Quothe the Ninja

Favorite new phrase:

"Ninja please!"

IRS (Income-Raping Scavengers)

The IRS has decided to rape me. Higher tax bracket my ass. If that's the case, why don't I have any more money than I used to? I haven't been spending any more than I used to. I guess there's a major difference in taxation between "poor" and "slightly less poor."

Now I will have to start making quarterly estimated tax payments in earnest. Something about the "time value of money," so the IRS decides it needs it before I actually make it. Well that's great, considering SPD doesn't pay me until two-three weeks after the case is closed, which is generally three months after I start it. So, to review, here is my taxation/income chronology:

1. I pay the IRS on income I haven't made yet
2. I do the work
3. I get the income on work I did months ago and paid taxes on several months ago

Here's a question - where the fuck is my "time value of money?"

Monsterous

The wait is finally over, folks. After months and months of viral marketing and hype, Cloverfield has come out, and I have seen it.

That's right, I've seen the monster that tore apart Manhattan. I know what it is.

WARNING: Spoilers ahead.





It was brutal. It was hideous. It was the culmination of all movie monsters - think of everything that frightens you, everything that creeps you out -- this monster had all that and more.




And now, I will reveal it to you.




Here it is, folks, in all it's glory - the Cloverfield monster is:






A giant half-chicken, half-squirrel.







Yeah, I was surprised too.










Sorry I couldn't find a bigger picture. I assume everyone on the internets was simply too afraid to upload anything larger.

Backbone

Goddamnit. Just once I wish I could get a client with some spine. Everybody wants to fight their case, until it's a couple months down the road and they're still sitting in jail, or they're scared of getting a criminal conviction, and no one wants to try the case.

Well I want to try the case! Pussies.

God, get some spine. Stop thinking of yourselves. Face it, you can afford to sacrifice a little freedom and peace of mind for the sake of me getting to go nutty in court.

Dude, Stop Fucking Calling Me

Look, I know you don't want to go to jail. But you're going to. And there ain't a goddamn thing I can do about it.

Not that I want to, of course. I think you should go to jail. You committed like 10 different crimes, then flipped your shit when you found out the judge wanted you to spend some time in jail. What the fuck did you expect?

Now you want me to try to do the impossible. File the Magic Motion. Convince the judge to put you on house arrest. Never mind the fact that I already asked the judge to put you on house arrest, and in no uncertain terms, he basically gave the legal equivalent of "Fuck you, you lowlife, stupid piece of shit. Rot in jail. Peace!" Remember how, after going on a tirade about how you went on a crime spree, the judge actually apologized for how worked up he got? Guess what? He wasn't apologizing to you. He was apologizing to everyone else in the court that witnessed him showing how he really felt, rather than being objective and level, as a judge is supposed to.

You know why it happened in the first place? Because you're a fuckup, and you fucked up, over and over. Then, after we worked out a sentence where half of your jail time would get stayed if you successfully completed alcohol treatment, then you go and ask him to give you a break on the rest of it. Like yeah, you really got a raw deal. I feel sorry for your sorry ass.

Guess what? You don't want to go to jail? STOP BREAKING THE LAW!

If you call me tomorrow, and I'm there to take the call, this is what I'm going to say:
"I'm sorry, Mr. ______. There's nothing more I can do for you. Take care."

Now, since you're so goddamned dense that you can't take a fucking hint, here's what it means:
"I hope you die. No, seriously. I hope you get pulled over by the police, just for being an asshole. I hope the cop comes up to your window and asks you a question. I hope you look at him and say something retarded, like you always do. And I hope that cop whips out his baton and bashes in your fucking skull. You know why I'd like to see that happen? Because I'm a man who appreciates justice. So fucking die already, you worthless, witless piece of human excrement."

Talk to you tomorrow, pal.

Resolved: Eat More Fried Food

Of all the things that make a man's life worth living, glory and fried food have to be two of the top five. So what better way to ring in the new year than inviting one's friends over, setting up a 30 quart deep fryer, and frying the shit out of some outrageously good food?

On the menu for the night: Deep-fried turkey. Deep-fried jalapeno poppers with bacon and cheese. Deep-fried tempura vegetables. And for dessert, deep-fried twinkies. Not to mention PH's ooey, gooey, melt-in-your-mouth, orgasm-inducing chocolate chip cookies which, while not deep fried, were spectacular nonetheless.

Also, note the roaring hippopotamus standing guart atop the candle, watching over the bountiful feast. Bad ass.

Our good friend Mr. Utah made the long, dark voyage from the barren wastelands of the BRF to join us, and his presence was extraordinary as always. First, he devised a phenomenal name for the new firm, "Ismael, Vice, Goliath & Slagathor" (edited to protect our respective last shreds of anonymity). Second, he whipped out quite possibly the greatest line of the night, and I quote: "I guarantee that in the modern age, Skeletor would get tons of poon." Touchee.

Pictured to the right is Mr. Utah being heinously violated by Mr. Ismael.

Finally, Mr. Ismael now requests that he be henceforth referred to as "The Frymaster."

Hope everyone else's New Years were as sweet as this one.