porn—explicitly labeled, obvious porn, porn. I imagined giant servers, FBI lists, badges, and billy clubs. So many billy clubs. Compelled by a desire to recover the data, I begrudgingly sent my hard drive, but with a sly, emailed caveat to my father.

“Any word documents should be saved, as well as mp3s, and pdfs. So how’s your day going? Yeah, I watched Rush Hour 2 last night. Not as good as Rush Hour 1. What chips are you eating these days? I’m totally into Bugles!
P.S. There may be a bunch of porn clips so tell the officer to just ignore those, ok thanks so much.”

Dell deserves a medal made of gypsy curses for their hardware performance. If not for a shoddy drive that died after a year and a half, I could never have admitted to my stash of porn to my parents and a policeman. I only wish Dell had been there to facilitate adolescent admissions of shame, but I trust Dell will be there to force me into positions of degradation well into my golden years. Countless wives, children and nursing home attendants will surely know any slight taboos in which I dabble due to Dell’s stunning service.

Octogenarian Me: My Dell virtual reality glasses seem, well, they seem broken.
Nursing Home Worker: Oh, let me have a look at those.
[Upon applying futuristic technological techniques all caregivers will undoubtedly possess]
Nursing Home Worker: Woah, woah! Why would you ever want to do that in a hot air balloon!? Stay away from me. If you want help again, call Bernice.
Octogenarian Me: Is this a bad time to tell you my Dell Spastic Colon is
acting up?

My father’s response a few days later read something like, “My guy couldn’t get the drive to spin. Oh, and I really appreciate you telling me about your porn. Why do you tell me these things?”

Not only did the hard drive continue to hold my data for a ransom the policeman could not pay, but my father got a slight glimpse at the autoerotically asphyxiated skeleton hanging in my closet. I must admit that I’m not ashamed of possessing porn, but it’s hidden for a reason. The intricately hidden porn stash, a trope of stand-up comedy, points to porn’s pervasive, yet somewhat shameful existence. Porn’s like a pair of gaudy, Tuesday underwear; you’ll enthusiastically wear it, but you pray that you don’t encounter a chance strip search.

Hard drives crash too easily to trust with such salacious material. The electronic age still cannot trump the tangible sources like JCPenney catalogs.

Moral of the story: “Back that Ass up!” Of course, by “ass” I mean “data.” In terms of porn you may think of it as “ass data.”

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