Monday, July 21, 2014

¡Una Cerveza para el Bano!

Following our recent post about offensiveness, it has been brought to our attention that we are culturally insensitive idiots. Therefore, we have decided to devote today's post to broadening our horizons. We're going to break down the barriers of race and prejudice, and explore the rich cultural significance of those who share much of the USA with us, our industrious neighbors to the south that live in America's neckbeard: the Mexicans.

mexico america's beard

Now the two of us are actually each half Mexican. However, if you meld the two of us together, you don't get one whole Mexican who actually knows and understands the Mexican culture.

So we needed some firsthand experience. But we've heard all this talk that there's some kind of border problems with a huge fence and aliens or something trying to get through, so for our own personal safety we decided we won't be taking a trip to Mexico for firsthand research, since apparently this is the US/Mexico border.

And the last thing we need is a zombie alien infection. Or whatever's going on down there.

So we just decided to go ahead and swing for the fences, and have Bryan's Mexican wife, Meli, tell us if we nailed it or not. With that said, here are some facts we wanted to present to you about Mexico.

Daily attire: In Olde Mexico (not to be confused with New Mexico, which is like Mexico but full of bored, elderly white people), the locals prefer to wear loudly colored mumus that resemble itchy tablecloths, and giant hats called sombreros which are large enough to carry an assortment of goods on top of one's head.

Music: No surprise here, but Mexican citizens enjoy a wide assortment of music, including everything from "mariachi polka" to "mariachi accordion polka."

Food: And of course, let's not overlook Mexico's richest tradition of them all: the ability to take the same five ingredients and turn them into fifty distinctly different meals. Such is the magic of Mexico.

It doesn't matter what you call it: beef + cheese + lettuce + tomatoes + tortilla always = pure culinary magic.

So that's Mexico in a nutshell. We hope this has helped inspire you to learn more about other cultures than your own. And if it hasn't, we hope at the very least that it doesn't inspire you to commit a hate crime.

How about you? Are you as terribly misinformed about your ethnic background as we are?

Cheers and stay classy, folks,

P.S. It's worth mentioning that Bryan's wife's favorite childhood toy, no lie, was indeed the ball in the cup.

Beer: Modelo Negro
Music: Juan Direction

Monday, July 14, 2014

The Five Stages of Injury

Thanks to the Kübler-Ross model, we have the five stages of grief that one goes through when encountering death. It's a powerful and accurate psychological model, and like everything else science tells us, we believe it with unflinching loyalty. And today, we'd like to reveal the lesser known (but far more important) counterpart to the Kübler-Ross model. It's called the Five Stages of Injury, and if you pay attention it may well save your life.*

*Assuming your life, in fact, is worth saving.

The Five Stages of Injury

1. Denial

The first stage is going into denial that the injury even happened to begin with. Surely there's no way you could have just cut yourself with a kitchen knife. No, it's probably the tomato that's bleeding. Or, you know, that blood was probably just there from yesterday.

2. Anger

After the denial has passed, rather than trying to come up with a solution to your injury, this is the moment that either you scold yourself for even having done it in the first place, or get irrationally angry at the object that just injured you.

3. Temporary Insanity 

Once your anger calms, this is the moment that your brain stops working properly and you begin to question and extremely over-analyze the seriousness of the injury. Is that old nail that I just put through my hand sending rust molecules coursing through my bloodstream, giving me cancer? Is my arm tingling because I accidentally hit it with a hammer or because it's preparing to fall off? It's been 20 minutes and this cut on my hand hasn't stopped bleeding; am I now going to bleed out onto the kitchen floor, leaving behind a dry, withered husk of a human corpse for my loved ones to find?

4. Hospital Avoidance 

Immediately following your self diagnosis is the stage when you try to figure out, using irrational logic and no medical knowledge whatsoever, what it will take to NOT have to drive yourself to the hospital, because we all know how expensive and shitty that is compared to toughing out an injury.

5. Sweet, Sweet Acceptance

This is the last stage of injury, when you finally come to the acceptance that there's nothing further you can do outside of soap and water, some Spiderman band-aids, and a long nap. Ultimately, you've come to terms with your health's future... for better or for worse.

After this, the healing process can begin... assuming, of course, that that rusty nail didn't actually give you bone cancer.

Cheers and stay uninjured, friends,

Beer: Leinenkugel Summer Shandy
Music: Benny Goodman

Oh, and to those who entered our Mystery Box of Awesomeness contest once upon a time ago, our two winners were gracious enough to post what we sent them. So if curiosity strikes you and you want to see what the Mystery Boxes contained, then go check out Robyn and Chiz's blogs to see what you could have won if you'd only bribed us had better luck.

Spoiler alert: contains a shitload of bubble wrap

Robyn - Mystery Box #1
Chiz - Mystery Box #2

Monday, July 7, 2014

This Is the Post Where We Offend You

Today we aim to offend you.

You see, we live in a world of political correctness, and we recently realized that we aren't politically correct in the slightest. No, we have views and opinions that are extremely offensive to women, minorities, the handicapped, and the morbidly obese, and we can't hide these from the world anymore. No, we have to come clean and share them with you all today.

So please, prepare to be deeply offended.

First and foremost, we are unabashed fat shamers. At 30 years old, we're both in the best shape of our lives, thanks to working out and eating well. And we're not afraid to post pictures of our fully clothed bodies on social media, in which there is no hiding our slightly athletic leanness.

So, are you not seething deep, offended rage yet? Well, what if we told you that sometimes when Brandon buys toys for small children, he doesn't always get them gender-neutral options?

If there's a slight chance that you aren't angrily offended by this, don't worry, we're only getting warmed up. What if we told you that Bryan, as a straight guy, doesn't care for the sight of two men kissing?

Now you must surely be rattling with aching, offensive anger. We don't blame you. But we still have so much more to go. Like, what if we told you that Brandon doesn't always use gender specific language when referring to job titles?

Did you see that? He didn't call her the mailwoman. Or the mailperson. No, he called her THE MAILMAN with absolutely zero regard for her chosen gender.

We're sure you're just vomiting with rage right now, but in case we haven't pushed you over the edge yet, we should inform you that Bryan doesn't call his wife his "life partner" or his "companion." No, he calls her his wife, explicitly implying both gender AND ownership.

Not only that, but when he married her, she took his last name, thereby losing her complete identity as a woman and becoming nothing more than his female slave.

But Brandon? Oh, Brandon is much worse. In his wild single days, Brandon was known to compliment women on their looks... and not simultaneously on other equally important qualities such as intelligence or social worth.

Lastly, Bryan has a friend who's black (that's not the offensive part... unless you're from the deep South). On his friend's birthday recently, Bryan cooked his friend some fried chicken and corn bread and served him some watermelon with a side of grape soda... like a racist asshole. Yes, his friend loves all of those foods dearly and those are exactly what he wanted to eat and drink, but Bryan was so culturally insensitive that he served a black man racially stereotypical foods and didn't even bat an eye.

So there you have it, folks. We're just a pair of non-gender-neutral, racist, fat shaming assholes that believe in owning women like property and not wanting to watch fat guys kiss. We have no doubt that because of the nature of this post our readership will almost instantly plummet down to zero, but if by some slim, minute chance any of you are still hanging around, we assume it's because you're an insensitive jerk like us.

In which case, please tell us in the comments - what kind of wildly offensive things are you guilty of?

Cheers and stay politically insensitive, friends,

Music: Black Rebel Motorcycle Club
Beer: Upslope Craft Lager

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