Ticked Off Ted's Great Escape

This is how I occasionally escape from reality.

Sick TV Sucks

I still can hardly believe my eyes. I thought this sick, sorry-ass world would have had just about enough of Hannibal the Cannibal by now. Apparently not. And now this sick shit is back and right there on NBC, no less, and apparently on a weekly basis. What sick shit.

I have no doubt that this twisted, sick series will be NBC's biggest hit, especially among creepy closet people who use untouchable labels to hide behind in order to feed their sick, twisted perversions. At our expense, of course. Nice people don't watch this shit. And you damn well know it.

The Romans never saw it coming (or else they didn't care). But when sick, sadistic, violent cruelty becomes your goddamn entertainment, then you are no longer fit to be part of the human race. And you goddamn well know it. Wise up or go away. The rest of us will do just fine without you.

Packaging Psucks

 

I really didn't want to make another video because I don't like being in front of a web cam. Just because I made talking videos before where I pissed and moaned about all kinds of shit doesn't mean I like to be in a video. But I made it anyway because I ran out of cigars and that made me mad enough to go bum a cigarette off a woman I used to run with and that made her mad at me and that made me madder than I already was about this stupid product packaging shit.

Plus, I was going to smoke a cigarette in the video for a "tough-guy" effect but all it did was make me cough and look like a stupid clown. So now I'm really ticked off. But you sonzabitches got the message, didn't you? All right, then.

Eleventh Hour Art Parking

I like this painting because it makes me think. The artist must have gone on a three-day drunk or something and thought he was some kind of cross between Jackson Pollock and Pablo Picasso. But who cares? Isn't art something to look at and then to either enjoy or hurl lunch over? All right, then, there you go.

Hey, I went to a New Year's Eve party myself once, in New York City, back in the late 1970s. It was in a big brownstone townhouse on what they call the "West Side" of Manhattan and somewhere between the fifties and the eighties, I can't remember which street. People, including me and my girlfriend at that time, drank champagne from paper cups and stood around or sat around while really talented people with mental or emotional problems gave incredibly talented musical performances. A 21-year-old guy played a beautiful grand piano like he was Van Cliburn or something and one woman in her sixties, wearing a dazzling blue sequined gown, belted out a couple of torchy jazz songs under a spotlight like Sophie Tucker. When I talked to her she said she was Sophie Tucker. I didn't argue with her.

When I left the party I was so moved and choked up I wanted to pull my teeth out or something. I had been at a New Year's Eve party at an exclusive mental hospital for fairly wealthy New York people. But don't get the big idea that I had experienced a touchy-feely moment or anything.

Art Park: Gravity

Don't worry, I'm not done pissin' and moanin' yet about all kinds of shit from my own shit files. But I like these little art breaks. This one will give me a little break from all the shit surrounding that "Flyman" video I put up the other day. That's right, don't talk to me about "Flyman". Come to think of it, don't talk to me about flies. I hate flies. Flies eat shit. If you see a fly outside on a hot summer day, for example, you can bet your sweet ass that it just came off a hot turd somewhere. So don't talk to me about flies. And a Flyman is even worse. I let that one use my little video studio here because I felt sorry for him. Poor bastard.

And don't ask me if this is what gravity looks like. How the hell should I know what gravity looks like? Why would I care what gravity looks like? I'm more concerned about what gravity does than what it looks like. In fact, thanks to gravity, I fall down somewhere at least once a week. Usually in front of other people. Jeezus, if you ask me, I think that's what gravity is for. To humiliate you in public. Whenever it's not making you fall on your ass in private. So don't talk to me about gravity. Unless you want to discuss the idea of using gravity as a propellant.

What do I mean "as a propellant"? Just ask any Gray. That's right, one of those goddamn black-almond-eyed bubble-headed alien bastards that Hollywood movie makers try to sell to us as cute little, harmless friends from outer space. What lying-ass shit. Fuck Hollywood. Goddamn Judas bastards. And fuck the Grays. If you want enemies, I give you the fucking Grays or any other bunch of fucking E.B.E.s. On the other hand, if you want to know all you can know about using gravity as a propellant, just ask a goddamn Gray. They're everywhere. If you can just train your eyes to see them.

Ha! Maybe then you'll be able to see gravity, too. Then you can ask one of those fucking Gray Mengele ass-reamers why they abduct children and do sick, unconscionable, unforgivable things to them. And if you can still stomach their evil, stinking presence after you hear that shit, maybe they'll tell you about Element 115. That's the "propeller" you use when you harness gravity as a "propellant".

And I'll bet you fuckers thought the only thing I knew how to do was to piss and moan. And, no, I didn't learn about gravity from any fucking Gray. The only thing I learned from them was how to scream. The Grays know that it's in their best goddamn interests to steer clear of me because I will fucking kill them if they even think about fucking with me anymore.

And fuck Eisenhower and all the pussy perverts in the U.S. Government who thought they had a right to turn me over to the fucking goddamn Grays in the 1950s and 1960s. Your cosmic law judgment day is just around the corner and you damn well deserve it and there is no escape. The living cosmos will take you out and I want to watch.

That's right. I'm not a terrified nine-year-old boy anymore with the strength of a fly to fight off the Grays and the perverted human beings who helped them. I'm a grown man now with the will and the means to send their iniquitous Gray asses to fucking Kingdom Come. And here some of you fucking rat bastards in the United Arab Emirates and in certain places of the U.S. thought I was just some old chickenshit pussy. A lot you know. 

Flyman

Don't ask me. I'm just the  !#@#&! parking attendant around here these days. Don'tcha know.

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Art Park: American Drop Sooey

What does this painting mean? How in the hell should I know? Who knows? Who cares? Does a painting have to mean anything? Maybe that's what this painting is saying, then. It's saying, "I don't have to mean shit." Hell, I don't know shit. I'm just the parking attendant around here these days. I started this art park deal because I liked to look at some of this digital artist's "digital paintings", not out of manners for art. I don't have a whole lot of manners, anyway, and I try not to use them here because nobody pays attention to people with manners anymore.

Yep, this deal, here, might be some sort of karmic retribution for the Verizon/UPS post or maybe it's just because I get tired of pissing and moaning about shit that nobody cares about. Anyway, I thought I'd put on an art exhibition that nobody would care about and then maybe they would because shit always happens and it usually happens when you least expect it. And, no, I don't like it. I don't like it at all. One thing for sure, it isn't Chinese Chop Sooey. That shit I like. Another thing is, this guy's no Andy Warhol. Thank heavens for that.

Verizon and UPS: They Suck Big Time

This guy was ticked. So ticked off, in fact, that he said the package was delivered two days ago and then said that it's been three days. Well, it was three days ago, he confided. Incidentally, this is a real Verizon customer and he told me that Verizon never did email him back. But they called his mother instead (just image how cowardly that is) and tried to work her for information that he had already provided for them via email.

With her permission, he said he monitored that phone call on her desk phone while she handled them herself on her cordless phone. He knows how people like to take advantage of older folks on the phone. She verified for those Verizon idiots that no, they weren't planning to move (they've lived there for 13 years!), and that the address in question was theirs and that she knew of nobody else who had a similar address in any other nearby town. Imagine Verizon asking her that. Finally, she told Verizon that finding out who this guy was and where he really lived was their job and then she hung up on them. By the way, she's 82 years old, not 81. And, yes, he corrected that for us.

We can't blame her for hanging up on Verizon. Especially, since their CSR never apologized to her or to her son for causing them trouble. Well, that phone call was too late for this video, which was already a done deal. It doesn't matter. Neither Verizon nor UPS had any respect for this woman' son, who tried to help everyone out and got nothing but grief in return. That's right, no thanks from anybody. What a sorry-ass world. And, you bet, we agree: Verizon and UPS suck big time. That's why we posted this guest spot video here. To let American businesses like Verizon and UPS know that there are consequences for fucking with innocent old people. You fucking pricks. You took the bull by the horns and you thought you'd just pull your typical Verizon and UPS shit and get away with it. Wrong.

Blog Update: 2-28-13: Verizon finally emailed this ticked-off Verizon customer, several hours after they upset his mother with their stupid phone call and the Verizon email sender had no clue what the other hand had just done on the phone. Needless to say, he had to email Verizon back and tell them, in no uncertain terms, that this issue was closed as far as he and his mother were concerned and that any future contact attempts by either Verizon, UPS or the idiot pretending to live where these people have been living for 13 years would result in legal action for harassment. And nobody has thanked him yet for trying to help them get this package delivered to the rightful receiver. We're ticked off, too. This is no way to run a world and it's no way to treat two old people who had nothing whatsoever to do with this stupid problem in the first place.

Art Park: Night and Day

Now don't jump to conclusions. I'm still a cranky old bastard who pisses and moans all day long about all kinds of shit. The reason that doesn't make me one of the bad guys is that I'm not proud of it. I just do it because somebody has to do it.

Oh, don't get me wrong, there are plenty of people online going bananas about all kinds of shit. Shit you'd never even think about let alone care about. You can't swing a dead cat online without hitting a blog or a website run by a rabid kook going apeshit about something. But, to me, most of them are just whining and crying because it fits their pussy lifestyle. Or else they're just mean as cat shit and proud of it.

Yours truly, on the other hand, can piss and moan and be a good guy because I piss and moan about important stuff (that's right, stuff I think is important because, you know what?, this is my goddamn blog, not yours) and I usually offer some solutions that ought to make the shit pile we have to dine on every single day of our lives go away or at least get a tad smaller. So, that's on that.

Now, as far as this piece of artwork above is concerned, I'm simply letting the artist park a copy of it here because I like looking at it. That's why I let him park one here on the 11th of this month. Just because I'm an opinionated old bastard doesn't mean I can't have a "soft side" to me (Oooooh, I just hate that phrase). But, hey, I might even be able to paint like that myself.

We'll never know. In the meantime, we'll just make nice and let it ride and then we'll see who's a crank and who's not. Won't we.

Art Park: Desert Sky

That's right. I backtracked from February 27th to this February 11th post to edit it because I finally figured out a gimmick that will not make me feel all "touchy-feely" about art. Because, if there's one thing in life that I never want to experience it's the "touchy-feely" side of anything.

So, on the 27th of this month I realized that I was "parking" this artwork here because I liked it and that there was nothing wrong with that. I can still be a tough newshound when I use this blog to winnow out the shit and the shitheads in this world for extinction and not feel like a bad guy in the process. I didn't feel like a bad guy anyway because I was stalking and hunting "shit prey", not regular people. They're the shitheads who try to sell us their awful shit or who feed us shit when we think we're getting gravy.

And I'm not actually being intolerant in my posts. I'm just not being a pussy pushover for every creep in the world who thinks people are happy-go-lucky sheep without brains. All I do is remind people to use their heads before they turn into gourds. Plus, now I have an "art park" gimmick that seems to be working. And I'm not re-posting this article just to get the URL to match the new title. This is my goddamn gimmick and I'll work it any way I want to.

Don't mess it up for me.

Ted Glue Head

Stuck in the same spot. Just like a broken record.

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You got it, Madam Secretary, you can't blame everything on your "underlings" or on David Petraeus and his wayward tallywhacker. But I'll bet you wish you could. Go back to the Senate or, better yet, go home and stay there. You're too mean and too deceptive and too lazy to be Secretary of State. Maybe too dumb, too. But I doubt that. I think you just like making other people squirm, whenever they're not hopping through your goddamn hoops whenever it pleases you. Madeleine Albright you're not. Get a new hairdo.

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Crap

When I Was 15 It Was A Very Good Year

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Cry Baby

It's enough to make you sick.

Boy, it really pisses me off to see that a lot of people in "Happy Valley, PA" still don't get it. Especially not The Happy Valley Times or maybe I should call it The Penn State Times? Or maybe I should call it The Penn State Pussy Paper, a rag for twisted Pollyanna shitheads who don't know that there is a world beyond The Centre Region, the real world. A place where "sheltered" means dysfunctional and perverted crimes against children are met with swift justice.

Well, you people will never get away with presenting yourselves to the world as the unimaginable "victims" you think you are. This sick, sick suburban legend was never about you. It's about the real victims and don't you ever fucking forget it.

Ticked Off Ted's Personal Slant On All This #1

Ticked Off Ted's Personal Slant On All This #2

Shit

Don't ask me, I just work here. Click here for information.

Author's Note 11-07-13: This video was uploaded by Michael Casher to Blogger. You can't watch this video at YouTube because it does not exist there. That is another Google redirect which is nothing more than a lie to get you to watch other videos at YouTube instead of the uploaded video on this blog post. This new uploaded format at Blogger was introduced in November 2013 by Google without notice to anyone.

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