Monthly Archives: February 2012

Top 4 Songs I’m Not Too Manly to Admit I Listen To

Some guys are too manly to admit that they listen to certain songs or music. They say stuff like, “Oh, I’m not a woman, so I don’t listen to women musicians.” Really? Because you’re listening to Tupac, and yet you aren’t black or dead (But I know a really long staircase that could help with one of those).

Don’t get me wrong. I’m a fucking man. I’ve got the penis and hairy chest armpits face everything to prove it. But I know good music when I hear it. And so I decided to give you some of my favorite jams that most men wouldn’t have the Cojones to admit to listening to.

4.  “Love on Top” – Beyonce:  I’m not normally a Beyonce fan (Ooohhh, Sasha Fierce, you sound so unique making up a stage name), but B kills it on this track. Sure, the song consists of one verse and then repeats the chorus a bunch of times, but she goes harder and harder every single time she repeats that chorus. I swear if this song weren’t inanimate, it would fucking drool love and happiness. And on top of that, she’s singing about Jay-Z, so how can anyone hate on this.

3.  “Lollipop” – Mika: I’ve always been a huge secret Mika fan, and “Lollipop” is easily one of my favorite songs of his. It’s one of those songs where no matter where you are you just start nodding your head to the beat (if not break into full dance). It’s also got this strange ability to cheer anyone up from damn near any depth of despair, particularly when you’re in the midst of relationship problems.

2.  “Kiss Me” – Sixpence None The Richer: Easily one of the best love songs ever written. Simple, concise, sweet. Subsequently, this is the perfect song to play for a woman when you get to the point in your relationship where you think you’re going to sleep together for the first time an you want to seem romantic rather than horny. And in light of Part Three of my Romance of the Panda series, it gives me hope that there are women still out there that want just the simple stuff that shows that a man loves a woman.  And I will find one of those women and marry her. Except not the chick that sings the song though. I don’t like her haircut. Shit sticks out too far on her left side. Plus she’s like 35.

1.  “Hella Good” – No Doubt:  This is an all-time jam of mine. I don’t care who you are, what you do, where you’re from, or anything like that, but when you hear this song, you just want to, no, you need to…no, you just fucking dance. A coworker plays it on their computer loud enough for you to hear? Four-minute cardio break. They play it at TGI Fridays when you’re in the middle of your shitty meal? An excuse to “accidentally” drop your food while dancing and get it exchanged for chicken strips and Long Islands. It comes on the radio in your car during a funeral procession?  More like an impromptu remake of Weekend at Bernie’s.


I was going to include Adele in here, but hey, let’s face it, if you don’t listen to Adele you’re probably too stupid to learn how to use the Internet anyway.

Take it easy,



Cost-Efficiency, Haircuts, and Big, Big Breasts

As some of you know, I live in the Milwaukee area and probably, for better or worse, always will. I used to think that this city was amazing, until just recently. A few months ago, I found out we were getting a Lady Jane’s Haircuts for Men on the West side of Milwaukee. Now, if you’ve never heard of Lady Jane’s, here’s a link to their website. I’d like to take a few minutes and explain to you all the things that I find wrong with this place.

  1. $10 Haircuts:  At least for the Milwaukee location, they are advertising haircuts for only $10. Now, I understand that for most hair stylists, this is a decent price. But keep in mind, as a guy, my hair grooming preferences are really rather simple: short, preferably not douchy. And this is how most guys are about their hair, too. And so instead of going out and spending $10 on haircuts, I buy my own clippers and do it myself. In my lifetime, I’ve spent maybe $60 on two sets of clippers, and I’ve gotten almost five years of haircuts and beard trims out of them. So I’ve clearly made all my money back, and then some. Furthermore, I doubt the people at Lady Jane’s would be willing to do ANY sort of manscaping (let alone for a reasonable price (it can be so expensive to be beautiful)). And on top of that, I can give myself a little “Happy Ending” at home, for free, on my own time, and not ever have to worry about the fact that there are ten pairs of sharp scissors within fifteen feet of my penis.
  2. Big, Big Boobs:  Don’t get me wrong, I love women. I love beautiful women. I even love women with big, big breasts, even if I know that they can’t be that big without getting annoyingly floppy. But I’m sick and tired of the fact that people try to sell me stuff with the use of really hot women. I’m much more likely to respond to, “Hey, try this shit for free and then buy more later if you really want to,” than “Hey, check out these tits and give me your money.” But there’s no reason for a man to be convinced that he will be getting a good value just because there are hot women giving the services. Sure, every man knows that there is a very strong correlation between a man’s happiness and the proximity of that man’s face to a pair of breasts, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to stoop so low as to have to pay for it (especially if I’m not even going to get to do anything fun with them).
  3. “If we added beer, it’d be a sports bar!”:  This is an actual line from one of their radio ads. Lady Jane’s prides itself on offering big screen TVs, lots of sports, and leather recliners to make it as comfortable as possible. Thus, they think that they are practically a sports bar. Well, sure, if that’s how you look at it. But I think you need to make a decision: you’re a sports bar or a hairstylist. Choose one and go that direction, but you can’t have both.  If I had a vagina, I’d be a woman, but I don’t tell people that I’m practically a woman.
  4. They have Maxims in the magazine rack: I don’t know about you, but whenever I go anywhere where I have to wait in a room, I enjoy it when there are magazines lying around. That being said, don’t give me Maxim. Again, if you want to give us porn magazines, give us porn magazines. If not, give me a fucking Newsweek. And out of all the magazines to cater to men you choose Maxim? Hell, I get more worked up and aroused glancing through the American Apparel catalog than I do Maxim.

Ultimately, I find Lady Jane’s to be a complete waste of anyone’s money. On top of all the crap that I’ve already stated above, it seems that the only haircut that they actually do is the faux-hawk, which is the single douchiest haircut on the planet. But luckily, when they moved to Milwaukee, they set up shop next door to the Sonic, which is an almost perfect fit. That way, you can go and get your haircut by women that really aren’t even that attractive in the first place (makeup and big breasts can only hide shitty, shallow personalities so much), and then when you leave without their phone number you can go eat away your sadness.

Take it easy,


Verses on the Morning After

I actually ended up getting some pretty positive reactions from some friends about the poetry I had posted before, so I figured I’d at least put some of my more entertaining ones up here.

This one is an imitation poem of Jonathan Swift. And it’s not imitating one of those  sissy “not” love poems to his “not” main-squeeze Stella, but rather his scatological works. If you don’t know what scatological poems are, please look it up before you read. That way, you’ll know it’s actually a legitimate type of writing, and not me just being as ridiculous and disgusting as I can possibly be. If you’d care for some examples from Swift himself, read these two:

A Beautiful Young Nymph Going To Bed

Cassinus and Peter


Verses on the Morning After
Written in Rememb’rance of the Fairer Sex

Poor Stephen in a new Bed awakes,
To a throbbing Back and Head that ayches.
To his Left, on a stand, he finds his Phone,
And to his Right, a Blonde Woman unknown.
Stephen feels a Sting upon his Neck,
And grabs a Mirror, just to check.
He looks and finds the bruis’d red Hickey Mark
And wishes dearly that it weren’t so dark.
What happen’d Last Night, he cannot remember,
But he knew, somehow, it involved his Member.
But as he stands up to find the Rest-room
He smells a just utterly noxious Fume.
He looks around, and down, and finds a stain,
Of Rear-Ended origins most profane.
On his and her Legs, the Blanket, and of course his Ass
Is the now-Crusty Evidence of his actions crass.
So he wipes Himself clean with the well-worn Sheet,
And then figures his Time here is quite complete.
And as he sneaks across the Wooden Floor,
He prays his Junk won’t develop a Sore.


Maybe this isn’t the most appropriate thing to post on Valentine’s Day, but fuck it, who am I trying to impress?

Take it easy,


Romance of the Panda, Part 3

In light of the single most overrated holiday, Valentine’s Day, I’ve decided to open up to my blog readers. It’s time you see my romantic side, the softer side of Panda. This is the second part of a three part series.
Feel free to read the first two parts:

Part 1:  Here

Part 2:  Here


A few months ago my coworker Antonio and I were working at the same table, getting to know each other a bit. The topic of girlfriends came up. After telling him that I did not, in fact, have a girlfriend, he looked at me, shocked, and said, “You don’t have a girlfriend? How come? I mean, I even have a girlfriend. Don’t you want someone?” Now, this was a somewhat strange moment for me, because Antonio is usually the guy that comes up to me on Sundays asking me in a thick Hispanic accent, “Hey John, how was your weekend? Did you get any hot, young poo-ssy?”  So the honest, sentimental side of him threw me for a pretty big loop. But like any question about my personal life that someone asks, I deflected the shit out of it, saying something like, “bitches can’t hold me down” (I figured this would shut him up about the subject, and it did).

Then, about a week ago, I started to think of what I should post for Valentine’s Day, and that conversation came to mind. Then I started to think about why I don’t have a girlfriend (which is never a fun thought process). Granted, some of you all, my devoted blog readers (particularly those who don’t personally know me), are probably saying, “You really need to think about that? Isn’t it obvious?”  Well, you only know me through my blog, and so I totally understand that I come off as just some asshole who spends his nights getting hammered in pursuit the most sapless woman with low enough self-esteem to sleep with me, cunnilinging her in hope of nothing more than potential fellatious retribution, and using my free time to come on the Internet to spit disturbing and hypocritical venom at all these haters. But deep down, there’s a softer side. At least I used to think so. But then I realized that, in reality, I don’t have a softer side, I’m just really fucking awkward, particularly around women.

In my defense, there seems to be a particularly fine line between being overly awkward and being not-an-asshole. Finding the correct level of not-asshole is incredibly difficult, particularly if you add any amount of alcohol to my system. Take this last weekend, for instance. I was at the bar with some friends of mine, and I see, across the bar, a lady that I realize later works with me. She sees me too. She smiles real big and starts waving at me. Now, here is what my thought process looked like: “Hey, look, there’s a lady. Ok we just made eye contact, be cool. LOOK AWAY TO NOT SEEM CREEPY. OK, done, look back at her to make sure she turned away too. No, she’s still looking at me and now she’s smiling. At who? Why is she looking at me? She can’t be smiling at me. Now she’s waving at me. She’s not waving at me. She can’t be waving at me. Women don’t wave and smile at me. Wait. She looks familiar. Is she that lady that I work with. Yup. PRETEND YOU DON’T SEE HER. PRETEND YOU DON’T SEE HER. STOP STARTING.”  And during this entire process, (which, in reality, probably only lasted six or seven seconds, but felt like three minutes), I was literally just standing there, staring directly at this lady I worked with with a completely blank expression on my face, not acknowledging any of the smiling or waving that she is sending my way. And if that’s not bad enough, she’s one of those ladies that you don’t want to do stupid stuff in front of or act like an asshole to. You know, the everything-you’d-want lady.  Real pretty, super nice, intelligent, AND she’s a Star Wars fan.

And I wish that that were the only kind of awkward that I am. I’m the kind of guy who, when I like a girl, I’ll try to play it cool.  I won’t put my feelings out there right away, but I’ll still flirt and do everything right, make her want to see me more, talk to me more, etc. But then I’ll start to play it too cool. Instead of waiting a reasonable amount of time to make my move, I’ll wait too many months. Then I’ll think to myself, “This is a good idea.” But I completely forget the fact that in reality, since I don’t want to be an asshole, I have all but stopped even talking to her. Then, I get myself pumped up to make a move, meet up with her somewhere, and THAT’S when I realize that I really haven’t seen or talked to this lady for a long time, and then I get nervous, which leads to me not talking, which leads to me thinking too much, which leads to me saying something really stupid or awkward.  Usually, at some point, the sentiment of, “you’re finally getting around to telling me you like me now?  Where the hell were you months ago?” is expressed by her.  So it’s really just kind of a giant circle of awkwardness for me.

With all this awkwardness, can it really be any surprise to you that I really dislike Valentine’s Day? I mean, I screw up even the most simple acts of kindness and sweetness, so of course I’ll mess up the holiday dedicated to love and couples. I’ve done it before, and I’m sure I’ll do it again. The fact that a relationship can be so affected by one stupid fucking day is reason enough alone to hate Valentine’s Day.  And I know some of you are thinking, “Well, you’re a guy, so you only hate it because you’re the one on the hot seat.” Yes. Damn right. I prefer being able to prove my love and care for someone else throughout the year. There’s less pressure that way. And beside, I’d hate it even if the roles were switched. I’d want my someone to do stuff throughout the year for me instead of one “big” thing. And I think that’s what we should all be looking for. I don’t view me cooking and cleaning for a woman as a special gift only to be given on one day, I view it as the exchange rate for her being the one who has to kill all the spiders that I see in my apartment and I am way too much of a wuss to kill myself.  Forget flowers, give your lady the first pick of the Doritos so she can eat all the ones that have the most flavor powder on it. Instead of giving road head on the way home from a special Valentine’s dinner, how about when I go in to the gas station to get us pints of ice cream to eat while watching Gilmore Girls, you go grab one of those complimentary squeegees and clean the outer edges of the windshield of all the salt that’s built up because the windshield wipers can’t reach that far; it’s a far sweeter and more ladylike thing to do.  Don’t wish that I’d bring you flowers, but try to understand that me coming home drunk at 3AM, waking you up and splitting a Jimmy John’s pickle with you while I tell you stories about the night is my way of saying that you’re really special to me.

So this Valentine’s Day, don’t fret about what you’re supposed to do. Doing what you think you’re supposed to do is a bad, bad, bad idea. There was one year where I thought that I was supposed to buy the girl a heart-shaped box of chocolates. And so I did.  That didn’t really work out.  Go out and continue doing what got you to this point in your relationship in the first place. Don’t think that you need to do something super special because it’s Abe Lincoln’s birthday plus 2.  Me?  I’ll probably end up at the bar again. Last year, as some of my other single friends and I were leaving said bar, they played Michael Jackson’s hit song, “Beat It.”  We all started to laugh, but only to hide the sadness.

Take it easy,


Romance of the Panda, Part 2

In light of the single most overrated holiday, Valentine’s Day, I’ve decided to open up to my blog readers. It’s time you see my romantic side, the softer side of Panda. This is the second part of a three part series.
Feel free to read part 1 HERE.

This is another poem that I wrote for a class. It’s about loss, specifically the loss of a great thing in my life that I took for granted.



Tonight will be the first night
I don’t get to go to bed
with you as the last image in my head
and last echo in my ear.
Three years, you’ve been there to
hum me to sleep,
stay by my side when I was sick,
asking for nothing in return,
except to be taken care of.

I grew complacent.  I thought I could
keep you here forever, and so I neglected
your basic needs.  I couldn’t see the obvious signs
that something was wrong, until it was too late.

My sophomore year,
we met in the aisle of Walgreens.
I figured I’d keep you around for the summer,
give or take a month, it couldn’t hurt.
But we started off stronger than I could have hoped,
you spending every night at my place, and it began
to seem like this might turn into
something more than an end-of-summer fling.

The next two years, running on high,
we were both happy with our place in the world.
No worries about graduation, no wondering
what would come next or if I’d move away.
A full year was gone by
and nothing stood in our way, and it seemed like
this could last forever,
and for a while, it was timeless.

But two days ago, you were quieter than
usual, no spritely humming, no soothing songs
to relax me.  I thought nothing of it,
hoped for the best, stayed positive,
maybe just a bad day, not considering
that perhaps your heart had stopped spinning.

Yesterday, you sputtered around in my apartment hopelessly.
Clearly exhausted, I still felt no need
to bother, but this time because I didn’t want to face
the facts, that this was probably the end.
You’d hit the wall, finally exhausted, and I
guess I’ll someday understand.  You
tried and worked your hardest,
did anything for my comfort, efforts that
certainly weren’t well reciprocated from me.

I wish I could say that I was sad, but I knew that
this would happen one day.  College only
lasts so long before the real world calls us to
become real ourselves.  And when it does,
I knew I’d be at a crossroad, a chance to
be a better person, give another one
a better chance,
and that I’d only be able to hope the same for you.

Today, I walked in and you were silent for
the first time in three years and I know
that nothing more can be done.  I don’t argue
or try to fix what is beyond repair, I just walk you out
for the final goodbye, as I selfishly think to myself,
how will I get to sleep tonight?

In the end, it won’t be so bad.  Maybe one day
I won’t feel that I need you, just so I can fall asleep.
Maybe one day I can move on and find a better
version of you, better fit for me.  Maybe one day I’ll
take care of it, to make sure this doesn’t happen again.
I can’t pretend that this won’t upset me for a little while,
but one day I’ll forget about you, and live my life as it is.
Because after all, you were only a box fan.


When we read our poems in the workshop, we would generally read our poems aloud, then have another person read it so we can all hear the poems from a different voice.  Normally, we hold all comments to the end of the second reading.  Normally, we start off with strengths, things we like, etc., then move on to constructive criticism.  As soon as I finished reading it the first time, one of the more reserved girls who sat across the room from me smacked her desk and shouted, “OH MY GOD, you jerk!  I was actually feeling sorry for you.  I thought you were finally opening up to us.”  Nope, just found another way for me to be an ass.  But in my defense, I had originally started it off as a sincere poem about a rather significant (for me at least. That bitch.) failed relationship, and THAT’S when my fan died, so I decided to just kind of switch it up a bit.

Besides, if you want to actually read me being sincere about love, you’ll just have to come back to read the forthcoming part 3 of my Romance of the Panda series (see what I did there?).

Take it easy,


Romance of the Panda, Part 1

In light of the single most overrated holiday, Valentine’s Day, I’ve decided to open up to my blog readers. It’s time you see my romantic side, the softer side of Panda. So this is the first part of a three part series on love.

When I was in school, I was in a poetry class my last semester of my senior year. And so when it came to the week of Valentine’s Day, he made us write love/Valentine’s themed poems. It was originally supposed to be a sonnet, but I couldn’t get it to work well enough with the strict parameters, so I told my professor it was a more “free-form” sonnet, with no real regard for metrical or rhythmical rules. Sucker bought it. But anyway, the following was the result and, unfortunately, is how far too many of my actual romantic pursuits turn out.

Almost Valentine’s Day

Hey, I was thinking that maybe,
Since I’ve got nothin’ else to do,
Instead of being all lonely
Maybe…I could hang out with you?
On, uh, Valentine’s Day
Since all of our friends have dates.
Oh. No, I haven’t met Ray
But yeah, I’m sure he’s great.
And very sweet too I bet
Yeah, that’s fine, that’s cool.
Wow, he bought you chocolate?
Yeah, he seems just perfect for you.
Well, in that case have a great time,
I’ve got to get going to find my Valentine.


Be sure to be on the lookout the next few days for the second and third part of this series, and, as always, thanks for reading.

Take it easy,


Why I Unfriended You

I recently went on an unfriending binge. And by that, I mean I just kept getting pissed off about reading status updates from people that I never really liked in the first place but friended them because I was put into a group with them for a school project. Then I got a little addicted to it. It’s soothing. It’s relaxing. Vindicating. Liberating. Everything. For about two weeks, I logged into Facebook, and read statuses, not for the purpose of knowing what the girl I like is up to at any point in time and if any other guys are writing on her wall/timeline in a way that is “more than just friends-ish” what my friends were up to, but to see if anyone posted anything ridiculous that warranted an unfriendship. So, I’ve decided to keep with my recent list-type posts, and I’ve compiled a few of my favorite reasons as to why I’ve unfriended people thus far.

1. People posting about why we shouldn’t celebrate holidays because of past events/beliefs/socio-economic state of the country:  You know these people. They put up statuses about how inhumanely the natives were treated when we stole their country.  I do not care at all about how horrible Christopher Columbus was to those Native Americans. What I do care about is how awesome it is to have turkey sandwiches for a week. Or maybe they’re complaining about how we shouldn’t be focusing on consumerism at Christmas when some people don’t have enough money to pay their bills, or maybe they’re an atheist and don’t want to be forced to celebrate holidays they don’t believe, especially when Christ, in all probability, wasn’t even born on Christmas. Fine, be a bah humbugger. I, personally, consider myself to be a good bit distanced from anything that you could really term “religious,” but I’ll take a bunch of free shit and a couple days off and be on my merry fucking way.

2. Annoying sports statuses: I know, I’m a huge sports fan. And I’ll occasionally put up statuses about the Packers or Brewers when something big happens. But I do not sit there and talk shit about how this is our year or how much I hate a rival team on Facebook. I spend too much time creeping to care to update my status to be about sports. It’s as if these people have literally nothing better to do with their time than sit there and talk shit about sports on Facebook. I can name seven-and-a-half thousand things more enjoyable and worthwhile. Now, I don’t have enough room to list them all, but I will note that numbers 1-37 and numbers 800-1,300 all, in some way, involve shutting the fuck up, masturbating, or both.

3. I am a truly, fantastically, enormous jerk and I just happen to disagree with one or two of your opinions.

4. Super-religious stuff:  We all know that kid. The one you went to high school with who was really quiet and you knew was pretty faithful/religious, but you never really thought much of it. Then you went to college and your senior year got friended by him and you thought, “Hey, I haven’t seen him in so long, I wonder what he’s up to.” Then you find out that he’s become brainwashed by some weird church in Colorado ( and now is trying to spread the word about how much Obama is the Antichrist (the literal one, not just figurative language) and about the impending doom to be brought on by the Rapture that will happen WITHIN THE NEXT FEW YEARS! JUST YOU WAIT AND SEE! Welp, guess I’m never talking to you again.

5. Chuck Palahniuk: Really? Yes. Chuck said, “That’s the best revenge of all: happiness. Nothing drives people crazier than seeing someone have a good fucking life.” This is the stark contrast to the super-religious kid. You have those people you knew in high school or college and you really didn’t like them, or maybe they’re an ex-boyfriend/girlfriend/something not so official, and you check on their Facebook to see how they’re doing, hoping that karma finally caught up with them. BOOM. Guess not. It appears as if lots of money and a hot girlfriend does, in fact, make you happy. It drives me crazy seeing people I truly dislike being happy, especially if I’m at a point when I’m not happy (Can’t the universe smile down on me and have at least one of my ex-girlfriends become fat or pregnant or strung out on meth?). So of course I defriend him/her, and tell myself I’ll check up on how they’re doing when I see them in hell, and I feel a little bit better about myself.

6. You’re an idiot: Idiots include people who do the following on Facebook: debate politics; update statuses about how lonely/bored/hungry you are; write nothing more than, “what’s up?,” on my wall; USE ALL CAPS LIKE A PRICK; friend me after I’ve already defriended you (in which case I’ll either accept the friendship and defriend them again to make a point, or refuse to confirm OR deny the request, forever leaving them in Facebook limbo); talk about how many bitches you get per weekend; or poke me.

7. I was drunk and your name is too similar to someone that I actually hate.

There are many more reasons, but I’ll spare you the time, as most of them are for insignificant reasons or fall under the catchall category of me being a jerk. So go forth, my minions, get drunk and defriend!

Take it easy,