For those of you who thought the Asshole Theorem applied only to humans, guess again (anyone who has ever walked a dog should already know this and will understand immediately). Allow me to set the scene. Imagine enjoying a nice sunny day at the lake, a place that simply radiates calm; all the troubles of the world have melted away and all you can think is how beautiful your surroundings are. As you gaze mindlessly (for just a moment) out at the serene landscape, you notice the leash that was holding your dog in check has become extremely slack. Rather than a quick glance, you slowly turn your head to look at the leash and not only do you see an undone choke chain, but your dog looking at you from about 8 feet away with what can only be described as the canine shit-eating grin.

His name is Skipper, and he knows. He knows that you can't reach him, and there are a million different directions he can run, and he thinks this is going to be a fun game to play. Worst of all, he knows he's too adorable for consequences, so with a slight bark, he takes off in the opposite direction of you. Not only is he running away from you, he feels the need to allow you false hope in your pursuit; just as you THINK you have him, he does something tricky such as taking a route only a small animal could manage, leaving you (in this case me) to take a difficult and annoying route such as climbing down stone walls, walking across the beach, then climbing back up only to have to continue chasing a dog that now has a significant lead on you.

Now, in the process of chasing down Skipper, I have determined that the likelyhood of your dog running away in this fashion is variable depending on several factors, the most prominent ones being "How many obstacles are there?" and "Are you wearing exceptionally bad footwear?". In this case, those numbers must have been off the charts, because the little bastard lead me along the shore for about 2 km in big, green rubber boots. Not only was it a pain in the ass because I had to walk through the water half the time, but the aforementioned big, green rubber boots are damned heavy. Take it from me, you do NOT want to be sprinting in these. Boots aside, the obstacles were just ridiculous; just when I thought I had the little bugger, he would dart up a NEARLY VERTICAL hill and disappear into thick undergrowth. We're talking thicker bush than a 1970's porno-crotch. Finally, he reappeared and was trotting off in the direction we came from, which I took as a good sign that the outing would be done soon enough; it turns out the dog has a sense of humour.

As we neared the stone walls that needed to be climbed in order to get home, Skipper turned to look over his shoulder at me and cocked his head slightly. I knew this look to be the "HAHA JK!" look, and was proven right as he proceeded to sprint in an arc around where I was standing...effectively doing a full 180 and hoofing it back down the shoreline. This is the part where I'm sure I woke up everyone on the lake.

After repeating the whole thing over again, I finally got my hands on him. Now, he only weighs about 30lbs, but 30lbs is a lot heavier when you have to carry the little fucker all the way home...especially when he feels the need to stick his face right in front of yours for the duration of the trip. That being said, the return was uneventful...until we got to the stone walls. Have you ever tried to put a dog in the water when he doesn't want to be there? Picture trying to climb down a rock wall with a 30lb, squirming, yelping dog in your arms to do so. Now, imagine repeating this step in reverse as you climb from the lake up to solid ground again. Climbing back up had a whole new level of fun to it since I couldn't climb up with him in my arms; instead, I had to set him up top and hold on to one of his hind legs while I climbed up to him. I guarantee campers nearby thought I was killing the dog by the sounds he was making. Ten minutes later, we arrived at the cottage, where Skipper was scolded and put inside to think about what he had done; silly me, I didn't think for a second to put up a defense against the imminent guilt trip he had in store for me.

In no time at all, Skipper was snuggling up to me, looking at me with eyes that said "How could you?", with thoughts of "You fucking prick..." lurking behind them. He knows how cute he is and takes full advantage of it, but it only works at close range. At long range, he is a little bastard, but up close..."Awww, puppy!". Fucker. Oh well, at least he has proven the theorem.

Back in the '70s, George Carlin brought to light the very intriguing concept of determining how much of an asshole someone is. It was something to the effect of:

‎"The amount of an asshole someone is is directly proportional to the distance they are away from you at the time you discover this fault. Someone on TV is REALLY an asshole! Someone in the car next to you is pretty much an asshole. A guy next to you in line: (whisper) 'this guy is a real asshole, here'."

This sounded a lot like useful math to me, so I broke out the graphing calculator and a pen and paper. In doing so, I have devised the equation:

AR = 100 * SQRT(ABS((D*U)/2))

For those of you who don't code, SQRT means Square Root and ABS means the Absolute Value (turns a number positive if it is negative. This equation reads:

The Asshole Rating is equal to 100 times the Square Root of the Absolute Value of One Half the product of D and U, where D is the distance from you to the supposed asshole and U is either 1 if you are dealing in metres or 1000 if you are dealing in kilometres.

I have applied this equation to a small calculator that will allow you to guage how much of an asshole anyone who has pissed you off is.

This calculator is a work in progress and will improve over time. It is slated to become one of many segments of the h00t.com Nuissance Understanding and Thwarting System, or NUTS for short.

First of all, let's get one thing clear: fuck you. Ok, now that that's taken care of, on with the show.

At some point in the last year, buying an iPad has morphed into a lifestyle choice. You could come out of the closet swinging a rainbow baton, wearing ass-less leather chaps, and you would be less likely to encounter human garbage on your way, in this case a special brand of douchebag known as the electronics Nazi.

I never realized that having a job that pays enough to afford occasional extravagancies simultaneously became someone else's business AND a major social taboo! Woe is me, how will I survive knowing that the dude with a ponytail at the convenience store looks down his nose at me and will never truly accept me so long as I own this tablet? I know! I’ll make an app for that!

I digress. Have you ever noticed that the people that do this kind of thing are the same ones who whine about how people that don’t build their own computers are "corporate slaves" or "consumer sheep" or some other term that, oddly enough, likely reflects their sexual preferences? Listen, I know very well that you won’t say that in front of your parents lest they beat your ass for being condescending towards them, since they probably bought your grandmother an e-machine or something, so zip it. These are the same kind of people who type words like "Micro$oft" or "Activi$ion", as if companies aren't supposed to generate revenue and pointing out that they do is somehow sticking it to the man, all the while throwing around terms like "fanboy" and sporting a chubby for their precious Linux system that, surprise...is based on the same technology Apple uses.

I always hear these people talking and say "why would anyone even want one of these, they’re so useless". Hmm, I don't know...maybe it could be one or a combination of mobile e-mail, web browsing, sickening number of applications (purposeful or not) , BEST e-reader solution, music, tv shows, and movies at your fingertips, and so forth. I even wrote the first draft of this post on it, but you're right, professor, it's useless.

However you want to look at it, the iPad is, if nothing else, fucking cool. Don't want it? Think it’s a waste of money? Don't buy it and shut your mouth.

Several months ago, a bunch of feminists had their collective panties in a bunch over the announcement of Apple's iPad tablet, claiming that the name of the product was insensitive to women...you know, the typical "important" banter. Listen, you don't see me crying about the hundreds of packages I see at the store labeled "sausage", so you can shut your collective trap. That is how I felt, however, I let it slide because I figured they would cry themselves to sleep over the issue, and apparently they have. They must have, otherwise the world would have imploded from bitching when KFC released their new menu item:

Yes, the "Boxmaster". Really? Did no one at KFC figure this could be made fun of? Why not just call it a Cuntwich? Maybe a Snatchwrap? Maybe not the latter since McDonalds would probably sue, but still...really? This doesn't even sound like food to me. What it sounds like is some freaky kind of exercise equipment whose existence is owed to the obvious gap in the market left by the Ab Master and the Thigh Master; something a woman could buy if she just really doesn't like kegels.

Sadly, this thing is fucking delicious. On a scale from Vin Diesel to Chuck Norris, I would rate it a Clint Eastwood; not quite at the point where it could destroy the world on a whim, but bad ass enough that it isn't afraid to punch out your grandmother and shoot her dog. That being said, I highly recommend...no, I demand you go out and buy one. It ranks up there on things you need to buy alongside (and in some cases slightly above) new clothing, medicine, nuclear arms, and dynamite-infused dildos. Come to think of it, depending on how many of these you eat, you may need the first two after feeling like you were subjected to the last two.