Hello there. This is your weird uncle G$ from The Money Shot filling in for Zach today while he molds the minds and assholes of America’s youth. I realize that I have big, Jewish shoes to fill but I think that I can satisfy you deviants and Picturephiles. If you are unfamiliar with me, and you shouldn’t be since I’ve been commenting here since the Crimean War, you know that my little sausage fingers dispense hate at epic proportions. In fact, I’m going to use my guest post on one of Zach’s features that he really, really needs to bring back. Cue the Peter Griffin photo, because it’s time for another edition of “What Really Grinds My Gears”.
You know what really grinds my gears? Renaissance fairs. Why don’t you fucking people get with the program already? Trekkies and comic book guys and Harry Potter idiots — they all get bad raps for being friendless and dickless geeks. But the fact is, no group of people are as pathetic as those that participate in renaissance fairs.
My general hatred for these people began during my freshmen year of college when I was awaken from a peaceful drunken pass-out at 1 p.m. by some strange noises outside of my dorm room. Yep, two assholes were trying to joust each other in the attached field. There were onlookers dressed in all of their homoerotic fineries cheering these assholes on. At the time, it was the gayest thing that I had ever seen and probably still has not been topped to this day. Since I was up, I decided to head over to the dining hall for a greasy mess to help ease my Milwaukee’s Best sweats (we’ve all been there). I had an encounter with the fat black lady dispensing the food that day that went something like this:
G$: Give me some of that chicken salad please.
FBL (fat black lady): Oh, we’re out of that. Those strange people ate it all.
G$: You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. It’s the only reason that I got out of bed, dammit!
FBL: Why you so angry???
G$: Whatever, just give me 26 grilled cheeses and some chocolate milk.
So not only did these queerbaits wake me up with their fagfest, but they also ate my fucking lunch. And not just a normal lunch, either, but the always delicious hangover lunch. But that shit happened eight fucking years ago. I’ve gotten over it, finally. But the other week, I’m watching the underrated “Dinner: Impossible” on Food Network and there they are again. Robert Irvine must cook a meal for a renaissance fair using only ingredients and methodology that was used in the 16th century.
Sure, he completes the mission even with all of the pussies and skidmarks passing by and asking him questions in British accents so bad that it makes Don Cheadle’s in Ocean’s 11 seem passable. Of course, the job would not be considered a success unless “the king” of the fair approved. Yeah, the king. You mean the guy who spends his weekdays either selling used cars, working as a middle school guidance counselor or mopping up semen at the adult video store by the airport? That guy? That guy is the king of you all? Fuck that shit.
And not to go all Jerry Seinfeld here, but what’s the deal with the robes, anyway? The only people that wear robes are Hugh Hefner, Greg Oden and assholes.
Was the renaissance period so great that it warrants people re-enacting it? Am I missing something here. Wasn’t there a plague back then? Why do complete wastes of life want to recreate this time period using their own fucked up assumptions for what life was like back then? Well, I will tell you what life was like back then...shitty. Do you know why nothing from back then is still being utilized today? Because it sucked.
Get a fucking life, you asshats. How about actually contributing to the progression of TODAY’S society. And, of course, by “progression”, I mean “killing yourself and other fairies that you hang out with in some type of Jonestown Massacre”. Or you can swallow your lance. However you want to kill yourself, as long as it gets done, I’m cool with that.
I’m G$ and that’s what really grinds my gears.