Awyee’s Wednesday Afternoon Thoughts

What happened to Pharrell? Lapdance from N.E.R.D will forever remind me of Elisha Cuthbert’s Girl Next Door bod, and how I vowed to literally murder puppies if it meant I could suck her fart.

Now he’s singing about being happy. Someone needs to dowse his dumbass hat with lighter fluid and shoot him with a flamethrower. Or rip out his vocal chords and burn every copy of “Crappy”.  It’s 2014–a full 12 years after The Neptunes dropped In Search Of... and we’re getting this sh*t.

Goosfraba.

Awyee Likes: Sofritas

I want to first say this post is in no way sponsored by the lovely folks over at Chipotle. Awyee has received no form of compensation (Cash, SO’s, burritos or HJ’s).  Chipotle does however hold a rather soft spot in my heart, so don’t be surprised if at the end of this post you have no doubt that Awyee is Chipotle’s gimp bitch.

Sofritas is Chipotle’s long overdue step into the tofu market.  In joining the Pledge for Utilizing Soybean Substitute In Environmental Sustainability, Chipotle is making a hard push for promoting tofu as a legitimate alternative to meat.  Many gymrats will argue any soybean related product will give you bitch-tits., and eating any burrito bowl , (even if filled with double beans, veggies, and tortilla on the side) is a  dish deserving of emasculation. regardless of the final weigh in.  They will make you fear Estrogen more than Fran Dresher and give you nightmares of poor macros. Arguing with these gorillas will get you nowhere–as  they would rather swallow their own load than eat a Sofrita bowl post workout.  Don’t let any of  this discourage. It is only one meal, and you can forego  the carnal bloodlust your mouth craves. You are a modern man.

(For the record, we are huge fans of the Rock. AWYEE!)

Sofritas doesn’t have a particularly extreme flavor. In fact I would argue the subtle spice and mexi-cali flavor is properly  limited to not overpower, but complement the soothing elements of clean rice and milky beans with the  sharpness of the salsas. The tofu is not cubed, as many would  expect. I’ve had dreams of building  houses out of those cubic  meat-bricks, and Chiptole chose to DIVERGE from the norm. (Never really saw the barbacoa as more than a pile of meat-shit). Instead,  the tofu is served as a lumpy composite, close to feta cheese. The composition does leave chewing to be desired, but I have yet to experience any form of tofu that gives the mouth a workout as vigorous as real meat. If you feel  like your jaw is losing strength I recommend going down on your partner or getting some bubblegum., but don’t start to think you began as Arnold and ended as a Roger Ebert.

I don’t want to give the impression that you’re giving something up, as much as you’re tasting and experiencing something you’re not typically used to. Awyee isn’t your shitty vegan friend shoveling shit down your throat and looking to ruin your day to feel falsely altruistic .  We want to expand your pie, and  in order to do so, I need to make some very brief, overly dramatic statements that have no bearing on the legitimacy of Sofritas as your next go-to, or even sporadic ingredient.

Chipotle Sofritas will not kill you. (This is not a guarantee– I cannot vouch the  food safety conditions of each individual Chipotle. Refer to restaurant grades listed on wndows from the appropriate authority.)

Don’t ever compare Chipotle Sofritas to anything but Chipotle, and definitely not to Doritos Locos Tacos. Doritos Locos is the Skrillex of the food universe. Loud and overly extreme for strictly the point of doing so, Skrillex Tacos will leave your mouth dying for water–much like overdosing on molly at  Electric Zoo.  Compare  apples to apples.

Chipotle is a corporation. Many see this as a problem–because they’re retarded, and if you’re saying “Corporations aren’t people, man”, do everyone a favor and die in a fire.  I’m glad Chipotle is a publicly traded corporation and I am glad, that as a shitty investor I have the opportunity to throw my dollar in an overpriced stock . It gives legitimacy to the idea that a brand can both serve a completely satisfying product, with an eager approach towards reducing environmental impact and create economic prosperity. I completely expect backlash from punk-ass tweens in Billabong (BBG.AX) t-shirts, or Celestial tea hippies (HAIN:NASDAQ).

I know I may not have you convinced–it’s a big step. To change your routine Chipotle order–that one special ,overly coveted bi-weekly, weekly, daily(?–you’re a fat fk) is a hard request.   I only ask you step outside your box one time. Maybe even get tacos and make one tofu. Experiment. Lube up and explore the world. You only live once.

Awyee Takes On: The Great Healthcare Debate

 

Americans are a strange breed. To avoid making people feel uncomfortable, we prefer to hide any discussion focusing on politics and money–subjects that dictate our very existence. I’m not talking about prying into personal wealth or vehemently destroying someone’s political viewpoint, but an open forum for talking and listening, an open vessel for conversation and understanding.  Unfortunately everything today is pinned to the extreme end of the argument–all Muslims are definitely terrorists, liberals want everything for free and f*ck eachothers butts, and conservatives want the right to both shoot and own every woman’s womb.  Should we stop for a moment, you’d likely see the greater majority of us bickering against one another, each hold our views strongly out of the greater good of our hearts, whether we agree or disagree on the methods.

That being said, the Republicans currently holding our country hostage deserve to be shot in the face and dumped into -1 million pH acid.  If there’s one thing Awyee can’t stand, its self righteous, bigoted sore losers.

Many many months ago President Obama forcefully brought a major public issue to the forefront–the issue of lacking public health care and boy did it stir shit up.  Now not only are private health insurance companies required to spend 85% of their revenues on providing real health services, Obama opened up a major opportunity for the uninsured to join a secure pool without the worry of pre-existing conditions. He set up a limited timeframe for sign up to encourage eligible candidates to not skimp the system and wait to register, while also effectively increasing the money funneled into the health insurance sector.  Looks like a win-win to me. Those poor shitheads who spend money on gold teeth and iphones using Medicare to cover their Crip gunshot wound–he’s got to pay a yearly fine close to $1,000 for not joining the program. Moochers will pay either way. Buy insurance or pay for nothing in taxes. But there’s always an opposition. A side that doesn’t see the potential good, or the current disarray.

The constitution.  All the tea-party dipshits swear by it, as if it’s god’s gift. They think Obamacare is desecrating their beloved doctrine. The same people who think guns don’t kill people. The same people who WORSHIP JESUS.

Let’s make this clear. America is a lot of things, but the most insanely bullshit thing existing within the bounds of the American border is the maaaassive population of Christians who do the exact opposite of what Jesus taught. There’s no way around it. Did Jesus say don’t help that homeless man with nothing to eat, f*ck him, let that lazy parasidic sh*thead starve to death and burn in a fiery hellhole.  I suppose he said “My brethren, thou who buys the new Ford F150 will be given vast kudos by his homo-hating brothers and placed beside me in heaven. Guns are necessary and must be used in the quickest and shortest moments of hasty decision.’

I love when people argue whether America is a Christian nation because it encapsulates so many things wrong with religion and the establishment of a community around an idol rather than ideals.  To kids, Jesus was a man, that lived 2,000 years ago, that now represents Santa Claus, Easter bunnies, and long hair. To adults, he represents a good feeling of small deeds that on a large scale don’t mean sh*t and an excuse for arguing your personal agenda. Do you think jesus more or less favored capitalism. I’m sure you’re trying to justify, ‘well, some profit isn’t bad, people have to eat? right?’ Sure. You have to put food on the table. But at the cost of paying your beaner employees $4 an hour and letting theirs live in a sh*tbrick cabin in debt for their whole life. Or overlooking safety and human rights violations for the greater development of the nation. You think Jesus would shrug at the enslaved Jews in Egypt and say ‘Well, they boosted GDP growth by 11% year over year’. No, you dumbass.

 

Now let’s get back to the health care debate–which shouldn’t exist. If you don’t think healthcare is a right, you’re still good to go. You don’t want it? You don’t need to buy it–but then again, the government doesn’t need to pay for your laziness in covering your emergencies. Pay the fine or tax, and shut your trap. Get hit by a truck and make sure you’re fully dead, because you’re not coming out of the hospital without a bankruptcy claim. When close to 70% of all bankruptcies in the United States are declared from medical issues, and half of those had some form of health coverage, you have to wonder how f*cked everything is. So if you’re whining and griping about a little tax you have to stump up in case you get hurt, remember, we’re still f*cked.

 

At the time of this posting, it will be the third day of the  Federal government shut down (for no constructive reason). The Affordable Care Act was passed and signed a long time ago, with a significant lead time for an easier and smoother transition. The debate was yesterday.  It is a law, finished, finito, done. There is no need for President Obama to come and meet for negotiations. Nothing under this law is up for bargaining. To make all things clear, every congressional member supporting the freeze deserves to be sent to the middle of a warring battle between two primitive African tribes.  I hope their flesh gets minced like my Chipotle pulled pork and fed to lions.  Holding the nation hostage is no different than a terrorist threat. Making absurd demands will not be met because you’re incredulous. Get your head out of your ass and man up. You lost this battle, bro. War’s over Now stop hurting civilians and get back to arguing how you’re more American than me. Put your American flag pin on.  Focus on getting those bad guys in a country far far away. Buy that Chevy, or John Deere. Everything will be alright.

 

“I Survived” – Toronto, Canada

This weekend Awyee traveled up to Toronto, Canadia for some northern love and a quick taste of Canuck culture.

I’ve never seen a season so raped. Summer temperatures of 85, 90 degrees in New York were hot swapped for a cool and moist 50 degree stale fog. My first few thoughts led me to think Toronto was a refrigerator, and I was it’s b*ch. It wasn’t long before the old ball and chain tried excusing the weather as an unusual cold front. Whether she was telling the truth or not, one thing was remaining fact–Ygritte shot Jon Snow in the back with an arrow. You can’t trust Wildlings.. I’d have to lend trust for my own survival.

Cross walks–have blinding yellow lights. Restaurants–bring the credit card machine to you, at the table. Bottled tomato/vodka beverages. Blade Runner predicted so much. So much change, yet it felt comfortably logical.  A society so swoon with socialized medicine was still capitalistic in so many ways, I almost fell on my ass.  FOB’s selling bubble tea and sh*tty tourist tee’s. Indie record shops selling overpriced old technology. Buildings as tall as New York’s, filled with bankers, lawyers–co co….corporations. I bet  they even earn a…profit. I thought I was in a warped paradise, until I saw the truly sacrilege–the LCBO and Beer store. How can society function on such a literal bottleneck. All things seemed like they worked perfectly, apart from the weather systems. But a hyper-regulated government owned monopoly on alcohol sales seemed asinine. Is this Sweden? Ontario has an addiction–and it’s treating its citizens like assh*les by owning liquor sales. I wish I could have rode an eagle of freedom over this arctic paradise, but the LCBO seemed undeterred.  The downfall began.

I soon realized every product has both English and French labeling. The undead Quebecois, although hundreds of miles away, forced their bullsh*t dog-French onto every bottle of ketchup and mustard in Toronto. I barely heard a lick of French being spoken–it seemed those labels stood to remind me of the outlandish batsh*t demands of Quebec students. This was a Degrassi vacation slowly turning into a derailed train.  I thought we escaped their reach with freedom fries. Now I can’t dip them without seeing silent vowels. What a nightmare.

Friday night we hit up the hottest strip in all of T-town, Ossington Ave. Imagine LES/Williamburg meets REI winter apparel, pour some maple syrup and sprinkle some moose droppings–that’s Ossington. What a place. Our first and only stop was this really under-the-radar-but-really-all-over-the-radar-because-of-it’s-bullsh*t-hipster-ego wood cabin divebar. Most of the babes had bleached hair, dark eye makeup and thick red lipstick. If you played GTA 3 or 4 growing up–the streetwalking wheurs would give you an idea. Definitely a good look, don’t get me wrong. If the wildlings play hard, let them play, but I’ll be damned if I catch Hep C off the glass you just sh*ttilly washed.  We caught up with the old matchmaker, Yang, and heard his new stories of the old frontier. Yang’s former years in America offered him a taste of the wild west, but I wouldn’t be so sure what he got himself into here in Toronto. Three nights of successively pleasurable and hedonistic acts a World of Warcrafter would only dream of. Friday night a little chicken parmesan, Saturday, a some fried chicken. Maybe Sunday he had some lo mein–either way, Toronto had the variety only hungry king and conquer. Yang toured the globe with merely his tongue, craftily tasting and savouring the subtle nuances of each ethnicity’s nether-regions. We parted ways with our brethren and wished him well.

On Saturday, the weather shifted into a clear and cool fall day–prime time to play with puppies. My girl’s family just acquired a new Ganaraskin pup, Rupert, only 3 months old. That morning her friend brought over her new pup Snowy, a white Shiba Inu.  From the moment they locked eyes it was battle. Watching these two dawgs unleash unbound fury on one another was the equivalent of a bloodthirsty orgasm.  An hour went by and nothing slowed down. Rupert, the slow and stumbly lil’ fk wouldnt back down–he played the grappling game, using his low center of gravity and goofy butt to launch his juggular attacks. Snowy was playing the aerial game–jumping and humping all over lil Rupert as if he was Maverick in Top Gun. I actually heard him bark, “Goose is dead b*tch, you’re next.” And with that the fighting continued for hours. We brought them out to the local school’s park and let the boys run. The entire time Baxter, the original family Ganaraskin, was freed from the puppy parade, given real breathing room….O_O  That wasn’t even about Canada, it could have happened anywhere. I guess it’s nice to know puppies exist in Canada, although one might think they could die from the first frost.

After the pups grew tired, we toured Kensington market and some other hip neighborhood. I found a few potential souvenirs, but then I realized I have no CAD and all the items were unoriginal pieces of sh*t.  It’s a good walk, but nothing found was worthy of my hard earned ‘Merican bucks. After a while pop shops began to blur and we left for Oakville, a town full of mansions and snobby upscale stepford wives.  I’m joking, it’s a beautiful suburb that many would classify as a richer outlying borough. America’s 1950’s dream was recreated tit for tat, large homes, kid’s playing, main street with boutique stores. Oakville put my sh*tty Long Island town to shame and took the Levit-style homes, burned them down (or didn’t have them to begin with).  Every so often you’d pass a stupid-big mansion, with a story of who inhabits it. It does make it more comfortable to know these ballers had an identity to the neighborhood.  During my Oakville residency we 1. walked Baxter along the Lakeside, 2. had coffee with old friends of Ygritte, 3. had spicy sausage streetfood, and 4. windowshopped. If this wasn’t the suburban wonderland my mother grew up idolizing, shoot me in the face. I felt like I was in candyland. I could comfortably reside and spend my years in this caucasian paradise. There are civilized wildlings. Canada had hope. It had growth. I found my Canadian home.

Then I saw a lifesize statue of a Moose and a pack of wolves. F*k that. Canada is death waiting to happen. WE OUT.

Awyee’s Guide to New York City

Looking for that perfect weekend? Don’t come to New York. It’s a sh*tty town with sh*tty people and I will tell you why–here’s an Awyee play by play on each burgeoning neighborhood.

Manhattan:

Midtown – Times Square:

Let’s start at “square” one.  Times Square is a shithole and makes me want to kill myself/every living thing on this planet.  It’s the sum of everything shitty about America; loud, obnoxious, blinding ads for loud, obnoxious, self-centered assholes to stop, stare and block traffic. “Look mama, I’m on TV. I’m going to be a star!”–No you’re not, fkstick.  I could be stabbed in the face or vomit cancer, and everyone would remain fixated on the beaner spray painting dumb pictures of the solar system. Times Square is filled with terribly desperate and talentless comedians, costumed pedopheliac Spidermans and Batmans (who will drool at the opportunity of posing with little jimmy) and crowds slower than a turtle on Nyquil.  Sadly this is destination 1 for almost every foreigner. It’s obligatory. Like you’re grandmother’s funeral. You have to go. There’s nothing else like it in the world. So you have to see pointless sh*t because it is a unique pointless piece of sh*t.  Please note the same statement applies to MoMa, and the huge dump I took last night.

LES

Apparently people used to get stabbed on the reg in the LES. Now, bro’s are buying IPA’s in cuffed jeans and wacky socks hoping to pick up some m*ff.  It’s not what it used to be–not that I know too much about LES’s past, besides being the septic tank cousin of other Manhattan neighborhoods. The LES has lost the flavorful decay now preserved by Chinatown and Alphabet City.  Tourist secret–take a midnight stroll through the Lower East Side on a prime Friday or Saturday night and stare at all the dumbasses waiting in line for clubs like Fat Baby, the Delancey, or my personal favorite, the DL.  You’re guaranteed to see bitch-face girls act like their hot sh*t, then literally rip hot sh*t reeking farts from the fatass fried macaroni and cheese balls they had for dinner. Girls night!

West Village

Quite possibly the only amazing thing in the West Village is the Highlines park.  Remember that scene in Spiderman 1 where Peter Parker saves the speeding trail from flying over the rail?  Well now it’s been cleared of any deadly trains and flushed with greenery.  They even added crickets to make add to the experience. If you’re looking for a calm walk for a romantic date or to punch a Google Glass douchebag–this is the place.

Other than that there’s loads of machismo clubs meat packing clubs and fashion divas. If you’re willing to wear a fedora and waste your $350/week Bestbuy paycheck in a 20-minute self delusional tirade, this is the spot.

Wall Street

Everyone thinks Wall Street is filled with bankers raping the economy and sh*tting bottles of Cristal. Truthfully, it’s a tiny bit of that and a literal boatload of fobby tourists taking sh*tty photos and buy 2xist underwear from Century 21. Make sure you join in. Plenty of sights to see–the famous Wall Street trading floor, blocked by protective railings, and cops, and more guardrails. Snap a photo with George Washington’s inaugural statue. You must wear your sunglasses and avoid smiling in all pictures, because you’re a tough Arabic man–or do a peace sign and smile like Pokemon. Whichever you choose, I’m sure you’ll look like an assh*le.

Next– head down and check out South Street Seaport. Plenty of non-things to do. Like look at the water–and pass restaurants you don’t want to eat at. Walk aimlessly and stand in bike lanes.

Maybe you’re into American history? Check out the 9/11 memorial. After more than 10 years of debilitating designs, the World Trade Center has a new facelift. Tips: Look out of kniving hobos selling “official” 9/11 gear. If you’re feeling a sad from the memorial feel free to remind yourself of the costs of Iraq and Afghanistan wars. Not only has the government spent $1.471 trillion dollars, but returning soldiers are committing suicide faster than troops dying in service.  Don’t you love coming down to the Financial District?

Brooklyn

Williamsburg

Wow. Williamsburg is the spot for finding hot, slutty, daddy-supported, hipster girls.  Along with the LES, Williamsburg used to be a tough neighborhood–filled with crime-laden hobo-hoods, but add Orthodox Jewish families. Now it’s succummed to spoiled, overly confident, talentless 20-something wheurs unwilling to understand what a 401(k) is, or how to plan for finance independence.  I might have exaggerated a tiny bit.

Now obviously it isn’t filled with only women. There are many men who populate this area. Many men who sport thick bushy, food-crusted, mustaches. Many men who smoke stogies and ride bicycles. And the remainder of men who live with the paralyzing desire of reaching ultimate irony and the enlightenment of a cliched postgraduate psuedo modern man. If any of these flavors tickle your fancy, make plans and head down to the Radegast for some liter beers and German sausage. Perfect date/tinder meet-up location.  Just watch out for the organic vomit in the bathroom urinals, keep clear of mentioning your stable upbringing, unless of course in jest, and you should be on your way to pound pound city.

A Rant – EDM

People are too sensitive these days.  Everything needs to be said with absolute respect and without any sense of the truth.  In case you’re one of these p*ssies, let me be the first to tell you–the truth hurts. Remember when Becky broke up with you because you smelled like sh*t and your cunnilingus was piss poor. That probably hurt, but in end you learned how to wash your balls and flick a bean.  Remember when your grandfather told you “You don’t know sh*t” and smacked your head. Guess what. You didn’t know shit, and you wised up.  If you’re not a bitch you can take the pain and improve your life.  You can thank Becky and Grampy for your past f*ckups, and now you can thank Awyee. Because we’re going to tell you why every sensitive EDM bich can shut their trap and get back to reality. Time to man up, bich.

This past weekend your two idiot friends died at a New York EDM festival called E-Zoo.  These morons thought it would be a good idea to drop mad extra molly and dance all day with no water.  Smart guys Olivia Rotondo and Jeffery Russ thought they could out-do their bro’s and get more f*kked up–and they paid for it. They wanted the “ultimate experience”.

Ultimate Experience

Ult-tim-ate Ex-per-ience

noun

1. a particular instance of personally encountering or undergoing something so insanely amazing that the degree to which it was amazing cannot be properly reflected in recounting the event.

2. to process or fact of personally observing, encountering, or undergoing something insanely amazing that voids all comparison.

Unfortunately these dipshits thought the “ultimate experience” was real. They didn’t realize when their friends say “it was the best sh*t ever / nothing even comes close / best time eeevvaar” they heeping a load of sh*t into your face to make them seem cooler.  It’s not a dare to take 6 hits of ecstasy over his 5.  When Russ’s father puts out a statement that says , “Now there will be no grandchildren, no nieces, no nephews, no wedding” you have to feel for the guy. His shithead son did more than just kill himself–he ruined his father’s future.  These kids need to be scared straight. They need a fistfull of tough love. Unfortunately for Olivia and Jeff, the opportunity is gone. Sucks for them. While I’m enjoying a fantastically cooled beverage and writing this dumb, meaningless article, their bodies are rotting away six feet under.  Awyee 1, dead overdosing EDM losers – 0.

Then you have this spoiled utopian EDM guru c*nt Leslie whatever saying, per Gothamist, “”I don’t think EDM culture promotes drug use at all. Young people are experimental by nature because they have no sense of their own mortality.” First, adding the verbiage “at all” to any statement makes it absolute, and anything absolute makes you sound like a dumbass, (unless it’s in written form on Awyee.com). Second, you’re leaning a little far when you make the assumption young people are experimental because they have no sense of their own mortality. I think it would be better if you mentioned that young people like getting f*kkkkked up and dancing with half naked counterparts. Don’t be naive. Everyone at EDM concerts is looking to do drugs, see flashy lights and bang out.

I guess that’s it. What else is there? Don’t be an assh*le and forget your mortal. Have a healthy understanding of all things that can kill you, especially if you’re ingesting them, and go on with your life. No reason to live under a rock–just don’t do dumb sh*t.

Summer Transfer Window Roundup

The summer transfer window is closed. Shut. Done. Finito. As dead as Sonny Corleone. So for the next four months you have to put up and shut up with whatever activity sparked your favo(u)rite team. We’ll start with the record breakers and work our way down, and give ratings to each transfer according to the acquiring teams.

Here’s the Awyee Guide to the Summer Footy Transfers:

1. Gareth Bale to Real Madrid  B-

Bale might as well be the anti-christ.  Gareth Kardashian’s saga was longer than the Roots and made reading footy updates a misery. He was sold for an ungodly asking price and almost entirely financed the Spurs revamp.  If you’re a Spurs fan, don’t bich about Bale taking the opportunity of a lifetime with an insane weekly salary, reportedly 300,000 euros (right under $500,000). http://whatbaleearns.co.uk/  If you’re a feeder club, you’re a feeder club. But it’s only temporary, and having your two best players sold for retarded fees is definitely the best of the given scenario. Bale isn’t yours to own, but he was certainly yours to exploit. Be happy you raped Madrid’s wallet and focus on your flush bank account. $100 million won’t be offered again, so wise up and shut your trap, Spuds.

For Madrid, he’s what’s known as a marketing ploy. Barcelona have Messi and Neymar. Madrid had just Ronaldo. Wittle baby Wonaldo and nobody to play with.  Now Madrid will market the sh*t out of Bale and try to sell jerseys like hotcakes. They won’t have a problem because the majority of madridistas outside Spain don’t understand the true cost. Spain is in the sh*tter and Real Madrid is holding onto perceived wealth harder than tulips. Ticket prices will go nowhere but up, and Madrid will again finish second. Some say it’s a move for the next Ronaldo, and he very well may be. Everything he does in someway looks Ronaldo-esque, whether it be his free kicks or flank runs. Hopefully he can learn from his Portuguese hero. But, considering Ronaldo is a bitterly emo bich, news of Bale’s new salary will probably steer any mentoring far far away. Could be a slippery slope, unless Zidane headbutts some sense into Ronaldo. Consider how much of Madrid’s future was changed if Bale doesn’t pan out. You don’t see banks putting all their ass pennies into one investment, so why would a football team do the same. Diversify your sh*t. Don’t fall for gossipy hype and man the eff up.

For that I give Madrid a B-. You’re floating right above a C, bich. I’m not calling mommy and daddy just yet. But come midterms, you better wise up.

2. Edison Cavani to Paris-Saint Germain  A

Cavani is a unique forward. His mouth can open wider than a can of beans. Sh*t he could probably swallow a million d*cks. But he doesn’t. Why? Because he spends his time scoring goals.  If you thought Willow Smith whipped her hair back and forth, you should whip a gun into your face.  Cavani’s flowing locks trail his head like gymnast’s ribbon in a centrifuge. Does it matter than he transferred for 64 million Euros? Not really. PSG is the spoiled snobby French kid you always wanted to beat the sh*t out of.  Now he has the cash to pay a South American gangster to abduct your family.

In comparison to other major transfers this season, Cavani fits his new team pretty well.  Assuming Lavezzi can stop being a piece of sh*t, you can expect Cavani to be the final piece of PSG’s stunning attack. PSG’s Champions League games against Barcelona proved how strong PSG can be with a trigger man.  If When PSG destroys group C this year, you can expect The Baguettes to move on deep into the final stages.

3. Radamel Falcao to AS Monaco  B+

Falcao is a machine. In the yearly bloodbath Real Madrid and Barcelona leave on La Liga, Atletico Madrid was (and potentially still is) the posterboy for hope.  Atletico’s 2012 season saw Falcao unleash a flurry of goals, pushing the team to finish third and win the Copa del Rey (or watch Real Madrid f*ck up the Copa del Rey).  Because Falcao looks like a hominid I’m going to call his transfer a migration to greener pastures. Not only did he land a cash package large enough to pay his investors, Atletico was able to avoid bankruptcy and land David Villa for replacement. Seems everyone’s good so far.

Unfortunately AS Monaco has mismatched geriatric defense with a youthful attack. I can’t imagine what this season will hold for them–Depends or Huggies.  Success or failure. So far they’ve been making their way through Ligue 1 without a hitch. Time will tell if Falcao’s real age will be a factor in his success, and whether the FFA level the tax haven advantage AS Monaco has been exploiting. Only sourpusses say money can’t buy success, but they’re wrong and infertile. Let them wither and die. When it’s 99% tax free, you get what you pay for.  Chelsea, PSG, Man City, etc. have landed immediate success–I’m sure that’s what Monaco is betting on. Man Sh*tty does suck, though.

4. Neymar Jr to Barcelona  A

I previously wrote about how much I hate Barcelona fans–it hasn’t changed. But the addition of Neymar does a good job of improving Barcelona’s attack.  If anyone had a hype level similar to Bale in any of these summer transfers, it would most assuredly be Neymar.  For over a year Barca fans would mention Neymar as if he’s already on the Barca squad, and that his success at the 2014 World Cup depended on Neymar moving to a more competitive league.  Until this moment, the majority of footy fans outside of South America only caught glimpses of his talent from sh*tty youtube edits blasting techno and overusing effects.  Now since he’s played a few games at Camp Nou, we’re able to see that Neymar does a great job in Barca’s midfield attack.  Messi and Jr. link up very well and have shown all haters (including myself) that his talent can provide a new spark to the boring tiki-taka play Barca is famous for. That said, I can’t wait for his ankle to shatter.  One of these days his twig leg is going to step the wrong way or get side swiped from a defender to bored to deal with his gimmicks. It’s only a matter of time before his 57 million Euro transfer fee becomes a 57 million Euro write off on Barca’s financial statements. Until that day happens I’ll be glad to watch his attack, considering we’re all guaranteed to see Barcelona through many rounds of CL footy.

5. Mario Gotze to Bayern Munich  B

Gotze is a douche first and foremost. He Goatse’d all over his boyhood club, Borussia Dortmund–full on bean burrito, hot sauce, food poisoning, raw chicken skathouse. Many will mention his buyout clause. Yes Munich jumped at the opportunity to pay 37 million Euros for a youthful German international winger, and forced Dortmund to sell, but the announcement timing and press conferences showed how little respect Gotze had for Dortmund. He’s a classless Aryan that fully deserved a harsh tackle (Thanks Ramires).

Now as much as I wish ill will on this little sh*t, I understand why Bayern acquired his services. Their new señor coach, Pep Guardiola is a supreme control freak, hell-bent on infecting Bayern’s recently successful form with tiki-taka bullshit and false-9 formations.  Gotze, the former winger is set to take on the false-9 (aka midfield sitting fake forward) position to bring attacks through the defense on charge. He’s capable of a lot of things, but I don’t see Gotze becoming Messi.  That doesn’t mean he won’t do well at Bayern–he’s surrounded by a rediculous team; Ribery, Robben, Schwein, Lahm, Thiago, Boateng, Dante, Muller. Let’s just see if he finds a starting position, when all is said and done.

6. Mesut Ozil to Arsenal  A+

Ozil to Arsenal really buttered my bread. What a transfer. All summer Arsenal was being over backward and nobody would penetrate. Leave it to the last day for some steamy action to go down. After the Bale saga concluded Sunday, Madrid had 1 day to offload a midfielder for financing. Ancelotti is either a big dumbass or a puppet to Florentino Perez. I can’t imagine the logic of putting a free flowing winger in a CM position with intent on feeding, so I will have to assume Perez ass-jammed this transfer right into Carlo’s playbook.  Ancelotti had no choice but to get rid of the slower paced Ozil. With Arsenal begging to be robbed, Madrid sold Ozil for 42 million GBP.

Now whether this helps Arsenal can really fall either way. In regards to player health, Arsenal has been having a bad start to 2013/2014 campaign. Oxlade is dead, Podolski is dead. Koscielny had his face ripped open, and Arteta’s been out for some time. If anyone else flops, you bes’ believe they’re going to have a hard time keeping up top 4 and maintaining decent CL football, especially when their “group of death” includes blood-hungry Dortmund and newly powerhoused Napoli. Adding Ozil wasn’t the necessity–many at the end of last year’s campaign were crying for Giroud’s head on a platter and a second striker to pad their options. Giroud’s magic will not continue forever, but I’ll knock on wood for the Gunners. I love seeing a great comeback and Giroud looks to have his touch back in form.  Should Ozil look for through balls to the wing, there’s no reason why he can’t utilize Walcott’s speed and touch. Send them right rather than left. That’s all Ozil needs to repeat.

Ozil may look to be a desperate buy, but at this point, any buy is a good buy for Arsenal.  Their reputation of being stingy sh*theads in the transfer market kept them out of many good deals–hopefully this will make their intent known.  God only knows Chelsea will beat the sh*t out of them every derby. 4 REAL.

AWYEE Reviews – Only God Forgives


This is an Awyee first. We (just me) at Awyee feel like it’s time to branch into the arts.  My nose isn’t up and I’m not wearing (overly) large glasses, I shower, and I don’t live in Williamsburg. At the same time I don’t listen to Vanessa Carlton or Neyo, I was never Smirnoff “iced”, and I refuse to say Breakfast Club was a good movie. So with that, you should get a simple image of what my opinion could consist of when I choose to review Only God Forgives.

If you’ve been living under a rock, or haven’t been reading the latest issue of Teen Vogue, I would assume you’ve heard about Ryan Gosling’s new film with his best friend, and Eurotrash socialist, Nicolas Winding Refn.  A few weeks ago it was the most hyped thing at Cannes—the french were J-ing their pants  in anticipation–Ryan Gosling  surrounded by neon lights and Pad Thai noodles in overly extended and seemingly dramatic frowny face staredowns .. Who wouldn’t want that?

Well, when the curtains came down so went up their hairy french arms in protest. I like to imagine they were throwing tomatoes, or maybe hitting cherry tomatoes with a baguette like a baseball game–not sure if I’m combining two different stereotypes. Either way, the press wasn’t good.  Apparently Gosling had a tally of seventeen speaking lines and the violence was pointless and horrid. Harvey Weinstein getting f***** isn’t limited to the imaginary universe in Entourage.

For all the press did to bash the film, it did make me want to see if the movie was truly  a piece of shit.   How bad could it be? I was pleasantly surprised by Drive the second time I watched it.   Would O.G.F be good?

No. It’s horrible, but a tiny bit good–and there’s a few reasons why.

Everything reported at Cannes is true.  Gosling all but mumbles his words out in a shy pathetic, character that isn’t the slightest bit convincing, but I won’t even blame Gosling for the acting.  When you’re given a 17 line script, you need to act hardcore to deliver the character’s development to the audience.  I don’t think anyone could have pulled off what the director was trying to do. It’s like asking Sloth from the Goonies to act as Macbeth. Shit don’t work.  As much as Gosling is born to be the coy heartthob that makes tween girls ooze out of unfamiliar places, Only God Forgives doesn’t give his normally quiet/reserved personality strength and stature.  He’s just like, a big pussy.

And as slow as the movie is, there’s too many things weighing on Julian to decidedly call him only one type of character by the end of the film.   In the beginning he’s a quiet wannabe-jive turkey-but-complete-pussy, running a drug ring,  the next he’s screaming, or dazed, possibly stoned, or all-knowing suicidal.  The more I try to describe him , the more I feel confused as to how to describe who I watched, but at the same time  I remember how retarded the whole viewing felt.  Did I watch what they call a “transformation”?  Maybe Gosling is trying to avoid smile lines?  Were my eyes and ears raped by a Danish dickhead?  I have never-ending questions and I can’t say it’s for good reason. I almost paid $14 to see some cheapo neon glam metrosexual images of Ryan Gosling–thank god for internet streaming. I can’t imagine I would  have ever said this pre-O.G.F., but Tough Mudder might be a better investment of time and money. Considering the movie is only an hour and a half, I wouldn’t expect desire to watch paint dry instead.  Maybe the studio is updating to the latest Final Cut Pro and extended every scene 30 frames too long.  I understand the power that comes with a deep stare, but don’t do it  every scene. You make me want to murder something innocent.

All in all the movie made me feel like Andy Dufresne–in the hole–post  Tommy  Williams meet, and pre- escape.   I have no hope for a movie so selfishly dedicated to style over substance– and if this  Refn’s go-to move for all future movies, you can count me out.  It felt like watching Devo when I was 8.  I’d rather start a  crystal habit and watch Breaking Bad on repeat.

I didn’t really leave you with much of a review, so sorry, but it’s a piece of shit.

Wow. That was a shitty review

Internut Easter Eggs – Ronaaaaaaaldo

Tabloids love making shit up when it comes to the uber metrosexual soccer phenom Cristiano Ronaldo. If he takes a dump  the tabloids will say he put in a transfer request to Turd FC. Took a nap? Sombrero FC. Whatever the daily story is, his skill is undeniable–he will rape your feet faster than Michael Jackson (who is a recorded child predator, don’t deny it fanboys) and rocket shots so fast your face will flap like a fatty in G-force.  It doesn’t matter if it’s fact or fiction, everything seems to be beyond normal. So when someone makes a gif that shows Ronaaaaaldo with some pecker insecurity, you have to sit back and laugh at how outrageous his persona has become.

 

CristianoRonaldo

Vacation – Puerto Rico

It’s been a while. I’m sure all 10 of you Awyee readers were dying for the latest rant–and for that I’m sorry.  I’ve been on holiday in Puerto Rico, aka PR, aka mofongo central for the past week and hardly had a minute to update.

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I’m going to give you a brief summary of my thoughts on Puerto Rico, tailored only from the past week’s events.

First things first.  When entering an airport there are only two things required. A ticket (or money) and any form of identification.  Obviously a Ricky Martin in front of us forgot his ID, or didn’t know what one was. When customs is asking for an ID and you respond in a quiet “I don’ got an ID, yo” please remove yourself from society.  The girthy customs agent isn’t sitting there and getting fatter for purposes of annoying you.  I would imagine pulling up your pants every 5 minutes distracts you from remembering such requirements, but it would be helpful in the future.

Obviously this guy boarded our flight and sat the row in front of us–next to Mr. Spring Break.  Paired with the latina baby crying and the sweaty jean shorts, my flight was long past stereotyped.

The first leg of the trip was in Rincon. The area is known for its surf during the winter months, but of course it was as flat as a 4th grader during our stay.  On the other hand, every man, woman, and child were rounder than the sun. I don’t want to sound crass, but I didn’t see one woman I would put my penis in.  Nada one.  It’s too much Coca-Cola or rice and beans–something has to give. Do yourself a favor and look up what a calorie is.

Besides the fatties, Rincon was beautiful. We traveled to Lajas in southwest Puerto Rico to see one of the region’s many bioluminescent bays. Basically some lagoons have these little pussy microorganisms that “overreact” when touched, releasing a greenish glow.  Unfortunately Lajas had the shittiest bay in the world.  Had I been Aziz Ansari in a mafia transaction I too would have shot up Johnnys Boat’s (or is it Johnny’s Boats [please consult a native english speaker]).  Avoid Lajas like the plague.  You’ll be consumed by mosquitos and wish you’d JOKO’d your night away instead.

After Rincon we were supposed to stay in Isabela, but our Airbnb host Jose decided that wasn’t going to happen. We wanted to modify our stay and asked Jose if he could accommodate, to which he approved. Three days later with 20 unanswered calls/emails, Jose decided to skip out and f*ck us over. On top of that Airbnb thought it would stay coy and get back to after I returned to New York, trying to keep it’s service fee. They can kiss my shapely white and hairy ass crack.

At this point we decided to move on to San Juan.  Not only does it seem people here excercise, but they are not folding over their muffin tops.  We dropped some bills on an “authentic-but-not-actually-authentic-just-a-tourist-trap” dinner in Old San Juan.

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Our waitress dressed up in a similar outfit

We had some mofongo and steaks, watched some parrots nearly sh*t all over a mother and daughter, and locked our car doors passing a meth-head.  That’s what I call authentic. The next day we went to Castillo San Filipe de Morro and Fort San Cristobal.  My 8 year old self would think this is retarded and a waste of time, but Old San Juan was stunning.  If I was an architect or historian I would have gotten a chub. Not only did the fort have a stale cat roaming it’s confines, but the views were as breathtaking as the farts in it’s bathrooms.  We found some Iguanas and heard typical Caribbean ass shaking music on the walk–we weren’t even mugged once.

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The next day we drove to central Puerto for ziplining at Toro Verde. If you’re in Puerto Rico and you want to have your nuts viced and shit in your pants while you scream down thin metal wire over a 500 foot valley don’t look any further.  The park is definitely worth the money. You could die because the guy strapping you in doesn’t know english and you don’t know spanish, but that’s alright.  When you have 4 gay guys from San Francisco obsessively talking about Gucci and Pitch Perfect the trip couldn’t be more fabulous.

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Later that night we drove to Fajardo for the other famous bio bay in Puerto Rico.  This one was actually worth the money. I’m not sure if they just dumped a sh*t-ton of highlighters in the lagoon or what, but the water lit up pretty well.  Our tour guide kept saying “overreact” and asking “Are you having fun?” Honestly I just wanted him kayak to float away and let the  lagoon swallow his body.

The next day we drove to Isabela and stayed a shitty little studio.–obviously they didn’t advertise the mosquito swarm amenities provided by the shitty garden right next door, but Isabela is beautiful. Again, west side–fat people make the place look a little sh*tty, but down the road was a local restaurant serving octopus and papaya salad.

We went to the beach at the end of the road with a nice cove for people to calmy swim. Whilst enjoying the scenery I heard some twig bich yell “Ayuda! Ayuada”. My 68 on the Spanish Regents taught me that word. What was that word?  Looking behind her I saw two dickheads caught in the riptide. It must’ve meant help. I pushed the twig bich away and swam after the assholes floating away–one girl on a bodyboard and one douchy guy.  The guy grabbed onto my shoulders as we swam towards the coast, but his flopping was pushing me under. I had to ditch the asshole 5 feet from the sand barrier. Sorry bro, I’m not going to drown for some Hennifer Lopez trapped in the current. Eventually we flagged down some surfers to help them out, to which they shouted “Gracias” like they had tourettes. I felt like a hero, even though I  very well could have watched both them die.

We flew out the next day and that was that. We didn’t get to see the rainforest or Culebra, two very popular, very beautiful spots, but I’ll leave that for the next visit.  I had my fill for now.  No Hep C or herpes. Couldn’t have done better.

Puerto Rico was over. Done. Finito.