Something should be done about the problem that we are facing in cyberspace. And I’m not talking about running out of IP addresses, because we won’t have to worry about that until September 2011. I’m talking about people who take social networking too seriously. I love Facebook. And I’ve begun to love Twitter. However I hate everyone on Facebook. And I’ve begun to hate everyone on Twitter.

Let me start with Twitter, since it’s newer. Lee Reed and I were talking the other day about the Twatter and what we though of it. Essentially I, and TECB, use it for News and the occasional advertisement. Twitter makes you feel important because you can type 140 characters of pure horse shit but you know it will be read by someone because it shows up on everyone’s feed. The Twatter became so big so fast because celebrities are able to be followed by common folk and we get to peak inside their day-to-day, with out the usual road blocks of restraining orders and security guards. Every day I’ll receive an e-mail that says “so and so is now following you!” and I’ll get a tad-bit excited that, me, a nobody, has a fan. Then I click on their name in said e-mail only to find out that their account is already suspended by the brass at Twitter. There goes my feel good high of the day. Spammers. Other than my life-partner, I don’t follow regular people on Twitter. I don’t need to be “friends” with you on Facebook and “follow” you on Twitter. That’s kind of lame. I like to hear what Mayer Hawthorne has to say about things. The Office’s Rainn Wilson is always hilarious. I use it for hip-hop news. I use it for baseball breaking news. Twitter is another thorn in the eye of newspapers since it is instant gratification for the news worthy. And that’s all it should be used for. Being funny. Being newsworthy. Selling things. Don’t care about what you’re making for dinner or if your daughter just got her period. These things don’t need to be shared with the world. Which brings me to Fezbook.

Facespace, Bookface, Facetwat, TwitBook. Call it what you want, but everyone (‘cept for Lee) is on Facebook. Not to brag, but I’ve been on there since the days where only people who had college email addresses were allowed to join. Then they opened it up to certain companies, then, the inevitable, every other douche bag in the world was able to join. Over the last couple of years (I don’t want to speak for everyone, but…) parents and other elder family members began to join. I have no problem with this at all. In fact I welcome it because when you move across the country as I did it helps to stay in touch. At the time of the influx of olds, I felt the need to censor myself. Now, let it be known that I don’t post pictures of myself smoking drugs or what happened at the bar over the weekend, because, unlike most people, I’ve grown past those days and I took part in debauchery while I should have been doing my SATs. So the things I felt needed censoring were my status updates. I use these updates as a.) a way to vent, b.) a cheap laugh, c.) a quick complaint, d.) to ‘big-up’ someone or something, e.) to describe a bowel movement, f.) alert people of a natty disasty (natural disaster) that I just appeared in, and g.) most importantly to show off my uncanny ability to use hyperbole, sarcasm, facetiousness, and satire. Of it all, the last one is the one that still gets the most cyber uproar. I’m not about to use emitocons at age 25. I’ve always refused to use internet abbreviations like “lol” and “lmao” and “rofl” and I take pride in knowing the difference between their, there, and they’re.

So if you’re keeping score at home, I don’t have pictures of me drinking and drugging, I know how to spell, and I’m slowly chipping away at me and my father’s life goal of making at least one person laugh per day, everyday.

Yet I’m public enemy number one because I don’t hate Muslims, vote Democrat, love the Gay community, and find the Bible to be just a really, really old comic book. My censory (I’m aware that’s not a real word) only lasted a few weeks and maybe comes up for a day or so after I add a new person to my elite collection of friends (ahem, sarcasm). Essentially I’m using this blog post as one long status update that can’t fit on a Facebook page because I’m begging for people to lighten up. With the thousands of herbs and tea bags and douche bags that litter my friends’ friends lists, I feel the intelligent get pushed away (yes, elitist) and the piss-poor excuses for humans are honored.

Interests : Going to the bar, Parties, The Yankees, Girls, etc.

^^^This is real. A real life person thinks these are interesting. I love the “etc.,” like the Yankees and girls are related to the first two and that there are more. I would like to thank everyone for reading this. And friend me here and follow me here. Don’t be dick’s.

I haven’t posted any skirts as of late, or really anything for that matter.  I’ve been roughing out this balancing act called life, unfortunately phasing out TECB from my busy schedule of work, drink, and golf.

But, you should know, I am currently working on some other creative ish that I’m very excited about.  It will hopefully make its way to TECB (and onto some of your backs) by the end of the summer.

Anyway, the above photo is a Tommy Hil advertisement I ripped out of Vogue and scanned onto my computer for your carrot-snapping pleasure.  Apparently my scan-piece isn’t as top-notch at I’d like, but, regardless of quality, I’ve gots one thing to say; Tweet.

Every sitcom ever has had at least one episode where someone was buying a new car. And in said episodes, the salesmen are always portrayed as slimy, wormy, unintelligent middle-aged dudes. I’ve had the pleasure of accompanying my parents and other relatives during the new car buying process and those guys (literally guys, no sexism here, I’ve never seen a female salesperson — in my opinion, they’d clean house) are usually late 20s to mid 30s and they’re fat fucks. Nothing is more welcoming that a fat slob waddling over to “meet your acquaintance.” New car sales persons are their own breed. Used car sales guys make way less. And are way older. If the venue is bigger and cleaner, the more slimy and grimy the sales guy. Small hole-in-the-wall dealers have been hit or miss.

In the past two days I’ve visited about 8 dealerships and spoke with about 7 guys. Two guys were real, true blood salespeople and tried to work their magic. One guy saw my demeanor and quickly turned off the charm and let us go on our merry way, and was a true gentleman once he knew the sale was not happening. The other fine specimen of a human being, kept the “charm” going on and on. And upon learning that the sale was in no way, shape, or form going down, was straight up rude and condescending. Like I just wasted his time. There wasn’t a soul on the lot. Just me and my life partner. So it’s not like we were holding him back from other customers. In fact the phone rang three times and he excused him self all three times, and, in one instance, another couple drove up, walked in, and he excused himself to greet them.

I’m in sales. And my time has been wasted, thoroughly. On many occasions. Like, 8 times a day. Never once have I been rude to these folks. Ever. It comes with the territory. By-the-by, when making a connection with someone during the sales process, i.e. commenting on their sports shirt/hat, do not, I repeat, do not, disagree with them or get into a small sparring match over facts with your potential buyer.

Example? Sure. Red Sox shirt. Pawtucket Red Sox hat. Mentioning the fact that you’re a Yankee fan is fine. But then assuring that the Red Sox will lose to the Yankees all year. Not so much. Asking if David Ortiz is still on the Red Sox then sheds light that you’re not a fan of the game, more or less a fan of the NY on the hat. Which is fine, there are billions of those jabroni’s in the world, but don’t come across as someone who knows the future outcome of baseball matches between two teams when you don’t even know that the face of the franchise for the past few seasons is still very much on the team (by very much I don’t mean performance, his ill-performing ways have been more documented than when he was productive). “Which one is Pappy?” I assumed he meant Papi. Any douche who says Pappy is probably also a racist. In any event, when I answered “Ortiz” and the follow-up question of, “Is he on the Mets?” was also correctly answered, the subjected should have been switched back to the 1995 Honda Civic.

Let it be known that I’ve never purchased anything because I was “sold” on it by some dick in a suit. Usually the advertisements for a product draw me in and then research I do seals the deal. Oh. And price. That’s the most important factor. I have left places because I didn’t like someone, either another customer, probably your fat ass whining child, or a sales person being stupid. Or also probably because they, too, were fat. This was one of those times. Homeboy wasn’t fat. But he was a dick. Using terms like “ice-cold air” doesn’t do shit for me. Every car has a/c. Don’t call it ice-cold unless it blows snow on your nuts. “Preamo,” referring to the car as “she,” “mint,” “pampered.” These terms need to be stricken from their vernacular. Who are the stupid fucks who fall for it? (probably fat fucks) “Let’s buy this car Maude because Zeke says the air is ice-cold!”

I went to your shop to look, in person, at your car. Let me look at it. Let me sit in it. Let me turn it on. Don’t ask me to take it for a “spin.” I’ll drive it when I’m certain I’m ready to buy. And if it drives like shit. Guess what, Jack, I’m not going to purchase.

I’d like to thank everyone who took the time to read my venting. No car has been purchased yet. We’ll be heading to a place tomorrow morning to, more than likely, buy a car. Same year, similar miles. No douche-baggery. One day I will destroy all used car salesmen and replace them with polite, well spoken, educated humans. And skanks.

Just know that since I read that in TECB’s email inbox the other day I have litterally banned the word “swag” from TECB.

That means, even if you comment here all the time (who does that, anyway?), your comment will be red-flagged and await further moderation if you so choose to use the word.

Chances are, I’ll then delete the comment without caring less about who you are or what you have to say, just because I’ve predetermined that your thoughts are complete nonsense based on the inclusion of the word “swag.”  Especially if Swag is your moniker.

But, if per chance the most dreaded word does happen to slide through without being noticed, I’ll make sure to edit the comment to include your candy-ass daily swag routine of a hot bowl of dick-up, a steaming golden shower, and a good tooth-brushing with bubble gum flavored toothpaste.

Take note.

Peace to lazy line for the pic.

So I’ve started a new job.  It’s going well, and, as much as I’m overwhelmed with sales-and-solder-talk, I am truly enjoying my busy-ass schedule.

Trouble is, I’ve been so busy (burning the candle at both ends, folks), I haven’t had the chance to post (or even comment) on TECB as much as I’d like.

However, I do have a few ideas in store.  I ask that any of you out there bear with me, for I do have some serious moves to make.  Hence, stepping my smash up.

For real.

If everything goes as I hope, TECB will be flourishing in content and comments in the near future.  And maybe even a little product.

So, please, hold tight, and keep checking back with us.

Peace.

–Lee

Finding out you’re on someone else’s blogroll is a humbling feeling. Even if they’re just as small time, it’s nice to be noticed. Finding out you’ve been selected on two (2) separate photo-blogs is just as humbling, especially when one is dedicated to beards (and art and cycling, but let’s face it, beards trump those two, fo sho). My wiz is a photographer, a very good one at that, and some of her work was re-blogged. If you’re not squirmish when it comes to lots and lots of shween, peep the blogs here and here. Big ups to these guys.

Just came across this.  Thought it was a pretty titriffic read.  Wow, that was lame.  Cut me some slack — I slept terribly.

By the way…  Kate Moss’ shoot with Will Vanderperre for Vogue UK.  Tweet.

Best post ever.

And I’m out.

Then you obviously need some explosions and boobs.

You’re welcome.

The other day I somehow received a trial package of two Depends in the mail (get yours here!!!).  When I opened the package I stared at the diapers in confusion; rightfully so, too, seeing as I’m only twenty-six and haven’t crapped my pants in years.  I figured it was some sort of prank by one of my friends, but it turned out that no one had a clue.  Apparently the Kimberly-Clark company…

…seems to think I’ll be needing them.

Anyway, after Verbal confessed to one of my posts giving him a leaky bumb-bumb damn (Snow spits fire), I figured it was a good time to share my story, tell the TECB-readers of our laxative qualities, and nonsensically upload some hip-hop music.

(I remember using the KRS line “I represent peace and knowledge but I will contradict that” for some assignment in college.  What a geek.)

And, before I sign off, some more quasi-crap-related news — I finally found the Choco Taco I had been desperately seeking for.  It’s kind of disgusting that I bring that up now, or even be making a post with so much poop-talk, but read my Choco Taco entry and you’ll get it.  Hopefully.

If I wasn’t so certain of my lanky-limbs fracturing to pieces as an instant and guaranteed result of a skateboarding attempt, I would have probably tried it at some point in my life .  And then I would have taken my stash of 12,390 yen (about $140 American) over to the Applebum website and scooped this Danny Hastings-designed 36 Chambers skateboard deck.