Getting To Know Your Assailant

Today at the chili cook off, I farted on your friend...

2008-04-01T15:26:00.003-05:00

"Today at the chili cook off, I farted on your friend. I'm just kind of embarassed, so I wanted to write and apologize. I was really drunk, and your friend was just babbling on like a pretentious asshole. He was carrying on about being a trumpeteer for B.B. King or some shit... It was just the way he said it, so I turned around and farted on him. At the time I thought it was funny, but now I can't help but be embarrassed... So, I'm sorry if I offended you or your friend."

I wrote this email roughly 6 years ago. I was at the chili cook off with a friend, as you may have read. We ran into a friend of his who had previously been on tour with BB King playing trumpet. I don't remember the details of this encounter any more, as it was years and many brain cells ago. I do remember it being quite a bit like the scene from Seinfeld where Jerry and Elaine are stuck at the party while George is out getting laid, and that woman keeps saying, "Where is my fee-ahn-SAY? I must find my fee-ahn-SAY! The poor baby is lost! Have you seen my fee-ahn-SAY?" and Elaine says, "Maybe a dingo ate your baby."

It was a lot like that, but instead of a snappy remark, I remember just turning my back to him mid-sentence and rattling off a thunderclap. I remember that the guy stopped talking, as did others, and I just walked off chuckling in a drunken, devious kind of way. But, seriously, how many times can one jerk off asswipe say the letters "BB" in one conversation? "So, there I was with BB, and he looks over at me, and I knew RIGHT where BB was going with that. So, I hit a sharp E and BB just grinned at me and came right back."

Anyway, the reason this email came back to me is that after I sent it, my buddy, being the kind of jerk off that he is, realized that by me apologizing for farting on a guy, I was WAY more lame than I would've been had I just farted on him and let it go. He put that email into some sort of automailer that sent that very same email to me every Monday for four years.

About two years ago, the mailer stopped and I had completely forgotten about it. This morning, guess what was waiting for me in my mailbox? An April Fool's Day surprise? Goddammit...

Fuck A Flat Head

2008-03-04T16:15:00.002-06:00

Just wanted to chime in very quickly and say:

I hope anyone who continues to manufacture equipment that uses flat head screws in it's construction gets gonorrhea from the blood of a hooker still damp on the collar of a pit bull while it's gnawing their crotch.

Seriously, we have the technology. Why not just use wooden pegs to hold shit together? Fuck a flat head...

Bridge Tragedy On A Bridge In The Bayou

2008-01-24T18:57:00.000-06:00

Okay, that's it. I'm fucking sick of it. Sometime at the beginning of January, a guy named Lam Luong, a local crackhead who got fed up with his wife constantly nagging about his crack smoking, decided to show his wife that he was the man and that he's gonna fucking do what he's gonna fucking do. So, what better way to do it than tossing his four children off of the top of an 80 foot bridge into the Gulf of Mexico?

Yeah, he's a fucking lunatic. There's no excuse for what he did. Toss his ass in a sack full of broken glass and throw him in an icy pool until the sack stops twitching. Do it now. As a father of two (and in May, three) I can't begin to comprehend the thought process of this fuck.

HOWEVER! And you knew there'd be a however...

I can't imagine ANYthing but the fucking news media making me say, "Man, fuck those four fucking kids!" Jesus Christ on a cracker! Every hour on the hour, we've been getting inundated with reports on the tossing of babies, the search for babies, the discovery of babies. They even interrupted Saturday morning cartoons with a news brief a couple of weeks ago saying, "You might want to send the children out of the room...........the decomposed body of 2 year old such and such was discovered face down in a marsh today..." MOTHER FUCKER! Can't that shit wait until 5:00?

No, of course not. Somewhere there's people who haven't slept for two weeks, anxiously waiting by the dull glow of the television waiting for rescue. Ha ha ha! Nah, there's not really anyone like that out there, right? This isn't THEIR tragedy, it's super sad and all but, no one would mourn like that over four children they've never met and, due to their Asian descent in lower Alabama, would most certainly have never spoken to.

Wrong again, Jack! This fucking media orgy consisting of:

3rd Place: Looks like these guys made it to the copyright machine first. At least their catch phrase is kind of catchy.

2nd Place:Tragedy On A Bridge? Is that seriously the best you could do?

1st Place:The greatest catch phrase name ever associated with a mass murder!

All the local news stations sucked this thing off like it was Britney Spears shaving her head on acid. And all of this 24/7 coverage on television, including during Saturday morning cartoons and NFL Playoff time, the webpages dedicated to the subject, and enough repetition that Alabamians now know that the name Luong is pronounced "lung" has birthed a pious rampage over who can care the most.

It starts with a shitty Photoshop job THAT WAS ACTUALLY SHOWN AND DISCUSSED ON THE FUCKING NEWS:

Then it moves to message board discussion THAT IS ACTUALLY BEING CONSIDERED BY PEOPLE WITH POWER of naming a heavily driven bridge "The Four Angels Bridge" in memory of the four children thrown from it.

It's even prodded weepy folk music out of some people...

Okay...E-fucking-NOUGH! They found the last kid last week for crying out loud! The big news was that they found her on the coast of Louisiana. Are we still sad, or are we just impressed with the strength of our local tidal currents? Put those poor children in the ground so the mother can mourn and all the mecha-pious zealots coming out of the wood work one upping each other's empathy ("I lit four candles today." "Oh yeah? I said four rosaries today." "Oh yeah, well I wrote four songs today." "Oh yeah, well I blew four homeless men today." "Oh yeah? Well I'm going to throw my four kids off a bridge to express my deep sense of mourning for our four little angels!" "Oooo...she wins." "Yeah, that's a good one.") can go right back to blaming Mrs. Luong for stealing their pensions by immigrating into this country and stealing THEIR shrimping jobs before they could get the barbed wire fences around the edges of Jesusland. Or do we only get to be mad at Mexicans for stealing jobs? I can never keep up with the local bigotry...

So, I'm not REALLY saying fuck those four kids, just fuck everyone else...

I Present To You The Homemade Femmullet!

2007-12-28T15:37:00.000-06:00

So, I was standing in the return line at Best Buy yesterday. I had to take a dump, so I was a little pissed off about having to stand in line for 20 minutes when my return wasn't even Christmas related... So, anyways, I'm standing there and I see this magnificent white trash chick standing next to me. Pregnant, reeking of ciggarettes, a couple of tattos on her tits. Exquisite! But, then, I saw the greatest thing ever! Her mom came walking up and held her place in line while she ran over and got some CD, almost certainly Three 6 Mafia or Mims or some other unlistenable bullshit.

I was so giddy when I saw her, I whipped out my phone and snapped a picture. As you can see, my giddiness made things a little burry, but you can still see most of her glory.

What we have here appears to be a home-made femullet. Upon closer inspection you could see where there were patches of tight shaving surrounded by woolier areas. The line dividing the business from the party was more jagged than her smile. What you can't really see is the wicked Dale Earnhart Jr. purse that she's carrying. It's a wonderful accent piece to her requisite Mickey and Minnie Mouse t-shirt (They were holding surf boards).

Needless to say, in the spirit of the holiday season, I was able to forget about the perils of having to take a shit for only a moment as the glory of the home-made femullet came into view. Thank you Alabama, and my bowels thank you as well...

A Few Tips For The Shopping Gentleman.

2007-11-29T15:32:00.000-06:00

Now that we're upon the Christmas shopping season, you'll probably spend at least one hour in a mall atmosphere. Here's a few tips to make that trip all the less painless:

1. Stop off at a convenience store and buy a big fountain drink, like a 44 ounce Coca-Cola. Then, stop off at the liquor store and buy yourself a pint or so of whiskey. Top off your Big Gulp with the whiskey before you go in the store. KAPOW! Now you're getting drunk while you shop. Trust me, there's no better way to fight the crowds than by stumbling through them.

2. After you polish off that 44-ounce well drink, you're probably gonna have to pee. Well, here's how you avoid the splashback effect from urinals that would otherwise make you look like you'd pissed yourself. I know it's tempting to try and melt the urinal cake, but after many many attempts, I've never actually melted one. But, when you piss on the urinal cake you're gonna get splashback. Your piss, someone else's piss, everything...it's gonna fly right back all over your hands and your pants. I've found over the course of my time in this world, that if you piss on the actual wall of the urinal (not the side, keep your piss stream perpendicular to the wall of the urinal) the piss droplets tend to go straight down, minimizing splashback. No more pissy hands!

3. This is the most important one. If you see an old woman perusing some clothes or something, crop dust her (fart on her as you walk by, if you're not familiar with the terminology). Then, when she looks at you, look at her in a disgusted manner and shake your head like you can't believe she just farted on you. She'll wonder if maybe it was her afterall. Besides she's gonna be the one blocking up the parking lot going 2 miles an hour in her Buick looking for a spot close to the door or clogging up the aisle as she totters along on her walker anyway. You're gonna want to fart on her then, but you may not have to at that point. So, if the chance arises, fart on an old woman. You'll be glad you did later on and maybe, just maybe, you'll convince at least one of them that they're just not continent enough to go out in public anymore.

Have fun out there! Don't make it be as big of a pain in the ass that it could be. Have fun, be juvenile, and get drunk while you do it! Christmas is all about fun and overindulgence anyways.

Merry Christmas!

Accentuating My Man-Boobs

2007-11-24T23:13:00.000-06:00

Now, I'm not as svelte as you may think I am. I'm not fat ass, I ride my bike pretty regularly, blah blah blah. But, I'm not the type who should be flaunting his physique, either. Anyways. I'm like 85% of American males, so now you're on board...

So, I order some shirts from BustedTees.com. This one and one that's apparently no longer on the site, which sucks because it's hilarious (It says, "I FOOT Madlibs"). I wear a XL dress shirt for work, but I like to bust out the XXL t-shirts because I'm kind of a schlumpy fella. So, I order a couple of XXL shirts from BustedTees.

Finally, they arrive and I try them on. Holy shit? I know it's Thanksgiving time and all, but surely I haven't gained THAT much weight... It looks like friggin' Under Armour or some shit on me. So, I look at the tag: "XXL Athletic Fit T-Shirt"

Now, is it just me, or is an "athletic fit" XXL t-shirt kind of an oxymoron? Once you get past XL, I think "athletic fit" should be thrown out. What about a "drinking man's fit" or something of that nature? I come from the flannel shirts and baggy jeans day, you bunch of tight cuffed blue jean wearing sweater vest hipsters! I don't even want to look at my man boobs and gut, much less everyone else when they approch to read the humorous slogans.

So, needless to say, I bit the bullet and actually ordered my first XXXL and I feel like a fat ass for it. Watch the XXXL actually be "Homer Simpson Fit" and I'll look like I'm wearing a fucking mumu. It's all very disheartening.

The Evangelical Fun Fair

2007-11-13T15:34:00.000-06:00

So, there's a family down the road from us who my wife and I are freindly with. They have rabbits in a cage outside, and when we go on our evening walk every day, we stop off at their house briefly so that my son can check out the rabbits while we chat with the woman and husband if they're outside.

Well, recently the woman, Annie, mentioned holding kind of a community gathering at the end of the street and getting some of those inflatable jumping toys for the kids, and having just a nice autumn party for the kids. We said that it sounded great, and how could we help? She says it would be great if we could man a booth or something, so I asked what she had open. She said face painting, and I said, "Cool. I'm good at that. Sign me up."

So, Saturday was the day of the Community Fun Fair. Well, as we get to the end of my street, there's big inflatable slides and shit, a dunking booth, food, a stage with live music getting set up, games, the whole nine yards. Suddenly, I'm like, "Wow! There's no fucking way Annie paid for all of this shit out of pocket. This looks like the shit!" That's when I see the van parked out front that says 'Fountain Of Life Church'. That's the Evangelical Church around my area.

Oh shit...

So, we keep walking, and as we get closer everything gets fucking weird. Suddenly, these Stepford Wives come out of the woodwork and start greeting us. Like not just "Hey." but "GOOD MORNING! Oh, how are you this morning? What a beautiful baby! Can I hold him?" Suddenly my baby boy is being passed around these spiritually enhanced stranger grandmas. They're cooing at him and nothing malicious or anything, it's just like they've upped their dosages for a day.

So, we get our baby and head inside, because I hear the guy on stage ask for all people working booths to please report. So, I go over to my booth and send my family on their way to go have some fun on the slides and stuff.

Now, there's roughly 200+ people in this area at the end of my street, and I only recognize a handful of them from the neighborhood and I realize that I'm sitting smack dab in the fucking middle of a goddamn Evangelical Revival under the guise of a Community Fun Fair. I'm supposed to work the face painting booth from 10 - 12 and I'm hoping to sit down, paint some faces, shut the fuck up, and not get outted as a heathen by these manic freaks and to just get the fuck out by noon.

I get my paint situated on the table when this teenage chick comes over and introduces herself as Whitney, she'll be helping me paint faces. I say hello as she sits down, and she says, "Uh...do you think maybe I could have some of that paint?" I wasn't expecting her so, I had everything neatly arranged and seemingly horded on my side of the table. I over emphasize an apology, "Sure! Sorry, I didn't know I had help." She didn't talk to me again until she decided she didn't want to paint any more and left to go get one of her friends to do it. I was relieved because she was grouchy cunt of a girl.

I paint a Superman logo on my son's face for practice. Looking good. I still got it! Then, I go through a few flowers and hearts and turtles and frogs and whatnot, and I'm pumping out the face paint like a pro. People are smiling, they're happy, and they're not asking me why they haven't seen me at church. So, I'm happy. Then came the first stumble.

This chick comes over to get "I *heart* Jesus" on her face. I start painting, and notice her shirt. It appears to say "Stan Got PUNK'D". I say, "Who is Stan? Is that a South Park shirt?" I get a glare from her and her two friends who came with her. Stan's real name is Satan, and it looks like he's not the only one who got Punk'd. "Um, we don't watch South Park." Yeah, I guess you wouldn't... Shit. "Oh! Ha! My bad! I didn't see the 'A'."

I finish her up and they go on their way. Phew, I think I made it out of that one. I paint a few more faces, when I get this little boy. He's a very shy kid, and he's not talking very much. So, I say, "What would you like?" He sits there quietly, looking at the ground. I say, "You like football? You want a football?" "No." "What about baseball?" "No." Truck? No. Dog? No. Cat? No. Snake?

His mom chimes in, "A snake? Why in the world would he want a SNAKE?!"

It dawns on me...oh fuck...Satan was a snake in the Bible... Jesus, they're on to me! I revert back, "How 'bout a baseball. I'm gonna paint you a baseball..." He gets a baseball and I send him on his way.

The very NEXT person is my friend/neighbor's little girl, Jude. Jude is a cool girl, and we kind of believe she is also my son's girlfriend, but she's only 4 and he's only about to be 4, so you never know. But, she's pretty cool. Anyhow, I say "Hey Jude! What do you want?" and she immediately responds with her typical Jude look of menace, "Fire."

Fire. The 4 year old girl who I've just made a scene over as being someone I know wants fire painted on her cheek.

I look over at the new girl painting faces next to me, and not only is she staring at me but she's stopped painting and the girl who was BEING painted is staring at me. As soon as I look over they kind of blink real hard and go back to work.

At this point, I figure, I'm out. I'm busted. They know. Let me go get up on stage and tell them all, "Hi! I'm an agnostic. My children aren't baptized. And we don't go to church... You can collect your stones in the parking lot behind you." But, I just carry on. I paint Jude's fire and laugh on the inside at the whole thing. It's 11:00 and I'll be done soon.

Suddenly an older woman comes over to the booth and tells us to stop doing what we're doing and come to the stage. At this point, I'm freaked out now. So, I ask the girl that's been painting with me, "What's going on?" She says, "It's time for the dramas." I say, "The dra...Oh! Okay!"

I have no fucking clue what The Dramas are...

Turns out that The Dramas are a group of kids standing in front of the stage lip synching to and going through a choreographed dance routine for a couple of Christian ballads. After they're done doing their Nell (Tay in the weend) impressions for Jesus, the announcer says we can go back to our fun.

So, I head back, and honestly the rest of the time was pretty uneventful except for a moment when this older woman was talking with my wife while she got her face painted. She told my wife that she had 8 kids and, "we had trouble having our last one, it took a while, so we named her Sarah." she said with a knowing smirk. My wife says, "Why is that?" The smirk disappeared and was replaced by confusion, "Because it took so long, I had her after 40." My wife, always on the ball, says, "Oh...riiiiight!" and goes on to say that she thinks it's a lovely name.

I don't know the exact story obviously because I haven't memorized the Bible as well as some of these freaks, but I do remember from my 12 years of Catholic school that Sarah is a Biblical figure who I believe was married to someone important, Isaac or Abraham or someone like that. Like I said, I have no idea, but the fact that she dropped this obscure Biblical reference like a common little joke (He had no arms or legs, so we named him Matt.) just blew me away.

Finally noon came and I gathered the family and we got the fuck out of there. But as we were a good 100 yards from the Revival I hear behind me, "Hey! Hey! Hey!" So I turn around, and there's this big fat dude who I've never seen before in my entire life, not previous to the Fun Fair, not during the Fun Fair, waving frantically at us (we were the only people in the vicinity), he calls out "Glad you could make it!"

Always Picked Last: A Story Of Hope

2007-10-29T10:54:00.000-05:00

I was thinking about something the other day as I watched my son throw a football with some neighborhood kids. At age 5, he's already got a pretty tight spiral. What can I say? He comes from good genes, right? Wrong. While I have always loved sports, I have always been clumsy and awkward when it comes to actually playing them.

In baseball, I had a wicked 70+ MPH fastball in Little League. The problem was, I had no control over it. I plunked 4 kids in one game. I threw a no hitter that we won 9-4. Nothing but walks and beaned batters. In football, I spent more time watching the cheerleaders than the game. In basketball, I had the height over most kids, but I would foul out within minutes as I awkwardly flailed over them like a slaughterhouse bone grinder.

I always understood concept, but I could never execute. Which is why I'm here talking about sports on the internet, rather than out playing them. I always assumed I would pass my Shawn Bradley genes onto my children. I had saved this story for my sons for when they inevitably came to me, upset that they always get picked last, but after watching my son throwing the ball around this weekend, I will tell my story to all of you in hopes that one of you is a "always picked last" type and hope that you can see my glimmer of hope in that big black cloud.

This is a true story:

Way back in elementary school I was on the soccer team. Like usual, I was awkward and an overall failure on the field. I was stuck in the fullback position, which, not being European, I just have to assume is the soccer equivalent of right field. At fullback was me, tall and lanky, thick glasses, braces, a spattering of acne and the fat kid who's mother packed him extra underwear in his lunchbox through fifth grade for when he peed in his pants and who would never be on the "skins" team when we scrimmaged.

Come around seventh grade, we got a soccer coach who was unlike the other dads who had previously coached us. He was a real soccer player. Well, he played in adult park leagues and such, but he was way more advanced than the old dads. He had a long red pony tail, an earring, a scruffy goatee. He let us cuss, he'd share his dip with us, he talked to us like he was one of us. I say, "us" liberally, because I certainly don't mean to include myself or the fat kid in that "us". We usually would stand idly by watching the cool kids cuss and dip and DAMN if we weren't jealous of all that.

He would have invitational practices where he would work extra with the kids that showed promise. Needless to say, me and fatty weren't included on that roster. After a while, he started having post game parties over at his house. Parents were invited for a while, but eventually they turned into all nighters and the kids would stay over on Saturday night.

Damn, how we were jealous. All me and the fat kid wanted was to be in that party where you could cuss and dip and stay up late... Damn, what a great time...

Then, one day, practice was canceled. They brought the soccer team down to the office and sat us down. It turned out that our soccer coach had finally been caught by Louisiana authorities on child molestation charges. The group was separated and one by one we had to speak with the counselors. One by one, the cool kids came out of the room, eyes red and puffy, sniffling.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, during these parties that lasted through the night, our beloved coach, friend of the cool kids, was molesting those very same cool kids. The whole time, me and Fatty McGee were the luckiest of all. It was on that day, I decided to take the number of the biggest prick "cool kid" who had allegedly "gone the farthest" with the coach. #48 has been my number since, be it in park league softball or anything else. A little reminder that sometimes being the awkward, clumsy kid has some advantages.

The moral of this story? Getting picked last all the time may hurt now, but apparently that's kryptonite for child molesters.

Forget Wolfman! Cerebus Has Got NARDS!

2007-10-11T12:26:00.000-05:00

My wife, my kids, my mom, and I all went to the Halloween store to get the kids their Halloween costumes yesterday. We walked down an isle stocked with over-sized rats, bats, skulls, and whatnot.

On the bottom shelf were three large Cerebus figures. I picked one up, and lo and behold, Cerebus is anatomically correct! Wang and balls! I immediately walk up to my mom and oldest son, and say, "Look mom! Cerebus!" and she looks at me like, "Yeah, and?" Then I flip him around...balls in her face! I say, "Is Cerebus a boy? I can't remember... Mom?"

She starts cracking up, my oldest son says, "Ewwww! That dog's got junk!"

People around me in the aisle are very silent about this. They're staring at me, but silent nonetheless. I say, "I've got to show Crystal, she'll love this!" I go track down my wife, clutching the Cerebus by two of it's heads like a bicycle's handlebars, inadvertently waving it's balls at the people in the isle as my grinning son chases behind me.

I find my wife, who has waited through the huge costume line and is finally getting helped, I run up to her, giddy as a guy who just found balls on a stuffed mythological dog, and say, "Check out the balls on Cerebus!"

She's instantly horrified, as is the girl getting the costume for her. She says, "DAVID!"

No one else in the line is amused by this. Me, my son and my mom are the only ones who are outwardly amused. I was appalled! What's wrong with people that they can't laugh at stuffed dog balls?

As an aside, my wife WAS actually amused, but as I tend to do, I had picked a very poor time to run at her with dog balls as she'd been standing in line for 20 minutes while trying to keep up with our 2 year old.

Such is life for a man and his stuffed dog balls.

Thanks For Ruining Man vs. Wild!

2007-09-27T09:30:00.000-05:00

For a couple of months now, I have sat idly by, patiently waiting for the return of my favorite show Man vs. Wild. During these two months I felt myself falling deeper and deeper for Bear Grylls' chief competition, Survivorman. Not in a gay way, but in a strictly "Fuck yeah!" type of way. But despite the "Fuck yeah!"-ness of the whole situation, it has the feeling of an affair.

"You were gone for two months, Bear! I didn't know if you were ever coming back! What was I supposed to do? I had to carry on for MY OWN good! I'd like you to meet Les..."

Over the weekend as I lay on the couch, thumbing through my TiVo and ignoring the sleep mechanism just a little longer, my TiVo proudly announced that it had recorded an entire Man vs. Wild marathon. I sat bolt upright on the couch. Bear? Is that you?

I hastily press play on an episode.

For those of you who don't know the travesty that's gone on recently with Man vs. Wild; it was brought to light by some disgruntled contractors on the show that Bear often brought in props, stayed in hotels, and faked many situations all the while maintaining that it was all completely real. As time passed, more and more evidence was brought to light. Finally Discovery Channel pulled the plug on Man vs. Wild reruns, promising re-edits of the show to make it "more transparent" so as not to lead the viewer on that everything they see on television is completely real and true. After this statement, Man vs. Wild is gone from the airwaves for roughly 2 months, leaving the fans completely high and dry.

As the episode starts, a disclaimer appears on the screen: "Bear Grylls is trained in extreme survival techniques. He and the crew receive support when they are in potentially life-threatening situations, as required by health and safety regulations. Professional advice should be always be sought before entering any dangerous environment." But, then it got worse...

They had edited many of Bear's narrations, for instance when bear had been forced to weave a depth checking device out of palm fronds to check the depth of the water off of a water fall, it originally seemed as though he spent several hours weaving and tying, but in the new edited version, we hear Bear say, "With the help of my team, we wove more than 50 feet of cord." Ugh.

Then, the worst...THE WORST part was in Scotland. Bear Grylls rigs up all of these rabbit snares in the evening in hopes of catching a rabbit for breakfast. In the original version Bear looks around, GASP!, he's snared one! He then demonstrates the proper way to karate chop a rabbit in the back of the neck to kill it quickly. However, in the new version, we hear Bear solemnly admit, "My trap didn't catch anything overnight, but I've been brought a rabbit to tell you what to do if you're luckier than me."

Somewhere there's some smug piece of shit proudly watching these embarrassing disgraceful atrocities and just smiling. It's the same fucker who wants to make sure you're not getting drunk in the bar and making sure you're not smoking in the bathroom. He's very proud that now Man vs. Wild is 100% honest and "transparent", whereas the people who loved the show and KNEW what we were getting are left with the sharp taste of vomit in our mouths.

There is something I learned about in college called the "willing suspension of disbelief". It's an incredibly useful tool when watching a movie or a show or reading a book. But, apparently there's masses of people who think that it shouldn't apply to a reality style television show. Fuck those people. If there's anyone out there who thinks the show is now better for the change, please speak up. I'd love to hear opinions on this atrocity.

McDonald's: Fast Food's Bitch

2007-09-24T10:31:00.000-05:00

I know it's a ridiculous thought to feel sorry for a multi-billion dollar worldwide corporation, but I can't help it. Every time I see a McDonald's commercial on television, I can't help but picture the kid who got busted by his parents toilet papering the neighbor's yard and now he's grounded, stuck inside, watching his friends through the window out having fun while he's taking piano lessons.

Blame the fat kids whose desperate. money grubbing, fat parents filed a lawsuit against McDonald's specifically. McDonald's made them fat. Not the industrial size Sam's Club can of Pringles eaten between commercial breaks. Not the 3-liter of Coca-Cola slugged back right before bed. Nope. It was McDonald's.

Now, poor McDonald's is stuck on the outside looking in as their running buddies steadily attempt to trump each other's bacon infused colon decimator that Jesus Christ himself couldn't digest. You've got the Baconator, the Monster Burger, the QUAD STACK (That's four hamburger patties separated by layers of cheese and bacon, if you didn't know.) They're advertised by slopping them onto the screen, mayonaise and cheese dripping from the patties onto the white background in order to display what I assume is the fact that if you force this heaping pile of repugnant death into your mouth, you're a sloppy fuck on par with the oozing artery bomb in front of your wheezing face. I don't know.

In the meantime, McDonald's is forced into a world of busy working mom, enjoying a nice green salad while her daughter nibbles on chicken nuggets and apple slices, courtesy of McDonald's. You can tell they desperately want to offer up a bacon and cheese stuffed fried chicken burger served between two doughnuts. But, then Justice waggles a picture of the morbidly obese children that it has deemed McDonald's solely responsible for, and McDonald's slinks back into their bedroom and pushes their apple slices, salads, yogurt & fruit parfaits, and water.

As a person who has been the kid forced into piano lessons, watching his friends through the window having bicycle broom jousts, I feel for McDonald's. I just can't help it...

I Love The Internet!

2007-09-24T09:48:00.001-05:00

I got this spam in the mail today. It made me happy to know that when I'm horny for carrots, puppies, or Matchbox cars I will know where to look..

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If you have not had your veggies today then you have cum to the right place to get all the vitamins you need. Hot Horny freaks shove broccoli in their pussies waiting to be eaten. Everything you can think of that can be inserted into a pussy or asshole you will find here.

Satisfaction 100%!

VISIT BEST PORNO SITE!

$6.66

2007-08-08T14:34:00.000-05:00

I don't know what it is about me, but I've recently found that if there's a combination of items that I can purchase that, after taxes, equal $6.66, I will find it. I don't seek it out, but it happens a lot. When it happens I usually shoot a big grin at the cashier like I meant to do it, though.

But, what's even stranger is that of all the times that my purchase, after taxes, comes to $6.66, I have yet to be charged $6.66. The cashier will always make this heebie-jeebies face and say, "Your total's...six...sixty...uh...five."

Whatever, bitch. I'll eat your soul!

The Death Of The Funnies...

2007-07-30T14:08:00.000-05:00

So, I live in Mobile, Alabama. I know that every city has a different collection of comic strips, so I can only comment on the ones that the Press Register subscribes to. But, comment I will.

What in the fuck is with the comics these days? There's an old Calvin and Hobbes strip where Calvin is talking Hobbes about how his grandfather complains that the comics have shrunk over the years to the point of illegibility. In the last panel Hobbes coments that Calvin's grandfather takes the comics pretty seriously.

Well, so do I, and if Calvin and Hobbes were still around they'd have an even greater complaint: the fact that the comics, these days, are weepy fucking four-panel cry-a-thons. Like I said about stand up comedy, I take it pretty seriously. So much so that I not only own the hardback, canvas bound definitive collections of both Calvin and Hobbes and The Far Side, I even named my first born son Calvin. So, like I said, don't fuck around with my comedy...

First off, the format of comic strips playing out in real time so that we can watch the characters age is egotistical and annoying. I can't remember a time that I've laughed at For Better Or Worse. Ah, over the course of how many painful Canadian years that pile of shit has run, we've gotten to see how the Shitball family has grown older and older, with tidbits of half-assed insight every day thrown in for good measure.

And they're not the only strip that does that. Hell, they're not even the worst. You've got Crankshaft, a formerly mildly amusing strip about a cromudgetty bus driver griping about the perils of noisy children and weighty meatloaf, you've got Arlo and Janis, my mom's favorite strip...enough said, and the world's worst: Funky "Goddamned" Winkerbean.

I remember when comic strips made the news for poking fun at politicians or using questionable language (I would buy the hard bound Bloom County collection as well, I miss it terribly...). Now, the comics are making the news again with some bitch on Funky Winkerbean dying from breast cancer.

Now let me stop right here for a moment and say something serious, I currently have four people VERY close to me who are either cancer survivors or are currently undergoing cancer treatments. If there was ever a proponent of cancer awareness, I am it. I don't give money to the homeless, I don't donate food to food drives, I don't care about AIDS, I don't care about Darfur, I don't care about any of it. But, I will always donate to cancer research. Why? Because (well, the Darfur thing excluded) it's the only one above that can't be avoided somehow, and it is a horrible disease that affects too many people in too many ways.

So, that being said, get that fucking shit off of my comics page! People read the comics to laugh and escape Section A of the newspaper where you can find PLENTY about disease, teenage pregnancy, suicide, and other horrible shit (all of which has been covered in the panels Funky Winkerbean). People are finally beginning to speak out against death in the funny pages, pleading with Batiuk to NOT have a chick die from breat cancer in the funny pages. Batiuk's response?

"I honestly don't think readers know what they want," he said. "They think they know what they want. But what they really want is for me to give them a surprise every now and then."

Oh, Tom Batiuk! You have us pegged... No wait... What we really want is to LAUGH AT THE FUNNY PAGES! Turns out we DO know what we want!

I say if Funky Winkerbean can kill a bitch with breast cancer, then next I want to see Beetle Bailey finally get ass raped by the Sarge. I want Hagar the Horrible to finally rear back and pop that bitch of a wife, Helga, in her smart little nag-hole. I want Dagwood Bumstead to walk into his office with a sawed off and start plugging sucking chest wounds into anything that moves the next time his rich cunt of a boss tells him he's fired.

There's some real life situations for you! Why aren't these tales played out for us, the reading public, who don't know what we really want? Because, while maybe not as consistantly funny as my favorites any more, Beetle Bailey, Hagar the Horrible, and Blondie follow the proper formula of creating a funny comic strip. There's usually not any insight, and that's how we fucking like it.

Oh, and Frank and Ernest... Someone should PUNch that guy in the sternum to MALAPROP his ass on a stretcher... Stop writing comics.

Me vs. The Bee

2007-07-26T11:23:00.000-05:00

This is an old story, but it's still one of my proudest moments:

So, I'm outside in the gazebo with my wife and oldest son one afternoon. She and the boy were down in the yard playing right outside the gazebo, while I did some work to the gazebo itself. Now, the gazebo was built by a former owner of the house and it's made almost entirely from cedar which apparently is a favorite snack of carpenter bees.

Over the years, carpenter bees have become the Ace of Spades in my deck of terrorist playing cards, so to speak. They were all over my gazebo, just munching away as much as they pleased. You could sit out there trying to enjoy an nice outdoor lunch and hear them like a bowl of Rice Krispies eating wood.

I have been known to turn into Carl Spackler when it comes to carpenter bees, letting nothing (even common sense) come in between me and the destruction of their species.

As I'm piddling around in the gazebo, I see a carpenter bee go buzzing into one of the many holes lining the roof area. I drop my tools and jump to my feet. I grab a can of prescription strength insect killer given to me by my former Terminix guy (who is the only person I've met who shares a hatred of carpenter bees that runs on the same level as mine). I light into a frenzy of spraying the poison at anything that moved.

The bees are dropping from their burrows, some dead, some just pissed off and buzzing my head. I feel like King Kong atop the Empire State Building if only Kong had a can of liquid death instead of monkey paws. I'm seeing red, I only hear the sound of my own heart. I'm in the zone. It's the way I imagine ultimate fighters feel while in the octagon. I'm like a ninja shrouded in a cloud of gaseous death! Then, I hear it...

"DAVID! STOP SPRAYING US WITH POISON!"

They talk?

No, it was my wife. In my blind rage, I was misting she and my son with poison. Rather than, picking my perfectly content son up and removing him from the sandbox and dealing with the crying while her idiot husband continued his deft attack on flying insects like a GOOD WIFE, she demanded that I stop spraying poison around like an idiot. Pffft...women...

So, I put down the can of poison and try to return to what I was doing. Moments later, I hear the distinct buzz of a carpenter bee directly behind me. I stand up slowly and turn around.

The air was thick, my friends... As I turned around I see a bee just hovering at eye level about three feet in front of my face. He staring at me. I'm staring at him. I feel like I'm in a Western. "Pick up the poison." "I don't wanna pick up the poison, Mister." "Pick up the poison." "If I do, you'll sting me!" "Pick up the poison." BAM! "He was gonna poison me and you all saw it."

I look at the poison. I look at my wife. I look at the bee. He's still just hovering there, calling me a pussy in bee speak. "Whatcha gonna do, pussy?" On the rail, I see the only thing in my reach that I can use to swat at it: my grill brush. It's not a large grill brush, but it should do to wave him away at least.

I reach very slowly toward the brush and wrap my fingers around it. I pull it toward me...slowly...slooooowwwwwwly...

*SWAT*

I shoot a forehand at him the likes of which Nadal would have been proud of. I feel something as I swing. As I finish my follow through, I notice the bee is no longer hovering in front of me.

Did I knock it down? Really? With a grill brush?

I set out looking for it. But, it's nowhere to be seen.

So, I flip over the brush in my hand...

Oh yeah...

How Are You Gonna Get Laid If You Don't Put On Your Black Tank Top?

2007-07-26T10:22:00.000-05:00

So, I've noticed a strange phenomenon that I witness maybe once or twice a month. I'm sure you've seen it, too. But, whether it's strolling through the mall, sitting at the bar, waiting in traffic, whatever, in many ways it's better than spotting the errant mullet or rat tail. This phenomenon I speak of is this:

The "two dudes dressed exactly the same" phenomenon.

Now, I'm not talking about wearing similar colors or anything incidental. I'm talking about meticulous planning down to the angle of the cap on their head. The other day, I was at the beach with my family and I witnessed two guys strolling down the board walk, both wearing jeans, a tight black tank top, and a white hat.

The true glory of this phenomenon is that when you witness it, the people who are pulling it off aren't just running out to get some milk from the store, or even to grab some tacos. No, you can see it in every ounce of their demeanor, these guys are out for pussy. Their bottom lips are properly bitten, the swagger in their walk is just so, the hand conspicuously holding the buckle of the belt so as not to lose their pants.

So, is this a proven method of attack these days? Dude, what the fuck?! No wonder we didn't get laid, your shirt tail is out! I thought we were going shirt tail IN! Dammit, man! Now we have to go to another bar and hope no one saw us... Or is it just in hopes that some oblivious hood rat will wander up on them and say, "Oooo...what's your groups name?"

"Well, we aren't signed yet, but listen out for 'Hella Reese', we about to blow up!"

Hella Reese? Wow, I just made that one up and it's fantastic. Sometimes I make myself proud...

Instructional Video For Japanese Tourists Coming To America

2007-07-24T22:00:00.000-05:00

Sticky Thump

2007-07-24T21:22:00.000-05:00

Let me preface this story by saying that my wife will be pleased that I have immortalized this story in the confines of the internet so that now maybe I can quit telling strangers about it.

So, I'm sitting in the bathroom the other night, taking a shit. There's nothing churning in the gullet, no abdominal pains, nothing real out of the ordinary prior to sitting on the shitter. So, anyways, I'm sitting there, thumbing through "ESPN: THE MAGAZINE, BITCH!" (It's such a pile of shit, but I got a free subscription, so I read it while I shit...) and I feel the toothpaste reach the end of the nozzle, so to speak.

Once again, nothing momentous, but I can tell instantly that it's one of those shits where you have to push like you're birthing a fawn, yet when you look down, the bowl is full of olive-sized shit balls. So, I'm pushing and sweating and red in the face, and finally I break free. It's like when you siphon gas from a car, you have to really give the hose a good suck start, but after you initially break the seal, the gas just pours into the bottle. Same thing, I break the seal and feel myself relax.

So, I flip the page, and SAY there's a story on David fucking Beckham! I wonder when he's finally coming to America so that Jesus Christ himself will descend from heaven and decree our great nation the most glorious of...

Then, I feel it.

Like farting in the bathtub, and a fart bubble floats up between your sack and your thigh, I feel something thump and slide off the back of my scrotum followed by a flat "flap!".

Now, I'm confused... The strain of pumping out infants was like 15 seconds ago... What the fuck was THAT?!

I stand up and drop "ESPN: THE MAGAZINE, MOTHERFUCKER!" on the ground and look in the toilet, fully expecting a C.H.U.D. But, there was no C.H.U.D.

No, my friends, what I saw was....A MILLION TIMES BETTER THAN A C.H.U.D.!

Inside the toilet bowl below me was a turd, scratch that..A TORD! that extended all the way down the hole, through the water, and all the way up the side, finally beaching itself just below the rim of the bowl. This beast would've made John Holmes throw his cock down in SHAME!

I stood and marveled, pantsless, in its glory for a moment before flushing it away to the TORD Hall of Fame. Of course, it clogged the pipes, and 5 flushes and a plunging ensued, but that's just details...

When I initially told my wife this story, I expected her reaction to be anywhere from "Wow! From the drain to the rim, huh?" to "Why the fuck do you have a need to tell me this shit?"

Her reaction?

"Well, did you wash your nuts off afterward?"

Whoops, Last Comic Standing!

2007-07-19T17:20:00.000-05:00

After Man vs. Wild on Discovery Channel, Last Comic Standing is my next favorite show currently on television. However, I also happen to have been a stand up comedy fan since as long as I can remember. I've learned a great deal about humor via Bill Cosby, George Carlin, Bill Hicks, David Cross, Patton Oswalt, Doug Stanhope, and countless others.

Last night was an atrocity against humor. I sat with my wife last night and watched Dante (that's it, just Dante. I fucking HATE one word names. Only Sinbad can get away with that, and he's still not really forgiven.) perform one of the biggest cliches in stand up comedy: the vomitous rage inducing "What if such and such were performed by so and so" routine, followed by a circle jerk of ridiculous impressions. It's right up there with airplane peanut jokes and mother in law jokes. So, for 30-45 painful seconds, I watched this half-ass motherfucker do a bit about "What if the Wizard of Oz was performed by Jack Nicholson, Christopher Lloyd, and some other people I can't do impressions of..." He even finished it off with a fucking TERRIBLE impression of Robert DiNero saying, "You talkin' to me?" THE MOST CLICHE LINE IN THE MOST CLICHE BIT IMAGINABLE!

Then, came the most disgusting part of all. It's all up to you America (but we know from Season 1, when Drew Carey stormed off the set because the producers threw the judges votes away and picked who they wanted anyway, that the audience vote doesn't matter)....your choice for the audience favorite is... MOTHERFUCKING DANTE! Yes! Why you Larry The Cable Guy lapping, good for nothing mongoloids! The producers were probably sitting there wearing their Crocs, eating their KFC Goo-Bowl, and wiping away mashed potatoes as they said, "Ooo! I like impressions. He's in!"

P.S. - Four out of the five on the stage of finalists didn't make me laugh even once. Doug Benson is the only funny one from last night, and that's just because I'm not so sure that he's not actually retarded. Do better Last Comic Standing producers. Oh, and since you (the producers) obviously didn't notice, no one laughed at the fat crazy chick with the cats. No one. Her joke about skinny girls was met with crickets.

If Sean Rouse doesn't make it next week and the fucking HEMI guy does...well, I think you may be reading Part 2 next Wednesday night...

Dead Baby Cube

2007-07-19T16:53:00.000-05:00

So, I'm leaving Best Buy today and driving off through the parking lot of the mall. As I'm pulling up to an intersection, I see a big blue conversion van turn the corner at the intersection ahead of me. On top of this van, I can see a large maybe 6' x 6' cube of vinyl or some sort of material on top. It's huge and it towers over everything.

On each side of the cube is a various picture of an abortion. Not a drawing. Not some representation of an abortion, but picture of a motherfucking chopped up baby! A real dismembered baby! Accompanying this gruesome image are the words, "My mommy and daddy paid a man to kill me." followed by a website who I won't give validation to by mentioning.

Okay... What the fuck? Screw the abortion debate... That's just fucked. I don't care if you're pro-life, pro-choice, pro-abortion...that's just fucked, and there's no other way to describe it. Now, as he drove past I did feel myself be moved, but it didn't sway any preconceived opinions I had on the subject. No, the only thing that I felt when I saw that was, "Why you sick motherfucker!"

What if my kids had've been in the car with me? Does that fit your agenda for me to have to explain to my four year old what a chopped up baby looks like? Driving through the mall parking lot at lunch during the summer with a six foot cube of dead babies... Jesus Christ on a cracker, who do they think they were going to sway? I know what they'd say, "If we can just keep one girl from having an abortion, our mission won't be lost." But, what about the HUNDREDS of women, children, and men who had to look at the chopped up babies that never even considered an abortion?

Now, there's valid arguments on both sides of the table. No question about it. But, face facts, just about every woman or girl who has an abortion needs to have an abortion. A child needs to be loved. I mean, it's not like two loving people who desperately want children one day come up pregnant and say, "Whoops! Not today, we've got a cruise planned in a few months, and the last thing I need is a fat belly." No, it's 16 year old Jolene, who just can't take the thought of her fourth waterhead wobbling around the trailer eating spiders out of the corners, and even if she gives it up for adoption chances are pretty good that kid's not going to be a neurosurgeon. So, do you go ahead and take care of the problem now or wait for him to blow himself up in a meth lab explosion a few years down the road?

Personally, I could never ask anyone to have an abortion. But, that's because I've always known I wanted to be a dad, and personally I think I'm a damn good one. But, as in the example above, there's very logical reasoning behind it. The last thing we need is more unloved children growing up to beat their girlfriends into oblivion or molesting children or robbing us. I know, I know...there's plenty of people out there waiting to love these kids. Bullshit! Where? I know more fucked up foster home kids that bounced from family to family than I know couples on a waiting list to adopt children, and I only know TWO foster home kids.

Anyways, I didn't mean to go off on a tangent about what I think on the topic, all I really wanted to say was by that guy driving around with his dead baby cube through the mall parking lot, he didn't sway my opinion on abortion, but he did strengthen my opinion that self-righteous zealots are some of the most ignorantly dangerous people in the world.

Let's us read about this here guy we don't know!

2007-07-19T15:44:00.001-05:00

Yes! You will! And you will love every second of it!