Monthly Archives: January 2012 It’s good to know that so far in my nearly thirty-two years, I’ve never had to use the phrase “you should have killed me when you had the chance” in a serious  conversation. Only time will tell, though.

I’ve looked through the search terms that bring people to this here Terrible Violence place, and I’ve learned a few somewhat disturbing things. First, the things people search for are rarely things that truly have anything to do with the actual content of the site. Second, most of the hits are from people just looking for stuff with Google Image Search. Third, even in this SOPAPILLA age, a lot of you are still trolling blogs for your ilegal download needs. Also, a lot of you are looking to illegally download Diabolus in Musica by Slayer, meaning you basically have no taste in Slayer albums. Lastly, WordPress’s  and HostGator’s site stats must filter out anything related to porn and just file it under “unknown search terms,” because I swear to Allah, the last time I ran a site with any sort of traffic, all you sick freaks came looking for was either naked pictures of female pro wrestling personalities, pictures of incest in an endlessly bizarre array of permutations, or ways to make Slipknot masks. And now that I think about it, I’ve probably just quadrupled my traffic by putting all those words into a sentence. So in the interest of creating… interest, I’m now going to just toss out a bunch of words that should ensure my place at the top of the internet food chain: Free download bootleg Mediafire Rapidshare Megaupload torrents Justin Bieber nude spaghetti naked celebrity nipple boobs butts Chuck Norris giant wild hogs Tim Tebow anal Satan hamburger recipes penis. Now, on to step three of my plan, which is profit.

homer - the screamI live right across the street from a school for deaf kids, and you’d think it would be quiet around here, what with all the sign language and all, but you’d be wrong. I swear, every now and then, deaf people must get this urge to just howl like the screams of the damned for no good reason. I bet I’m going to hell just for noticing that.


INTRODUCTION: Over the last decade-plus of getting my Internet on, a disturbing thing has occurred to me. Just about every single thing that I like enough to say “hey, I am A FAN of that” has an internet  fan base made up largely of the worst people there have ever been. Heavy metal fans run the gamut from meth lab hillbillies to neo-Nazis to uppity pricks who look down on anyone who owns a record with a print run of more than 300 copies to Manowar fans with whatever disorder it is that Manowar fans have. Chicago Bears fans tend to be slow-witted closet racists who think that the way they manage the team in Madden ’08 is a way to manage a football team that can actually happen. Pro wrestling fandom is a minefield of pillow-humping Japan fetishists and basement-dwelling would-be kid touchers who take stopwatches to wrestling shows, (because how long a match is tells them how good it was) and who are still trying to come up with ways to excuse or defend Chris Benoit murdering his family. But man, Transformers fans. Grown-ass adults who can’t scrape together the cash for the electric bill, but will still shell out $40 for a child’s toy of the 357th version of Optimus Prime to come out this year. People for whom this isn’t a nostalgic thing from their youth, but a very real and very important thing with important new developments happening all the time. People who actually sit in line on opening night every time one of those dogshit live action movies comes out, and mentally prepare their super-positive online review before the opening credits even start, because it’s the Transformers, and dammit, they’ve got nothing else in their lives. I hope everything I ever do pisses those people off.
That being said, I’m gonna go put on my Transformers sleep pants and go watch some cartoons, because I’m a giant man-baby.

CRT~!What you see above is where all the magic happens. Locked up securely in a secret location somewhere that looks an awful lot like the inside of our garage is the secret TV/DVD/VCR combo on which I watch my secret Transformers DVDs. For real, though, the garage is as perfect a place for me to nerd out, as I’ve got that place set up with all my objects of such a nature, from old, cartridge-style video game systems, a random assortment of Chicago Bears merchandise and the toys of my youth, and a full old-style makeshift stereo setup, complete with early-80s vintage tape deck and at least one Dio record. It is truly a sight to behold, but don’t get it twisted, as I refuse to use the term “man-cave” for that place. Because I reject the normal sitcom-inspired view of things, where even if two people love each other and their weekly whacky misunderstandings that get solved in 30 minutes all go toward strengthening this fact, men and women are still inherently incompatible creatures, incapable of actually liking each other, so the man must construct a secret “no girls allowed” lair where he can fart, drink beer, and watch the big game without having to take the youngest daughter to ballet class. You know, “women all be listenin’ to the opera, yo” or whatever. It’s bullshit, and I reject that. All people of all genders are welcome here, for it is a chill place for chill people all get along in harmony. It’s not so much my man-cave as it is my Great Hall, kind of like the one Odin has. Actually, I think the entire point of this paragraph and every other paragraph I’ve ever written is to further prove that I am exactly like Odin. Also, I’m an adult now, and it would just look weird to decorate the living room with a bunch of Iron Maiden poster flags and a rusty ammo belt. So there. Let’s watch some Transformers. (more…)

Transfomers Season 1INTRODUCTION: This is a thing I probably would have started a year ago on the old site if I had any sort of motivation at the time. You see, back in the day, when I was about two feet shorter and a couple hundred pounds lighter, the Transformers were my thing. I had Transformers toys, I had Transformers stickers, I had Transformers trading cards, I had Transformers comic books, and if such a thing had existed, I would have had the goddamn Transformers mouthwash. And needless to say, the highlight of every weekday of my early life was getting home from school by 3:30 in the P.M. to see the cartoon on Channel 15, or to watch the VHS version, in times when they had flip-flopped it with G.I. Joe, and it would be over by the time I got home. And even after the show’s run ended and I was much too old to do such a thing, every so often, I would bust out the couple tapes with the couple episodes we hadn’t taped over, watching them over and over, remembering other episodes I had seen, and wishing I had those too.
And after a couple years of wondering how I could scrape up the hundred bucks or so to buy someone’s collection of the tapes off Ebay, the DVDs finally hit. But  at like 40 bucks a season, I couldn’t afford those any more than I could the bootleg VHS version, so I had to pass, until the damn things seemed to always go out of print five minutes after they were released. But finally in 2009, someone who knew what they were doing re-re-released them all at a time when I had way more disposable cash and a full season of something cost about half of what it used to, so in the words of Abraham Lincoln, that shit was ON. And now, at long last, the time has come to finally do a thing that I’m sure at least seventy people on the World Wide Web haven’t already done: I’m going to watch it all and tell you about it. (more…)

So, the world is freaking out over these SOPA and PIPA acts that Congress is trying to push on us. Personally, I haven’t read into it much and don’t know the specifics, but I know that the government is run by old dudes who don’t know what an internet is, and they’ve all got their own masters to serve, none of which are the people out here in the streets, so I know it can’t be good. That, and that the terms SOPA and PIPA remind me of sopapillas, which are delicious. I’m sure everywhere you’ve gone on the internet today has probably had a hundred messages about contacting your Congressman or whatever, (or completely blocked itself off, like Wikipedia, which didn’t so much raise my awareness as it did piss me off at Wikipedia) so I’ll spare you that whole thing this time. What I can do is show my solidarity with everyone who likes free things and information about other things through simple means: INTERNET PIRACY.

So, in a weirdly appropriate (but not really, kinda) offering to you, the folks out there is “Uncensored Material,” a promotional cassette single by Sacred Reich, a band of much metal thrashings that I liked so much that I once had a whole website named after an EP they put out back in the day. (and come to think about it, I posted this thing there back in the day, too.) This came out in 1990, right around the time everyone was freaking out over 2 Live Crew talking about boobies and butts and Ozzy Osbourne and Judas Priest having evil hidden messages to make all the people who buy their records kill themselves, and the government had a huge censorship boner that peaked a couple years later when “Copkiller” came out. It’s not really the same thing as what’s going on now, but I guess it is good to remember that this kind of nonsense has been going on since a “cassette single” was still a thing, and we made it out okay. For the record, I guess this has been out of print for over twenty years, (oh Jesus, that makes me feel old) but if Hollywood records  didn’t care about what became of the Sacred Reich stuff they own, (the single is from Enigma Records, but Hollywood owns their back catalog now) they would have sold the U.S. rights back to the band, and people wouldn’t be having to buy copies of The American Way from overseas nowadays. Whatever. Anyway, this is a few parts of a few songs from that record, mixed together with some spoken word type stuff from Phil Rind, the bass player/singer/general mastermind. It’s just one long thing, so I split it into three parts for convenience.

Part One
Part Two
Part Three

Anyway, fuck a government, listen to old heavy metal from time to time, spay and neuter your pets, always bring a towel, be excellent to each other, party on dudes, and eat more sopapillas.

trophyAn excruciating look back at what went wrong, once again in award show format. Read it all at Armchair Linebacker.

them's hard timesSo I was thinking about Christmas specials the other day, because apparently I’ve become trapped in some bizarre time warp that keeps me perpetually three weeks in the past, and a thing occurred to me. And that thing is that to the best of my knowledge regarding television Christmas specials for the children, Emmett Otter’s Jug Band Christmas is the grittiest Christmas special, ever. Seriously, I mean it’s not like some sort of gripping blood bath or anything, because after all, it IS a Christmas special, but as far as those things go, that thing gets raw and stays that way.

Like right from the beginning, it’s all about how Emmett and his mom are up to their necks in hard times, all having to work shitty jobs just to barely scrape by, the the point where the only good thing in their lives is that there aren’t any holes in their wash tub. Their wash tub, in a time and place that’s like the late 70s or early 80s in a world where the Prairie Home Companion is more southern and filled with Muppet animals, where an electric washing machine is a thing that has existed for several decades. Their fucking wash tub. And why is this? Because Emmett’s father – a freaking snake oil salesman, for the record – is dead. And they don’t even let you down easy in that cartoon-for-the-children way, where they’re all like, “oh, I wish your father was still here,” and letting you mentally fill in the blanks. No, they straight up say the dude is deceased, gone, buried, six feet under, and he can’t feed his family, because all he’s feeding right now is worms. Mr. Otter is an ex-otter, and his family is screwed, because all he left them was alone. That is some some ill shit for a children’s special, you know?

Anyway, the harsh lessons about the brutality of life don’t stop there, and to encapsulate the middle of the thing in a sentence, Emmett and his mom both want awesome presents for Christmas, but they’re both dirt-ass-poor and can’t afford anything, so Ma Otter hawks Emmet’s toolbox and Emmett punches a hole in the fucking washtub to make a gutbucket, thereby destroying the family’s last remaining sources of income, so they can both try to win the local talent show and win a bunch of money, each without the other’s knowledge. So the ending seems at least semi-apparent, I suppose. Somehow, either Emmett’s jug-band or Ma’s solo act win, or they both win somehow, because they know the true meaning of love and friendship and Christmas and Jesus and Freedom, and everyone goes home happy. Oh wait, no, once the talent show/battle of the bands thing starts, absolutely none of that happens.

So yeah, Ma Otter’s song goes over huge, and so does Emmett’s band, even though the thing they played sounded more like hippie folk music than actual folk music. (Seriously, it sounded like something that should have been playing while Lava lamp looking stuff was projected behind them and a chick with a tie-dyed dress  and a creepily blank stare just danced around, not actually contributing musically. I mean, yeah, there’s already enough heaviness going on where you can’t have them drop some high lonesome shit about dying in a coal mine or whatever, but they could have at least saved that song about barbecue for this part, you know?) But then, these dudes show up who had been hassling the dude who runs the music store in town earlier, and even though they showed up late and technically shouldn’t have been allowed to participate, they get to anyway, because life isn’t fair for anyone, especially Emmett Otter and his mom. And here’s the thing: after all the country and folk and hippie jug bands that have been playing that were all appropriate to the local area, these guys are a rock band. And you know what happens from there? Do they lose, because cheaters never win and good old fashioned music from the heart is better than big-city devil-rock? Is it a tie that comes down to a final showdown, where Emmett and his Mom join forces to show everyone the true meaning of love and friendship and Christmas and Jesus and Freedom? Oh hell no, people, the River Bottom Nightmare Band busts out some crazy song that sounds like the unholy offspring of Deep Purple and Venom, and they blow the good guys smooth the hell off the stage:

So after the big talent show, Emmett and Ma are left with absolutely goddamn nothing, no tool box, no wash tub, and no money for Christmas Presents. Their lives are ruined, and what’s worst, they’ve been ruined by their own mutual betrayal. I mean yeah, there’s eventually a happy ending and all, but when you watch it, you can’t help but think that it got tacked on at the last moment, like Jim Henson realized that mentally destroying whatever percentage of a generation of children had access to HBO at the time wasn’t worth preserving his artistic integrity. But even then, there’s that loose thread out there that the Nightmare dudes were all a bunch of sociopathic borderline criminals who still got to win the talent show and as an ass-kicking rock machine, probably have a brighter future than any mom-and-son jug band that plays the local tavern could ever have. Thirty years later, Emmett probably still lives with his mom, and The Nightmare are sitting in mansions right now, looking at their platinum records and supermodel wives. If anything, the lesson on this show was less about the power of love and family and happiness and more that assholes always finish first, the world is a cruel and terrible place, and no matter how much from the heart your song is, no one will give three-fifths of a damn about it if you don’t have flashing lights and killer riffs.

HAIL SATANHail Satan, kids. Hail Satan.

spambotEver since the triumphant launch of Terrible Violence, here are some of the great things that poorly-disguised spambots have  unsuccessfully tried to say in my comments:

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“This is a great blog you have here,” “Wow Excellent blog!” and “Very nice very nice stuff you have on ur blog your above excellence” – all posted within one 24-hour period by  Humor News, spammer of some website that has a bunch of pirated movies, a picture of a car with a giant penis made of snow on top of it, and a link to “The 11 Worst Vagina Tattoos of All Time,” that tries to trick you into giving it your Facebook password, and can only be exited by closing the browser tab.

“I simply want to tell you that I’m all new to blogging and site-building and certainly enjoyed you’re page. Likely I’m planning to bookmark your blog . You surely have excellent articles and reviews. Thank you for revealing your webpage.” – Matthew C. Kriner, spammer of a site that no one paid the bill for, because it’s just got one of those placeholder pages up instead of a real website.

Sweet Jesus, someday, I need to tell people that this thing exists, so I can get comments from actual humans.

it won't make your lips feel any better, but you won't lick 'em– I’ve decided that “Dick Lipschitz” is the funniest name I could ever possibly make up.

37?– I hate myself, so every time Kevin Smith puts out a spoken word DVD, I check it out either through illegal means or seeing if it’s streaming on Netflix. And every time, they always have shots of the dorks lined up to get into the show, all rocking their $100 movie-themed hockey jerseys and/or trench coats, and just raving on and on about how they love his movies, because “the characters talk the way me and my friends talk!” Bullshit. No one who talks like that would have any friends. Think of your best friend in the world, whoever that may be. Now, imagine that all of a sudden, every conversation you had with them managed to break down into either Star Wars references, talk of two dudes blowing each other, or two Star Wars dudes blowing each other. You would block them from your cell phone, delete them from all your social media-type websites, and never, ever speak to them again.

dem bones

– A deer dedicates its entire life to avoiding predators. It moves silently and carefully, watching, listening and smelling for any wolves, coyotes, bears or Allosauruses that might be nearby, ready to bolt for safety if anything even slightly reminds it of any of those things. As a result, its predators all have to be pretty stealthy, making sure that nothing knows where they are until they’re right on top of it. Seriously, there could be an Allosaurus behind you right now. But the deer is good at avoiding this sort of fate, because obviously, they aren’t extinct yet. So a deer can avoid lurking monsters that do everything in their power to avoid detection, relying on carefully chosen hiding places and/or the element of surprise. So why do they have so much trouble avoiding a car, which is the equivalent of a big-ass bear that only travels in a straight line in a clearly marked path that it never leaves, making loud noises and emitting bright light the entire time?  It’s a mystery. Skunks and opossums at least have the excuse of being complete dumbasses.

knowledge is powerBack in the old days, this was a regular feature of the site, (I did it twice in five years, I think) and since the world always has and forever will need my help, I’m bringing it back. Because knowledge is power, you are all worthless and weak, and must all feel my power. And since the children are the stupidest of the lot, today’s dispensation of power goes out to the lost souls who had hoped to have their questions answered by’s Teen Advice section, but instead got this bullshit.

Q: Is my friend a lesbian?? She and I have been hanging out a lot, and she keeps touching me all over. I don’t have a problem with lesbians, I just don’t like how she touches me. Like one time we had a sleepover, and she thought I was asleep, and she reached over and started touching me. I don’t know what to do. I don’t wanna ruin our friendship but I wanna know the truth.

A: YOU CAN’T HANDLE THE TRUTH.  Sorry, it was there and I had to go for it. Personally I never had any problems with identifying  a lesbian, because whenever someone didn;t totally dig me and wasn’t a relative, it must have obviously meant that they were a lesbian. Like I think the town I grew up in had at least seven or eight thousand of them, including the entire female half of the high school. It was bizarrely progressive for a southern town. Seriously, though, the part I’d be worried about is when she stop actually touching you and starts just holding the one finger a centimeter away and repeatedly informing you that she isn’t touching you. At that point, violence is a viable option. In the meantime, I dunno, maybe try asking?

Q: Help! My best friend just confessed that he thinks he may be gay. Now I’m afraid to be alone with him because I think he may start hitting on me. I won’t take showers with him after gym or soccer practice. I just feel funny around him now. I don’t know how to handle this, what should I do?

A: See, your behavior after your friend’s confession is a really potentially damaging to your relationship, as it won’t be long before he starts figuring out what a raging homophobe you are. And if he’s your best friend, I’m guessing you don’t want to have the dude get pissed and stop hanging around with you, so my advice is simple: Stop being so weird and distant. Start touching him all over, like when you’re having a sleepover and you think that he’s asleep. You’re welcome.

Q: I want to be famous. I’m not sure what my talent is but I really want to give it a try. Any tips for getting things started?

A: First of all, you sound pretty stupid. Sorry, but I calls it as I sees it, and if you really want to “give it a try” when you don’t even know what “it” is, then that’s how I sees it, you know? Anyway, I’m assuming that you’re completely talentless, so the best I can tell you is to go out and kidnap and/or kill an at least semi-attractive white woman. Works like a charm.

Q: My boyfriend is 28 and I’m 16. My parents don’t approve, my friends think it’s creepy and his family says it’s disgusting but we’re in love. Am I crazy thinking love can conquer all or does age really matter? When is an age gap too big?

A: Man, as much as I’d love to give a joke answer for this, just remember that you’re 16, he’s 28, and when you’re 25 and he’s 37, he’s still going to want a 16 year-old, because he has a fucking disease. So yeah, get over the fact that he has a killer taco-based career and a functioning 1982 Stanza hatchback, and remember that if you don’t dump him for being a pederast, he’ll eventually dump you for not being a child.

Q: I’m a Christian teenage girl practicing abstinence. I have a boyfriend who has the same morals as me and who also wants to wait until marriage to have sex. My question for you is this; is oral sex the same as sexual intercourse? Does it count as having sex? If we have oral sex are we still virgins?

A: This is a touchy question, so I’m going to have to call in a buddy of mine to help out:

Bill!“It depends on what the meaning of the word ‘is’ is. If the–if he–if ‘is’ means is and never has been, that is not–that is one thing. If it means there is none, that was a completely true statement….Now, if someone had asked me on that day, are you having any kind of sexual relations with your boyfriend, that is, asked me a question in the present tense, I would have said no. And it would have been completely true.”

So there you go. Glad I could help.

Q: Is it alright to date non-Christians even if you think that maybe they will change?

A: Well, it’s  probably a moot question, because if you try to get them to change, they won’t be dating you for very long. But if that is your goal, I heard somewhere that oral sex might help.

Q: I’m in 8th grade, I have kind of a good girl reputation at my school, and I want it to stay that way. The other day, my friends revealed to me that there had been a rumor going around (which I had no idea about) for the past few weeks that I fingered myself during classes. I have done NOTHING of the sort, and apparently everyone is talking about it. My friend believe me that I didn’t do it, but I’m pretty sure everyone else thinks I did. What can I do to stop this?

A:truncheon, motherfuckerBecause no one can spread rumors with their jaw wired shut.


A: It’s perfectly alright.heh