Email Demon Warewolf?

Something has happened to me. I have changed somehow. Normally, I am a somewhat masculine, friendly, collegial force in the world, able to laugh at myself and handle my business like an adult. However, I have no choice but to turn myself in, guilty of crimes against masculinity. In the face of tremendous stress from my upcoming move, office deadlines, and personal situations, I took a few little jokes at my expense wayyyyyy out of proportion and lashed out bitterly at 2 close friends. I have become the Email Demon Warewolf. I'm a lot like a normal warewolf, except instead of growing excess body hair, acting like an animal, and biting people, I grow ovaries, behave like a menopausal woman, and send biting emails to friends, where I cry and whine about how poorly they treat me. It is quite odd. I remain a man, but I am prone to short bursts of feminist tyranny, where I judge people unfairly, act irrationally, and behave emotionally. And, to top it off, I will demand an apology from those I wronged when I am done. I can't say for sure whether or not this constitutes some sort of super power, but when I get the blood test results back from the lab, I'll be sure to let you all know.

In the meantime, there is a gang of angry villagers with pitch forks and torches after me. I can only hope they will recognize that I am not a monster. I was just temporarily female and didn't know my own estrogenic strength. I can only throw myself before the mercy of my fellow men. I did the crime, now I must do the time: 7 years of ridicule, a fine of one lunch for friends at The Bottom Line, and 2 years probation. It's not too late: Only you can prevent male menstration.

What Would Jesus Drive?

Perhaps some of you have seen the eco-advertisements about "What Would Jesus Drive?" The eco-dorks out there think that they can save the environment by duping the Jesus freaks into buying hybrids and other efficient automobiles instead of gas-guzzling SUV's. What an absolute joke! While I am no fan of SUV's, perverting the teachings of Jesus and the Church as a way to shift the buying patterns of the American public is pathetic and really quite douche-y. First of all, if people really cared about saving the environment, there would be no SUV's in the first place, and the metropolitan public transit systems would be packed (moreso). Secondly, as a Jew with a great deal of spite, I am insulted that they would target my Christian friends and neighbors but wouldn't try to force their beliefs on me! The nerve! I would be more inclined than ever to purchase an SUV now, were it not for the fact that they cost too much, are incredibly inefficient, gas prices are too high, and they are ugly machines. They got lucky with me, but what about the millions of others who could care less about Jesus (or what he would drive)? News flash: If you are a part of this movement, you are a complete loser and might have an extra chromosome. I think the Barking Bug would call you an "ecotard".

In closing, I can tell you exactly what Jesus would drive: Let's see, he's from the Middle East. He doesn't speak English. He's religious. He has some weird ideas about philosophy. I say he'd drive a taxi! That's what I say, and the next time you see one of those douchebags with some of that propaganda, but sure to tell him that, plus that he's full of crap!

Winning the Battle at Subway

I just finished eating a footlong Subway sandwich, and let me tell you: I am kind of full, but in general completely unsatisfied. No matter how many times this eatery fails to meet my expectations, I can't help going back there, only to be pissed off again. Now I know exactly how you people feel when you come to read this blog... Today, I thought to myself, "Hmm, I haven't been to Subway in about 6 weeks. They'll make me a 12 inch sandwich with anything I want on it for $6. It's totally worth it!" I got in line, and smelled the bread. That's really how they reel you in. That bread smells so good, that the franchise is able to trick millions into believing that what they serve you is worth the price. It's a clever ruse, but today, I was having none of it. As soon as they started making my sandwich, I got pissed off. Who in their right mind puts 3 slices of turkey on a sub roll and calls it a sandwich? That's just complete BS! You know what I call 3 slices of turkey on a roll? A decent start, now double that amount, and maybe I'll consider paying for it!

When they tried to short me my fair share of turkey today, I asked for a little more, and there seemed to be no problem. When I got to the register, they tried to charge me $1.50 extra for "more meat". COME ON!!! Subway thinks it can charge me $1.50 because they had to put more than zero turkey on my turkey sandwich? I was insulted and refused to pay the extra money, so the illiterate, illegal immigrant cashier called in the manager. He tried to reason with me, but he clearly underestimated my desire to pay nothing for 2 extra slices of some substance that may or may not contain actual turkey. I was defiant. I was a pain in the butt. I held up the line for 5 minutes and basically pissed off everyone in the store. In the end, Subway Restaurants are quite lucky that my silence can be bought. They released me from the $1.50 obligation and sent me on my way. Of course, they got even when their pathetic footlong sub failed to meet my expections. Still, the moral of the story: If you ever want anything from a Subway restaurant, feel free to throw a hissy fit like a 4 year old in a toy store, and you can achieve your dreams of free meat!

Chivalry Is Dead

Any morning where the Metro is delayed and/or crowded, it usually leads to a chance for me to witness interesting conversations or to encounter people so revolting that it would make for an great story. Today, I managed to experience both simultaneously. At the Pentagon Metro stop on the blue line train, a morbidly obese woman riding a Rascal scooter and her equally attractive friend trudged crushed their way into the car. Blimp #1 instantly decided to take her fat aggression out on some other passengers by driving her scooter into the backs of their legs, then beeping her annoying little horn at them in disgust. Her friend, Blimp #2, not wanting to miss out on pissing off everyone in sight, set her personality on "aggravate" and set out to find a place to sit in the still-crowded car by waddling up to those sitting down and glowering at them. Mind you, this "woman" had hair that looked like a bird's nest and a face that might look better if I dumped a vial of acid over her head. Seriously, the next time I have inconvenient arousal, she will be in my thoughts. Regardless, I was quite proud that no one on the train gave up their seat in light of her overall rude and disgusting demeanor.

Undaunted, Blimp #2 took the audacity up a notch, aggressively charging at the only man in the area with a seat like he was the ice cream man. She howled at him, "You have some nerve, sir! I'm here with my friend, and she is enfeebled! I am helping her out, and those seats are reserved for the handicapped and elderly. If you were any kind of gentleman, you would see my friend's situation and give me your seat!" (I note that while she had the gait of a penguin and the girth of a beluga whale, this woman was ambulatory and quite capable of standing.) He did not immediately respond. Growing even angrier, the woman screamed to the entire train, "CHIVALRY IS DEAD! DO YOU PEOPLE HEAR ME?!?!?! DEAD!!!!" With a slight smile on his face, the gentleman stood up, took out his cane, and swung it back and forth as he walked away to give the wench his seat. He was blind! This obnoxious pig of a woman didn't even thank him! Despite my disgust with the situation, I still had a good laugh at her expense while she shot me evil looks. Chivalry may be dead, my dear, but I think you killed it...


I tried to reach these lovely ladies for further comment, but all I got back was this picture from their trip to Goofy's Trailer Park...

JJ Redick: Douchiness Unchecked

Perhaps some of you have heard of a college named Duke and a player named JJ Redick (see link for more info). They really don't have much success, so maybe they have flown under your radar. Well, Mr. Redick is a bigger crybaby than me trying to deal with a flat tire. This fuckstain is a preening, whining, bitchy, cockmaster. He has some talent, but he also has an unrealistic expectation that whenever he misses a shot, some eggregious offense must have occurred. Hey, JJ: You're playing basketball. This isn't a noble cause or anything. Lighten up, and realize that you're just a pretentious pansy with a limp wrist. No need to fly off the handle like a bipolar woman who is on the rag. He also sucks the blood of asian babies to retain his vitality. I can't give confirmation, but I can only assume it's true.

In case you don't read Sports Illustrated or its website regularly, check out the latest from this no talent ass-clown. In addition to being an ass-ramming dickwad and a bigger pussy than Barking Bug in a physical altercation, JJ Redick loves to write meaningless, shallow, douchebag poetry. I perused these selections, and I must note a line in the last poem: "I gave inspiration to Dr. ML King/I'm the reason Ray Charles can sing." WHAT A DICK! Yes, a white, pussified dicklicker from Roanoke, VA, who makes his name shooting a basketball really has any business mentioning himself as an inspiration to two tremendously influential black men who did more by taking a shit than he ever will in his entire life. FUCK HIM!!! Man, do I wish Mrs. Redick's health plan back in the day included an option for abortion...

Here's a better poem for this unconscionable dried-up, dicklicking mother fucker. Maybe SI can publish this one in their next issue:

The Officials give me every call/
Because I give reach around and suck the dick.
I think I'm better than I am/
Because I'm a fucking prick.

In my spare time, I eat the ass of/
Any reporter who touts my name.
I'm JJ Redick, the biggest douche/
The universe has ever seen!

Enter The Email Demon

As the sole reader of barkingbug.com, the benevolent operator gave me the power to incite his own rage with some additional commentary. Most of you may know me as the Email Demon (picture to the left). I can generally be found carrying a pile of desheveled papers, wearing a yellow shirt with grey pants, and jumping in and out of computer screens while striking a heroic pose. People often ask me, doesn't it hurt to jump through all those computer monitors? Well, yes, but when you're committed to a cause, you have to go for it! But there's more to me than just fighting corporate productivity and wasting company assets. I enjoy misconstruing comments and making bizarre references. In a way, I'm a lot like Steve Gutenberg in 3 Men and a Little Lady. See? There I go again! It's like a power I just can't control... I also spend my time rooting for minor league basketball teams that have no shot of winning the national title and making plans in advance, then bitching out for no reason. Like that time I decided not to come out to dinner because it was Passover, and there was nothing on the menu I could eat...

However, whether you know it or not, I exist primarily to bring stress, rage, and annoyance to the Barking Bug whenever he is emailing while at work (generally 8:30 AM-5:3o PM, Monday through Friday, with an hour for lunch each day). One might hope that my own rants and raves on this piddling website/blog might be enough to spur the Barking Bug to find a purpose in life. You know, get around to actually building the site (which he has been planning for oh, 6 months)or maybe even making some posts that are actually worth reading. At the very least, we can try to keep the Barking Bug from creating and constantly updating his hypothetical fantasy baseball models on MS Excel that are based on theoretical statistics + the opinions of others made in the name of selling books. In other words, we've reached the end of the line here...

Pass the garlic powder, biatch!!

The Secret Society of the Garlic People has been discovered in Washington, DC--and you will not get what they have without either an ill-advised fight, or the uncanny ability to run and cower like a small girl.

Driven by delusions of adequacy, these large, angry douchetards will guard the city's garlic powder supply with every ounce of drunken misdirection in their ogreish souls.

I recently came across an agent of this occult, and was surprised by his unusually small size. Overjoyed at the thought that I had the upperhand, I pressured him to give up the goods, going so far as to demand he "pass the garlic powder, biatch!!" How foolish I was. This group has not survived as long as they have without street smarts and a backup plan. Almost immediately, I was attacked by two much larger men. Panicked and desperate, I focused all of my energy on cowering and running as if I were a small ballerina. While progress was made, it seemed I was only delaying the inevitable... In fact, the only reason I am still here to tell the tale is thanks to the grace of the "pizza keeper", who provided some sort of magical back door outta there, if you will...