I Hate New Jersey...

There are few states in which I hate in their entirety. (1) Montana, which I refer to as the Shawn Bradley of all states due to the fact that it is big for no real reason and has nothing to contribute to the others, (2) Rhode Island, the dangling turd of the United States, (3 & 4) The Dakotas, which are the Siamese twins of the nation joined in ass to forehead manner, and of course (5) New Jersey, the typical bitch ass middle child influenced and consumed by all types of peer pressure...

BITCH ASS NEW JERSEY...
The fact that it is called the "Garden State" when there are clearly no real gardens around is asinine. In actuality, this ho ass state has more landfills than gardens, thus I vote we change the name to the "Smells like Giraffe Ass State." Every time that I am forced to enter this wretched state there is always some kind of construction going on where trees are being demolished and mini malls are being put up. I see no flowers. Just weeds. Daffodils. What type of struggle-garden is this? You know we could just call Jersey the Turnpike State. Because that's all people really need to use it for. New Jersey is just a state that needs to be passed through while on a road trip to your REAL destination. And what's worse is that you always have to pay a toll to get OUT of New Jersey...never to get in. It's like they're trying to trap you. Fury ensues every time I pay three cash plus the cost of gas just to get across the bridge to get to Philadelphia. I wonder if anyone has ended up stranded in New Jersey because they didn't have the three singles to cross the bridge. I've decided that I need to build an arc. Yes, I said it...AN ARC: to rescue all that are stuck in bitch ass New Jersey and are sick and tired of paying the toll for the bridge. Another thing: people from Jersey are not tough. I'm sick of people from Jersey bragging that they harbor the most dangerous city in America. Yes, Camden may have been ranked the most dangerous city in America in both 2004 and 2005. However in 2005, Money magazine ranked Moorestown (a city located only 10 miles away from Camden) as the number one place to live in America. HOW THE FUCK DOES THAT WORK? The best place to live in America is a 19 minute drive from the worst place to live in America. Unbelievable. It's like Mr. Rogers living next door to Oscar the Grouch and he doesn't give two steaming shits that Oscar lives in a trashcan. He just continues to sing as he laces up his Chucks so he can take the trash out and pour last nights leftovers upon Oscar's face.  "Eh...you live in a trash can.  You tryna tell me you're not hungry?"  Damn you Rogers...keep pouring.
Some say that Jersey should be divided into North and South Jersey. For what? Because they can't make up their mind on which sports team to like? No, we will not divide New Jersey in half because it's bitch ass cannot make up it's mind. They have the New Jersey Nets, why are they not satisfied? Why must they become fans of other state's teams? OWN YOUR BITCH ASS STATE. If it's that serious we could simply cut it in half and add South Jersey to Pennsylvania and North Jersey to New York. Then the residents of North Jersey will actually have a legitimate reason to be happy the Giants won the Super Bowl and the residents of South Jersey can fully experience the agitation caused by the 76ers' lack of talent and horrendous management...



STORY TIME:
I have a friend who lives in this state of bitch-ass-ness. Chaulky. On one random night while on summer vacation, I receive a phone call from Chalky who asks me why I never come home to visit. There are numerous reasons: (1) Dash does not drive a hybrid vehicle and having a man tell me that I owe $43 to fill up my tank may force me to wrap my arm around his neck and quickly peel off at 62 mph. (2) There is absolutely nothing to do in New Jersey besides go to Atlantic City or "go down the shore" (PS...grammatically, it should be "go down to the shore"), and (3) There are absolutely no competitive pick-up basketball games due to the fact that old sweaty men storm the local gyms immediately after work just to yank off their button down sweatpants revealing every support brace one can possibly have on his body, and rub their old wrinkly, slimy bodies against you as they attempt to play effective defense (no homo).

Well, on this night I happen to have nothing to do with my life and Chaulky suggested that I come down to this party that his friend is throwing. So I figure I might as well go down there, chill for a little bit, throw back some beers, knock down a female, and pass out for a little bit before I return to Philadelphia. So I make this trip down to Chaulky's humble suburban abode.

I get there around 10 o'clock and Chaulky answers the door fully dressed with keys in hand, and states, "Let's go, we're late". Red flag numeral uno... It's 10 o'clock; this would be the time where I'm usually just rolling out of bed to get ready for a party (unless of course I have already arrived at the party early to consume all of the alcohol in the building). But apparently this party started at 8 o' clock (...smh...) and it should be "popping" by now. I say whatever and we drive to the party. Upon arrival there is a group of about 15 dudes standing outside. Red flag number 2... It's 10:30 and there is a group of 15 males standing outside of a supposedly "popping" party. This would only mean that there must be a very small amount of females in attendance. Despite this red flag, I enter the house and instantly hear a Baltimore Club track flowing out of speakers in the basement. This deems one of two things: (1) There are females actually getting it in and working out downstairs, or (2) there's a circle with niggas Wu-Tang battling in the center. I go to investigate...

I enter the hottest basement in the nation and observe the party scene. Red flag number 3. Females are standing around and there is a circle of niggas (males, boys, etc) in the center of the basement. Needless to say, I have become the Incredible Hulk. I came all the way to New Jersey to witness these retards jump around like orangutans as the DJ puts on a sped up Spongebob track? I'm sick of it. I COULDN'T CARE LESS HOW FAST A SINGLE NIGGA'S FEET CAN MOVE. A thousand other children crowd him with their cell phones out giving him a sense that he's in the spotlight. FAGS... boys chanting "Get your light feet goin'..." Tragic. I'm coming out with a track called "Get your slave feet going" and making a video of Harriet Tubman and Sojourner Truth doing the toe-wop and the chicken noodle soup dance then putting it on YouTube. 6 million views in the first 12 hours. And if I get Samuel L. Jackson to two step and then pop and lock in a full Adidas sweatsuit with a fur hat and push a broom like Turbo in the background, it will be featured as the "new joint" on BET's 106 & Park and then instantly move to the number one spot; consequently, Soulja Boy will later announce this to be named "Best Video" at the BET Awards.

FUCK YOU NEW JERSEY!! (Except for you Joe Budden... You, my friend, have my stamp of approval.) I really am ashamed of my home state some times...

"Aight, Just Gimme a Whopper..."

College (also see University)
col·lege
Pronounced: \ˈkä-lij\(noun)

1. A wonderous place made for attaining large quantities of sexual encounters
2. An institution designed for higher learning that is commonly used as an excuse for adolescents to move as far away from their parents as financially possible
3. The number one cause of debt in America (because of Sallie Mae mainly)
4. An environment where there is a common agreement that it is mandatory to go out every Thursday through Saturday night (length may increase according to which campus one attends) and drink as many alcoholic beverages as possible while trying to accomplish sexual achievements with the opposite sex. Those that do not follow this common agreement are dubbed "gay, pussies, nerds, geeks, losers, lovers of bitch-ass-ness, etc."
5. A setting where fast food chains can commonly be confused with one another due to late night menus and the effects of previously consumed tasty beverages...
Cited from Dashy's Dictionary 2008. Page 563.

Yes, each of these definitions correctly illustrates a different aspect of what college is all about. Originally, there were only 4 corresponding definitions to this word. However, after one recent night's turn of events, I felt like it was absolutely necessary to include the last definition mentioned...

Storytime:
It was a Friday night. This means that it was mandatory Dash to go out, find a house, drink all of the alcohol in the building, and stumble off into the night. On this particular night, I was accompanied by one of my close friends, Twister and another friend of his, Squid. We ventured out 9 blocks to a house party that we heard about via the social deathtrap known as "The Facebook." Upon arrival we were overwhelmed by the appalling scene of this "party." Male to female ratio is 4:1...but it's alright. Why? Because there are 3 coolers located in the kitchen filled to the brim with tasty beverage. I look at Twister and he does the nonverbal head nod and corresponding facial expression letting me know that it's another one of those nights where we ride it out and deplete any amount of alcohol that enters those coolers. Well played Twister. Well played indeed.

About an hour or so later, after going through a couple of cooler refills and attempted drunken dances with random fat bitches, Twister, Squid, and I decided it was time to depart this hot, dimly lit venue and return to the dorm for some intense rounds of Mario Kart on the N64. On the way out we run into one of our female friends who is obviously concerned about our safety and decides to walk with us on our way back home (also I think she just wanted to be the 4th Mario Kart competitor). Drunk to sober ratio is now 3:1 and these are not very good odds. So along the way, 3 of the 4 get lost. I honestly cannot tell you where they went or how they got lost together but now it's just me. But I can always find my way home. I simply use fast food restaurants as landmarks. Why? Because it's quite impossible to remember what street leads where, let alone attempt to read street signs in the dark while you are intoxicated. Look, in North Philadelphia, squinting your eyes while looking up to read street signs on street corners is a clear indicator that you're looking to get robbed.  So after wandering aimlessly for a good 5 to 10 minutes, I see those beautiful Golden Arches and I am instantly relieved because I am home free. It's a cakewalk from here because I know exactly where I am. However, I was extremely famished, so I decided to go inside...

Prepare yourself; this next section is vulgar and unedited. It is the conversation I had with this bitch behind the register, along with the thoughts that went through my head. The things you are about to read may be disturbing.---

I get to the counter...

Cashier bitch - Welcome to McDonald's what would you like?
Dash's Thought Bubble - (I'm a fucking college student. I'm broke bitch... what do you think I want?)
Dash - Lemme get 3 double cheeseburgers in my life.
-I'm sorry it's after 12 o'clock. We're only doing our late night menu - numbers 2 though 10.
-(AHH!! This the bullshit! I'm certain this bitch can assemble a double cheeseburger after 12 o'clock. This makes no sense! Fuck this bitch...Now I gotta get one sandwich for the same price I could have gotten 3. Might as well just get the biggest sandwich they have to compensate.)
-Aight, just gimme a whopper.
-Sir, you are at McDonald's...
-(BITCH DO I LOOK LIKE I'M BLIND? UNLIKE THAT NIGGA OVER THERE, I AM NOT WEARING SUNGLASSES AT NIGHT...)
-Yea... Ok... I know where I am. Just let me get my whopper.
-I'm sorry but we can't make you a whopper.
-(STOP... Did this bitch just REFUSE my service?--------------SPAZZ ON THIS BITCH RIGHT NOW)
-FUCK YOU MEAN YOU CAN'T MAKE ME A WHOPPER?!?! PUT THE SHIT ON THE GRILL RIGHT NOW... COOK IT AND THEN PLACE IT RIGHT HERE IN MY HAND!! I DON'T NEED WRAPPING PAPER EITHER. IT'S NOT GONNA BE A SURPRISE!
-But sir, this is McDonald's. We don't make...
-(This bitch's visor has to go. Fuck is she wearing that shit for? Does she plan to audit my meal as well? It's gotta go into the fry cooker...)
-GET ME A FUCKING WHOPPER! I DON'T WANNA HEAR NONE OF THAT 'THIS IS MCDONALD'S BULLSHIT'. THE RECIPE FOR A WHOPPER IS NOT A FUCKING SECRET! THERE IS NO SPECIAL SAUCE. NO SECRET INGREDIENTS... JUST A BURGER WITH LETTUCE, TOMATOES, ONIONS AND KETCHUP. AND FUCK ALL THAT SESAME SEED BUN SHIT!

The employees are dumbfounded. Terrified, the girl looks at her chunky ass 56-year-old manager whose back-of-the-neck area eerily resembles a pack of hot dogs (making my appetite grow larger) and he slowly hands her a sandwich.

-Here you go, sir.
-(Jesus... This bitch just handed me a little cardboard box that CLEARLY states "Quarter Pounder w/ Cheese"...)

Just as I am about to hop over the counter, slap that ridiculous visor off of her head, and slam her face upon the mechanism that imprints the little "M" on McGriddle sandwiches, Twister bursts through McDonald's doors.  Twister comes in screaming and yelling things that I cannot possibly understand. Partially because I'm drunk and incoherent and partially because he's speaking Spanish! When the fuck did he learn Spanish?  Why the fuck is he speaking Spanish? I quit. I pick up my little cardboard box as stumble to a table where I sit down and eat the worst Quarter Pounder of my life. Absolutely terrible. They simply could have placed a sandwich in my hand that consisted of only ketchup and sugar inserted into a single bun folded over and told me it was a whopper. And it would have been the best whopper I ever tasted. Ignorance is bliss. However, awareness gets you pissed. I don't even remember paying for it. And I'm glad I didn't because I was thoroughly dissatisfied. McDonald's is a fraud. McDonald's, home of the happy meal, did not put a smile upon my miserable face. And I absolutely DESPISE their commercials. NEVER have I felt the urge to get up and pop and lock like Sisqo in the middle of the restaurant after biting into a sandwich, nor have I ever seen any little white children eating their McNuggets to the beat of the Cha-Cha slide.  If you never saw that commercial, consider yourself lucky.

I'm sick of it. If I ever see Ronald McDonald with his fake ass Zorro companion and that bitch ass purple Pokemon on the street, I'm calling the troops. My boy BK, the Taco Bell Chihuahua, Lil' Wendy (she's tougher than she looks on the cup), Colonel Sanders, Popeye, and the Geico Lizard, and I are all putting on Jack-in-the-Box masks (just so we all look like Joker) and Arby's cowboy hats and then initiating a group stomp upon anyone MCD affiliated. Word to motha.  And then afterwards when they are unable to move because of the pain we've inflicted, I will look down at a crippled Ronald McDonald and ask, "WHY SO SERIOUS?" I will then proceed in shoving thousands of "America's Favorite Fries" into his mouth until he forms somewhat of a grin. Once this is achieved I'll simply state, "We love to see you smile...bitch."

A Necessary Movie Remake...

Today, I sat down and reread my previous post regarding movies of the summer season. I feel as though regardless of the season, despite technological advances in making movies way more aesthetically pleasing, creativity is being sacrificed in the process. It seems rather than sitting down and blueprinting something new and revolutionary, Hollywood prefers to remake every graphic novel lining the shelves of Comic Book Kingdom. Does anyone realize that there were two (2) Incredible Hulk pictures made in the new millennium? No, it’s not a series. They are two different movies on the subject of the same story. This must have been how the meeting went with the board of the production company at the helm of this second Incredible Hulk movie:

Movie exec 1: “Let’s make another Marvel movie. Any suggestions?”
Movie exec 2: “How about The Incredible Hulk?”
Movie exec 3: “…wait. Didn’t that movie come out 3 years ago?”
Movie exec 1 pushes the red button on his chair’s armrest. Movie exec 3’s chair drops through a trap door beneath him.
Movie exec 1: (slowly turning in his swivel chair) “Hulk it is.”

Hollywood, just because you take my favorite relics from childhood, pump it full of CGI, and throw it on a big screen does not mean you have just created anything. Shit in a pan never tastes like mom’s brownies. Do you douchebags really think anyone wants to see Speedracer in 3D? Congratulations, your “creation” has successfully given my father a seizure. Did you ever stop to think that those who watched Speedracer as children enjoyed the basic animation and voiceovers? Putting your own creative spin on this classic only pissed off the Old School and gave the New School 2 hours to catch up on old text messages.

Anyway, since Hollywood is so hell bent on making blasts from the past, why don’t you use this gem I came up with while I was in the bathroom this afternoon (I do some of my best thinking while pinching off a loaf):
We need a remake of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. The cartoon was great. Everyone bought the toys and video games. The first movie was a classic (everything to follow, not so great). Nevertheless, we need a creative spin to make this new movie relevant to the times. So we cast Turtles as people. We create the fantastic four as we cast Randy Jackson, Jack Black, Young Jeezy, and Dick Cheyney as the Turtles. Randy is the brains (because he wears glasses, duh) so he’s Donatello. Jack Black provides comic relief as Michaelangelo. Young Jeezy is Leonardo. I pick Jeezy to lead not because he exemplifies leadership qualities, but because I doubt any of the other three can fight and Jeezy would just thug his way into power. Finally, Dick Cheyney’s smart mouth and attitude makes him obviously qualified to play Rafael. Yes, you guessed it: Samuel Jackson will play the role of Splinter. Britney Spears will play April O’Neal. Personally, I dislike how the media chastises Spears for everything she does. Yet, I just want her to squeeze into that yellow jumpsuit. She’ll look like one of the Bananas in Pajamas and I (along with the entire theater) will laugh uncontrollably at any scene she is placed. The Shredder ONLY works if he’s played by Christopher Walken. Frank White wearing a purple cape and a silver helmet? WHAT?!?! That alone is worth my $12.50. When the Turtles have to fight the Foot Clan, the Foot will be cast by everyone from MTV’s America’s Best Dance Crew. Dance battles will ensue. Now I was thinking, what if Dick Cheyney pulls a Heath Leger and can’t finish the film? We just recast Danny DeVito as Rafael. The only stipulation being that he must grow a ponytail like Tommy from the Mighty Morphing Power Rangers. This formula is clearly bulletproof people. Now someone go out there and get themselves a little gold man.