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VOID OF SYMPATHY

17 January 2014

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A Very Roode Christmas Letter

By, Roode-

Dear friends,

First off, let me tell you how happy I am that the end of this godforsaken year is in sight.  I am sure I can speak for my wife when I say 2010 has been ten pounds of shit in a five-pound bag.  Of course, I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know.  I have no doubt that many of you were slapped in the face with the used toilet paper of life.  Somehow, that makes me just a bit happier.  Not that misery loves company (not JUST that), but because I generally wish ill upon mankind.  Hey, the ill will has to start somewhere.  Why not with people I know?

Before I go on, let me just say that I apologize for sending a form letter.  Everybody that writes one of these year-end Christmas letters says that.  I mean it.  I didn’t want to write a letter at all.  I, personally, don’t want you people in my shit.  The only thing I care less about than your life is telling people about mine.  While I’m apologizing, I might as well say that some of  these letters are printed on the back of some old STD informational forms and flyers from World War II I found in a dumpster.  I don’t have the money to spend on neat, clean sheets of paper.  We’re not all made of money.  I think you’ll find the ominous VD exam posters particularly festive.

I don't know. Draw a Santa hat on him and hang it on the wall.

I suppose this is the point where I have to offer updates on my family and such.  In order to avoid typing more than I have to, I’ve put it all in bullet point form.

  • I was laid off by my employer
  • My previous place of employment burned to the ground
  • I was arrested for suspicion of arson
  • I, recently, ran for public office- running on the “pistol whip your child” platform
  • I was beaten soundly by my political opponent
  • My political opponent’s home burned to the ground
  • I was arrested for suspicion of arson
  • I applied for several jobs in the area, but nothing panned out
  • Several places of business in the area burned to the ground
  • I was arrested for suspicion of arson
  • I’m working on becoming an alcoholic
  • Tried to join the fire department, but didn’t make the cut
  • Ironically, the local fire department burned to the ground
  • I was arrested for suspicion of arson
  • I joined the police force.
  • The local police station is standing and fire free
  • We got a cat

Above: Solution to life's problems.

The only good thing about 2010 is that it was full of valuable life lessons for me.  For instance, did you know that most convenience stores hand out free packs of matches?  They’re great for a multitude of things; lighting candles, making campfires, and burning evidence.

Another important tidbit of knowledge I gathered is how to properly make a Molotov cocktail.  It’s easier than you think.  It’s amazing what you can do with packing peanuts and the proper mixture of kerosene and tar.

Perhaps, the most amazing thing that has happened in 2010 is the fact that I’m still married.  Aside from the wife’s annoying tendency to be a perfect human being, she has been very supportive of my struggles this year.  She has also been quite useful for the occasional alibi and no longer bothers asking questions when I come home covered in soot.  Although, the internalizing of all that stress could, conceivably, manifest itself into some sort of brain tumor down the road.  I guess we’ll find out.

I can't help but feel partly to blame for your crippling migraines. On the plus side, you're still smoking hot.

This year has been the Road Runner to my Wile E. Coyote.  And that fucking Acme mail order company keeps screwing me over.  But, ultimately, I am to blame.  I keep ordering their defective and fucktarded products thinking that “THIS TIME” I’ll finally get that feathered road running fuck.

Things usually start well enough.

But, I always end up falling off that fucking cliff.

In closing, I am happy to see the shit storm that was 2010 go.  I’ve decided to skip Christmas and go straight for the bottle of Night Train.  Well, bottles of Night Train.  My ultimate goal is to not regain consciousness until late Spring.

Might as well invite a few of his friends, too.

Sincerely,
Roode

Purchase your items at Amazon through FWTC. We'll know if you didn't.

10 Retarded Names That Prove Car Companies Stopped Caring

Gene Gene the Roode Machine-

Alright, auto companies, I’m on to you.  Decade after decade you churn the same shit boxes on four wheels out for a drooling public with more credit than brains.  Each one has some bell or whistle that is slightly different than the bell or whistle the other guy has.  Maybe next season the Ford Explorer will have air conditioning in the seat so you can cool that sweaty taint of yours after a long day at the beach.  They can call it the “taint blaster.”  No more will Ford owners have to worry about their wet taints on the drive home.  That’s fucking progress!

But, you'll still need this for a thorough clean.

I understand the appeal of certain car names;  Mustang, Charger, Bronco.  That shit makes you want to wrangle up a herd of stampeding cattle or single handedly win World War II.  A bad ass who quips one liners while he stomps another asshole where the bad guy’s face used to be always drives sex on wheels.  Take Jaguar, for instance.  JAGUAR.  The name, alone, hammers images of eight cylinder justice and constant super model boning in your head.  These names don’t disappoint.  Jaguar is as impressive to drive as it is to say.  You just know the vehicle is going to be awesome when it’s named for a carnivorous killing machine or a wild, rampaging horse. Quick!  What comes to mine when you hear the word “Yugo?”

Whooohooo! Let the boot knocking begin!

Man is, by nature, a stupid and gullible creature.  Marketing firms and car companies know this.  They invest so much time in the product placement and brand name that there’s little left over for the actual car mechanics.  Or, they just pull the name out of their asses ten minutes before they make the commercial.  Either way, someone is fucking the pooch here.  Car names no longer instill boner raging masculinity.  For fuck’s sake, there’s nothing sexier than a smoking hot blonde behind the wheel of a Mustang.  Put that hot blonde behind the wheel of a Volarie and..   shit.  Nevermind.  Chances are that guys wouldn’t notice the car at all.  So that’s just a shitty example.

Um, car? There's a car?

Regardless of the calibre of hot blonde behind the wheel or on the hood, you’ll still be stuck with a car that sounds like a third grader’s super secret fort.  It’s hard to narrow down the list of banana sandwich goofy car names.  So, this list is pretty much a random assortment of marketing retardation.  Sometimes there is a story behind a name.  Other times it’s just made up bullshit.

1.  Studebaker Dictator:  – 1927-1937

It was a more simple time in the early 20th century.  People played jacks, hop scotched..  shit with kicking cans or marbles.  Whatever.  I don’t really know.  It was a barbaric age before iphones and internet porn.  But, there was no excuse for phoning in the name for one of the earliest cars ever made.  If anything, you want its name to rock harder than a metal band playing in the crater of an active volcano.  Studebaker decided to go a different route.  It was meant to refer to how they “dictated the standard” for automobiles.  Instead, it sounded more like a car that was hell-bent on staying in power and eliminating its enemies.

Dictator.

2.  Nissan Armada:  2004-Present

Obviously someone remembered a random word from their high school history class.  I’m not sure if the name is supposed to conjure up images of something gigantic or impressive.  Maybe it’s supposed to suggest it can fend off the British Navy while conquering territory.  Come on, there are plenty of other words from school Nissan could have used instead of “Armada.”  How about the Nissan Galleon?  The Whaler?    The Nissan Small Pox sounds catchy.

Be the first to own the 2011 Nissan Guillotine!

3.  Ford Probe:  1989-1997

Quick!  What comes to mind when you hear the word “probe?”  Is it the worst performing car of 1997?  Does a Mazda GD platform rip off stuck in 4 cylinder hell flash in your head?

No. It's probably the image of one of these bastards jamming a piece of hardware up your ass.

Exactly, who thought this name was a good idea?  Nothing about the word “probe” sounds enticing.  Who said, “PROBE!  That’s GREAT,” during a board meeting?  That’s what we want in a car name.  Who wouldn’t want to fork over some cash for a car with a name associated with some of the most horrific alien abduction stories known to man?  Was the “Ford Rape” taken?  Take advantage of society’s desensitization to porn and slap on a label with some gravitas.  I would be proud to be the owner of a Ford Rim Job or a Ford Donkey Punch.

4.  Toyota Sequoia:  2000-Present

Well, shit.  No word in the English language embodies speed like the name of a big ass plant.  Yeah, I get it.  A sequoia is supposed to symbolize the hugeness that is this SUV.  It also symbolized a gigantic immobile-fucking-object.  Forget “lightning” or “cheetah.”  Toyota is happy to compare their vehicles to a fucking tree.

5.  Dodge Coronet:  1949-1976

This thing either sounds like a musical instrument you were stuck with in middle school, because all the saxophones were taken or a type of toilet paper.

The predecessor for the aircraft carrier sized Dodge Diplomat, the Coronet was Dodge’s first go at a post-war design.  Some of its generations looked downright awesome.

The 500 Coupe would instantly get a guy laid. *citation needed*

But, as soon as you say “Yeah, this is my Dodge Coronet,” you’ve castrated yourself.  There’s no good way to say it.  Fucker might as well be called the Dodge “Small Dick Premature Ejaculation.”  Any self-respecting guy would have ripped that name badge off with a screw driver and hammer.

6.  Toyota Tacoma:  1996-Present

Toyota makes our list for a second time.  Aside from the fact that the Tacoma is designed for the yup-fuck crowd who like to drive SUVs with the cargo section roof missing and pretend it’s a pick-up, it’s named for one of the shittiest holes in Washington.  Nice going, Japan.  You’ve forever associated this wannabe truck with gang violence and the putrid smell of one of the world’s chunk blowingest pulp plants.

Love that new car smell.

7.  Renault Le Car:  1972-1996

Those fucking French.  “Le” has no business being in front of “car”.  These fuckers weren’t even trying.  OK, it was officially called the Renault 5.    But, in Canada and the US, it was marketed as Le Car.  What the fuck kind of effort went into this translation?  Just because a bunch of cheese eating surrender monkeys dubbed it “The Car” in French doesn’t make it chic.  The only thing more asinine is the fact that this piece of shit was one of the first super minis.   This shit has no place in Canada.  I saw one of these atrocities in Calgary when  I was a kid.  I bet the pretentious son-of-a-bitch that bought it thought he was on the cutting edge of the international car scene.  I went back in the winter and saw that fucker completely buried under snow.  Nice buy, dipshit.  Way to keep the Albertan winter wonderland in mind while car shopping.

8.  Toyota Yaris:  1999-Present

At this point in the list, I’m forced to assume that Toyota just doesn’t care.  This poor bastard tried to get a straight answer from them.  Essentially, as their marketing lore goes, the inspiration came from the Greek Goddess, Charis; a symbol of all that is beauty and elegance.  Then, for reasons only known to their corporate marketing monkeys and Satan, they crammed Ya in front of the name to represent the German word for “Yes.”  Yeah, that explanation is real.  So, here you have a car which is almost obscenely a hatchback, the misspelling of a German word, and the Japanese  pissing all over Ancient Greek traditions.  I, for one, can’t wait for the Honda Pontius Pilate to roll out.

The NEW 2011 Pontius Pilate has seat warmers, sat nav, bluetooth, and an onboard hand sanitizer to allow you to "wash your hands" of many of today's little traffic mishaps.

9.  Chevy Avalanche:  2002-Present

I’m not sure likening a vehicle to a natural disaster is good for your image.  In my experiences, people RUN AWAY from avalanches, not towards them.  Is this Chevy’s ham fisted way of conveying the “surrounded with comfort” feeling.  Is the comfort in the cabin of one of these yuppie trucks that jammed packed?  Is the driver virtually smothered by mp3 ports, plush upholstery, and cup holders?  Claustrophobia must be a big thing in the auto industry.  But, how wise is it to cater to the small pro-smothering demographic?   And will Chevy be tapping other niche demographics in the future?  I’m sure their over paid marketing geniuses could crank out names that would appeal to tiny demos that are into anal fisting, water sports, or S&M.  Damn it, the television ads practically write themselves!   The 2011 Chevy Fister would definitely turn some heads.

10.  Kia Soul:  2008-Present

Is this way Kia is trying to give the white man soul (Read:  music)?  Or, are they attempting to give us a four-wheel spiritual essence (Read:  spirit)?  I see a lot of things when I look at this car and none of them is “soul.”  I wonder if this is, yet another, case of random words floating around the minds of the company’s marketers.  Someone had to have watched a bit of Soul Train late the night before while contemplating suicide.

Why stop at soul?  As with the other cars on this list, there are hundreds of random words a company can half- assedidly stamp on the back of a car.  If we’re talking intangible things that relate to the human condition, how about the “Kia Conscious” or “Kia Hootzbaugh?”  If ever you find that your soul is more connected with your car than with humanity, drive your mobile soul into the nearest body of water.

I know there are dozens more goofy, groin-grabbingly good examples of an auto manufacturer taking a marketing dump on its products.  But, the more I think about the idiocy, the more aggravated I get.  The Gremlin, The Judge, Pinto, this list is fucking endless.  There’s only one way to derail this hate train.

All I see is hot blonde.

Hey, Earth Day: Being Aware Isn’t As Good As Giving A Shit

By Roode

Earth Day. This is the day I’m supposed to prance around wearing shorts made of hemp and make out with trees. Right? No? No, wait, that’s Arbor Day.

We must appreciate trees. Mankind needs something to slash and burn.

According to the soon to be sentient Wikipedia (laugh, but it will be an event of SkyNet proportions) Earth Day is:

… a day designed to inspire awareness and appreciation for the Earth‘s environment.

Frankly, I’m not sure how we couldn’t be “aware” of the Earth’s environment. It slaps us in the face every minute of every day. Driving to the store: environment. Cutting the grass: environment. Smoking a cigar while burning a pile of bald tires: environment.

What? Is burning used tires a bad thing now?

The other part of the definition is “appreciation.” That’s not going to happen. Sorry, but appreciating something more than internet porn and schlitz with today’s society is too tall an order. The most recent generation doesn’t appreciate the gut-wrenching bullshit previous generations went through to ensure they can act like pretentious emo pricks. Little things like abolish slavery, win World War II, the Civil Rights movement, and the Industrial Revolution. We’re in the era of “Gimme Now, Gimme Fast.” For shit’s sake, kids, today, don’t know where the goddamn milk they put in the mochiatos comes from!

More mysterious than Bigfoot and less exciting than Game Stop.

Hey, I’m AWARE that grain alcohol will make me go blind. I just don’t CARE. Awareness, from cancer to butt crack exposure, doesn’t accomplish shit. Great! Now people are aware that the environment exists and taking a dump in someone’s well water is a bad thing. So, what now? Being “aware” is more useless than having Ellen Degenerous judging on American Idol.

Seriously, was Gallagher busy?

The trick is to get people to give a shit. I’m not talking about giving a shit on the same level as Ed Begley Jr. or the environmental equivalent to the Irish Republican Army, Greenpeace. There is a line between giving a shit and being an outright annoying and insufferable asshole. Especially when it seems like the biggest advocates are full of crap. We’re looking at you, Al Gore.

Sure, this guy is AWARE he’s taking a nap on the train tracks. He just doesn’t care.

The preachers of green doctrine want us to believe that the individual has the power to reverse global warming, heal the rain forests, and re-freeze glaciers.

This poor bastard got a head full of that doctrine. It got him an indescribable tank tread crushing .

Get ready, here it comes; I’m going to rain all over your environmental circle jerk parade.

Seek shelter, because this mother fucker is gonna pour!

I recycle, because my wife is annoyingly saintly. As a single man, it was perfectly acceptable for me to use my apartment as a land fill/future archaeological artifact pit. Most people won’t recycle unless they legally have to. In areas without mandatory recycling, people seem pretty content mixing their plastics with used condoms and broken dreams.

Above: Your plans to be a doctor and
Pabst Blue Ribbon fueled disappointment.

Take a look at your local airport next time you’re being pissed on by an airline. Most will have recycling bins next to regular old trash cans. People chuck their plastic bottles and paper in the trash can. The recycling bin is literally 1 inch away, but they STILL dump their recyclable shit in the refuse. Why? Because mankind is a species of lazy and thoughtless fuckers. Alright, MOST of mankind is a species of lazy and thoughtless fuckers. A healthy portion is just plain rock stupid. Even with step by step instructions, colorful maps, and cheerful muppets some people are still confused about the whole brown glass vs. clear glass deal.

Even Oscar the Grouch is feeling pressure from the green movement and he’s pissed about it.

You can completely greenout, reusing bacon fat and building a Rube Goldberg machine to separate your plastics from your used toilet paper. There is absolutely no guarantee that smelly mess you so painstakingly separated will make it to a recycling plant, let alone not be exported to a third world country with a healthy helping of medical waste. Take this epic bullshit play a couple of British recycling contractors [allegedly] pulled on Brazil. Worldwide Biorecyclables Ltd and UK Multiplas Ltd are accused of being liberal with their definition of plastic recyclables. In an alleged international act of douche-baggery, the companies threw in bags of blood and dirty syringes to round out the shipment. Hey, a little bit of medical waste never hurt anyone.

Oh, yeah.

Back to the “awareness” vs. “giving a shit” issue. There is no contest. “giving a shit” is the only savior the green movement has. Look at this way: the U.S. was quite “aware” that the Japanese bombed the shit out of Pearl Harbor. If this country stopped with “awareness” Hawaii would belong to the Japanese today. Standing around the shipyard pointing as you mumble to your adjutant, “I am aware the Arizonais sinking and there are tons of men trapped,” won’t really help the situation “Why, yes commander, we are aware Japan has kicked us in the nuts and declared war.” See how being “aware” absolutely didn’t do a fucking thing? You know what did? “Giving a shit.”

“I’m aware that another ship full of sailors over there has just sunk.”

Giving a shit” isn’t content to point its fingers around and count the damage. “Giving a shit” wants, no, DEMANDS we get off our asses and do something about it. While that “awareness” pussy is sulking on the dock, aware that another cruiser is on fire and sinking faster than a fat chick from a Tru TV reality show in a tub of fudge,”giving a shit” said, “Mother fucker! Find out what’s going on, who did it, and their home addresses. Let all of us work as one to a common goal. We will be strong in our unity and resolve!”

See what giving a shit gets you? Flaming hot, radioactive JUSTICE!

No, man. “Giving a shit” needs more. Don’t get me wrong. To “give a shit” you have to, first, become aware of the situation. Then you move the fuck on to constructive action. If your first urge after absorbing the Earth Day doctrine is to show up with a bunch of sandal wearing, hairy, slacked jawed, wannabe hippies toting signs, then my friend, you are part of the problem. FWTC can’t help you.

No, sir. We wash our hands of it.

Continuously bitching while holding signs and throwing environmentally friendly red paint on people to raise their awareness of animal abuse and shouting “You’re murders!” isn’t a way to make friends. It’s no where near the way to garner support for your cause. Especially if it’s during a thousand man BIKER RALLY. You, my hippie friend, will not accomplish jack. I mean other than getting your asses handed to you over and over again or being duct taped to the bitch seat of a biker’s ride, because his old lady couldn’t make it and you’re “close enough.” Ask this group what it got them.

People are aware this dude is taped to that tree. They just don’t give a shit.

Instead of regrouping and examining where they went wrong in their lives, the animal rights group became whinier and more self-righteous. In addition to the above treats, the soldiers in the “war against leather” found themselves being used as urinals, duct taped in fast food dumpsters, and encased in a silvery cocoon of duct tape in a tree (They truly are the Renaissance Men of duct tape). No, this is not a segment of Sons of Anarchy. If it were, it would be one of the coolest scenes ever! Shit! I just stopped writing to give myself a high five out of the sheer awesomeness a scene like that would bring. This shit went on for real this past January at the Johnstown, PA biker rally.

Pictured: Motorcycle enthusiasts that do not take being hit with red paint well.

But, Roode” I can hear some unwashed, meatless diet following, red paint spewing asstard say. “How can you say the individual doesn’t matter? Some of the greatest events in history have happened, because of 1 person.

First of all, shut the fuck up. I don’t even know you, but I can smell you over the interwebs. For the rest of you, NO. Individuals haven’t made a shit sack worth of difference. On their own, that is. Caesar didn’t change ancient Rome by himself. He had an ass kicking, ball busting army to help. Harriet Beecher Stowe may have written one hell of a tome about the injustice of slavery, but it was a shitload of individuals that fought against it and, finally, a government that had to outlaw it. Lincoln may have wanted to outlaw slavery in the second half of your Civil War, but if he was the only one, his ass wouldn’t have been elected in the first place.

“What? I’m the ONLY one that thinks slavery is a bad idea? Fine, let’s just go back to killing Indians.”

Not only does one person have to give a shit, tens of thousands have to. Finally, enough people will give a shit that the government HAS to take notice. This is the tricky part. The government can be “aware” of things until the sun turns into a bran muffin. They need to give a shit too or at least pretend for re-election. Or, in the case of the American Revolutionary War, get tossed out and replaced by a government that makes “give a shit” their motto (well, for 80 years or so). See? Giving a shit is a lot harder than it looks.

Let’s face it, giving a shit requires too much energy for most people. It’s a lot easier to bitch and moan while holding a protest line in front of a Carl’s Jr. You just stand there, chant ridiculous rhyming tag lines, and endure the police beatings that follow. So, you protesters and activists can go back to your display of awareness and hand holding. Maybe I’m wrong about all of this. I’m sure the Earth will be just fine for future generations with awareness, alone.

Oh.

Sincerely,
Roode