Chris Walker Vs. The Fuckin’ A

Today’s message is one of education. I found this passage in an outstanding text book and thought you should read it. It’s pretty awesome. Maybe you’ll learn something.

CHAPTER ONE: Introducing You to the World of Communal Relations

In the world of communal relations – communication within an international spectrum – there are a large number of interactive methods. These forms of relational-based contact have proven essential to our everyday lives, ensuring better communication and understanding of ourselves as well as our peers, business and personal. This chapter will highlight two of the most poignant ways humans interact: greetings and physical displays of excitement.

Greetings: corporal gestures between two or more people when initial contact is made in a social setting.

Greetings drastically vary throughout different regions of the world but all convey the same basic message: hello. Americans shake hands; Japanese bow; Maori’s do a tribal dance that, if you didn’t know better, would lead you to believe they were going to kill you; the French flamboyantly pronounce, “Bon crosse!” before spanking each other on the butt.

Greetings are an ancient, worldwide, tradition and fun for everyone! Except for children, who are to be ignored until they’re old enough to work the factory assembly line.

Physical displays of excitement: actions performed when something so remarkable takes place an individual needs to make bodily contact with an additional person to affirm the occurrence’s awesomeness.

The most prominent physical display of excitement is called the hi-five. A hi-five is an action where two people (men, typically) each raise an arm above their head and – with palm’s facing one other – forcefully engage hands to create a slapping noise. A man may perform a hi-five after his favorite football team scores a touchdown; he makes a winning shot in beer pong; or his “alleged” child, birthed by a woman he randomly slept with, is black whereas he is white.

CHAPTER TWO: The Fuckin’ A, and History Of

Now that you’ve learned about greetings and physical displays of excitement it’s time to bitch-slap you into man-land with an interaction known as the Fuckin’ A.

The Fuckin’ A: a manly exchange executed after an event of insanely epic magnitude – or minor significance – occurs. To perform, simultaneously speak the words, “Fuckin’ A,” and extend your fist to the other person at about mid-chest level. The individual you’re offering your fist must reciprocate by solidly, not forcefully, engaging your fist with their fist to complete the Fuckin’ A. The recipient may also respond with their own, “Fuckin’ A,” for added bad-ass appeal however, it is not mandatory.

Although it can’t be proven, scientists believe the Fuckin’ A originated near the end of the Triassic-Jurassic Era after a Viking – called Viking A – slayed the last living Tyrannosaurs Rex by wielding its own offspring against it like nunchucks, killing all the T. Rexes at the same time. This feat of heroic proportion was witnessed by another Viking whom approached Viking A, offered his fist in recognition of Viking A’s skills, and proclaimed, “Fuckin’ A.” Viking A responded generously by tapping his fist against the other Viking’s fist and upon that bond the Fuckin’ A was born.

Manly in all facets of being, the Fuckin’ A asks the question, why go for a faggy hi-five when you can engage knuckles like a savage caveman? Hi-fiving is for grade-schoolers, volleyball players, and men too drunk to know better. Ever seen a hockey player hi-five? Never. They play with broken bones and black eyes, they’re tough as titanium; they don’t hi-five. They bang sticks together like tribal warriors. On ice. I remember this old clip I saw one time on ESPN where a rookie hockey player tried to hi-five a teammate after a goal. Instead of hi-fiving, the teammate ripped off the rookie’s arm and beat him to death with it right there on the ice and no one said anything. In fact, the fans were rabid with excitement and one of the announcers dropped his pants and did a cartwheel in front of a bunch of kids on a field trip. And no one was clapping because clapping is dumb. I’m surprised they don’t show that clip more often.

Some people may ask, “Well, okay, but why do you have to curse? If you feel it’s absolutely necessary to assert your manliness that way why can’t you just tap fists and be done with it?” I ask these people, why aren’t you throwing yourself in front of moving vehicles? You say Fuckin’ A because you’re a man and that’s what men do. Men say fuck, and shit, and whore, and manual transmission, and no thanks, I don’t eat turkey bacon. It’s instinctual, in our blood, since mankind came from Vikings, anyway. I even know women who say it accompanying the fist tap and those women are awesome. Like my mother, she said it right after she forced me from her womb. Then she chopped off my father’s head because she’s a praying mantis.

Some people think it is acceptable to simply cup another man’s fist when it is offered to them. These people should be forced out of civilization. Contrary to belief, when someone offers you their fist as a manly gesture of celebration and acceptance you do not open your hand to receive the fist in your palm. This makes you a baby. In case you’re remedial, I’ve provided pictures of how to, and how not to, perform the Fuckin’ A. See below:

Fig. 1 The Sign of a Man

The manliness in this picture is so rugged it’s practically punishing the HTML. If I were a woman I would take off my bra and toss it and the first animate object that crossed my path. God damn, that’s tough.

Fig. 2 What a Soft Bitch

If this picture were at a gay disco it would scream, “I’m a catcher, would you be my pitcher?” Do this and you have about as much masculinity as Kate Hudson. By the way, her movies suck.

See the difference? It basically comes down to how you want to be remembered. If you were to spontaneously combust and burn in eternal hellfire (probably for being a pussy) would you want your best-friends at your funeral saying, “Yeah, he was all right but he did the Fuckin’ A like a bitch. Every time with that moist palm catch. Disgusting”? Probably not. Guaranteed that’ll also be the guy “consoling” your girlfriend after you’ve passed. And by consoling her I mean having sex with her.

Chris Walker Vs. The Gayest Places On Earth

My boss – Big Boss, as I refer to him (Metal Gear anyone?) – frequents Chris Walker Versus and recently voiced concern over a statement I made. I know, hard to believe considering how politically correct and inoffensive my commentaries are but it’s true. He thought I should take it easy on the whole “Australians and New Zealanders are gay” thing in the off-chance one of our customers found my site, read the comments, and responded negatively. A reasonable argument but a probable scenario? Not really. Let’s face it, Australians and New Zealanders are about as internet savvy as the Amish. It’s seriously a joke over there. Even if they do get internet I’m sure they have better things to do than Google my name or go looking for a website they don’t even know exists.

Regardless of how improbable the whole thing is I took the suggestion as an opportunity to reflect long and hard (wink, wink) upon my vocalized opinions on a broader spectrum. Should I be more sensitive toward these people and their feelings? Should I stop saying Aussies and Kiwis are effeminate and love dudes? It’d be the nice thing to do and writing about how entire continents are a gay certainly isn’t the peak of my abilities. Funny, but no pinnacle.

I found myself at a crossroad. Kind of.

You’ll be happy to know after intense deliberation I made the right decision. Realizing the likelihood of any of my Australian/New Zealander customers actually reading my site is about as great as Paris Hilton winning a Kindergarten Spelling Bee I did what any reasonable person would do. I went to New Zealand and told them they were gay to their faces.

By the way, that bitch has a song out now? Why has the mouth of hell itself not opened? Jesus Christ.

Anyway, that’s where I’ve been, in case you were wondering. New Zealand. I started in Auckland last Monday, visiting customers, and ended in Queenstown for a convention with New Zealanders and Australians. Remember what I said about the drinking at the Latin American convention? Pretty much the same thing only less beaches and sunshine and more gondola rides and snow. Oh, that and I could actually understand what people were saying to me. Most of the time.

Before arriving in New Zealand I hadn’t made it a goal to share my opinions but after being surrounded by all their “tea times” and “g’day” hippy shit I was unable to keep my unfiltered thoughts to myself. I had to tell them how gay they are. It wasn’t malicious, by any means. It was all in humor and in the end most of them agreed with me because let’s face it – they really are gay. I mean, come on, New Zealanders refer to themselves as kiwis? Might as well call your people Ass Masters.

Now, you might be sitting there thinking, “What about rugby players, Walker? They’re tough as nails and that’s manly.” Very true however, according to a statistic I just made up, only one percent of Australian/New Zealand men play Rugby – at least on a professional level. That leaves 99% of Australian/New Zealand men to be Grade A fruit cakes. Argument dismissed. On top of that, I was informed many rugby players are actually, truly homosexuals. Although I have nothing more than hearsay to back this up I’m willing to believe with all that man-grappling it might be true.

Now that we’ve got that sorted I’ll continue.

Two instances from my week-long trip stand out regarding making fun of Aussies and Kiwis and their love of men. The first was brief; a guy my age from New Zealand was asking me about the United States. I told him San Francisco was probably my favorite American city and he said, “Ah man, why do you like that place? Aren’t they all gay there?” I laughed at him, “They’re not all gay. There’s like one district in the entire city dedicated to them – that’s it. Your entire island is a haven for rampant homosexuality. And dudes who fuck sheep.”

He might’ve had a comeback after I generalized all of New Zealand but the sheep comment shut him down. It hurts when it’s true. You probably aren’t aware of this but New Zealand men are well known for their fondness toward farm animals. In fact, when you arrive at the airport terminal there is a huge sign that reads, “New Zealand. Where the Men Are Men and the Sheep Are Scared.” I’d swear to God it was true if I wasn’t lying about it. In all honesty though, New Zealand men are rumored to and often accused of loving sheep. I’m not sure how it started and really don’t care, what’s important is it’s funny and judging from their complete lack of interest in women, I believe it. Seriously, I heard maybe seven or less standard, inappropriate, remarks about women (i.e. “She has a great set of tits!”) come from New Zealand men the entire trip where as those derogatory comments are a staple in a Mexican’s every day existence. And don’t give me any of this ‘manners’ shit – they’re just plain gay.

I’m sorry, I was distracted. An Australian boy just skipped past me. I repeat, skipped past me. And no one in the entire Air Zealand Lounge threw a bottle at him. If these people aren’t gay, Liberace’s straight.

The second event was my final night in Queenstown. I was sitting on a sofa in the hotel bar, wearing a pink shirt, drinking a Smirnoff ice, chopping it up with an Australian woman from the show when I told her, “You know what, Australian and New Zealand men are just gay.”
Australian Woman (laughing): Why’s that?
Me: For starters, did you see the sign in the elevator, the one that say complimentary “nibbles” at half time? What the hell is a “nibble?” That’s like the gayest word ever, “nibbles.” I would never say to my friends, “Hey guys, want to get some nibbles?” They would punch me in my face. No man says “nibbles.”
Australian Woman: Well, what do you call them then?
Me: I don’t know – food? Appetizers? Something less homoerotic. And how about your cigarettes, you guys call them fags. So basically, if you’re a smoker you suck on fags all day long. Don’t tell me that’s not super gay.
Australian Woman: Yeah, you’re absolutely right about the cigarettes. That is definitely gay.
Me: Super gay.
Australian Woman: So, what about the pink shirt you’re wearing? Doesn’t that make you gay?
Me: Wearing pink doesn’t make you gay. It’s just a color – nothing to be afraid of. It’s not going to attack you or stab you in the neck. A pair of brass knuckles to your face and gunshot wounds? Those are things to be afraid of. Not pink, it’s just a color. Real men can wear pink; guys who are insecure with their masculinity can’t.
Australian Woman: I like that. Pink, it’s just a color. I’m going to have to tell my husband that.
Me: I think I’m going to start a dictionary or book of phrases or something because one of the guys I was hanging out with the other night started using one of my sayings, too.

Then I told her what a Gatekeeper was.

A Gatekeeper is the one “picnic basket of absolutely not” in a group of supermodels you meet at a club, bar, family reunion, wherever you so happen to drunkenly end up. She’s typically ugly and/or overweight – whereas, her friends are smoking hot – and will determine the course of events for the entire night. It’s simple, if the Gatekeeper is unhappy everyone suffers; if the Gatekeeper is [content/distracted/preoccupied/given an All-You-Can-Eat, Red Lobster coupon] everyone has a green light to enjoy themselves.

G
uys, how many times have you been talking to an attractive girl at a bar when out of nowhere her hippopotamus looking friend you’ve barely even acknowledged as a living, breathing, noun (person, place, or thing) chimes in for a well-timed cock block? Too often, I’m sure. You’re fine-tuning the delicate intricacies of your newfound, “it’s cute tonight but don’t expect me to put up with all this blah blah blah and feelings talk once I sober up” romance when Fatty Lite decides she has to go home to prep for a Women’s Studies test at 11:30 PM on a Saturday night making all her friends leave with her, ensuring your hard work pretending to care was in vain. It’s enough to make you rip off her two-sizes-too-small Torrid stretch top and choke her with it but she’d probably uppercut you and break your jaw if you tried.

These Defenders of All Things Supersized are unfortunate but, much like absolute evil, they can’t be killed – only contained.

Therefore, regardless of whether or not you want to, you or someone else in your entourage must pay attention to this Altered Beast – at least until she is satiated with attention. If she is not attended to and made to feel momentarily special she will fuck up your entire night. God put her on the obstacle course of life. She’s spent years carrying bottles of Ranch dressing in her purse and mocking celebrities able to pick a treadmill out of a line-up to earn her position as a Gatekeeper however; if you’re crafty you can defeat her.

After my Gatekeeper explanation I realized the Australian Woman I was talking to wasn’t exactly the skinniest chick in the room. I felt like an asshole. Oh well, what could I do? Thankfully, she didn’t take it personal.

After a while Australian Woman’s Husband came over and sat with us. She told him I thought Australians were gay. After I explained the main points of my argument he agreed. Australian Woman’s Husband is actually friends with Big Boss, laid back, and definitely not a gay. He drank Scotch all night and told stories about getting hammered and doing retarded things in inappropriate places. Pretty straight. At dinner he ate an entire shoulder of Lamb – as did I. Definitely straight. After dinner he struck his wife and commanded her back to the hotel with no explanation whatsoever. Super straight. No, I’m just kidding; he didn’t hit anyone. Hitting women is wrong. Or so I’m told.

We all had a lot of fun and I ended our festivities by doing a little gift shopping for The Mrs. with help from the ladies in our group. I understand this could make me sound like a gay but whatever. I’m more manly than half the douchebags that read this site – so suck it.

Also, to give them a little credit, there were a few Aussies and Kiwis at the show – like Australian Woman’s Husband – that weren’t raving, flamboyant, hygiene afflicted, homosexuals. A few, but not enough to make me change my mind about their culture as a whole. One guy I hung out with from New Zealand, in particular, was cool as shit. We got loaded and went to bars and he ended up banging one of the girls that worked at the hotel three consecutive nights. Aside from having to endure the arctic tundra of Queenstown at 5:00 AM, walking back to the hotel from the broom closet she evidently called a room, scoreboard for him.

And for the record, there is nothing wrong with being gay. I’ve got a ton of gay friends too afraid to admit it. Being gay is fine. I covered that a month or so ago – not that I’m the end all, be all to what kind of lifestyle choices are acceptable but, hey, whatever. I just think Australia and New Zealand are the gayest places on Earth. They’re beautiful locations and a lot of fun to travel to but the majority of their people are Certified Sausage Handlers. I didn’t make them that way, God did; I just had to point it out. Sorry.

I also made up the Smirnoff Ice thing. We all know no one aside from high school chicks – or chicks with high school mentality – actually drink that bullshit. I was, in fact, drinking a Monteith’s Black, which is a lot like Guinness, has a 5.2% alcohol level, and is 100% delicious.

I’ve been traveling for a full day now so I am going to sleep. Goodnight.

In other news…

Contest is officially closed. Results tomorrow. If there are any, that is.

Chris Walker Vs. Talking Like A Pirate

Here’s how not to be a pirate. I bet these guys even say “please” and “thank you.” What is this, Peter Pan? Pussies. They’d be walking the plank, for sure.

Talking like a pirate is the greatest thing ever.

Disagree? You’ve obviously never spent two days talking like one. It is seriously the greatest thing ever. That is, until I find the next greatest thing ever in which case that will be the greatest thing ever. Until then, talking like a pirate is the greatest thing ever.

Don’t believe me? I’ll prove it to you.

Part One: Being a Pirate Is Awesome; Being a Ninja Is Gay.

Before getting into the whole talking like a pirate thing I’d like to illustrate how pirates, in general, are Grade A Certified, Charles Bronson Level, Bad Ass. How will I do this? By finally settling the long-standing debate between pirates and ninjas, conveying all the ways in which pirates are superior. Grab your ankles and prepare for the fury.

Ninjas have shurikens and ninja-kens, which are definitely sweeter than pansy-ass pirate swords, but that’s where ninja’s dominance on the Awesome Meter ends. If it weren’t for their remarkable killing devices ninjas would suck entirely. Many of you red-blooded males may be thinking, “But Chris, weapons are the coolest part.” You are mistaken.

Pirates have stupid swords but everything else about them rules. And even though their swords are crappy they’re still able to stab shit so what does it matter? It’s like taking home a fat chick after a hard night of drinking when you’re horny and lacking good judgment – definitely not your first option but she’ll get the job done, regardless. Pirates get shitfaced off rum and sail the high seas; pillaging and plundering for treasure; constantly swearing; drinking more rum; wearing eye patches; acting foul with no remorse or concern for other’s well-beings, banging pirate maidens; drinking even more rum, and most notably – they get to fire cannons at shit. If that’s not the most awesome lifestyle ever I don’t know what is. If you are a man and disagree punch yourself in the balls and start performing Vagina Monologues; you are a pussy.

A ninja’s lifestyle, much unlike a pirate’s, consists of meditating; learning awesome fighting moves only to use self-discipline and restraint of one’s abilities; being stealthy; occasionally assassinating someone; traveling on foot; and overall, being a bag of ass. Sounds like barrels of joy to me. Yeah-fucking-right. What good is learning kung-fu if you’re not running around the woods karate chopping fools in the neck with your skills? Being a ninja is dumb, being a pirate is great; this debate is so easy it’s almost appalling. Let me get this straight, I can either: a.) get drunk and fire cannons at towns and ships while wearing an eye patch, swinging on ropes accompanied by a parrot and/or monkey or I can b.) have sharp-ass ninja stars I’m not supposed to use while I climb a mountain to self-reflect and channel my inner chi? Yeah, I’m going to go with “a.”

Pirate might as well be another word for invincible and death metal. End of dispute. Shut your mouths, scallywags.

Part Two: Pirates Are Awesome, Why Not Talk Like One.

Plain and simple, talking like a pirate is great for one reason and one reason alone: you can say anything – absolutely anything – and no one will [be offended/cry/call security/clutch a bible/shoot you/fill in any form of revolted response here]. Why? Number one: they’ll be thrown off. They won’t know what to think because who the hell talks like a pirate? Answer: you do. Number two: no one takes anything in a pirate voice seriously. It might have to do with aligning stars, baked potatoes, artificial flavors, or some other shit but no one ever takes anything said in a pirate voice seriously. Sure, you might mean what you say but they don’t know that, you’re just talking like a pirate, it’s funny – they think you’re cute. Har, har. We’ll see how cute they think you are after you’ve set fire to their curtains; stole their jewels; banged their daughter; and slaughtered their lavatory plumbing with your pirate excrement. Argh!

Try this at your next social gathering, yell at someone, “You’re a pile of shit and I hope your first born dies from AIDS.” You’re likely to get punched in your head however, if you say it like a pirate, “Argh, yer a steamin’ pile o’ whale shit an’ I hope yer first born dies of the full-blowed AIDS,” everyone just laughs and continues eating chips. Trust me, it works. I did it last weekend when Dong Wang (from various Chris Walker Versus) and I traveled to Las Vegas for a blackout-tastic excursion and it worked like a charm.

On Saturday night Dong Wang and I went to my sister’s house and cooked for a bunch of her girl friends. We made meat and vegetable skewers, prosciutto wrapped asparagus, grilled chicken, grilled salad – the fucking works. What the girls do? Sat around and read US Weekly. Why? They’re whores (and their mothers never taught them how to cook). After dinner we played drinking games, blah, blah, blah, fast forward to when Pit’s McGee (from another Vegas related Chris Walker Versus) made a rule during a game of King’s Cup decreeing everyone had to talk like a pirate before they took a drink.

And the ceaseless pirate talk began. The men of the game just took it upon themselves to talk like a pirate at all times. We were drinking all the time, after all; why not just cover all bases? The pirate talk carried on through the rest of the night, the following day, and the drive back to Reno. Every time we said we said something, regardless of what it was, it was absolutely hilarious.

I wasn’t keeping score but to make a rough estimate I’d guess I said the word “whore,” directed at a present female, at least 100 times and got slapped in the lips zero times. Why? Because I was saying it like a pirate. Keeping with the rough estimates, I’m going to presume Dong Wang, Pit’s McGee, Lentzy (whom was also present) and I said the word “whore,” directed at a female, a combined 3,000 to one million times and got slapped in the lips a grand total of zero times. Dong Wang even blew one of the chicks out because of his uproarious pirate mannerisms.

So, the next time you find yourself amongst your closest friends start belittling them in a pirate voice. They’ll giggle and laugh and tell you you’re a riot. It will be fun for everyone, no one will get hurt, and all will be well with the world.

Hell, someone might even get laid.