Friday, March 30, 2012

Keith Olbermann's first draft of his apology letter

I'm not sorry. I'm not sorry for anything ever.

I am pompous and I am righteous in everything I do. I retired "Worst Persons" because I am always right. Rightness is evolving. I wasn't wrong when I did "Worst Persons" I was just right at the time and woo, dolly, the times they's a changing.

I think. I think hard. 

Regardless of all that horse shit, Current, my ex-current employer, has decided that I no longer fit in with their corporate soulless model of loyalty and some other blah blah blahs I didn't give a shit to read when I signed their contract in my urine. I was promised a fucking pony and all I got was a great steed. This was the first of many wrongs placed upon my freakishly large head.

I wear a crown of thorns. Everywhere I go, I get kicked out of. When I was at ESPN they fired me because they said, "No sportscaster should have an ego that big." I was in a room full of uneducated peons who didn't like it when I sat in a chair and read stories by James Thurber.

When I left ESPN and got a job at MSNBC, I decided to be quiet. I fit in. The only other place in the world where my head would look small in comparison would be at the World Museum for Bobbleheads. I continued my James Thurber-creepy-grandpa-in-a-rocking-chair routine and they ate it all up. When I asked for a better rocking chair, I was fired.

This guy, his name is Hardball, still works at MSNBC proving that my literal 'big head' didn't get me fired. So fuck you, corporate media spin meisters. 

Formerly currently at Current, I have had bad attendance. Admittedly. But you can't expect a star of my caliber to actually show up to work when I can just sit home and watch my own portrait being painted, can you?! I refused to cover the Iowa caucuses because there just wasn't enough star power there. Can I be blamed?!

I didn't expect that when I got hired I would actually have to clock in and work. Current is being run like a McDonalds' franchise and that is patently fascist. Al Gore, you're a fucking dick.

Look out for my next big, earth shattering move when I announce my next show being streamed exclusively through RealMedia Player.

Yours truly,

Lord Olbermann

P.S. Every comment is "special" when I'm the one making it.

Thursday, March 29, 2012

Movies you don't want to see reviewed by somebody who didn't see them: Hunger Games edition

Hunger Games. It's the movie based on a book that all the pre-teens, teens, and barely literate, curiously teen-obsessed adults are eating all up. It's Twilight but with no sexual tension and plenty of starving people.

Hunger Games starts off with a character named Knut. She's a girl. She's hungry. But in the society of the movie, you have to play games to eat. These Nazi Fascist Stalinists make children play hopscotch for hours on end before they get half of a Happy Meal.

Well Knut is sick of this shit. She's sick of being hungry, she's sick of hopscotch, her knees are tired, and she's got 5 more years until she's an adult and doesn't have to put up with this crap anymore. She decides to do something.

Fuck these kids, they don't look hungry. 

She buys a fake ID and walks into a McDonalds and orders right off the menu. No games, no bullshit, all Chicken McNugget, baby.

Then she learns of the alluring power of alcohol. She gets drunk, becomes a bum, begs for money and loses sight of what's important. One day she sees a vision of Jesus.

"Hey, Knut," Jesus says.

"Yes, Lord?"

"You're a fuck up," and then Jesus disappears.

She makes her long journey home, cuts up her fake ID, and tells her parents she's hungry.

The closing shot is of her bruised and bloody knees playing hopscotch.

All's well that ends well, I guess.

What did I think of this movie? Nothing. I found my dwindling supply of popcorn more interesting to watch as I ate it. No hopscotch needed, assholes. I'm an adult.

Wednesday, March 28, 2012

Garbage Garbage Rules

Welcome to your new life in Japan.
Here are the rules:

Note: I'm not entirely sure if the rules above apply to our city, but the image is still a good example at how ridiculous of an effort it is to "properly" dispose of your garbge.

If you fail to follow each and everyone of these rules you WILL die... a slow painful death called global warming.  Further, the old Japanese lady will monitor your trash that you have placed outside and beat you with a stick next time she sees you doing it wrong.  Seriously, I walked past an old man one night and he saw my garbage bags.  His first reaction was to flash a glance at my foreign face and then he proceeded to make an inventory of all the items that were in the colored bags. I didn't see his reaction but I can only imagine it wasn't a pleasant one. 

Here's our example:

God knows that these drawers/cupboards/cabinets could be utilized for more important things... maybe like the rest of our shit that doesn't fit anywhere else because Japanese domiciles are so damn small.  No, I'm kidding we have tons of room, but damn these places are small.

If there was one thing in my life that I could care less about it's garbage. I mean, its name, in it and of itself, implies its importance. Don't get me wrong, I'm by no means a litter-er, but when I'm done with something I'd very much like to rid myself of it... immediately...just like how I deal with my women... Hahah, okay, not that, but maybe that too (In my defense, I never said women were akin to garbage though).

I digress.  No one wants to deal with their own dirty work more than flushing the toilet, washing dishes, or calling mom to do their own laundry, but damn Japan I laud you for your efforts.

I understand the reason for such tedious garbage measures is that Japan has very limited real estate and that burning garbage/ recycling is an important part in saving landfills (if they even have any), unicorns, and contributing less to global warming.  Honestly, I really have no idea why the Japanese make this garbage thing such an ideal nor have I done any research on it (do it yourself).

The one thing I can say about this whole garbage ordeal is that it annoying as F to carry around garbage with you in your pockets because there are NO public fucking trashcans. With that said let it be known that this trash in my pockets came from somewhere... that somewhere being the food that I just ate while walking. F you Japanese customs!! No, I'm kiding. I'm actually very sorry. That's embarrassing.

Up next: Talking shit on this whole not eating in public thing.

Sunday, March 25, 2012

Dick Cheney will live forever

For a while there, Dick Cheney had a heart powered by love and rainbows.

Ha, just kidding. He had a cold, circuit based pace maker for a heart and no pulse. That guy was a vampire. That guy was a cyborg. He's like the man who will never die.

He got a new heart. A human heart. He was on the waiting list for some time because he had to find the right 12 year old to sacrifice in a Satanic ritual.

If I were soulless enough to get a 12 year old's heart, I'd be eating like shit every day knowing I could just press reset and get Satan to refill me.

There is no point to this post other than to point out that when we read high school history textbooks in twenty years, they will be forty years old and make no mention of the George W. Bush presidency or his zombie VP.

Tuesday, March 20, 2012

Gaijin Bars

The following is an accurate representation of I believe a lover of Japan would ask on his favorite Japanese Forums.


Dear Big Man Japan,

I often hear that there are particular bars in Japan where Gaijins (foreigners) go and pick up on Japanese women.  Have you ever been to a Gaijin bar? Do they really exist?




Dearest Reader Japanophile,

The fabled bars you speak of are true.  As I have attended some of aforementioned Gaijin bars three times since my arrival in Japan, I can now profess myself as having all encompassing knowledge on the subject.

Now let me tell you, oh wonderfully pockmark-faced red shirt boy, the dungeons of the Gaijin bars are not for the faint of heart.  These Gaijin bars have honed their illusory skills over the years to entice us foreigners into patronage.  They start with the simple English (in the most strictest sense -- UK) names: The Hub, Elephant's Nest, etc. Further, they decorate their interiors with warm inviting pub-style decor.  Lastly, they sprinkle their wares with household American beers like the good ole silver bullet (Coors Light), Bud Light, Budweiser, Corona, etc.  All these efforts are in attempts to lure hapless sheep into the jaws of the prey.

Yes, that was a metaphor.  In mother Japan Gaijins don't pick up Japanese, Japanese pick up you!

Ok, maybe its not that bad, but in my experiences its pretty bad.  These bars are being prowled by melting Japanese thirty somethings lying saying that they're 29 to lure us into their STD infected traps. Often being in the bar alone is enough to have a group or two of women approach you to "sit with you and speak English." I personally am not one to settle for something that I don't want so I've been putting a new meaning to playing it cool when frequenting these places.

All in all you there is hope for you to get laid; so please come on out.

Big Man Japan

Monday, March 5, 2012

Super Tuesday

Super Tuesday. A day in which the voting public from a lot of states get together and cast ballots for people they don't really like in hopes that they can beat someone they really don't like.

Big Man Japan Garkahar won't get this because now he's fully involved in Japanese politics and watching the Uematsu vs. Sakaguchi debates. He's thrilling me with his political commentary but he's having a hard time deciphering their body language. It's harder to translate into English than you think.

Uematsu, candidate for the Social Democratic Party, smiles at his opponent Sakaguchi of the Democratic Social Party. Yes, this is Japanese body language for a smile. 

I digress, what are we watching for tomorrow? I live in Texas and we got kicked out of Super Tuesday because our Republicans were too busy here disenfranchising Latinos with their redistricting plans so we're constantly trying to figure out how we can slip that past the Feds. I think Texans would have voted for Santorum. Gingrich doesn't have the good ol' boy Texas chops. He wouldn't fit in here. Neither would Santorum but Romney would be like an Easter Bunny costume at a rabbit convention.

We also have lost our love for Rick Perry. He was revealed to be an idiot. You see, Texas is kind of an isolated bubble. Even liberals here thought Rick Perry had the chops to go all the way. We were scared. "He never lost an election he ran in." Well, the more you win, the more likely you are to lose. And he lost hard. Texans really do believe their shit is the best shit so it was nice to Rick Perry fall hard. It also helped us look into the mirror and think, "Wow, we elected that idiot just because he has a love for guns and speaks with a Texan accent." We would have been better just running a Whataburger cardboard cutout for the GOP nomination.

Love and Heartbreak.

My guess is Gingrich wins a state, Santorum wins 3 states, and Romney wins the rest of them. Gingrich will probably drop out three days after Super Tuesday if he only wins 1 state or fewer.

Friday, March 2, 2012


The night was long and the battle hard fought, but we were victorious.

The wolves were invading; they sensed our weakness for the Japanese tatami floors, over glorified seat cushions of a bed called futons, pidgin ceiling fucking, and lack of heating. They crept out from the 5th basement floor of the Nagoya train station.

Weaving in and out of the food stalls of unidentifiable foods, mini-mall shops, and millions of unrecognizable moon faces that littered the basement of the train station they made their way to our concrete fortress; The wolves could sense our fear. They tore through the flights of stairs to reach our stronghold -- Apartment #1405 14th floor. We were prepared. Our stronghold was reinforced with un-insulated aluminum doors. We thought that they wouldn't be able to make it past our bunker door and, in the event they did, we prepared another booby trap; a shoe-taking-off platform. Yes, they would be stuck because entrance would not be allowed unless shoes were to be removed. Silly wolves, animals don't wear shoes.

It was 4 am; Japan time. I sat wide awake jet lagged in my six tatami mat sized room. Peering outside my wood sliding door/closet-like door I saw them... the homesickness wolves... waiting at our shoe-taking-off platform. We were safe. They would have to retreat until they learned how to properly remove their shoes. I would be able to sleep peacefully for two hours now.

Until that time comes, I can call this city my new home...

Welcome to Nagoya Big Man Japan.

Serious posts to follow...

Side Note:
This post alone took me an extra shitton of clicks because Google decided that since I am in Japan I can read Japanese thus changing all the dashboard settings... not to mention all their directed ads are in Japanese as well.