Happy Easter

April 12th, 2009
50 comments

encore_20090412To go along with the holiday spirit, I’ll be keeping this blog entry short. However, in the weeks building up to Easter, I found a number of things that annoyed me that I feel the need to discuss.

I find it absurd that I can’t walk out into public without being slapped in the face with Easter cheer. If I walk into Giant, I’m instantly bombarded with colored eggs and low grade chocolate. You’re from Dillsburg, and we all know you can’t afford to spend frivolously on fake grass for your child’s Easter basket. You’ve got bubble wrap and packing peanuts in the basement — go wild.

And why is the Easter Bunny at the Capital City Mall? I didn’t know it was customary to sit on the lap of a fictitious bunny who smells like a mixture of body odor and cheap scotch. It’s the only job my Uncle Pete can get that allows him to get drunk at 9:00 am, strap on an over-sized bunny suit, and hug children all day long without his normal legal obligation of informing the residents in his neighborhood that he’s moving in next door. That, folks, is the American Dream.

I’m all for celebrating the reanimation of a fallen Christ-child, but shouldn’t our Easter mascot be Zombie Jesus? Instead we celebrate using the guise of a bunny who can lay rainbow eggs. Am I the only one concerned by this? This is genetic mutation, people. It’s an epidemic, and we shouldn’t be feeding mutant bunny eggs to our children. If “Octo-mom” gave birth to rainbow babies, I’m pretty sure we’d send them back to whatever Hell they came from.

But we don’t give them eggs, we just paint them. Instead we use it as an excuse to chock them full of enough sugar to insure a future full of diabetes. We wonder why America is fat, it’s because we have holidays like Easter and Halloween — pointless holidays that have lost sight of their roots and are used for the sole purpose of stimulating the Dollar Store candy market. Also, am I the only one who finds chocolate crosses offensive? Regardless of religion, an influential man was tortured and murdered on the cross. Way to be an insensitive bitch, Gertrude Hawk. Maybe next year we can pass out sugar-coated 747’s on September 11th. Just don’t come bitching to me in 10 years when you’re buying your children chocolate-flavored insulin shots.

I think it’s bullshit that Giant rejected my idea of stocking cyanide flavored jelly beans.

– Lawtonic out

Rants

The Ballad of Greg Nickbill

March 30th, 2009
15 comments

I’ve been receiving a lot of complaints about the content on my site. Apparently I’m not family-oriented enough. Lucky for me, I had a rich and fulfilling childhood. So, without further adieu, I present to you my favorite bedtime story: The Ballad of Greg Nickbill.

‘Twas a cold winters day,encore_200903301
Quite dreary and boring,
and little did I know,
That my friend was out whoring.

My phone started ringing
and I jumped from my chair,
But it was only Greg Nickbill,
and little did I care.

“Your e-mail!” he demanded,
“Is your inbox stocked?”
“Why, yes” I retorted,
and then I was shocked.

I opened the email,
and what I saw there,
Was Gregory Nickbill,
All naked and bare.

“What the FUCK!?” I proclaimed,
“You’re sick in the head!”
“It’s not my fault!” he refuted,
“‘Twas a virus, instead.”

“But still,” I reasoned,
“I am entirely appalled,”
“For these actions aren’t normal,”
“and your cock is quite small.”

“Great Scott!” he exclaimed,
“Who all has received this?”
“Melissa and Johnny,”
“And your co-worker, Chris.”

“That’s not bad, I suppose,”
“If it was sent to no other.”
“Oh shit!” I cried out,
“It was sent to your mother!”

So he hung up the phone,
All worried and pale,
But little did he know,
‘Tis not the end of this tale.

The virus rampaged onward,
To which there is no end,
To embarrass that slut,
In front of all of his friends.

For three weeks have gone by,
and I’ve received emails galore,
Of pictures of Greg Nickbill,
because he’s a dirty, mangy whore.

- Lawtonic out

Poetry

Dammit, Facebook

March 16th, 2009
7 comments

encore_20090316Sonofabitch where has the time gone? I stop blogging for 3 months and God exacts his revenge by pig-raping Facebook. Hardly seems fair. I apologize for not updating — I have so much to rant about, and so little time.

Facebook pulled an about-face this week and turned their site into Facebook: Twitter Edition. There’s a reason I belong to Facebook and not Twitter — it’s because I don’t want to read status updates 8 times a day. There’s a 5/10 chance that if I’m friends with you on Facebook, it’s because I secretly hate you, and thus the only reason I’m friends with you is to watch your inevitable failure at life. Therefore, I could’ve died without knowing that bran muffins make you horny, or that the family cat gave you scabies.

It angers me that Facebook changed the “status” box to the “What’s on Your Mind?” box. Even if you are my friend, I still don’t want to see into the deep recesses of your brain. I have looked into the eyes of Matt Coldsmith and seen nothing but pure, bitter darkness. What Facebook failed to realize is that their user base consists of uninventive morons who use Picnik to sub-caption their “polaroids” with Sex and the City quotes, which means every third status update I read is either a song lyric or a sad attempt at being a poet. Country music mainly consists of getting drunk, beating your wife, and having sex with your dog. I hardly find that to be a suitable status message for my mother’s Facebook account. And as for the poetry? No one took Edgar Allen Poe seriously until after he was found dead in a gutter. Take a hint.

Also, my Facebook account glitched and nearly killed itself over winter break. I got to the point where I’m tired of rejecting friends and ignoring application request. I let the number build up to over a thousand to the point that it actually cleared everything. So I’m going to say this once — stop friend requesting me if I’ve already denied you 6 times. Take a hint — I don’t like you. And if you insist on sending me Application invites 12 times a day, I’m going to strangle a box of kittens. There’s one App called “Let’s Make a Baby.” I understand that you’re sad and lonely, and that the only way you’ll ever make a baby is through the fictitious world of Facebook, but I still have a reputation to uphold and even the mirage of conversing with you over an open forum does enough damage to what little dignity I have left.

Speaking of dignity, posting awful pictures of yourself online is an easy way to lose yours. Posting pictures on Facebook pretending to pour a 64 oz. bottle of vodka into your mouth makes you look like a giant dumbass. I get it, drinking alcohol is our generations social lubricant, but posting pictures of yourself ingesting a lethal dosage makes you look childish and stupid. You only think it’s cool because it’s illegal to be drinking while under the age of 21. You know what else is illegal? Mexican cockfights. Maybe you should go hop the border and let a rooster peck your eyes out.

Goddamn, it feels good to be back.

– Lawtonic out

Rants

Happy Thanksgiving

December 5th, 2008
1 comment

 

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Apparently there has been some confusion about Matt Coldsmith and his involvement with MattColdsmith.com.  I, Adam Lawton, have been writing the blog entries since the debut of the site in late October.  Did Matt have a say in what was written?  No.  Did we put up disclaimers on the site?  Yes.  Were there still a handful of inbred Pennsylvanians who apparently failed Hooked On Phonics and took out their aggressions on Matt?  Unfortunately so, and I deeply apologize.  Therefore, I will continue writing the blog under my own name. 

But without further adieu, I wanted to take this time to wish everyone a Happy Thanksgiving.  No other holiday emphasizes family togetherness quite like Thanksgiving does.  Thanksgiving began hundreds of years ago when a group of metrosexual men wearing buckled-hats invaded a peaceful collective of Native Americans whom promoted love for mother nature along with a strong appreciation for weed — and every year we celebrate their unnecessary slaughter.  Yay for diversity!

And yet, somehow we constitute this as a holiday.  Trust me, creating a time honored holiday is hard.  Last March I tried instating a National “Surprise! I Gave You AIDS” Day, which never really caught on.  Instead of making me a turkey, my girlfriend just sat at the edge of the bed and cried.  Seriously, you whine more than Oprah, and that bitch knows how to complain.  And don’t blame it on the way you were raised, because your sister didn’t fuss nearly as much.

Thanksgiving is a time for cooperation.  If there’s one thing I learned from organized sports, it’s that there’s no “I” in “team”.  However, there is a “me” in “team”, and “me” thinks you need to get your fat ass in the kitchen.  Let’s go, grandma, those potatoes aren’t going to mash themselves.  You’ll get your insulin once I see some progress.

Don’t get me wrong — I did help out this year.  Adam Lawton is a provider, and this year I provided the turkey.  No, I didn’t cop out and get the free turkey coupon from Giant — I strolled down to the local petting zoo and strangled one with my bare hands.  Why?  Because freshness matters.

So what am I thankful for?  I’m thankful for my friends, family, and good health.  HA!  No, I’m just messing with you.  Where have those things ever gotten me?  I am, however, thankful for lower gas prices — those Molotov Cocktails were getting expensive.  And with lower gas prices, I can finally ditch my Ford Taurus and go buy that van I’ve always wanted with “FREE CANDY” written across the side so I can entice unsuspecting children.  That Taurus is awful — I can barely fit one dead hooker in the trunk.  Talk about shoddy craftsmanship.

– Lawtonic out

Rants

Adam Lawton: 20 and Unemployable

November 21st, 2008
3 comments

 

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Click to Enlarge

This week I finally started Christmas shopping and realized that I’m pretty much flat broke.  I may have to actually get a job over Christmas break to pay off some bills — which got me thinking about this weeks blog entry.  Over the years I’ve held many job titles, and today I’m going to take the time to reflect over each one of them. 

My first job was being a shoe salesman at Sears.  I still cringe at the memories of trying to fit middle-aged women for shoes they obviously can’t afford.  The worst part was having to babysit their halfwit kids while they tried to decide if their giant monkey feet could fit into a size 13 sandal.  No, I’m sorry, we’re going to have to special order that for you.  Also, your kid just impaled himself on a $90 pair of stilettos.  Would you like to put that on your JCPenney card?   

Then came Hot Topic.  I hate emo kids, so why not sell them clothes, right?  Wrong.  I hated this job with a passion.  I spent eight hours a day folding shirts and listening to the same three Sublime songs over and over again.  Seriously, I think it’s time to stop playing their music; Brad Nowell died of a heroin overdose over 12 years ago.  I envy him.

Then there was the few months I worked at Giant Food Supermarkets.  As if that wasn’t the biggest crock of bullshit ever.  For some reason they promoted customer friendliness at the monthly meetings.  Honestly, is there a need for that?  Do I really need to greet you with a smile and ask how your day is going when you come through U-Scan at 11 p.m. with a roll of duct tape and six feet of rope?  Oh, you’re paying with cash only?  No surprise there.  And how about the balding 30 year old men who give me attitude when I don’t bag your bundle of roses.  Here’s an idea — why don’t you go home and get back to beating up your fat wife?  We all know that’s the only reason you’re buying these in the first place.  And while you’re at it, why don’t you pick up some aerosol on Bonus Buy, because you smell like a cheap hooker.

Speaking of Giant, I think people are abusing the privilege of the motorized wheelchair carts.  Those are meant for people who have an actual physical ailment.  Being middle-aged and too lazy to walk your fat ass over to the bakery for half a dozen doughnuts is not a physical ailment.  Maybe if you used those tiny chicken legs of yours every once in a while they wouldn’t wobble under the weight of that bloated watermelon you call a head.  And don’t have the nerve to complain to me about raising the price of doughnuts by five cents — we all know you’re going to put them on Food Stamps anyways.

Then came my job at a day care working in the nursery.  A word to all employers: If you explicitly tell me not to do something, I’m obviously going to do it.  God wouldn’t have given babies a “soft spot” unless you were meant to use it.  It’s like natures own little “self destruct” button.  Looks like this time curiosity killed the cat, and the cat’s name was Julian.  R.I.P. little buddy.  I can’t believe I got fired on the first day.

Then came my two week job working for the Messiah College Suicide Hotline.  All I can say is wow, I clearly didn’t understand the job description.  The whole time I thought we were in competition for the high score.  And F.Y.I. Adam Lawton never loses.  This inspired me to go on to become Vanna White’s substitute on Wheel of Fortune.  That’s right boys and girls — sometimes suicide is the answer.

Honestly, I just miss the good ol’ days of selling drugs to fifth graders.  Remember: It’s not technically “dealing” if the currency is Pokemon cards.  That’s right, bitches — I’ve got six Charizards.

– Lawtonic out

Rants

“What’s the point in living if I can’t be beautiful?”

November 14th, 2008
17 comments

If you know me at all, you’ve probably heard me quote the movie Howl’s Moving Castle at some point or another.  Well, Adam Lawton always aims to please, so guess what?  By popular demand, I bring you this week’s blog topic:  “What’s the point in living if I can’t be beautiful?”

Let’s face it, society has become shallow.  We only care about what’s on the outside .  I have amazing friends, each talented in their own way.  But are we popular?  No.  My friend Nathaniel can write some incredibly detailed novels, brilliant for someone our age.  Joe can fix almost any computer problem known to man, and Nick can bloat up to the size of a puffer fish if you put him within five feet of a jar of peanut butter.  If that’s not talent, I don’t know what is.

Yet for some reason, none of that seems to matter as much as wearing Abercrombie & Fitch and looking like a total tool. All the popular people I know are complete and utter morons.  Congratulations, Stacey, I’m sure deep-throating that banana is going to get you far in your career — maybe if you keep trying you can fill that gaping void in your soul.  And yes, Derek, we’re all really impressed at your ability to catch a football — but you’re still not fooling anyone.  We all know the only reason you joined the team was for the big group showers at the end of every practice.

But you see — truly beautiful people are all around us, we’re just often too blind to see them.  And this is where vanity comes into play.  As we strive for a better self image, we inevitably begin to lose respect for ourselves.  For instance, my friend’s ex-girlfriend just recently got her nose pierced.  I’m talking about the kind right through the cartilage — leaving you horribly disfigured to look like some kind of human / bull bastard child.  Seriously, if I wanted to fuck a pin cushion, I’d do just that.  At least then I don’t have to hear your cry for 40 minutes about how your size 13 jeans make your ass look big.  Because yes, they do.  And no, I’m not going to sugarcoat it for you, or you’ll just eat that too.  And for God’s sake, I don’t want to talk about your issues.  I know minimum wage sucks, but it’s not my fault you still can’t get your G.E.D. after three tries.  Also, your boss is nothitting on you — even rapists have standards.

And tattoos?  Seriously, at what point did you think that’d be a good idea?  It’s not artsy, it’s stupid.  If you’re going to tattoo the hell out of your arms and legs to the point of resembling a pinata, then I reserve the right to beat you with a large stick until loose change falls out of your pockets.  Truthfully — no jury in this world would convict me.

And since I’m already on a rampage, I feel the need to get this off my chest.  I hate pet names.  If you truncate my name and turn me into some kind of fucked up pokemon-hybrid, I will dump you by the curb.  I don’t care if it’s on your birthday and someone ran over your dog with a lawnmower, my name is Adam — not Admander or Addachu.  I will settle Adam or Lawtonic.  Any other permutation will earn you a swift poke in the eye.  Sure, everyone thought Johnny Depp looked good as a gay pirate, but there’s nothing sexy about your ugly ass wearing an eye patch.

So if you think you need to do something outrageous to look beautiful, then fine. Go ahead, I don’t give a shit. I already know I’m better than you, anyway. And besides, I know I’m beautiful. Why else would James Blunt have written that song about me?

– Lawtonic out

Rants

Vote Lawton in 2012

November 7th, 2008
3 comments

I’ve gotten seriously fed up the last few days by people over-reacting about the election.  I fail to see the big deal here.  I’m not going to disclose who I voted for, because honestly I think both candidates have their faults, so really it came down to who was the lesser of two evils.

After Obama was chosen, I saw a simultaneous burst of joy and outrage on Facebook.  I was stunned to read someone’s status set as “I can’t wait til he’s assassinated.”  I’m about as offensive as they come, and even that made me cringe.  Do I want to choose between a man who gets shot in office, or one who gets sent to a geriatric home?  And let’s be real, I think Sarah Palin taking over as President scares the ever-loving shit out of all of us.  Was I the only one afraid of being shot from a helicopter by Sarah Palin after voting?

But what bothers me most is the cult following.  People are getting way too stressed out about this.  Honestly, I don’t feel like things can get much worse, so we have nowhere to go but up.  That is why I, Adam Lawton, hereby announce my running in the 2012 election.  I’m neither Democrat or Republican — I’m a Realist.  I’m going to rule the nation with an iron fist and actually get results.  Don’t believe me?  Here’s my platform:

Global warming — is this really a problem?  All this means is we’ll never need to pay for tanning beds again.  All it’d take is 5 minutes in an o-zone free Earth and I’ll be toasted to a medium-well.  Personally, I support global warming.  Every morning I wake up, shower, and spray nine cans of aerosol out my bedroom window.  It diminishes the o-zone and gets rid of that “old people” smell in Mechanicsburg.  How’s that for killing two birds with one stone?

As for the war against Al-Qaeda, I say we stop dropping bombs and instead drop “care packages”.  And by “care package” I mean a tin box with a My Chemical Romance CD and a razor blade.  They’ll be confused at first, but after 3 or 4 days they’ll figure out what to do.  Remember, Abdul, it’s down the street, not across the road.  If you’re gonna be emo, make sure you do it right.

And I’m sick of hearing people complain about the state of the economy.  Seriously guys, it’s not that hard to wrap your mind around.  In the 1930s we went through our nation’s biggest economic crisis — The Great Depression.  How did we fix that?  We nuked the shit out of Asia.  I’m beginning to see a trend here.  Nuke Asia, fix economy.

Why do we even need Asia any more?  The only thing they’ve ever given us is cheap take out food and Scat Porn (if you don’t know what it is, I dare you to Google it).  If “Two Girls, One Cup” isn’t reason enough to blow half the world into nuclear winter, I don’t know what is.

We can’t afford to have some wishy-washy Democrat in the White House, we need a strong leader.  Someone with authority, charisma, and a vision.  You know who was like that?  Hitler.  Level with me, folks:  Hitler got shit done.  I hear he was an artist, like my friend Matt.  Kinda makes me feel warm inside.

As far as the abortion subject goes — you can buy 10 coat hangers for a dollar at Walmart.  Ha!  Spiraling economy, my ass.  That’s right, America — problem solved, case closed.  You’re welcome.

– Lawtonic out

Rants

Happy Halloween

October 31st, 2008
44 comments

“No, Adam, you can’t give out cyanide to Trick or Treaters.”  I ask why not?  I thought Halloween was supposed to be fun?  And to any Giant employees out there — please stop giving me dirty looks when I come through U-Scan with a dozen candy bars and a pack of razor blades.  Don’t judge me, and I won’t belittle you for having a profession that involves sliding tin cans over a piece of glass.  If only your grandmother was alive to see you now…

The fact that they call it “Trick or Treat” is an outrage.  The word “or” implies that there’s a choice involved.  This year I decided to dress as a bandit, but only because Saturday Night Live stole my original idea of going as a registered sex offender.  Thanks for letting me borrow your clothes, Sander, but I guess I’ll be giving them back now.

This year I came to the door and blew a rape horn in the face of any unsuspecting child who dared come a-knockin’.  Needless to say, it cut down on the traffic around my house.  Hey, don’t get pissy with me, you’re just jealous you didn’t think of it first.

And for the love of God, stay in your own neighborhood.  I hate parents who take their kids neighborhood hopping.  I understand that it’s tragic that you live in Dillsburg and your food stamps don’t allow you to buy Halloween candy, but let’s be serious, you don’t belong here.  You stick out worse than a whore in a convent.  So please, excuse me if I refuse to give your little piss-ant kid any of my candy.  Last time I checked, Snow White was a princess, not an over-weight nine year old with a hair lip and a speech impediment.

And what’s the deal with parents dressing up to take their kids out?  It was amusing when you were younger, but now it’s just gotten sad.  Let’s be real, turning 40 hit you like a sack of bricks, and last time I checked Fred Flinstone had all of his teeth.

And finally, why the hell is Unicef coming door to door this year?  I insisted on giving them candy only to get the snide remark “Don’t you understand what Unicef is?”  Yes, Captain Jackass, I do.  Don’t you understand what Trick or Treat is?  Now take your damn Kit-Kat and get the hell off my lawn.  Sorry, but I’m not about to take the time to donate to charity on Halloween.  Bear Grills drinks his own urine to survive, and you don’t hear him bitching about it.

– Lawtonic out

Rants