Sometimes, it's better to say it with haiku:
Those jeans are so tight
Chet, did you grab the roofies?
Time to crush some tail
Let's start using that instead
Or Steakheads 'R Us
Piss off you loser
The exchange is a lifestyle
Let's bounce, Destiny
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Coffee is awesome and a great friend to all of us, but something ain't quite right about having to look at it. It's like seeing your grandpa with his shirt off or grandma with her wig off. It just gives you the willies. That fourth wall is there for a reason, people.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Fabricated spontaneous joy makes me want to punch a side of raw beef Rocky-style until my fists are swollen like grapefruits. The wedding party leap is perhaps the most egregious example of this. Although, I will give it to the first cat who did it. I'm sure it set the wedding photography industry ablaze. But c'mon. I'm trying to lay the groundwork with Charlene, the marginally attractive funtime gal in the peach chiffon. Don't make me act like a goof. It's undignified. Plus, I don't need my flask popping out and upsetting the bride on her most magical of days.
Monday, December 28, 2009
After six tall Coors Lights and two rounds of jalapeno poppers the last thing I need to deal with is this ridiculous bit of tomfoolery. I grace this suburban shitpalace with my presence and this is the thanks I get? By forcing me jump through hoops like I'm like I'm some sort of circus freak that, uhhh, has to jump through hoops? Listen here Curtis, assistant night manager of Pistolero's Cantina, if I walk in the ladies room and see some stuff I can't come back from, that's your ass. Plus, that could lead to jail time on my end. Play it straight with the bathroom signs. No tricks. I have to drive a car home and it's not cool to have this added confusion wreaking havoc on my fragile state.
Friday, December 25, 2009
If you ever see a bolo tie chances are you're getting screwed over by a Native American private investigator who swore he'd track down those pictures and make it all disappear. You see, the main problem with bolo ties is they are stupid. The Center for White Trashy Stuff reports that 96% of bolo ties incorporate some sort of turquoise situation. As we all know, turquoise is a gateway stone to getting burritoed in the sleeper compartment of some dude named Dusty's 18-wheeler.
Thursday, December 24, 2009
I'm not even sure why I signed up. I just got the sinking suspicion that if I didn't I'd dissolve into a cavernous ether of professional nothingness, leaving me awash in a deep and lasting loneliness. No matter how much I'd try to scratch and claw my way out I'd be permanently stuck in of the oily muck of human desperation. My futile attempts at career connections would disintegrate into an ashy pile as my wretched and rotten soul would be set adrift in a sadness so intense all it could do is curl up in a ball and pray for a return to the womb. Merry Christmas.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
If you say you like fudge, I say you also like lying. My Great Aunt Joan loves fudge. She's also a psycho who smells like formaldehyde and feet. What is fudge? Not chocolate, not cake, not mousse. It melts a mere three seconds after you remove it from those shitbag tins and wax paper. And the only place to "score" this annoyance is at a phony strip-mall Swiss chalet which also peddles candy apples and all sorts of other weird shit you don't want. Actually, I've never had fudge, but I bet all that stuff is true. Even the word chaps my rawhide. Stare at it for five seconds: Fudge. Such a fat little weasel. Sludge, grudge, pudge, fudge! What really makes me want to ride my bike into a steaming hot tub of toxic goo is when people use it instead of the word fuck. Just say fuck you fuck.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
We were blessed to spend the month of July teaching English in Ghana for the Global Volunteers Network. Can you believe it is already our ninth year of giving?! When you hear one of those little angels say "friend," you realize how much all the blood, sweat and tears were worth it. It truly fuels the soul to touch the lives of thousands upon thousands of indigenous children. Many gave thanks in English, but a simple smile and knowing look under the warm African sun was all we needed. Needless to say, it was an enchanted time for all of us, especially Conor. Speaking of which, he was accepted into the accelerated reading group (it's about time Newton Country Day figured out what we've known all along). There hasn't been a day yet where he hasn't come home, looked deeply in my eyes and said, "Mom, I love to learn."
Monday, December 21, 2009
Yeah, Steve, I'm having fucking soup again today. Thanks, I think it looks good too. No, that's not all I'm having. No, I'm not watching my weight. Just like last week. I have a goddamn sandwich in the fridge. I know it has a lot of sodium in it. Oh, you make your own from scratch and freeze it? I appreciate you giving me that tip again. Goddammit, Steve.
Friday, December 18, 2009
Hey Mac, Hey PC. I'm gonna need you two to go ahead and hit the shut down button on them fancy computer machines and go attempt to get laid somewhere. Or better yet, go read a book. Hawthorne is a nice place to start. This is like the new East Coast / West Coast Beef, except for annoying white dudes. I'm a mac, I'm a PC, but I'm a mac, but I'm a PC. No, you're human beings with original thoughts and emotions with a world of possibilities at your disposal. Plus, they're both awesome for watching porn. Get over it. While we're on this subject, for me the argument seems to be swinging over to the PC guy's side. Mac Guy reminds of that annoying little indie shitbird in high school who tells all the chicks about his family trips to Costa Rica and how he's gonna become an environmental lawyer then knocks a nerd's books out from his arms when they're not looking. Why don't you just cut to the chase and give PC a wedgie while you're at it, asshole? With your stupid haircut.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Last time I got punched in the face was in the 8th grade. I had braces on at the time so my lips blew up shredded beef. The braces came off the tracks and Dr. Beagler was so pissed he gave me multi-colored rubber bands. Since then I've lived my life according to one credo: don't tell large black kids that they look like Estelle Getty.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
I'm sorry, Tim Geithner, I didn't know it was you back there. By all means, let me get out of the way. You've got a ton on your plate what with this large federal deficit to tackle and all. Oh, it's not Tim Geithner? It's just some asshole who needs to get home in time for So You Think You Can Dance? Well, you'll just have to wait, sir.
Monday, December 14, 2009
I'm not the richest dude in the cul-de-sac, but pennies can suck one. They're worthless. They're worth one cent each, you say? You and your highfalutin microeconomics can stuff it. What's wrong with round numbers? That taco is a dollar? Blam! I'm eating a taco. I also don't appreciate this strange phenomenon that occurs when you collect them in a jar. Why do they get greasy and become magnets for hair and metal washers? Then there's that one Canadian interloper that tries to infiltrate America's most annoying jar party. I just wanted a quarter, man, but now my hands reek of copper and lockjaw has set in from the rusty screw that found its way in the mix. And that's all we got for Honest Abe? The penny? His amazing chinstrap beard deserved better than that.