New York State Definitely Blows

Posted by Ruko the Wonder Dog on January 11, 2008
Posted in: Culture. Tagged: , , , . 4 comments

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 by Rob on January 9, 2008
Posted in: Stories. Tagged: , , . 11 comments

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.

The Ultimate Revenge

Posted by Ruko the Wonder Dog on January 8, 2008
Posted in: Stories. Tagged: . 3 comments

I am a firm believer that conflict with people should be settled in an adult, face to face manner. Getting revenge by means of damaging personal property has always seemed cheap and cowardly. When I discovered the identity of the person responsible for a key mark all the way down my car door, I could not understand how a person could be such a gutless invertebrate. I retaliated with strait up brute force; I beat his ass bloody, as would any self respecting man. No cheap shots, no hits below the belt, just strait up knuckles breaking face. After he healed up, I saw him out and I did it again, re-breaking his freshly healed nose. Hopefully he wets himself when he hears my name. What I can promise is that it is very unlikely that he will key somebody’s car again.

That being said, there are times when a stealthier revenge must be committed. Many years ago, a friend of a friend (who happened to be the son of a Deputy Sherriff) accosted me in a manner that still fires me up to this day. A physical beating was deserved, but I wasn’t interested in a “get your cracker-ass beaten daily in county jail for assaulting the deputy’s sissy son” sentence. Instead, I sealed a whole 1 pound mackerel in the door of his car.

One pound of rotting fish is potent enough to be smelled by a human from 40+ feet away. Contained within the confines of a car, this odor will turn a vehicle into a fucking toxic disaster. Rotting fish causes a human to uncontrollably vomit, and the pungent smell will attract flies and other animals to the car. In my experience, hundreds of flies found their way inside the car to get some of the good stuff. But the fun doesn’t stop there. Oh no.

Continue Reading

What Happened to Hip Hop?

Posted by Ruko the Wonder Dog on January 7, 2008
Posted in: Culture, Music. Tagged: , , , , , , . 5 comments

This is just a strait up angry rant. There is nothing funny about it. If you aren’t interested in reading my complaints, go and fuck yourself and come back tomorrow when I am not so heated.

During my early to mid teens, rap and hip hop music became somewhat of a phenomenon. This genre was not entirely new; its roots could be traced back to the 1970’s and arguably before that. None the less, it was good.

I’m not playing that “when I was your age…” card. I never had to walk 50 miles in waist high snow, uphill both ways anywhere. I had a tape deck when I was a kid, and we all swapped bootlegged copies of NWA, Digital Underground, Ice T, and of course, the ever popular Run DMC. We liked the music, but had to keep the audible levels down so our parents wouldn’t hear the occasional talk of “hoes” and “niggas”. I got my first CD player shortly after I lost my virginity to my best friend’s mom (I was about 13 at the time). On the way out the door, I made sure to steal it and then threatened “statutory rape!” if she called the cops. Compact Discs really opened up a whole new world to me.

Tapes were out, and the new music was on CDs. The hip hop/rap of the time consisted of groups like Biggie, Tupac, Warren, Snoop, Dre, Method and the Wu-tang, Mobb Deep, Bone Thugs, and all that other classic shit of the early to mid 1990’s. It was fucking solid music and is often still played on radio and found on movie soundtracks. These guys were angry motherfuckers for sure. They smoked weed, fucked with hoes and tricks, and 187’d the fucking pigs down in Compton, ATL, and NYC. It’s no wonder half of them are now dead.

I realized that I was old when I no longer liked the new hip hop released by modern artists. The younger kids I work with love this new shit, and I definitely do not fucking understand. Every time I hear Sean Kingston’s “Beautiful Girl”, I am tempted to buy airfare to his home and give him a hand with the suicidal problem he seems to have. Soulja Boy? He needs to take a superman flying leap off of a very tall building. I am praying for the demise of Kanye West. I am so sure of his impending dirt nap that I have added him to my list of 12 celebrities most likely to die this year. The only thing more puzzling than the #1 Billboard hit “Low” are the 100’s of youtube videos of pasty as fuck, wanna be ghetto kids shaking their asses (off beat as fuck I may add) to this song. More disturbing is the fact that the lyrics “apple bottom jeans, boots with the furr, tha whole club was lookin at hurr” has spawned an entire fashion statement. I have seen asses in Apple Bottom Jeans with furry boots that should never be viewed by a man. I lost my ability to maintain an erection for about 24 hours afterwards, but it’s okay because T-Pain said so.

Bah. Whats the point. It makes very little sense to me, just like the reason why my urine was neon green and smelled like Oreo cookies this morning. I’ve tossed out my love for the Hip Hop, and now focus on Metal and angry music of Europe.

My Misunderstandings with Officials of Socialist Services

Posted by Kunty Tankatrucks on January 6, 2008
Posted in: Stories. Tagged: , , , . Leave a Comment

Editor’s note: This article is the third by Mr. Tankatrucks and it is our recommendation to read the first two for background info. Hello America, Dearest Officials of Immigrations…

Hello, It has been many months since I last write to you. I spend much time in confines of Attica prisons. Little does simple man know that to get pensions from government under many name is crime. And to think walking home from bar after losing trousers to Matilda in poker would prompt officer of law to take me to precinct for processing. At local holding camp many indignities I was suffered. First, many dark men with tribal tattoo play football with head, as guards take betting on my life. Next, high judge accuse me of fraudulenting state of money from pensions. Skinny man at my table tell me not worry. Next thing I am in orange suit strapped to very angry black man on bus. I am very scared now. I thought they take me to Africa to search diamonds.
Now my story take nice turn. Two hours later I arrive not in Congo but Attica prison to serve 18 month for misunderstandings with officials of socialist services. America prison not like work camps in old country. No dentist to take gold teeth and no prison brand was left on neck. As I walk to cell new comrades cheer my coming with whistles and promise of brother like love. My cell comrade very friendly man offering share of body heat in cold cage but soon move to own bunk from smell of old Romanian man. Next day I find very promising job in prison. Guards no care about old man like me, Mr. Kunty Tankatrucks, so I carry bags of powder under man sack for bald man with iron cross and sign of Hitler on his arm. Soon I carry much respect in prison. Very angry little man from Mexico push me down stair one day is found with 47 holes in belly next day. All this enjoyment and at same time government pay for food and bunk. Sad to say I am back after only nine month because I act well.

So please enjoy writings of old man while you can. I try very hard soon to go back to see friends at prison.

Guitar Hero: Cool Like Adult Incontinence

Posted by Ruko the Wonder Dog on January 4, 2008
Posted in: Games. Tagged: , , , , , , , , . 7 comments

This post has nothing to do with Depend Ungergarmets, but has a whole lot to do with Guitar Hero. Guitar Hero is the worst game ever created. This is not a matter of opinion. By liking this game, you have forfeited your right to an opinion.

I made a reference about the sheer failure of Guitar Hero before and received an inbox full of hate mail. Before anymore of you dickwads email me saying something along the lines of “how can it suck if it sold 4 million copies?”, let me remind you that Will Ferrell’s movies are guaranteed top box office hits, Nickleback’s last album went platinum, and George W. Bush was elected president. Twice. If you see nothing wrong with that, then you obviously won’t understand my point and are in dire need of about 4 feet of rope and a rickety chair. Email me your address and I will mail out a care-package right away.

Playing a real guitar can be your ticket to getting laid like carpet. Chicks love all types of guitar players; acoustic hippy guitarists, long haired metal bad boy guitarists, emo-as-fuck-slicing-their-wrist guitarist, etc…they all get more ass than a toilet seat. But not Guitar Hero. Playing this game causes a male’s sperm to eat it own tail so that it won’t infect future generations of human beings. The body then endures a transformation so grotesque that no human on earth would ever sleep with you. You don’t believe me? Listed below are pictures of Guitar Hero fans. This many virgins haven’t assembled in masses this great since Star Wars: Episode III hit the theaters.

This guy is just too cool.
Yup. He’s a flamer.
Someone didn’t pull out in time.
My Little Pony-tastic.
As close to an “Oh face” as he will ever have.
Chick or Dude?
Nobody in this room will EVER get laid. Look.

The game play itself is what really makes this game horrible. After six different versions of the game, you would think they would make an improvement someplace, but this is not so. Each release comes with a variety of new and horribly botched cover songs for your enjoyment . The cover songs performed are as pleasing to the ears as the sound of 978 screaming infants, amplified to 140 decibels. Furthermore, the quality of the sound is exceptionally poor.

Lamb of God’s “Laid to Rest” was nothing short of an abomination, as were the covers of “Killing in the Name Of” and “Heart Shaped Box”. Kurt Cobain is not only rolling in his grave; he has assembled an army of zombies and is planning an attack on the Activision headquarters, where he will forcefully insert a Guitar Hero Wireless controller into the colon of every employee in the company. Then Cobain and his army of zombies might nibble on their brains too, but that’s not really important.

Secondly, watching the game play is exciting as spackling your neighbor’s den for free. As colored dots representing notes slide down the neck of a guitar, a CGI band “plays” the song in the background. The graphics are reminiscent of games of the late 1990′s; awkward, jerky, and 2 dimensional (Good job Activision!). The artist renditions of the band members are anime-like; disproportionate and strongly exaggerated. I mean this not in the cool way like a silicone enhanced porn star, rather in the unsettling, not so cool Dora the Explorer way. After watching Guitar Hero for about 20 seconds, my eyes start to pack their shit and threaten to leave. I like my eyes, but Christ, they don’t put up with any shit.

So. Next time you are at a party/shindig/cross burning/gathering of some sort and some asshole busts out the Guitar Hero, do the right thing and asphyxiate him/her with the cord. If they are using a wireless controller, try the “strike repeatedly until unconscious” move.

Announcing the Angry Romanian Celebrity Death Pool

Posted by Douche Nozzle on January 2, 2008
Posted in: Celebrity Death Pool. Tagged: . 2 comments

UPDATE: The Celebrity Death Pool has been suspended until further notice.

We here at Angry Romanian World Headquarters are pleased to announce the launch of our first annual Celebrity Death Pool. If you don’t know what a celebrity death pool is read on, you’ll get it by the end. Most death pools run from January 1 through December 31, but we have decided to be contrary and track ours from March 1, 2008 through February 28, 2009. The Angry Romanian death pool is similar to many of the death pools out there, but with some twists. Here are the basic guidelines:

Pick 12 celebrities – you can choose them anyway you like…celebrities you think will die – celebrities you hope will die (pick your 12 Yankees wisely) – or random celebrities. You earn points when one of your celebrities dies within the contest period.

There are several ways to earn points -

If a celebrity on your list dies during the contest you will earn points based on the following equation – (100-celebrities age). Example – If Mike Tyson were to die March 23rd at the age of 41 you will be awarded 59 points. So – picking the Pope might sound fun but remember he would only be worth 19 or 20 points. (Depending if he died before of after his birthday) However, picking Suri Cruise could be a jackpot as the toddler would earn 97 or 98 points.

Bonus points will be awarded for the following (in addition to the points you have earned for the death):

  • 10pts. If your celebrity dies in any way other than under natural circumstances
  • 25pts. If your celebrity is murdered
  • 25pts. If your celebrity kills someone (25pts. per each)
  • 50pts. If your celebrity is murdered by another celebrity
  • 50pts. If your celebrity kills another celebrity
  • 50pts. If your celebrity is African American and dies in February (irony, not racism folks)
  • 50pts. If your celebrity is a sports figure that dies competing in their sport
  • 50pts. If your celebrity pratices Scientology
  • 50pts. If your celebrity dies on their birthday or wedding anniversary
  • 100pts. If you celebrity is killed by O.J. Simpson. (does not count if O.J. is on your list and he commits suicide)
  • All points are doubled if multiple celebrities on your list die in the same incident. (ex: Yankee’s charter plane erupts in ball of flame)

The player with the most points at the end of the year will win an Angry Romanian prize pack that will include a hooded sweatshirt, bumper stickers, and other nifty swag. Unlike most death pools out there, this one is free. (which actually makes the name death pool, as in pooling money to pay out prizes, somewhat inaccurate) An Angry Romanian T-shirt will also be awarded to the list we find to be the meanest/funniest. (this is totally subjective)

All you need to do is send an email with your name and a list of your 12 celebrities to deathpool[at]angryromanian[dot]com. I will assume the email address used to send your list is how I should contact you, unless otherwise stated in the email.

I will set up a special page tracking submissions, standings, etc… as soon as the lists start rolling in.

You have nothing to lose – so get your list in today. I will take submissions throughout the contest period, but common sense would suggest having your list in by March 1st.

Finally, there are some basic rules:
1. Celebrities on your list must be well known enough to have an obituary in a major newspaper, famous in their own right, and famous for something other than dying. The following would not meet the criteria: Death Row inmates, people who became famous by dying, and local “celebrities”. (don’t include your local weatherman, no matter how much you may want him to die)
2. It is entirely at the discretion of the staff at Angry Romanian to accept or deny submissions. No arguing or whining. There are a number of reasons a name may be rejected, and I don’t feel like trying to name them all here. Players will be notified of rejected names and why, and will be given an opportunity to choose a substitute at that time.

Happy New Year!! How’s your head??

Posted by Douche Nozzle on January 1, 2008
Posted in: Photos. Tagged: . Leave a Comment

Happy New Year and all that shit. I’ll be brief today, since I’m not a big fan of typing when my head is pounding, there is vomit running down my stairs, my car is in my neighbors back yard, some chick with hairy armpits is curled into the fetal position in the closet, and my camcorder is still running. But I will say you all can expect big things from Angry Romanian this year. Look for contests, chances to get free swag, original videos, and, of course, the rants, raves, and musings of the pricks that write for this page. So once again, best wishes in the New Year. I’ve got to go now and make sure the girl in the closet is alive, right after I check out what’s on the tape from last night.

Are you ready for some Football? Unless, that is, you have ca-able!!

Posted by Guest on December 31, 2007
Posted in: Sports. Tagged: , . Leave a Comment

The National Football League is top dog in American sports these days. It is also the sport most ravaged with greedy assholes.

“The Warden,” Roger Goodell has turned pro football from a good excuse for skipping church into the Wal-Mart of professional sports. He has turned a game that people love to watch into a race to the bottom-line, with no regard for how he gets there, or who he has to screw to do it.

Like Wal-Mart, the NFL mistreats its part time employees, in this case the referees. Football is the only of the four major sports to not have full time refs. They are paid based on a contract instead of as salaried employees. No wonder they can’t see, they probably don’t even have benefits that pay for glasses.

Mistreatment of officials is just the beginning. This season, Goodell decided to ban local news stations from sideline coverage during games and restricted the amount of NFL related internet video that news companies can have on their web pages to 45 seconds. The video also must include a link to the NFL web page.

So they are fucking over refs and local news. But who cares about that? Well, if you are an average NFL fan, (symptoms include beer gut, receding hair line and very little to live for) then you should. Although the word integrity might be a little too fancy for many football fans, its maintenance is essential to the success of the sport. Goodell’s iron fist rule and corporate greed depletes this integrity. This is the same man who allowed DT Tank Johnson to have a reduced suspension after spending time in prison but suspended CB Pacman Jones for a full season due to off field conduct though he was never charged with a crime. Hmm…Seems “The Warden,” is more like Nurse Ratched than a Commissioner, doling out privilege and punishment capriciously.

But the greed league doesn’t stop at screwing its refs, local news outlets and players. That’s right; they bend the fans over a table too. (Not just Jeff Garcia) The NFL Network had exclusive rights to four games this season, but nobody saw the first three. All the major cable networks refused to pay the outrageous fee the NFL was asking for broadcast rights to the NFL Network. Cable providers would have had to hike up their rates for all customers so football fans could watch four games. Not exactly the sort of PR cable companies need in the ever crowded media delivery sphere. Anyway, turns out Time Warner and Comcast have bigger dicks than the NFL and won’t reenact scenes from Deliverance with the NFL. However, it is ultimately the fan that loses out once the corporate pissing match is over. A perfect example; earlier this season the Packers vs. Cowboys game was on NFL Network and most of America was unable to see a battle of legendary teams vying for playoff position. And no, I am not impressed with the leagues supposed good-will gesture of allowing nationwide broadcast of the Patriots-Giants game. Only the prodding of Congress, which could make life very difficult for the NFL in future television contract negotiations, managed to convince the Grinch to return the pigskin to Whoville.

The NFL’s greed is not all that’s wrong with the game. Instant replay, lack of parity and ridiculous fines and penalties are all destroying football. Games are taking four hours because it takes 20 minutes to decide whether a play if reviewable or not; the Patriots are killing everyone every year despite a salary cap designed to eliminate dynasties; and the days of Lawrence Taylor laying out a QB or Ronnie Lott blasting a Wide Receiver are gone for fear of penalties and fines. I just can’t imagine why they call it the, “No Fun League.”

And so I still buy my underwear at Wal-Mart, just like I sometimes still watch football on Sunday, but it’s too bad this once great game has turned into an ugly episode of “The Apprentice”, except it’s the boss who should be fired this season.

-Matt

Thanks Matt for the guest submission.

If you would like to submit content for review please email us.

Volunteer Firepeople

Posted by Ruko the Wonder Dog on December 30, 2007
Posted in: Culture. 2 comments

Volunteer firefighters may take the top spot for my absolute favorite people. It isn’t because they are brave, or selfless, or good Samaritans. I like volunteer firefighters because they are absolutely, 100% bat-shit insane. I know I’m a little off in the sanity department, but those guys are really crazy. They aren’t even getting paid and they still do it.

It takes some kind of sick desperation to make a man/women run into a burning building willingly. A burning building harbors all kinds of dangerous shit just waiting to hurt you. Exploding glass, basement meth labs, flaming dogs (you know dogs aren’t going to give up the watchdog status just because they are on fire), and all kinds of other burning shit makes going into a burning house a pretty risky bet. Additionally, volunteer firefighters are armed with only an axe and a hose. To tackle an entire blaze, a bunch of firefighters have to come hard and gang bang that bitch.

I am definitely not cut out for that kind of work. I mean, fire is cool and all, but being cooked alive kind of pisses me off. In fact, if I were a volunteer firefighter, I would probably bust out some hot dogs and just let the fucker burn. Besides, if you actually fight the fire, you have to wind up all those hoses afterwards, and I bet that is a real pain in the ass.

I think my early exposure to the movie Backdraft ruined any chance of me ever becoming a volunteer firefighter. That scene where one of the 72 Baldwin brothers (can’t remember which one) saves the mannequin thinking it’s a real girl and then misses out on the vulnerable hero-idolization pussy really hit me hard. To make matters worse, his whole crew then harassed him about it and then beat his ass for being such a nancy boy. I don’t think I could go through that kind of trauma, and you know that the mannequin shit happens all the time in the firefighting industry.

You volunteer firefighters are better men/women than I am.