I hate Christmas Pt. II

When I stopped yesterday I was in the middle of recounting the tale of my most recent holiday travel situation, which can only be described as nightmarish. In addition the last post also served as a my commentary on the egregious lack of parenting skills that is displayed by today's young parents. And now the story continues...

As you can probably already tell, I harbor serious resentment for the airport and everything that goes along with it, so going into my flight home on Sunday I was only expecting the worst. This feeling only got stronger when I remembered that Sunday was going to be a complete and utter clusterfuck due in large part to Umar Farouk Abdulmutallab, otherwise known as Christmas Day's crotch bomber. This genius saw the line that the shoe bomber drew in 2001 and promptly crossed it. Apparently his father had gone to the US Embassy in Nigeria and warned them that his son had a few screws loose. Really? I think everyone figured that one out when he tried to blow up his own penis. Words of wisdom: if you ever encounter a man trying light his wiener on fire, turn and run because something is drastically wrong. What really had me taken aback by this guy's plan was the fact that he was on a plane bound for Detroit. What? The Dirty D? A half-assed terrorist plot to say the least. Hey numbnuts, if you wanted to kill Americans maybe you should try and do it on a flight to a place where people might actually be going to visit instead of a city where the biggest exports are tears and shattered dreams? Don't the people of Detroit have enough to worry about? C'mon Umar, have some compassion, after all it is the giving season.

Since I clearly don't have anything else to worry about when I'm trying to get on a plane, now without a shred of doubt I know there will be a bunch of added security. Riddle me this Department of Homeland Security, for what reason do red flags go up when they see a early 20's white kid in khakis and a polo. The model for today's Islamic extremist that I surely appear to be inevitably leads the TSA agents/Jr. Mensa members to send me through a secondary security checkpoint. Something about my haircut, wardrobe, or overall demeanor must really make my fellow travelers feel uncomfortable. My bad, I guess I should have seen this coming, after all the overarching theme of the Gap's fall line was Baghdad Sheik.

After being frisked by the female TSA agent who, as described in yesterday's post was large and most definitely in charge, everything seemed like smooth sailing. No delays, no cancellations, and the sun shining brightly through the windows of Douglass International Airport. I get on the plane and I am greeted by a young flight attendant who looks like a stripper; not too shabby, things are really looking up for me today. Let's just call this the calm before the storm...

I've been sitting in my seat for a few minutes and a guy comes and tries to explain to the girl next to me that she is sitting in his seat. However she apparently had been informed by a non-stripper looking flight attendant that she could stay in her seat so she could "all the kids could sit near each other". This is where this day begins to fall apart at the seams. I turn around to see what the girl exactly meant by "the kids" that all wanted to sit together, and before my shoulders can turn completely my heart falls to my stomach, through my intestines, and straight out my ass. Two toddlers are sitting behind me and they are just itching to start some trouble. I make eye contact with the little boy and the look on his face only says one thing "I came here to do two things, suck my pacifier and to fuck shit up, and I already threw my pacifier across the aisle". His sister was no slouch either, they clearly were tag team veterans and they came to unleash the fury on United Airlines flight 7248. 90 minutes, no interruptions, no commercial breaks, performance of a lifetime. It starts with an apparent soccer match in the seat behind me, and if my spine has an opinion on the matter he thinks the little shit behind me is winning this one in a rout. The little boy is sitting with his dad and across the aisle the girl sits with their mother, and when the dad only politely suggests to his son that maybe the nice man in front of him doesn't want to get violently kicked in the back all day, he gives me the "oh you're fucked now bro " look and pulls out the oldest trick in the book. He starts screaming that he wants his Mommy, which his sister picks up on little Jakey's slick move as her cue to scream even louder because apparently now she wants to sit with Daddy. I wasn't to be fooled by their young age, like I said before these kids knew what they were doing, and in fact they made the kid From yesterday's post look like a saint. As the girl is screaming for Daddy and the boy is yelling for his Mommy the parents just look at each other for a moment and promptly go right back to what they were doing. Now with 100+ people on this plane I don't think this is the correct time to ignore your duties as a parent and just let your children go completely insane with no repercussions whatsoever. Here's a solution that wouldn't exactly take Gil Grissom and the rest of the CSI crew to figure out; TRADE YOUR FUCKING KIDS. If he wants to go to mommy and his sister wants to sit by daddy, here's a novel idea, just let them and maybe they'll stop unleashing hell. Is that too much to ask? Apparently so because this went on and on and on while Mommy and Daddy sat there as if it wasn't their problem. Have you lost your God damn minds? Then it hits me; these kids are so incredibly bad that they have completely broken their parents mentally. I get it, your kids are clearly spawned from Satan, but it doesn't give you the right to sit back and act powerless while these kids go completely apeshit. 3 year olds: 1, Joe: 0. Game over. Result: pure Anarchy. Well played little kids, well played.

And so this is where I will choose to end my long-standing transgressions with yearly holiday air travel buttfuck and the lack of parenting these days. I hope you liked it, and if you choose not to agree with me then I'm just going to have to tell you that you're wrong.

I'm not sure how I should end this one, so I'll leave you the immortal words of Nate Dogg. Hey hey hey hey, smoke weed every day.

I hate Christmas Pt. I

Ok, I don't actually hate Christmas, in fact I really like Christmas. What I really hate is the incessant hassle involved with the season, and this is never more evident than in a trip to the airport during the holidays (by holidays I mean Xmas, not the Hebrew festival of lights because, seriously nobody is packing the airports for Hanukkah). I'm not a grinch by any means, however I would gladly give up Christmas for the opportunity to skip the need for the airport death trap. In fact I'm pretty sure I would die a happy man if I never had to set foot in the hell-hole known as O'Hare International Airport ever again. Now I'm not 100% certain but I'm pretty sure that everyone who works there gets a memo at the start of the day that reads "ATTN: If you come across a traveler named Joe Caminiti, fuck this guy's day up". When I say that I'm not 100% certain, what I really mean is that I'm like 96% certain so take that for what its worth. Every time something inevitably goes wrong only adds more and more to my suspicion that I am secretly being videotaped from a distance for a gag-game show most likely titled "Lets see how much longer he can take this shit". By now I figure I'm due for confetti and streamers to fall from the ceiling and be presented with an over-sized check for unknowingly winning United Airlines's version of MTV's "Boiling Points".

Now I'm not so naive as to think that I'm the only one with poor luck while trying to fly places, but to be completely honest the plight and hardships of other people simply is no concern of mine. Like I have stated before, you're probably not my real friend, and if you think you are then I probably talk about you behind your back so tell it to someone else sugartits.

Now I'm not talking just about being delayed at the gate, because that's been going on since that gangly bearded fig-eating camel fucker decided he wanted ruin the efficiency of air travel way back in 2001. I've accepted the fact that I'll probably be delayed somewhere (if not everywhere) along the way, so my complaints are focused elsewhere. First of all, when did the airports begin hiring only huge lesbians? I have no problem with lesbians, in fact I think there's a lot we probably have in common, but these broads are broad in every sense of the word. I'm not just talking about the kind of women with buzz cuts and flannel lined Levi's, because the ones that work at the airport could play for the fucking Bears. If I'm going to be stuck here all day and probably half the night, at least present me with something that I can oogle at and objectify silently in my mind. Honestly is that too much to ask? For all of you who are saying "Yes Joe, the women working at the airport aren't there for your viewing pleasure" I'm just going to have to respectfully disagree. Ok, I'll admit that wasn't a very legitimate complaint, but an valid observation none the less. My real bone to pick is with the obscene lack of control displayed by today's parents. I swear to God I must have some kind of cosmic force that acts as a magnet to snot-nosed kids. Now I know you all probably think that all of this is wisdom that only decades of worldly experience can impart on an individual, but I assure you I am only 23. That being said, it wasn't so long ago that I cant remember what happened when I got out of line, in fact I remember it quite quite clearly. When I was acting like a little piece of shit my dad eradicated the problem by yelling at me really loud and smacking me in the fucking head. You wanna know what happened next? I acted like a good little boy and stopped whatever nuisance I was creating because I was terrified that I was going to get yelled at and/or smacked again. Problem fucking solved. This wasn't invented by my dad (perfected maybe, but definitely not invented by him) in fact its a time tested method used by parents for thousands of years. What gets me mad is the fact that the parents of today's youth have become total pussies. Everyone is afraid to discipline their children these days for fear that they may "damage the emotions and psyche of the poor child". I was constantly disciplined by my parents and I never once showed up in an advertisement for DCFS so these people have no excuse. Something in the soy milk and the gluten free granola bars these people eat must have made everyone retarded. They sit back and let their children unleash absolute chaos on every plane I have ever been on. Take for instance my flight on Wednesday, I'm sitting next to a child, 3 years old at the youngest, and I repeat youngest, who is screaming at the top of his lungs for some unknown reason. He was screaming so loud you would've thought someone was cutting his fingers off with a butter knife. Not exactly an ideal situation for me and the 100 other passengers on a cramped jet at 3:30 AM on Christmas Eve. Not only was he completely ignored by his parents for the duration of the 90 minute flight, but his dickhead father smelled like he had used a stick of salami as a loofa during his last shower, which I can only assume was weeks ago. This kid is screaming bloody murder, and when I turn around to give his parents the "hey can you shut your fucking kid up" look, what do I see? Mr. and Mrs. Douche sitting completely stone faced and utterly unfazed by their wild banshee son. Has the whole world gone mad? Seriously, am I wrong?

and that was just one flight I was on this Christmas season...

Part II to come next

I have returned

Hey beautiful babies, I apologize for the lack of posting in the last week or so, but I'm sure its been a pretty hectic week for all of us, and you guys know all too well how wacky things get come Kwanza time in the Caminiti household. To make up for where I have failed in the last week I will be blogging like a freight train from hell, running straight up your unsuspecting asses. Right now I'm still in North Carolina, and to answer the question that I know is on the tip of all your pretty little tounges, YES I do blast Petey Pablo all day every day for the duration of all my stays down here.

Raise Up

Earlier today I opened up the blog to a little Q&A sesh, and after thinking long and hard about your questions all day I am ready to divulge my answers and opinions, so here you go bitches.

What do guys expect when they buy a girl a drink at a bar? - Ashley C, Milwaukee WI

Well Ashley that question is both hard and easy to answer at the same time; hard because I don't personally buy girls drinks at bars and on the far outside chance that I do its because I want you to think that I'm rich. Its also pretty easy to answer this one because as you probably have already figured out, men have a one track mind. He bought you that drink for one core reason, he wants to have sex with you. He probably doesn't care that you're a kindergarden teacher, that you have two dogs, or really anything you are going to say; he sent that drink because he wants to take your pants off. To put this into perspective we need to know what kind of drink he buys you because that says a lot about what his sexual intentions are.

He buys you a beer: you two are probably already friends and he doesn't feel the need to get flashy with it. He knows there's probably a small chance of sex but he's just throwing it out there. Either that or you're fat. One or the other, sometimes both.

He buys you some queer fruit infused cocktail: He's looking at you thinking "I wonder if that girl is DTF, let's find out" .

He offers to buy you some shots: He wants to see how quick you intend on getting yourself hammered, because in my observation shots don't ride solo, they are usually followed by a few more of their little friends. Essentially what he is looking for is an aggressive public makeout right there at the bar, followed immediately by a little romp in a taxi, possibly with an under the pants HJ.

How do guys feel about about their friend's sloppy seconds? - Ashley C, Milwaukee WI

How sloppy are we talkin' here? For the most part we aren't going to bat an eyelash at the issue of sloppy seconds, unless it is indeed sloppy. In the case of a friend's ex you may need to wait an extended amount of time before making a pass. As long as things are square, go get after it.

How much older/younger is it aceeptable to date? - Ashley C, Milwaukee WI

You're awfully inquisitive today Ashley, maybe you should quit hogging all the questions and let someone else try for once. To answer your question, I don't see any real age barriers for guys, girls are a different story (don't be a floozy, stick with someone near your age). There are a lot of hot older women in this world, and judging by the copious amounts of 35+ muff in any Wrigleyville bar after a Cubs game that have clearly taken off their wedding bands and have a pale ring around their sexy tan hands to prove it, I'd say they are looking for a studly 23 year old with hopes of feeling young again. More power to you cougar lady. As for the younger girls, that's a horse of a different color. For the most part we try to stay away from trysts that can put you behind bars, but exceptions to the rule can be made. Take for instance, the case of Ms. Miley Cyrus; if anybody tells you they have watched the Party in the USA music video and said they didn't want to see Miley movin' her hips like yeah all day is a liar and a bad one. I know what you're saying "she's 17 and that's gross". Well smartass, there was a point in my life when 17 year olds were the only age group that would have sex with me, so what's the big deal. Boom, roasted. (Disclaimer: I was also 17 at the time, don't go calling Chris Hansen)

Hey man, have you been watching Jersey Shore? That shit is straight up wacky! - George B, Dallas TX

Hells yeah I've been watching that shit, but I can't believe they wouldn't show Snookie getting the business. I figured a man with your kind of connections could have helped us out in that department, but oh well. Say I got a question for you Georgie, shouldn't you be rolling around in bumper cars or pounding out beers with those sexy daughters of yours? Jusk asking, you are retired after all...


I've given up on being trying to make my fit-in- your-hand-sized breasts to look large, does this put me at a disadvantage when trying to meet men? - Christine P, Sconsin

Uhh Chrissy, did you ready any of my Katy Perry post? There's 2 ways I can go with this. The concise answer is a resounding DUH, but don't fret, you and your little baby boobies aren't totally screwed. Lucky for you boobs are like pizza, how bad could they possibly be? What you lack for in cup size can almost be made up for by public appearances. All you really need to do is wear them well; show the world "hey I like my small boobs, in fact I like them sooo much that I'm going to show them to everyone in the room". Try that a few times every weekend until you have developed either a confidence in your itty bitty titties, or until the increased amount of fresh air on your chest has been getting brings in some boyfriend material.

In your case Christine, I wouldn't worry. As Jesse McCartney would say "that thing you got behind you is amazing" and the amount of booty-jackin I see you do to today's hip-hop music should take care of your problem.

Aside from the obvious, what's the hottest profession a lady can have? - Chrissy P, Sconsin

Well my first inclination is to say stripper but I won't. To be completely honest, in my opinion the hottest job a woman can have these days is none at all. My personal favorite job for women to have is the mommy profession. I've always thought there was something sexy about a woman who put her promising career (lawyer, nurse, hooker, etc.) on hold to be a mother. Plus, 28+ women always look good when they're rolling around the suburbs in a sleek SUV dropping the kiddies off at school. However as of right now the job where I see the sexiest women is in the field of pissed off wives of really good, really dumb pro golfers. Good job, nicer bod. Get some

Hypothetical question of course, but if one was to break their bed support system at 5:30am after returning from a night of blind drunkeness and build up sexual frustration, would you think they broke it, let's say, "playing with themselves" , or is it that it randomly fell apart due to 6 months of normal wear and tear? Educate me, oh wise one - Ed, Chicago IL

Well Ballgame, if I were to find myself in this particular predicament (and you and I both know this has never happened to me) instead of assuming that something of masturbatory nature was going on, I would first look at the bed itself. Since its probably from IKEA I'm just going to have to claim shotty craftsmanship and immediately point a finger of blame at the Sweeds. Remember people, buy American, if you don't you're letting the terrorists win.

Wanna go out tonight? - Mark S, Chicago IL

No, faggot.

Ask and you shall receive...

Good morning my beautiful babies, I hope you're all having a splendid day and doing your best to prepare for the holidays. Since Christmas is the giving season, and it truly does feel better to give than to receive I'm going to give my loyal following the present you have all been waiting for; I'm opening Snoop Bloggy Blog up to questions. I know how you all desperately been waiting for the opportunity to ask me those questions you've never had the heart to ask me in public, so here it is, ask me anything, pick my brain while I pick my nose.

Thank God they're from Canada

Friday December 11th 2009, a day that will live in infamy. Billboard, the official trade publication of the music industry announced Friday that in their professional opinion Nickelback was the greatest band of the decade. Ok I know what you're thinking and I'll assure you that I wouldn't lie to you, these geysers of intellect actually announced that there was not a single better band over the last 10 years than Nickelback (I know, I know, Creed has got to feel absolutely robbed). To be honest the only way I think I can get myself through such a travesty is to laugh about it and pretend nothing is wrong so here we go. These are two of my favorite videos I have seen in the last few years, the first is Chad Kroger getting douched in the head with a rock by unruly fans at a concert in Portugal; The second video is a wonderfully rousing rendition of "photograph" by two guys who seem to think in a very similar fashion as myself. I suggest you watch both, because I said so.

I don't care what experts say

Me and my roommate have had an ongoing disagreement on this one particular subject, and of course I know I am right. The whole debate started after watching the movie "The Edge" where Alec Baldwin and Anthony Hopkins are caught in the mountains and are chased by a bloodthirsty bear, as well as the documentary "Grizzly Man", which may be the most unintentionally hysterical movie of all time; however I digress. The long standing disagreement is about whether I can outrun a bear. Experts say that bears have no problem running down their prey at speeds of up to 35 mph, according to the google machine. What my argument is, is that a bear has never had to chase down someone like me before. I spent a significant amount of nights in my adolescence in a dead sprint trying to get away from many members of the various western suburban police departments (at a 100% success rate might I add). I can only assume that the people who have been caught running from a bear were wearing clunky hiking boots, some silly ass hemp pants and a flannel shirt made from some gay organic material. I on the other hand never would be caught dead in less than ideal attire; I wear nikes (because I'm sweet), and just like in High School, I wouldn't be out unless I was wearing something I felt comfortable running away from the authorities in, and thus the same would apply on any trip into the wilderness. In addition to being incredibly fast, naturally elusive, and in the proper attire, there is another factor on my side to help support my bear outrunning abilities. The people who get eaten by bears are almost 100% hippies and ergo, total pussies. I am neither hippie nor pussy, and people like me don't get caught by bears. If i was faced with imminent death at the hands of a fucking grizzly I would bob and weave through the whole forest, mountain range, riverbed or what have you. I would be like the white Devin Hester getting away from this big clumsy mother fucker; juking, running sideways, doing spin moves and pulling out every other trick in the book. Essentially what this all boils down to, and what gives me the strongest amount of confidence in the situation, is that if I had to do either had to run as faster than no man has ever ran before, or get eaten by a big fucking bear, I would chose the former. I imagine it would be something similar to retard strength, but appropriately titled "Don't get eaten by that bear speed". After all this, I don't see how anyone in their right mind wouldn't be able to have the utmost confidence in me vs. swift footed yogi bear. Boom roasted.

This picture shows just how I imagine the situation NOT going. I'm also not asian

Katy Perry

So I spend a lot of time sitting alone in my apartment watching music videos on demand, which I believe has led to my daily increasing obsession with Katy Perry. Usually I find myself injecting her name into Hurricane Chris' "Halle Berry" (Imagine Katy Peeeerrrrrryy, Katy Perry). I'm not 100% sure why I have been so into pale girls lately but I'm going to have to chalk this one up to Katy's massive jugs. Just about any guy will claim that they are an ass man, and I myself agree, however all that goes out the window when you have a great set of boobs in your face, and when it comes to Katy's set I stand by my conviction that they were sculpted by the right hand of God. I would give away a leg just to have the opportunity to be her bra for one day. Now before you get the idea in your head that I'm incredibly crude, hold your horses because there are other reason why I have been so into her lately. Big watery eyes, rouge lips on her pale skin, and her penchant for making out with other girls all get Katy an A+ in my book; oh yeah and the 10 lbs of chesticles hanging from just below her neck.

Above are just a few examples of why I like her so much. This top picture shows her in Katy Perry mode #1, the "Look at me all pretty smiling in my pretty dress, I'm just the hap-hap-happiest girl in the world". Once she sucks you in with mode #1, she turns it up a notch with Katy Perry mode #2 (bottom), the "check out these sweater kitties I got". Now if you don't understand why I watch a whole mess of Katy Perry videos throughout the day, (I know you're probably looking her up on google images right now and subsequently turning of your search filters) then suck it.

A Birthday Celebration

So I turned 23 yesterday, which is both boring and depressing at the same time. Since I have never been very big on my own birthday I use November 23rd as a day to recognize someone who has been with me every day of my life, through thick and thin, and that is my blankie. Like most other newborn children I was given a baby blankie the day I was born, but childish as it may seem I still sleep with mine every night. A lot of people think it's wierd, and I have fielded comparisons to Linus Van Pelt from Charlie Brown for a few years but I don't give a shit. I figured that Blankie has been with me this far, there's no real reason to get rid of it now. To figure out what learned professionals have to say on the subject of baby blankets I went to the world renoud scholarly journal titled wikipedia. Apparently research has been done at University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee that shows that there is nothing abnormal about being attached to a blanket, and that in the US 60% of people have an attachment to some sort of a security object. So take that blankie haters, how bout them apples.

When I come back from Spanksgiving I think I'm going to start blogging about things I'm into these days, probably just boobs though.

Konichiwa bitches

My First Post

So this is it, I have finally joined the blogging world. I hope this blog turns out to be all you ever dreamed of and more, and in all likelihood it will be. It should only be a matter of time before I am achieving pseudo-celebrity status from my online diction. If you're reading this you probably already know me, but maybe this blog will give you some insight into some of things that go through my head throughout the day. I haven't exactly planned this out yet, but I can only assume that my millions of future followers are in for a real whammy. If you don't like it then I don't like you, and if I do like you I will probably talk about you behind your back. That's all for my first blog entry, from now on get ready to be nailed bloggy style.