Archive for January, 2008

Driving Is Expensive

Posted in Politics with tags , , on January 28, 2008 by Ruko the Wonder Dog

Our justice system in this country is FUCKED. I use caps to emphasize the level of fuckedupness in which the United States legal system exists.

I was involved in a low speed 5 car pile up about a year ago. The 90 year old woman that caused the accident mistook the air in front of her car for a deer, and locked up her brakes to avoid hitting it. The 90 year old woman drove off after realizing that the air deer had vanished into mid air. She did not realize that the 5 cars following her for the better part of 4 miles had slammed into one another as a result of her brake check.

As everyone outside examined their cars for damage, I realized that my 1988 Pontiac 6000 had left a 3 inch black smudge on the rear bumper of the car in front of me. The other cars drove away, but Mrs. OMFG MY NEW CAR quickly called the cops to the scene. As required by law I was given a “Following Too Closely” ticket and we went our separate ways.

In the courtroom, the case before mine involved an 18 year old man that had been charged with one count of “Possession of Marijuana”. He pled guilty. The judge, a miserable ugly bastard, sentenced him to 8 hours of community service and a $50 dollar fine. With consequences like that, I am sure he will never do it again. He even asked the judge if he could have his smoking “paraphernalia” back. At this point I was in good spirits, thinking that if a kid arrested for smoking the reefer got off easy, mine might get dropped altogether.

I was really fucking wrong. I explained how the accident occurred to the judge, explained that 4 other cars were involved, and that the black smudge on the woman’s car cost my insurance company $70 to fix. The judge then shocked me with the words that came out of his yellowed, fat lips. “Mr. XXXXXXX, the maximum fee for this offence is $300, but I am only going to charge you $225. Additionally, the court fee is $75. You can pay the woman to your right”.

Arguing with a judge is a bad idea. Arguing with a miserable Irish judge is even worse. I asked how a man guilty of an illegal drug received the fine he did, and my unavoidable accident cost me 3 points on my license, a 15% rise in my car insurance, and $300 court fine. I even declared the law faulty. The stupid Mic bastard judge didn’t really see things my way. He was quickly angered, and increased my fee to the maximum. A nice police officer then escorted me out of the courtroom.

Call me a weirdo, but in what world is this kind of shit right? It doesn’t matter what drug it was. He intentionally broke the law. My accidental bumper kiss carried a pretty serious monetary impact for me, yet Mr. Pothead’s replacement bag and a new piece was less than half of what I spent in court fees.

So what’s the moral of the story? Don’t drive. Smoke weed instead. It isn’t as expensive if you get caught.

Should Of Had A Fosters Instead

Posted in News with tags , , , , , , on January 25, 2008 by Ruko the Wonder Dog

For those of you who live under rocks and such, Heath Ledger passed away on January 22, 2008. His bed was sprinkled with sleeping pills. Police have not yet released the official cause of death.

In other news, my neighbor planted some bulbs this morning. Hopefully we will see a nice array of tulips and such come the spring time.

Seriously though. Heath Ledger was an okay actor for being an Australian wanker. His films included a movie about a knight that wasn’t a knight but became a knight in the end, a broken mountain, a movie about Grim Reapers, and a movie called Candy about drugs. Go figure.

The more pressing issue surrounding his death is that the release of the movie Dark Knight will now be put on the back burner. Ledger, who had been cast and was already finished filming as “The Joker”, is now dead. This wouldn’t be a problem (as we saw with the move The Crow) however the marketing and advertisement folks at Warner Brothers are worried that this image carries a very negative (and ironic) connotation. So. My mom made a casserole once.

Oddly enough, the upcoming movie Dark Knight is intended to be a remake of the 1989 masterpiece Batman. The post production Dark Knight is a sequel to Batman Begins, which is really a prequel to the original Batman, which makes Dark Knight a mathematical recursive loop. Mathematicians at Stanford University have released a statement saying “the recursive Batman loop is in no way connected to the death of Heath Ledger”.

The original Joker of the 1989 Batman was played by Jack Fucking Nicholson. His performance as “The Joker” is widely considered as his best, or maybe his appearance in Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining was his best…either way, he was pretty fucking good. If I were Jack Nicholson, I would be pretty pissed that some Shrimp on the Barbie bastard was trying to outdo me. Maybe Jack Nicholson killed Heath Ledger…(DUN DUN DUN!).

In Hollywood, there are several actors which you never, ever try to duplicate. It is an unwritten rule. I know you are thinking “but Ruko…how the fuck do you know anything about Hollywood?”. Well, the truth is, my eldest cousin is a big-wig for Universal Studios. If I owned a television, I could probably find a show, movie, or program on television every hour that he was directly affiliated with. That aside, he is in the know, which makes me a little bit in the know.

Actors such as Al Pacino, Robert Dinero, Paul Newman, Robert Duvall, and Jack Fucking Nicholson are untouchables; trying to remake something they did really pisses off the Hollywood gods. When the Hollywood gods get pissed, they release upon us a swarm of chick-flicks, another Star Wars Episode, or a plethora of not so new and not so exciting reality television series that sweep the country. Mr. Ledger should have known better, and the Gods of awesome movies have killed him with lightning bolts and shit.

Eh. Either way, I am pissed that I didn’t put Heath on my Celebrity Death Pool list. He would have been a money addition.

Enjoy the Offseason Terell – You Little Bitch!!

Posted in Sports with tags , , , , , , , , on January 23, 2008 by Guest

Terrell Owens has always been a little bitch. He has always failed to show up in the big games and he has always found others to blame. But last Sunday set a pathetic new low for the Dallas wide receiver. Owens was brought to tears when asked if quarterback Tony Romo may have been distracted by Jessica Simpson’s enormous rack. Owens lip quivered, his voice shook and the tears all but came drizzling from the edges of his ridiculous oversized shades. “That’s my quarterback,” he choked out several times.
How embarrassing.
This incident could very well go down as the worst crying incident in sports history. Remember Dirk Nowiski’s break down after losing in the 07 playoffs to the Warriors? It was like watching a Werewolf on the Lifetime channel. How about Joe Torre three straight years bawling over getting into the playoffs, only to lose in the AL Division series each year. Tell me Joe, how much sympathy do you expect when your team supplies you with a $200 million payroll? I know, having the AL MVP on your team makes things so damn difficult.
There have been some good sports cries. When Brett Favre lost his father, then went on national television and threw for 399 yards and won the game, he cried and likely half the audience did as well. Michael Jordan’s Dad was murdered the year he led the Bulls to a championship, he shed tears while kissing the trophy. Even Knicks fans felt for him. So if someone dies, I guess it’s understandable, but if it’s because your QB is a pre-Madonna, I think not.
But what is the root of the crying? Well, let’s start with how a sport like baseball used to be played. By men who grew up with nothing but a ball and a stick. How is it played now? By mommas boys who have been given the world by everyone around them because they can toss a ball 90 mph. It’s similar to the way that Randy Moss was allowed to run over a traffic cop or Lebron James can drive 100 mph and not care about the repercussions.
When Lou Gehrig said that he was the, “luckiest man on the face of the earth,” he said it because he felt blessed to have been able to play the game. Not because he wanted to be on Sportscenter and especially not to get sympathy. Like we’re supposed to feel bad for Owens, who could sell his shoes on eBay for more than most of us make in a fiscal year. Sorry Terrell, this isn’t Dr. Phil, keep it to yourself.
The glory days of each of the three major American sports are behind us. I think many of us miss 1980′s basketball, before thug life; 1960′s baseball, before the juice; and the 1990s of the NFL before the instant replay. All we can do is remember the good times. So I suggest turning your numb brains away from the network that ruined sports, ESPN, and maybe go read a book or something.

-Matt

Thanks for the guest post Matt. If you would like to submit content to Angry Romanian email us.

Editor’s note: Before you waste your time commenting on the freshness of this story – We are acutely aware this happened a few weeks back. Publication was delayed due to technical issues with the site.

Internets at Your Fingerstip

Posted in Videos with tags on January 22, 2008 by The Romanian

If you’re new to angryromanian.com just watch this, if not just watch this.

El Chombo Chacarron Macarron

Posted in Videos with tags , on January 18, 2008 by Ruko the Wonder Dog

Occasionally I will come across something that just really blows my mind. In fact, I was so impressed with this video, I let the kidnapped hobos I keep in my basement come up and watch it. I then beat them and chained them back to the damp cinderblocks. They agreed that the video was indeed pretty funny.This video is old. In the world of teh internets, it’s already a classic. I don’t know where I have been that I missed this for over a year….oh yeah…that’s right. I had a life that didn’t revolve around stupid shit on the Internet. Now that I gots me a fancy Bachelor’s degree I am back to being bored and spend much of my free time surfing YouTube. You should see what I do on the weekends.

Anyways, watch this video. If you have already seen it, too fucking bad. This video only has about 15 million hits, which is a fairly small percentage of the 1.3 Billion internet users on the planet.

Enjoy. Or don’t, I really don’t give a fuck.

Civic Nation

Posted in Motorism with tags , , , , , on January 16, 2008 by Ruko the Wonder Dog

I drive a 1993 Civic Hatchback. It wasn’t my first choice; I needed a car and this was available. My previous truck violated nearly all of the DOT rules and tended to really piss off the local law enforcement. I like to stay out of the eyes of law enforcement…the Meth lab in my basement is now netting me a hefty profit and I don’t need any ociffers fucking that up.

When I purchased the car, the motor and transmission were blown, there were some serious electrical issues, and some other parts of the car were missing completely. For a price of $500 with a new motor, it was right in my price range. I was a full time student finishing my BS degree with no help from mommy and daddy. My job paid for my coke and prostitute addiction, leaving little money for other things. As the saying goes, desperate times call for cheap car purchases. I was sick of walking to work and school, and trading blowjobs for a ride really wasn’t my cup of tea.

I embarked on a mystical journey with this car, pulling the old motor, building and dropping in the new motor, performing an automatic to manual transmission conversion, and fixing the various problems with the car, only after I had attended classes and work each day. Having only some self taught mechanical experience, putting this thing back together was what some might call “a learning experience”. I call working in a poorly lit unheated garage in the middle of winter with little car knowledge “a fucking nightmare”. Either way, I finished the car after several weeks, a little bit at a time.

The car is not ricey. No 17″ chrome rims…just the stock 14″ steelies. I don’t have a vomit inducing body kit or flashy paint job. No annoying wings, no loud fart can, no performance stickers, no neon lights. The car is quick…if you consider a flat 15 in the quarter quick. It’s a Civic, not a performance vehicle. Next to a 4G63, or a SR20DE, or a 3SGTE, ANY inline Honda motor (with maybe the exception of a Type-R B series) is a far cry from a performance motor. But, like the saying goes, “when in Rome, you can lead a horse to water”.

Driving a Civic automatically makes people around you assholes. It’s true. Seeing a Civic on the road triggers a release of pheromones in the brain of males between the ages of 16 and 34. This pheromone makes us do stupid shit like street racing, fighting with other males, or going home from the bar with ugly/fat/ugly & fat women. These pheromones travel at light speed through glass and metal, and can subsequently trigger the same effect in surrounding males in other cars. I hate asshole drivers. Now that I drive a Civic, they come in droves, waiting for their chance to line up at a red light.

I’m sick of racing on the street. I know my car isn’t fast. I like the 36 mpg I get, but I have no disillusions about what my car is capable of. Instead of street racing, I’ve begun to play a new game. When a challenge has been initiated at a stop light, I bug my eyes out really crazy like, and then back up so the rear license plate is in view. On a pad of paper I write the plate number in big letters, then pull back up next to the adjacent car.

The next step is to display the plate number against the driver window so it is in view of the neighboring car. Just to top things off, I also like to lick the glass a bit.

It’s a bit unsettling, as is evident by the look on the faces. My only hope is that said driver worries that I will get his personal information using his plate. I am an ugly bastard, and I sure as shit wouldn’t want to see me on my doorstep.

My Dyslexia Truobles Me

Posted in Health with tags , , , , on January 15, 2008 by Ruko the Wonder Dog

I am not a master of the English language. Not by a long shot. I can speak eloquently when needed, my vocabulary exceeds that of the average college graduate, and I can usually convey my point on paper. I know that in itself isn’t impressive; it does separate me from many of you. Your comments and hate mail are often so unintelligible that I consult my 2 year old nephew to help make sense of them. I am not speaking of just deplorable grammar either…the butchering of the English language includes poor syntax and inexcusable spelling mistakes. Have you ever heard of spell check? Thesaurus? A dictionary? Fuck, I don’t care, next time your mother is wiping your ass, ask her to proofread the comment you are about to post. I don’t understand how many of you function in society. Hurray for the US education system.

While learning ASL I discovered that my trouble fingerspelling and/or verbally spelling words was most likely a result of some learning disability. Testing showed that I “probably” suffer from dyslexia in some form (doctors love the word “probably”…it helps prevent litigation). No wonder Cyrillic really screws with me. As a result, some words are exceptionally difficult for me to spell. I spell about as well as the French military strikes fear into the other countries of the world. Oui Oui.

The words listed below on the left look correct to me but in reality are all kinds of fucked up. The correct spellings are on the right, caught and corrected by spell check.

becuase – (because)
strait – I use this in place of “straight” all the time.
Egnland – (England)
maintainence – (maintenance)
Buhdda – (Buddha)
tounge – (tongue)
gaurantee – (guarantee)
recieve – (receive)
tiolet – (toilet)
recipeint – (recipient)
lotoin – (lotion)
scheduel – (schedule)

You get the gist. I swap letters like semen at a snowball party. Vowels are the most difficult…especially that fucking “U” letter. Do we even really need it? I mean, if we had a nice 25 letters instead of 26, would it really matter? We already have W, which is really just two “U”s glued together. True story.

I recently played (and lost) a game of Letterpillar with my young nephew. Please click here to see a picture of the cover of the game. Scary eh? I think they should rename this game “bad acid trip with letters everywhere”. Christ, it’s downright disturbing. Either way, I could not effectively play this game even if I really had to.

So what is my point? The point is, when the guy with dyslexia writes better than the majority of you turds without dyslexia, then we have a serious fucking problem. If you take a minute to add a comment, take an additional second to re-read it for simple mistakes.

kthx. glad we had this talk.

Time Warner – Worst ISP Ever!!

Posted in Technology with tags , , , on January 12, 2008 by Rob

Greetings all, I hope you are having a better Saturday than I am. I woke up this morning free and clear of any responsibilities. No work, no pressing errands, and no Angry Romanian related deadlines or duties. Not a worry in the world. Until, that is, Time Warner ruined my day.

You see, Ruko was scheduled to post a Pulitzer Prize worthy article today on the quality of discourse in today’s global village as it relates to the social phenomenon called the internet. Unfortunately that discourse was silenced by Time Warner’s inability to reliably provide internet connectivity to the entire eastern half of a metropolitan area of one million (say this with pinkie to corner of mouth) people. ETA for recovery of service – unknown. Ability to speak to a real human being at Time Warner – fat fucking chance. Desire to send army of sharks with frickin’ laser beams to destroy Time Warner headquarters – overwhelming.

Ruko couldn’t post his article this morning and is now stuck at work. So here I am, lurking around my place of work, the only place I know that uses the crappy DSL service offered by the crappy local phone company, posting this message. So enjoy these two videos featuring a few of the best unscripted/embarrassing moments in the history of college football commentary, and look for Ruko’s post whenever Time Warner pulls that fucking road runner out of it’s ass and my router starts blinking green again in that oh so reassuring way.

Credit to Ruko for providing the videos

Thats a little gay

Britney Spears

New York State Definitely Blows

Posted in Culture with tags , , , on January 11, 2008 by Ruko the Wonder Dog

What is the worst thing about NY? Well, that is a tricky question. To help illustrate why this is such a difficult question, here is a simple scenario.

You walk into a room. On a very long table sit equal sized piles of shit from every breed of dog on the planet. Pretend each pile of shit represents one aspect of life in New York State. All of the piles are all fresh and still warm. Now, you have to eat one of the piles of shit. Which do you pick?

Early Wednesday this week, winds hitting 60+ mph and hurricane like torrential downpour battered Western NY with such a fury that power has still not been restored to certain parts of the area. On Tuesday, temperatures hit 69 degrees, shattering a record high of 56 degrees set in 1942. Four days before that, the temperature dropped to 12 degrees Fahrenheit with a 20 mph wind chill about -5. One week prior to that, we received 2 feet of snow in an hour. With that being said, I think the weather here might take the cake.

The weather in western NY might be the worst on the planet. No joke. It is classified as a “Humid Continental Climate” which is really just a fancy of way of saying “really fucking erratic weather all year round”. It isn’t even that uncommon to see weather like we have had this past week. It isn’t the worst by a long shot either. We get snow in June on occasion, summer like conditions in the middle of winter, and the wind here blows more than Jasmine St. Claire on the set of “The Worlds Biggest Gang Bang”. Temperature extremes in the summer and winter kill off the elderly faster than a good old fashion influenza pandemic. Have you ever seen a flash flood? I have. We get them about 3 times a year. Tornados? Yup, we get those too. Par for the course.

I guess the positive aspect of our shit climate is that we get sick all the time. The ranging temperatures really fuck with your immune system, and all that water in the form of rain, sleet, golf ball sized hail, or several feet of snow provides a breeding ground for disease not unlike that of Pamela Anderson’s crusty vagina. New York residents get the cold and/or flu an average of 2.6 times per year. But how is that a positive aspect you ask? Being sick is inevitable. Once you get sick though, you can share it with all of your close friends, roommates, and co-workers! Like the old saying says, “if you can’t beat ‘em, sneeze in their face so they get sick too”. I don’t know who said that, but I am sure they were wise beyond their years.

Moral of the story? Fuck you guys, I’m moving back to Atlanta.

The End.

Lotto, Beer and Cigarettes – Who Needs to Pay the Rent?

Posted in Stories with tags , , on January 9, 2008 by Rob

If I was carrying a firearm today you would have heard about me on the national news tonight. I like to think of myself as a laid back, non aggressive sort. Kind of the yin to Ruko’s yang. But today I had a David Banner moment. Only a few things really push me over the edge. I’m not a grammar freak. I don’t road rage all that often. I don’t even mix it up that much with my wife. (Probably because I know I’d lose) But today I totally lost it.

I was standing in line to purchase a Mountain Dew Code Red at Wilson Farms. Wilson Farms is a chain of convenience stores that shelve anything you need, as long as what you need is cigarettes, Philly Blunts, beer, beef jerky, soda, Red Bull, and/or lottery tickets. It is the final item on this list that almost sent me into a homicidal rage.

First, let me say that I don’t think all people that play lotto are complete morons. I must admit I play the occasional scratch off, but nothing that would actually require me to choose numbers and check them later. If I play a scratch off I assume I will lose, and I am pleasantly surprised when I win. As for the people that play constantly, with the assumption that they will someday be sipping margaritas on their own private island, these people are retards and should be systematically thinned from the herd.

Several excellent heard thinning candidates stood between me and paying for my Code Red at Wilson Farms this afternoon. The guy at the counter was holding a telephone book thick stack of lotto tickets for the clerk to scan, handing them to him one by one. At this point I was mildly annoyed, but not pissed off by any estimate. My heart began to beat a little faster and my face reddened just a shade when the clerk called to the back for help and the reply was, “yo son, I’m talkin’ to my girl.” But still I kept my calm; it was my day off and I wasn’t in a rush.

Next came the straw that broke the camel’s back. The homeless Vietnam veteran look alike at the counter apparently was short a few bucks. Seems the easiest option, canceling the last few tickets, was unacceptable to Mr. no teeth, camouflage jacket, lotto addict. From his back pocket came a tattered, filthy piece of paper that looked like an archaeologist had pulled it out of King Tut’s mummified asshole. Thus began the labored process of selecting the numbers he wanted to cancel. Apparently this mathematical genius had a system.

I couldn’t hold my tongue any longer. So I say to the guy in front of me, loud enough for everyone, even the 75 pound little Puerto Rican ferret on the phone with his hood rat girlfriend, to hear, “Maybe he should kill the whole deal and put a down payment on a haircut and a stick of old spice.” To which I added, “Fuck, I hate these lotto assholes.”

Now I should have guessed, by the fact that the guy I was addressing was wearing a Buffalo Bills coat (dirty as a prostitute’s ass, may I add), that he was in possession of no common sense, and therefore a prime candidate to play the lotto. Not to mention the stack of lotto tickets in his right hand. Long story short – he was pissed, but at that point I did not give a flying fuck. I yelled to Rico fucking Suave in the back, “How ‘bout ringing up some customers who aren’t pissing away their rent money on lotto. “

“You betta check yoself son”, came the reply.

At this point everyone was staring at me. The Bills guy was talking shit about me to the loser at the counter. The wannabe thug on the phone was telling his girl he was about to go out and kick my ass, and the clerk at the counter looked like a deer about five seconds from becoming one with the grill of an oncoming Freightliner. So I did the most mature and level headed thing possible; I shook the piss out of my Code Red, tore off the cap, and lobbed it over the counter like I was Chuck Norris killing zipperheads in Missing In Action. (I, II, or III) I then stormed out of the place, got in my car, and drove off, not forgetting to flip the bird to the crowd of idiots pouring out of the store to watch me leave.

My next move was crucial; instead of heading to a gun shop to apply for a handgun permit I swung by the wholesale club to buy a case of Code Red. I certainly wasn’t going to pick them up at my friendly neighborhood Wilson Farms store anytime soon.