SO I just stumbled upon (not using stumbleupon) this little ditty from the genius that is CRACKED!.com (remember when they were just a busted version of Mad Magazine?) comparing the 70's starlets to today's harlots. I got to after reading THIS gem.
Enjoy.
Saturday, July 5, 2008
Thursday, July 3, 2008
It's about TIME
Dear Google,
Thank you. For almost a year (well not really, cause iPhone only came into my life like 6 months ago), I've waited. And now you've given it to me. Google Talk, for iPhone!!!!
Thanks,
Gurftastic
Thank you. For almost a year (well not really, cause iPhone only came into my life like 6 months ago), I've waited. And now you've given it to me. Google Talk, for iPhone!!!!
Thanks,
Gurftastic
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Dear Dude:
Thanks for getting up from your seat on the subway as the train went into the station, coming over to stand in front of me, farting, then walking back towards where you were sitting, and getting off the train. Thank you for timing this maneuver to coincide with a really cute girl coming over to sit near me, so that it seemed as though it was me who was practically dumping in my pants on the train. Thanks.
Saturday, June 28, 2008
69 dudes
Last post was number 69 on the google... hehe...
"The true measure of a man is how he treats someone who can do him absolutely no good."
-Samuel Johnson
Interesting sentiment that I've been thinking about a lot lately.
"The true measure of a man is how he treats someone who can do him absolutely no good."
-Samuel Johnson
Interesting sentiment that I've been thinking about a lot lately.
Convo
Cute but Drunk Girl (CBDG): Hey!
Me: Hey, what's up?
CBDG: (drunk laughter and stumbling) I really need to talk to you...
Me: Oh yeah?
CBDG: So it's my birthday!
Me: Happy birthday!!!
CBDG: And I need to tell you something...
Me: mmmk...
CBDG: Yeah, my hot friend thinks you're really cute...
Me: Awesome! Who's your friend?
CBDG: That guy right there...
Me: Wah-wah-wah-waheeaheeaheeahhhh!!!!
Then I was told my glasses were "a little gay" and my hair "wasn't
helping" Awesome. Yeah. Not that it's not flattering and all,
but like, Yyyyyyeeeeaaaaahhhhhh...
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Two Things I Don't Understand
And it involves the gay community. Go figure, right? Ok, here goes...
What's with twinky gay boys taking on effeminate traits? Like if a
guy is attracted to other guys, wouldn't taking on a trait that is
feminine turn him off? What's the deal there?
And by the same token, what's with those lesbian girls who dress like
dudes? Short hair, boy's pants, etc... I don't understand. Can
someone explain these things to me, because I'm stupid...
Thanks.
Monday, June 23, 2008
RIP George Carlin
One of the brightest and funniest men alive is no longer, well, alive. Here's a small clip of one of my favorite routines. Here's hoping someone honest comes along to try and fill the void left by him...
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Update
As promised... a few more that I had forgotten:
Carol, GILF, Mortal Enemy, Pocohantas, Proletariat, Snoopy, Stalky
All in all, not a bad little list, considering that almost everyone in the place got a nickname.
In other news, I want an InNOut Burger.
Carol, GILF, Mortal Enemy, Pocohantas, Proletariat, Snoopy, Stalky
All in all, not a bad little list, considering that almost everyone in the place got a nickname.
In other news, I want an InNOut Burger.
Monday, June 16, 2008
Start Mentally Preparing Yourself to Lick the Shit-Truck
Ok, so I know you've missed me. I'm sorry. It's not you, it's me... I just feel like we've grown apart. You're great and everything, I just need some space. It's just that I've grown up and you've stayed the same. The more I live life the more I realize I need to live MY life. I guess what I'm trying to say is, will you move in with me?
For those of you who missed it, The Brass went to Canada for a few weeks of debauchery. Highlights: After a 12 hour drive, and a lot of Wild-Turkey, I puked all over the side of a hill, and rolled down it (not necessarily in that order). Then I woke up at 6 am, and climbed into John's sleeping bag, prompting him to wonder how someone who went to bed 3 hours before, practically DEAD, could be up fucking with him at such an ungodly hour. Good times.
We were convinced that everyone was afraid of us kwazey New Yorkers...
Then Matt arrived. Always a bad idea. The first night, he decided to freak out the squares. Yadda, yadda, yadda, dislocated my finger in the ensuing ruckus, yadda, yadda, yadda threw a boulder at him jokingly, but the McGill contingent was like, "Those guys are fucking nuts..."
Some night that first week, Mafoo met a bottle of Vodka that he couldn't resist. Their relationship ended badly, when he drunkenly lost his blackberry, and was screaming at me at 3 AM trying to get the keys to my car to look for it. When I was like, "no" he then proceeded to try a little "ethnic cleansing" within the quintet. After a pretty good shove, which left a bruise on my chest, I feel over backwards and landed awkwardly on my head. Big bump, thought I broke a toe in there somewhere also... but all appears to be fine. Wait, who are you? He felt bad enough to say that I can use his room as a toilet when I move in this week. At least that's what I got from the conversation.
Also, there was a shit-truck. Imagine a septic tank pumping truck, but instead of like, housing all the feces in the tank, it also was covered in shit, and also smelled like the most potent shit stank you've ever smelled, so that even if you are driving near it, with the windows up and the air circulation restricted to recycling the flow of air from within the car, it still smells bad enough to make you wanna puke. Now imagine Matt offers to lick the shit truck to make amends for my semi-broken toe. And the welty-bruise that used to be my skull.
As always seems to happen when me, the Matts, JEE and Selly get together, everyone starts getting nicknames. Below is the compendium of Domaine Forget nicknames, alphabetized for your convenience:
Albino Horn Chick, Algonquin, Annoying Horn Chick, Avril Lavign, Big Red, Big Tit Tuba Chick, Box Office Chicks, Brad's Girl, Bruised Ego, Damien, Eight-Year-Old Boy, Foosball King, Gardner 2.0, Gurf's Nemesis, Granny, Hebrew Hunter, Inuana, Jester 2.0, Le Sklunt, Lesbian Horn Chick, Lesbian Trumpet Chick, Little Trumpet Dude, Natural Trumpet Dude, Plain Jane, Power Bottom, Shelf, Sinead, Slagathor, Sri Lanka, The Sideler, Twinky Trumpet Dude, Wenis
Not to be outdone, through some covert recon, Gurftastic learned that that the Frenchie chicks had nicknames for some of the BBQ. The only ones I was able to learn before the storm troopers arrived were, "Sexy Matt", and "Just Matt". Sorry, JUST Mafoo... Wah-Wah...
There's a lot more to tell, like how fucking stereotypical the town was, and how uppitty all the Frenchies were about everything, and how the was practically an all-out Frenchie chick throw-down... but ummm perhaps I'll leave that for another time... Also, I'm pretty sure there's more nicknames I'm leaving out, so I'll have to get back to with updates as needed...
For those of you who missed it, The Brass went to Canada for a few weeks of debauchery. Highlights: After a 12 hour drive, and a lot of Wild-Turkey, I puked all over the side of a hill, and rolled down it (not necessarily in that order). Then I woke up at 6 am, and climbed into John's sleeping bag, prompting him to wonder how someone who went to bed 3 hours before, practically DEAD, could be up fucking with him at such an ungodly hour. Good times.
We were convinced that everyone was afraid of us kwazey New Yorkers...
Then Matt arrived. Always a bad idea. The first night, he decided to freak out the squares. Yadda, yadda, yadda, dislocated my finger in the ensuing ruckus, yadda, yadda, yadda threw a boulder at him jokingly, but the McGill contingent was like, "Those guys are fucking nuts..."
Some night that first week, Mafoo met a bottle of Vodka that he couldn't resist. Their relationship ended badly, when he drunkenly lost his blackberry, and was screaming at me at 3 AM trying to get the keys to my car to look for it. When I was like, "no" he then proceeded to try a little "ethnic cleansing" within the quintet. After a pretty good shove, which left a bruise on my chest, I feel over backwards and landed awkwardly on my head. Big bump, thought I broke a toe in there somewhere also... but all appears to be fine. Wait, who are you? He felt bad enough to say that I can use his room as a toilet when I move in this week. At least that's what I got from the conversation.
Also, there was a shit-truck. Imagine a septic tank pumping truck, but instead of like, housing all the feces in the tank, it also was covered in shit, and also smelled like the most potent shit stank you've ever smelled, so that even if you are driving near it, with the windows up and the air circulation restricted to recycling the flow of air from within the car, it still smells bad enough to make you wanna puke. Now imagine Matt offers to lick the shit truck to make amends for my semi-broken toe. And the welty-bruise that used to be my skull.
As always seems to happen when me, the Matts, JEE and Selly get together, everyone starts getting nicknames. Below is the compendium of Domaine Forget nicknames, alphabetized for your convenience:
Albino Horn Chick, Algonquin, Annoying Horn Chick, Avril Lavign, Big Red, Big Tit Tuba Chick, Box Office Chicks, Brad's Girl, Bruised Ego, Damien, Eight-Year-Old Boy, Foosball King, Gardner 2.0, Gurf's Nemesis, Granny, Hebrew Hunter, Inuana, Jester 2.0, Le Sklunt, Lesbian Horn Chick, Lesbian Trumpet Chick, Little Trumpet Dude, Natural Trumpet Dude, Plain Jane, Power Bottom, Shelf, Sinead, Slagathor, Sri Lanka, The Sideler, Twinky Trumpet Dude, Wenis
Not to be outdone, through some covert recon, Gurftastic learned that that the Frenchie chicks had nicknames for some of the BBQ. The only ones I was able to learn before the storm troopers arrived were, "Sexy Matt", and "Just Matt". Sorry, JUST Mafoo... Wah-Wah...
There's a lot more to tell, like how fucking stereotypical the town was, and how uppitty all the Frenchies were about everything, and how the was practically an all-out Frenchie chick throw-down... but ummm perhaps I'll leave that for another time... Also, I'm pretty sure there's more nicknames I'm leaving out, so I'll have to get back to with updates as needed...
Friday, May 23, 2008
Been a Long Time
I've missed you. I know we only had a little time together, but I really felt like we were getting to know each other.
Let's get reacquainted. My name is Gurfastic, and I hate most of the shit Hollywood saddles our population with. Check THIS out. Went to see Iron Man last week with DJSkram. I was not disappointed. I'd heard that it wasn't well directed (not true). John Favreau did a great job in my opinion. If there was anything I didn't dig, it was the fact that there wasn't really enough KICKIN' ASS scenes. I mean, he like builds the thing, kicks serious ass in it for like 4 minutes once, and that's pretty much the only non-busted fight scene you get.
Granted, they were basically setting up the sequel, so there's that...
I think my next door neighbor is a vocal coach for the Met. Except that she's in the next building over. But our buildings touch. And so like I can hear her singing, or coaching all day, and she has to hear me practice. Two nites ago, they were working on the hot water pipes in my building till midnite, and it sounded like they were drilling somewhere... it was loud. She opens her window and yells, "Hey Fuckers! Shut the Fuck UP!". Kinda funny, considering she's like 80.
I heard that this new Indiana Jones movie involves Area 51. Why is it that everything George Lucas touches turns to shit lately? And wouldn't Speilberg have like overruled him on that, having still some grasp of what a good movie is?
And I'm spent.
Let's get reacquainted. My name is Gurfastic, and I hate most of the shit Hollywood saddles our population with. Check THIS out. Went to see Iron Man last week with DJSkram. I was not disappointed. I'd heard that it wasn't well directed (not true). John Favreau did a great job in my opinion. If there was anything I didn't dig, it was the fact that there wasn't really enough KICKIN' ASS scenes. I mean, he like builds the thing, kicks serious ass in it for like 4 minutes once, and that's pretty much the only non-busted fight scene you get.
Granted, they were basically setting up the sequel, so there's that...
I think my next door neighbor is a vocal coach for the Met. Except that she's in the next building over. But our buildings touch. And so like I can hear her singing, or coaching all day, and she has to hear me practice. Two nites ago, they were working on the hot water pipes in my building till midnite, and it sounded like they were drilling somewhere... it was loud. She opens her window and yells, "Hey Fuckers! Shut the Fuck UP!". Kinda funny, considering she's like 80.
I heard that this new Indiana Jones movie involves Area 51. Why is it that everything George Lucas touches turns to shit lately? And wouldn't Speilberg have like overruled him on that, having still some grasp of what a good movie is?
And I'm spent.
Thursday, May 1, 2008
A blast from the past
Anyone who knows me can tell you, and anyone who's read anything I've ever written in this space can probably conjecture, that I'm not really ever "serious" about anything. Take for example my college entrance essay. This is what I wrote as part of my application for an East Coast Music Conservatory. The topics to address were, "Why have you chosen your particular field of study? What are your goals in your field?" Knowing full well that nobody actually reads these things, here's what 17-year-old Gurftastic (at that point, most of the 'tastic was yet to 'tast) wrote to a potential place of higher learning:
The Mystical World of the Classical Trumpet Player
If I had to give one reason why I’ve chosen classical trumpet performance as my field of study, I’d have to say it is for the women* (*original word, "chicks", ed... I think my mom made me change it... it was for college, after all!). There’s nothing quite as alluring to the feminine of the species as responding to the query, “You play the trumpet… do you play jazz?” with the conversation stopping, “No, I’m a classical trumpet major.” This is usually followed by the question, “Oh… what do you want to do with that… play in a band or something?”
Now of course I am just joking. However, our society today puts so much emphasis on popular genres of music, it is frightening to think of the dwindling market available for classically trained musicians. Across the country, orchestras are going bankrupt, or shortening their seasons. Many of the leading “second tier” orchestras in the country are forced to play pops concerts to support their highly undersold classical series. While my parent’s generation, which grew up with the Beatles, still relaxes and relishes the classical experience, it is difficult for me to imagine the young professionals my age EVER listening to classical music (unless it is some cheesy compilation CD they use to impress their “educated” friends). This is truly scary, for the future of classical music is in serious jeopardy.
That all being said, my reasons for choosing the trumpet are simple. It’s my voice. It’s the only way I have found that I can truly express myself. And I’m lucky… I get to sing out my emotions every day of my life. There’s nothing quite as exhilarating as that moment when the last note of a piece is sounded, and the entire ensemble finally releases that mental energy which has been so strongly concentrated on a common goal, and everyone realizes how great everything just sounded.
As for goals… there better be some orchestras still around by the time I finish school, because I imagine I would quite enjoy playing in one. While I love teaching, and imparting the knowledge I have gained through my studies, I do not see this as the main focus of my life… at least not soon. I do hope to teach at some point, but mainly as a corollary to my work in a symphony orchestra. And no, I don’t play jazz.
Hmmm. Pretty good stuff. As you can see... the beginnings of the 'tasticity...
The Mystical World of the Classical Trumpet Player
If I had to give one reason why I’ve chosen classical trumpet performance as my field of study, I’d have to say it is for the women* (*original word, "chicks", ed... I think my mom made me change it... it was for college, after all!). There’s nothing quite as alluring to the feminine of the species as responding to the query, “You play the trumpet… do you play jazz?” with the conversation stopping, “No, I’m a classical trumpet major.” This is usually followed by the question, “Oh… what do you want to do with that… play in a band or something?”
Now of course I am just joking. However, our society today puts so much emphasis on popular genres of music, it is frightening to think of the dwindling market available for classically trained musicians. Across the country, orchestras are going bankrupt, or shortening their seasons. Many of the leading “second tier” orchestras in the country are forced to play pops concerts to support their highly undersold classical series. While my parent’s generation, which grew up with the Beatles, still relaxes and relishes the classical experience, it is difficult for me to imagine the young professionals my age EVER listening to classical music (unless it is some cheesy compilation CD they use to impress their “educated” friends). This is truly scary, for the future of classical music is in serious jeopardy.
That all being said, my reasons for choosing the trumpet are simple. It’s my voice. It’s the only way I have found that I can truly express myself. And I’m lucky… I get to sing out my emotions every day of my life. There’s nothing quite as exhilarating as that moment when the last note of a piece is sounded, and the entire ensemble finally releases that mental energy which has been so strongly concentrated on a common goal, and everyone realizes how great everything just sounded.
As for goals… there better be some orchestras still around by the time I finish school, because I imagine I would quite enjoy playing in one. While I love teaching, and imparting the knowledge I have gained through my studies, I do not see this as the main focus of my life… at least not soon. I do hope to teach at some point, but mainly as a corollary to my work in a symphony orchestra. And no, I don’t play jazz.
Hmmm. Pretty good stuff. As you can see... the beginnings of the 'tasticity...
Fuck you CNN
What happened to you, CNN? You used to be... well cool is definitely the wrong word, but maybe I'll say, "not infotainment". Thankfully those days are behind us though. The top story right now? Will GTA IV potentially keep people from going to the theaters this weekend to watch IRON MAN. Yes. That is the TOP story. There is NOTHING ELSE GOING ON ANYWHERE IN THE WORLD THAT COULD POSSIBLY BE MORE IMPORTANT THAN WHETHER OR NOT A FUCKING MOVIE WILL LOSE SOME OF IT'S OPENING WEEKEND REVENUE BECAUSE WHAT'S BEING CHARACTERIZED AS THE BEST GAME OF ALL TIME HAS COME OUT AND POTENTIAL YOUNG (male) AUDIENCE MEMBERS ARE GOING TO SIT AT HOME STEALING VIRTUAL CARS TO FUCK, AND THEN RUN-OVER THEIR VIRTUAL HOOKERS IN, RATHER THAN PAY 30 BUCKS TO GO SEE A MOVIE WITH A TUB OF POPCORN. Thank you, CNN for reporting the news. Like the fact that... This Just In: Can Obama Shake the Wright Scandal? Didn't that happen like MONTHS ago? I'm pretty sure that was like a long time ago. So really the only reason you think he can't is because you won't let him? Or how about this tidbit, "Grannies Kiss Obama, Dance for Clinton". Honestly. Is it any wonder that I read Google News? Aside from the fact that I'm a little scared at just HOW benevolent Google actually is, I do feel a bit like, ya know, bashing myself in the anus everytime I mistakingly think, "Hmmm, I wonder what's on CNN's front page right now". Fuck it. I'm out.
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