2009 is a lot.

Way back in May of 2008, I did my first muscle-up. It was a proud moment.

In January of this year, I joined one of CrossFit Cleveland's coaches in attempting to perform 2009 total muscle-ups during the year.

This was number 2009.



We've come a long way, haven't we?

Fat Kid's Official Response to the Kanye West "Incident."

He did what?

To whom?

Who's that?

Oh.

Wait, what awards?

Oh.

What a tool.

The Sad Passing of Pajiba Music.

Sadly, folks, Pajiba Music is no more.

While it is a shame that we'll no longer be a feature of Pajiba, we've got pretty much the entire crew moving down the road a bit to The Music Is The Message, which is pretty cool. We'll continue running lots of reviews along with our current features and playlists, so follow us over there if you dug the P-Music section.

Things will kick off later on today, but until then you can enjoy the Goodbye Playlist I linked above, along with my last review over there:

The Truth Is That I Feel Better Because I've Forgiven Everyone / fun. - Aim & Ignite

Thanks for reading. See you at the new digs.

We Now Bring You A Special Update for the J & E Report.

Full-size photos available on our Flickr page.

It was great meeting Jasper. Clearly, he loved us.

Garage Gym: Finally.

It's not exactly pretty, but it works beautifully; that's all that matters. Many thanks to the Marietta College Crew for the sale.

My first thought after tonight's workout, which included 2250m: "I changed my mind. Don't want it anymore!" Ah, glorious pain.

You can see all the photos of the progression of the garage gym at our flickr page.

Pajiba Update

While I'm at it, I may as well throw up links to my Pajiba Music reviews over the last couple of months, since I've been too lazy to even do that in a timely manner.

Ex-Norwegian: Standby (even more behind on this one than the others)
IAMX: Kingdom of Welcome Addiction
Butterfly Boucher: Scary Fragile
Dream Theater: Black Clouds & Silver Linings

Enjoy.

Ad Nauseam: McDonald's McCafé

I return.

A disclosure before I begin: there is no organization whose advertising I hate more than Mc-fucking-Donald's. I loathe it to my very core.

The golden arches of Hell have recently been pimping their frothy coffee drinks like there's no tomorrow. Their latest campaign is to convince the public that consuming these drinks (or remarkable sources of sugar, if you go for any of their flavorings) will provide some added flair and/or sophistication to their meager existence, in the form of an accented 'e.' Cubicle becomes cubiclé. Cue-bi-clay. Just like in McCafé! Oh, how twee!

Die.

Yes, these commercials are obnoxious. But they haven't riled me enough to get me to write about them.

Until now.

Let's set the scene, shall we?

It's an overcast afternoon on the streets of some nondescript city. We sit at a traffic light, watching an idling minivan, piloted by a nondescript, vaguely douchey and bland fellow as he sucks a frothy coffee drink through a straw with the aplomb of a teenage girl siphoning rum-and-diets in the hopes that she'll end up drunk enough to deactivate her gag reflex for Johnny rockstar. He is accompanied by his two tiny female progeny. To be fair, he looks like an asshole and deserves every bit of derision he's about to receive.

Up next to the minivan rolls a nondescript motorcycle, bearing on it a "biker;" he is clad in black leather and sporting a helmet and facial hair--not quite the biker type, though. His moustache and stubble are more of the rapey-uncle type, and his spectacles and general hair-vibe can only be described as hipster-ish. He also sports a convenient pair of goggles on his helmet, presumably for when he's burning up the open road and not just so people will think he actually does this. Again, being fair: he looks like an asshole and has no business mocking anyone, anywhere, ever.

"Sweet minivan," sayeth the rider. Geeky dad looks around nervously, almost terrified by this grave insult.

Suddenly: rain. The cyclist is nonplussed. Emboldened by this bit of karmic retribution and by his frothy beverage, Geeky dad retorts: "That's minivan-ay to you." Rolling up his window, he leaves the rider soaking at the light, his vehicle evidently paralyzed by the falling water.

Does seeing this described in written word give you some clue as to my main problem with this whole thing?

There.

Is.

No.

Fucking.

E.

in.


MINIVAN!

You cannot accent MINIVAN that way! THERE'S NO FUCKING VOWEL TO ACCENT! Do you have a minivane in there to spice up?


No, I'm quite sure you don't. That would be so much more lame and yet, somehow, a great deal cooler than your stupid van.

I really hope you don't teach your stupid children language in this manner. If you truly wanted to make your stupid minivan seem cooler to your ridiculous road-companion, you should have used an umlaut like a fucking man and a non-retard. Then you could have showed him up with your stupid minivän instead of adding inappropriate vowels for the purpose of retrieving a tiny bit of your dignity. Of course, the fact that you're sacrificing your last shred of dignity by wholeheartedly buying into the ridiculous advertising campaign of a soul-sucking, fatty-making corporation is lost on you anyway, isn't it?

Minivän. How do you say it? I don't fucking know. Figure it out yourself after you finish your frothy drink, because you have to be a fruity asshole who can't even drink regular coffee like a normal asshole.

I hope your wife cuckolds you, cockwallet.

God, I hate McDonald's.