Troll Face's Open Salon Blog

In the case of McDonald vs. Chicago...

Mon, 28 Jun 2010 19:06:21 -0400

McDonald wins!

It should now be noted that the Brady Campaign to Prevent Gun Violence is a hate group, classified as such because they are openly outspoken against a civil right (gun ownership).

BY REQUEST: More Plaza Photography, by TrollFace

Sun, 2 May 2010 21:05:05 -0400

I've had a lot of people pestering me for more camera work lately. Not being stingy, I'll provide some more photos in this post. The subject being the Plaza, one of the more picture-worthy locations in our most esteemed locale of Kansas City.

On this, our lords day May the Second, Two-thousand and Ten, my Dad and I, went for a walk to the Country Club Plaza. Pictures or it didn't happen, folks.

About as metaphorical of a picture of the Plaza as you can take.

What an illicit statue.

He's clearly pleased.

Neptune will wreck you with that trident. Interesting note, that statue is cast of lead.

A queen sized bed, only rivaled by Simmons.

Me and my boar.

Elephant ribs, being prepared by the local Brazilian steakhouse.

Indian, in fierce battle with an alligator.

Saint Vladimir Putin, slaying a bear.

It's always sunny in Jackson County, Missouri.

A sexy young couple.

Our beautiful waterway, known colloquially as "Flush Creek". I hear you can take a nice haul of brown trout of you have the patience

I failed to mention that Doves from Kansas City are made of bronze.

All the cool godly figures are smoking cigars. Why aren't you?

Only pansies take pictures of pansies.

Satisfied?

Put On Your Sushi Face and Cheer Up, Damnit.

Sat, 30 Jan 2010 00:01:10 -0500

HIS MOST EXQUISITE WYANDOTTE COUNTY HOODRAT, TROLLFACIUS Q. WHYAREYOUMAD TREATS HIS COURT AND HIMSELF TO A DELICIOUS FRIDAY NIGHT

As a forenote, I had this all written out, then stuff and things happened and it ALL VANISHED. AT&T's internet services can eat an acre of dicks.

Recession, depression, everybody is so sad nowadays. Unlike a few (million) unfortunate folk, I got to keep my low-paying, dead end job, but my past couple days have been a shitstorm of death in the family, car troubles, debt, and cold weather. Weeping, mourning, surprise oilchanges,

and EIGHT DOLLAR BOTTLES OF COOLANT aside, I'm still pretty damn happy.

Count your god damn blessings people. We're the people in the world with four whole walls and a roof that can get on a bus without it being blown to pieces. Even though most of our "leaders" are about a retard and a half when it comes to most everything, you have to admit that it's funny to watch them scream at eachother on C-SPAN. I get called handsome almost 3 times a week! I have the most tight-knit, fun-loving group of friends someone could ask for, and I like to play as big of a part in that as I can. My family is, admittedly, a little dysfunctional, but I'm utterly happy with everyone of my relatives that takes the time to talk to me. I try not to hoard what good manages to come my way, everybody deserves to have a good time.

That being said, after I paid dues and expenses that prevented bad things from coming my way, I, along with four other friends, threw down $80 on some delicious asian cuisine prepared by the lovable folk at Kokoro Maki House, located at 75th and Wornall in Waldo, Missouri. All it takes to be happy is a hug from one of your stupid friends and some raw fish, apparently.

Next time you're feeling down, wait until you have $20, find a couple enthusiastic friends, and go do something cool. You deserve it.

Candy of the sea.

My attempt at intimidating raw fish.

Levi with his Doctor Rockso face.

Me, about to send a spider roll to it's doom.

Sammi, Me, and Levi, doing stuff and things.

Yumyum roll, which is spicy crab, vegetables and cream cheese.

Feeding Debanhi some mochi style ice cream.

Tayler, girl responsible for most of these great photos, holding up three fingers to try and hide her face, lawl.

And a creepy back massage to finish it off.

Haz a nice day, kthxbai?

I have about 20 more pics. I'll do an imagedump post if I get enough requests.

Faggot Bruce: The (Gay) Man that Will Save Rap

Tue, 5 Jan 2010 17:01:21 -0500

I'm not exactly sure if there are many connoisseurs of rap music on Open Salon, but I'm sure it doesn't take a music critic to assert that hip-hop, as a whole, has taken a step back since it's heyday. The days of Eazy-E, Tupac Shakur, Biggie Smalls, the Sugarhill Gang, and Dr. Dre are over, being replaced by acts like Soulja Boy and "Jibbs". Many people who once loved the hip-hop genre are saying that rap is dead, and some even say that if it continues on this sad track of stupidity, rappers will be singing about eating watermelons and being scared of massa'.

I'm glad to say that thanks to a gay man, this won't happen. I know what you just thought. "How could a gay man save rap? It's the most homophobic genre of music out there!". The most hardcore gay rapper to ever hit the mean streets of the internet is your answer. Faggot Bruce. His lyrics are relentless, clever, and will catch you off your guard if you think he is some kind of lame Weird Al Yankovic rip-off parody rapper. He is the real deal.

While I myself am not gay, I have to admire how Faggot Bruce fearlessly pronounces himself as the "Turd Tickler", giving gays everywhere resolve against the homophobic attacks of the hip-hop industry. His searing lyrics remind anyone wanting to attack him that he has no shame and will not hide his views and sexuality from the music industry.

Unfortunately, our Turd Tickling savior of hip-hop doesn't reveal many details about himself. There are no pictures of him on the internet yet, and details about his early life are unknown. According to his lyrics, during his third year doing a stint at Pelican Bay supermax prison, his (one) eye turned to men. The rest is history.

Words can't describe this guy's lyrics. You'll just have to listen yourself.

Faggot Bruce up, homie.

An Analytical Essay

Wed, 14 Oct 2009 00:10:19 -0400

An essay I had to write for English. Nostalgia, old folks? But anyway,we had to compare two characters from two different stories. I'm mostly just posting this for my dad to read. Enjoy. Rates not needed.

Recently, we have read two excellent short stories: “The Man I Killed”, and “The Sniper”, written by Tim O’Brien and Liam O’Flaherty, respectively. These stories, which I have chosen to compare and contrast, were picked by me because for the most part, I am an avid fan of war stories. However, the two protagonists of this story, while sharing many facets, have enough differences to be two dynamic, strong elements in their respective tales. This paper is an analytical essay comparing these two characters, and showing their affinities and dissimilarities.

Looking at these characters side-by-side will take a short course of review to see how their stories intertwine. The IRA Sniper and Tim O’Brien have one glaringly obvious aspect in common: they are soldiers. Despite both being fighters, they differ greatly in what they fight for. O’Brien, like many other young men, was drafted into service with the U.S. Army, his tour of duty being from 1969-1970, the apex of fighting in the Vietnam War. Many of these young men, while being told they were stopping the spread of Communism and protecting the United States, didn’t identify with those reasons, and opposition to the war was strong. These young soldiers, distraught with the possibility of losing limbs, being mentally scarred, or giving the ultimate sacrifice for something they didn’t believe, often just found themselves fighting to survive until their tour of duty was over. O’Brien seems to fit into this demographic. While he certainly wasn’t a coward, killing the NVA soldier was an action of instinct, probably brought on by the fear and anxiety of being made to fight and risk his life in a foreign country.

The Sniper, on the other hand, is a fighter in the Irish Republican Army. The IRA fought extensively to overthrow both the Irish Free State and Northern Ireland, and to re-instate the Irish Republic. This often involved activities that were terrorist in nature. Urban warfare was common, and tore apart communities and families, as evidenced by the Sniper killing his brother at the end of the story. Unlike O’Brien, however, the Sniper had to kill this man to survive, and in the course of the skirmish, killed a machine-gunner and an elderly woman.

Fighting for the IRA was a choice. Being drafted was not. The IRA Sniper was a volunteer, doing what he thought was right. Tim O’Brien was conscript, trying as hard as he could to survive in the jungles of Vietnam. This is very evident when we start analyzing their thoughts and reactions to having killed for their country. The Sniper is indifferent to having shot the machine gunner and old woman. He seems hardened to this kind of thing, knowing that this is what he chose to do, and he fought and killed for what he believed in. O’Brien on the other hand, appears extremely shaken and remorseful about having killed the NVA soldier. Staring extensively at his corpse, and analyzing his mutilated face, torn to pieces and reduced to disfigurement by O’Brien’s grenade, which was thrown out of instinct, only to make the soldier “evaporate”. O’Brien thought deeply on the kind of past the young man he killed might have; the Sniper regards killing as something that had to be done and goes about his business killing the counter-sniper.

Whether or not it was right for them to kill whom they did, it happened. And it will continue to happen. But, we can see how this killing affected them. Both these stories demonstrate the futility and horrors of warfare: the Sniper killed his own blood, and O’Brien killed a man who most likely posed no threat to him or his comrades. When men take aim behind ironsights and scopes, and pull the pins on their grenades, their enemy isn’t the only person that dies. The lead and shrapnel cut scars into their conscience. You’ll always wonder what ideal you pulled the trigger or pin for, and you’ll always think about that man you killed.

“Some folks inherit star spangled eyes
Ooh, they send you down to war
And when you ask them, “how much should we give?”
They only answer more, more, more!”
Creedence Clearwater Revival – Fortunate Son - 1969