A.) Steven Segal in “Under Siege”
B.) Samuel L. Jackson in “Pulp Fiction”
C.) Peter North in “Chug-a-Lug Girls”
D.) Danny Trejo in…well, anything

Now, take all those actors, and put them in a blender… then add a side of throat-punch and hatred toward Albanians and you have Liam Neeson’s character, Bryan Mills. Every time he killed someone in this movie, I jumped out of my seat and had my arms outstretched like it was a Secret Ultra Platinum deodorant commercial. I don’t wear Secret deodorant (I wear Crisco mixed with baby tears), because I am too manly for that… but I was REALLY into this movie. At one point in the movie, I turned to my friend, and whispered into his ear… softly… “Man… this movie is so good I am shaking.” Granted, it was pretty cold in the theater, and I was drinking Mountain Dew… and I realize that comment, when whispered, is the gayest thing I have ever said in my life, but it was true. There was so much ass-kicking that I was shaking. Also, I would like to note that my armpits were also sweaty, so I immediately announced it to the theater. Even in writing this I’m still so excited that my grammar and punctuation are suffering. It doesn’t even matter. If I were to form an exclamatory sentence, displaying my affection for this movie, it would go something like this:

“jksdfihsdjkfhdsjfhsdui!!!

I started thinking back to my childhood in St. Louis. I was about 11 or 12 and lived in Lake of the Woods, off Baumgartner and Whispering Ridge (in South County). Anyway, one day me and my friend Andy Nickolotsky were walking down the street, and all of a sudden a HUGE FUCKING DOG comes running after us.

The dog’s name was “King.”

Yes.

It’s name was fucking King.

I ran as fast as I could (I have always been pretty quick). This dog scared the shit out of me. It was like that dog on the Sandlot… or an 18-wheeler with fur. Come to think of it, I peed back then too. I need to get that checked out.

If anyone was wondering, my urinary tract infection is gone (thank you health insurance). My chafing is gone too (thank you Gold Bond Medicated Powder). Honestly, I think I love Gold Bond so much that I am going to start putting it on whether I’m chafing or not. I could literally bathe in a pool of Gold Bond powder for the rest of my life and be happy… and tingly. If I had to pick between my air and water – or Gold Bond, it might be a close race.

Types of people I have encountered (Part 1)…
by: Ryan Oakley.

The “I Don’t Care What You Think Of Me, For I Am ME” Person:

The worst of all. These are the type of people who enjoy participating/jerking off to “dance parties.” You might often see these people wearing hippie clothes. These people, more importantly, get on my God damn nerves. This is the type of person who might live by the following quote: “Dance like no one is watching, work like you don’t need the money, and love like it’s never gonna hurt.” These people have no direction in life, and probably like animals… a lot. Yes, we know, you would rather go naked than wear fur. Tell it to my mink coat, bitch. I see you parading around the liberal arts building, still campaigning for Ron Paul (fail). Ron Paul had appeal until I saw his campaign sign on the back of every bicycle and VW Van in town. Way to ruin his campaign, you 30-year-old still living in a college town. Go listen to Belle and Sebastian or The Doors.

The “Dude, Bro”:

We see you walking around campus. We’ve all seen the YouTube video “My New Haircut.” It’s because of your complicated drink orders, that I can’t get my man-drinks faster. We understand you like to order Jager-Bombs, Red-Headed Sluts and Cosmos. Boat shoes on campus, eh? Might as well, seeing as how there are all those boats on campus. Oh, wait… Well, at least you can always fall back on your pastel-colored Polo shirts and khaki shorts. That’s the style, right? Straight out of a J Crew magazine. The only difference is, the models in the J Crew ads look decent doing it – i.e. they don’t have a dip in their mouth. Breathe in that fresh air. Times are good for you. You’ve got parties, your bro’s, maybe a nice lifted truck with 35” tires on it. Chances are you are dating a girl who’s wardrobe consists of pointy-toed shoes, sorority t-shirts, and whatever purse is in style. Do me a favor. Keep that girl. When college is over, and you need a job, you might realize employers don’t humor the fact that you can bong a beer in two seconds (my personal record, ah thank you). One more thing… turn down the Randy Rogers. The only thing I should hear coming from your truck is the sound of shame as you drive by.

The “Stuck Up Because Daddy Has A Job, Even Though I Don’t” Girl:

When I used to work on Sixth Street these girls were everywhere… literally, everywhere. It’s hard to get a breath of fresh air when all you can taste is Victoria’s Secret Beautiful/Heavenly (yes, I know them by scent). They can be found driving around in brand new VW Jettas or a black Mercedes. Don’t let their cars fool you, though. They might be driving around in something worth more than your college education, but they have never had a job in their lives. They live for the coming and going of shoe and purse styles, and would NEVER miss an episode of The Hills or Project Runway. Going to the bar? Better make it Nephews (San Marcos, TX). You will either find them at the back bar ordering cherry vodka sours, or on the table, half-assedly singing Journey or Bon Jovi songs. Dance? Better not. Unless you’re a female, that is. These girls wouldn’t be caught dead dancing with a guy, as they only dance with “their girls.” You can usually spot them from pretty far away, and at first glance, they have a strange glow to them (I think Crayola named it Oompa-Loompa, but I’ll have to Google it to be sure). Pictures, anyone? “Count me in! I’ll just ‘chunk deuce.’” Yes, “chunk” that “deuce.” While you’re at it, go make me a gin and tonic, because that’s what you’re going to be doing for the rest of your life… making drinks for your rich husband. Sounds like a fantastic life. No aspirations. No goals. No priorities. You share the same views as a homeless person. In fact, I’ll go out on a limb and just call you a glorified homeless person. That’s the politically correct term for a trophy wife, right?

-If a mother is sitting with her daughter at a table, it would be a good time to say “Hello (insert daughter name), why don’t you introduce me to your younger sister.” This has worked a couple times with repeated success.

-If an older lady asks to order alcohol at a restaurant, and she’s CLEARLY over 35, it would be a good time to say “I’m sorry ma’am, but you have to be over 21 to drink here. I’m gonna have to check your ID.” Once, I had a table of 3 Mexicans and 1 black guy sitting at my table at Chili’s. The black guy ordered a Guinness, and I asked for his ID. He gave it to me, I went to scan it, and came back and asked him if it would be okay if I borrowed his ID to buy beer that night. Hilarity did not ensue. It went over worse than a Michael Richards joke. I don’t know how this has to do with picking up moms, but it’s good to know nonetheless.

-Complimenting a mom’s nightgown is like complimenting her person. I don’t know why, but I have seen many a nightgown in my day (non-sexually, and by non-sexually, I mean sexually).

-Asking a mom if she hired a chef to come over and make the meal you’re currently eating is always good (bonus points if it tastes like Purina large breed).

-If Juvenile comes on the radio (or any other “newer” song), it could be a good idea to ask the mom if she used to dance to the song in college (implying she is about 28, which we know she isn’t).

-Going up to a mom and saying “Excuse me ma’am, how much does a polar bear weigh?” She won’t know, and will likely respond “I don’t know, how much?” All you have to say is, “Enough to break the ice… I’m Ryan, what’s your name?” Best. pickup. line. ever.

I don’t really have any more. I usually rotate between these, but if I’m feeling extra ass-kissy, I might used 2 or 3 in one night. Enjoy.

Fact: Uggs look like shit with shoestrings.

There is a girl I work with who has these shoes that look like 2 slaughtered puppies. When she walks, I expect to hear puppy cries/howling.

Another thing that bothers me is Tila Tequila. I was watching “A Shot At Love” show last night (conveniently placed in the 4 a.m. slot on MTV, for my ‘viewing’ pleasure). The show is just basically her crying for attention. “I’m Tila Tequila. I’m bisexual. Love me. My stepdad used to touch me.” The show pits an even amount of girls and guys competing for Tila’s heart (and when I say heart, I am almost positive it is a wicker basket). The competitors all sleep in the same bed, but aren’t allowed to kiss each other or mess around. It is basically an assimilation of losers. I was watching last night, and two guys got in a wrestling match because one of them looked at the other funny (and was ‘running his mouth.’) And it’s always funny, because when someone on the show fights, Tila always cries, and one of the other contestants come to her “rescue” and tell her how it’s all going to be okay and they are “totally not about all this drama.” It’s these shows that make me feel good about myself. I’ll get all depressed about life, then I’ll watch A Shot At Love… or Cops. There is nothing better than seeing a homeless person on PCP antagonize some cops, only to taste sweet justice in the form of an elbow to the face. Pwn3d. Anyway, back to Tila Tequila. She is basically a no-talent corporate whore riding on the coattails of VH1 greats, such as Bret Michaels and Flavor Flav. Watch out NBC, here comes your worst nightmare, in the form of a 4 a.m. plastic Mexicasian.