Hippies With Clipboards

Do I care about children in the Congo? Yes. Do I want to stop and talk to you? No. Do I like the smell of patchouli and poo? Not a huge fan. Does that dog look like he hasn’t had his shots? Absolutely. Is his name Kenya? Probably. Would I punch you in the balls if I didn’t think Kenya would attack me? Without a doubt. Do your parents know where you are? Nope. Is your mom worried sick? Heck yeah. Do they regret paying all that money to send you to a small liberal arts college in Maine? You betcha. Is your dad still disappointed you quit the lacrosse team? Dang right. Do white people look good with dreads? Kinda. Are you going to end up starving to death while living with mountain goats in Alaska? Highly likely. Do I like it when people ask and answer their own questions? Shit no. Is that fodder for a future peeve? I don’t see why not.

Decorative Balls

You know what sucks balls? Decorative balls. Not only are they not that cool looking, they’re a recipe for social disaster at the inevitable 30-something vino-jam you’re forced to attend. After a couple Shirazes masculinity takes over. Suddenly, you’re juggling them like a freak and dishing no-look dimes to Todd over there in the turtleneck sweater. That puts him in an awkward position because he has to act annoyed even though he wants to play living room wiffle with the salmon plate bat as much as you do. Now your cush 150K-a-year consulting job is in jeopardy because Todd is your boss and Tina demands to see some heads roll for making a mockery of her special night of forced maturity.

Chinese restaurants that also serve Mexican food

Please trust me when I tell you to avoid these like the plague. That is some explosiveness your intestinal tract does not need at this juncture. If you find yourself at or Jose’s Hunan Garden or Mei Mei’s Imperial Cantina, for the love of god, head for the hills. And I’m not talking about Chinese-Mexican fusion, which doesn’t exist but could be awesome if done by the right Mariachi Zen Master. I’m talking about – the left side of the menu is Chinese food and the right side is Mexican. If your Chinese restaurant isn’t cutting it and you make the business decision to start whipping up chimichangas, it means you can’t do either worth a crap. So, if you happen to wander into Pablo’s Golden Panda or Lotus Caliente or Bandido’s Bamboo Palace, knock over some chairs and run screaming out of the place. Especially if it’s a buffet situation, for that is the final element in the perfect storm of agony so violent Senor Buddha himself would cry tears of misery.

Washing This Shirt

Whites warm, Colors cold = brain aneurysm.

The High Price of Fruit Salads

If you're anything like me you'll agree that fruit salads are the absolute cat's meow. For my taste, there's nothing like an assortment of wet, pre-cut pieces of nature's candy packaged in an environmentally irresponsible container and ready to be devoured. But why so expensive? We're talking upwards of $8 a pop. Look, I have nine kids - several of which I take financial responsibility for. You think it's easy to tell little Pierre he'll have to go without shoes for a couple months? How about when sweet Mackenzie discovers she has to act sick on field trip day because we can't afford the $5 to go see the monkeys. It's not a good feeling, but I think it's a nice character builder for them. Meanwhile, papa gets to kick back and savor the succulence.

ANDY ROONEY

I feel like I'm supposed to like him because my dad does. So did his dad and his dad's grandpa before him. But every time I'm unlucky enough to catch him on TV I can't help but think, "Wow, this really is the worst fucking story I've ever heard in my life." Are you supposed to put quotes around something you think? Screw it, I'll check that later. The last Rooney story I watched was about fruit. It went a little something like this: Fruit is fascinating. It comes in all kinds of different shapes and sizes. Sometimes it's big. Sometimes it's small. It also comes in different colors. I generally like fruit that is yellow, like bananas and melons. I don't know what the yellow melon is called, I just know that I like it. They make square watermelons in Japan. I get my fruit at a local bodega. You might say I'm a fruit nut. Is a nut a fruit? I don't even know, but I like both.

Mickey Rooney was a pain in the ass too.

THIS BANNER AD

I'm pretty sure none of these chicks ever googled me. In fact, I'm positive. I checked.

CHUCKS WITHOUT LACES

They actually sell these. People actually buy them. They have the holes, but the tongue is glued to them so it can't speak of the atrocities befalling it. Why don't you just pee on the American flag, wrap it around an apple pie and wing it at a bald eagle while listening to Hendrix's rendition of The Star Spangled Banner while you're at it, Chairman Mao? Oh I see, because you're too busy punching Ronald McDonald in the balls.

BILL BELICHICK'S SWEATSHIRT

Previews that show the entire movie

The latest example of this was Blind Side. I know what you're thinking - what's a stallion like you doing watching Blind Side? I was at the harem and the ladies were exhausted from you-know-whating and they basically forced me to watch it. I was fine with the whole scenario because I'm a sensitive guy and have been a fan of Sandy's work ever since Demolition Man. Blind Side is kind of a Good Will Hunting meets Finding Forrester with some White Shadow and Nine to Five thrown in for good measure. Let's just say I could appreciate what the kids were trying to do. A couple weeks later, I'm giving my Bowflex the whatfor and watching a little tube, when what comes on? That's right: Tabatha's Salon Makover. Right? Right? I'm loving this platinum dynamo with her take-no-shit attitude. During a commercial intermission, the trailer to Blind Side comes on:



That is not a preview, that is a description of the entire movie start to finish. Normal family in a big-ass house, hot mom, perfect family portrait − Touching piano kicks in as we see a black kid walking in the ghetto, and not just a normal awesome ghetto we're talking extreme dilapidation − He looks real sad but he's also really big − A few roughnecks from around-the-way eyeball him − He enrolls in an all-white school where all the whiteys are freaked out, especially little ones on swings − His name is Big Mike − A freakishly mature and quirky kid with an Owen Meany vibe is the first to recognize his bodacious heart − Mom from the huge house sees him walking home at night, he's freezing, where's home? there is no home, everyone's gotta have a home, boom you're staying in my mansion − Mom's a firecracker − Redbird husband is concerned because a 6'10" 350 lb black dude is sleeping on his couch − They give him his first bed − Cut back to hood where white mom bravely meets real mom who is a total wastoid and you wonder if that's racist or not but you keep watching − Meanwhile, Big Mike is missing − Roughnecks are bustin spades and acting scary but they don't know where he is − Hot mom shows ass and sass that would get her shot or worse in the real hood − She finds Big Mike in a laundromat, they reunite − Big Mike starts wearing rugby shirts, studying and smiling more − Then he takes up football − Guess what? he's awesome at it − Some touching scenes with the freakshow little kid − They win the championship thanks to Big Mike − Whiteys at school love him and shower him with high-fives because he's good at sports − The husband even comes around − Most importantly, Big Mike has changed the mom's life − He goes to college − She drives away happy and fulfilled from the most meaningful experience of her life.

What did they leave out of the trailer? Big Mike had to go to the bathroom at some point. Why bother buying a ticket?

PUBLIC DISPLAYS OF PAJAMAS

Dear Mr. Snuggles, I know you want to be comfy cozy and cuddly wuddly on the plane, but we have a society to maintain here. You're 45-years-old with a neck pillow in one hand, a Harry Potter book in the other and you're wearing sweat pants. Where's the line? Before you know it you'll be doing truly crazy shit like masturbating in Wendy's or wearing rubber gardening shoes even when you aren't gardening. Get yourself to the duty-free shop, grab a tax-exempt penis and rejoin society. We need you.

When I fly down to Argentina and Axl lectures me

Reprimand begins at 3:06

Shoehorning search words into a blog

There's nothing more annoying than bloggers who shamelessly force search-words into their blog like Jessica Alba, midgets, Barack Obama, Oprah, Michael Jackson, facebook, twitter and New Moon. Seriously, have some respect for the sacred art of blogging. If you want to have the most amazing, #1 blog in the history of the world you have to stay true to the content. What do you think we are? Idiots. If you don't have anything worthwhile to say about Lady Gaga, The New York Yankees, Double-D Breasts, Jesus Christ, 911, The Bible, Sarah Palin or the Jonas Brothers, don't mention them. It's just sad. Anna Kournikova.

When strangers call me Champ, Chief, Bud, Captain, Big Guy, Guy, Pal, Sport,

Tiger, Skippy, Scooter, Ace, Hoss, Boss, Kiddo, Junior, Partner, Sparky or Slick.

I guess if Clint Eastwood called me Big Guy, it would be fine. But even then, I'd probably walk away saying to myself, "Wow, Clint Eastwood is kind of a dick."

These are all perfectly acceptable:
Senator, Corporal, Cowboy, Comrade, Sergeant Coolpants, Amigo, Ghost Rider, Puppydog, Slippery Pete, Tendorfoot, Monsignor, Charlemagne, Black Man, Brodisahtvah, Mr. Brojangles, Brohammed, Captain Thunderpants and General Chim Chim.

How I felt when she died in Braveheart

The only way I can express these complex emotions is by writing a really amazing poem:

slashed cleanly like a frozen river
through a snowy mountain basement
love found nay love lost
in the day's deadest night
contemptuous confusion constantly conscribing
all from the silent slash
of one frozen blade.

Yeah man, that's how I felt.

OVEREMPHASIZING COFFEE

You know the ones. Every office has them:

Don't even talk to me 'til I've had my coffee.

Whoa, whoa, not before I've had my coffee.

We're gonna need a biiiig pot of coffee before we tackle this one.

Ya know, without my coffee I am a bit of a demon-beast from the 9th circle of hell who will spit venomous acid on your face until it melts while I cut you up into a million tiny pieces.

We get it, Tina. You're really into coffee.

When hobos try to give me publications

Hey man, I appreciate your plight, and I'm sure a thousand different factors contributed to your current situation, but I just don't want to read your Community Action Now leaflet. No disrespect. And you there, I'd love to toss some change your way, especially if it means I don't have to read the March 2002 issue of Overcoming With Integrity. I'm sorry, it just looks really boring. Oh, hey there. How about instead of you handing me the latest FairStart Bi-Monthly Newsletter, I hand you a slice of pizza and we call it even? No, no, no, I'm certainly not judging you and it's not because there seems to be a booger on it, although that certainly is a deterrent. It's just that, well, I'll come right out and say it, I don't like to read things that make me super-depressed. And you, with the rag cleverly tied to the end of a stick so it makes a convenient little travel pack, do you even read Inter-Faith Council's Social Service Circular? I didn't think so. Now, let's work on getting you a blanket and some hot tea.

This Store

Because they sell hats.

Being Fooled By Jesus Rock

Hmm, let's see what else is on the radio. I got a wild hair, maybe I'll hit the scan button. Jazz, no. Mexican station, naa that's only funny for a second, hmm, what's this? This kinda rocks. Solid lead guitar. The drums wail. Not bad, not bad at all. Never heard of this station. Hell yeah. Raise your rock hands to the sky! Right on! And let the eternal light shine upon them! Fuck yeah eternal light! Wait wha? That's not very rock and…God as your witness? Oh shit. Ah shit. Scan button scan button. Aaaaa!! I spilled my coffee! Watch out for the pole. I'm gonna hit that pole. Great, I hit the pole. Now I'm dead. And the last thing I said was "Jesus Christ, this is fucking Jesus rock." Just great.

MALARIA

Symptoms of malaria include fever, shivering, joint pain, severe headaches, vomiting, anemia, retinal whitening and convulsions. Malaria has been found to cause severe brain damage in children, an enlarged spleen, enlarged liver, blood in urine and stools, coma and death. Dude, fuck malaria.

The Crosswalk Mosey

We're all trying to get along in this crazy mixed up world. One people with a common purpose. To live, dammit! To live. There is a set of very reasonable social mores in place to help us peacefully cohabitate. Everybody cooperates. Everybody gets along. The beautiful circle of life continues. Until some butthole decides to tear down the whole system by taking eight minutes to cross the street while I'm waiting in my 1997 Camry like a goof. Now, instead of humming kumbaya like a silly little hobbit, I'm figuring out how to get my hands on a Molotov cocktail so I can throw it in a grocery store. I'm not asking everyone to do the courtesy mini-jog, but at least carry a steady clip. Sometimes they'll even look you in the eyes as they hand you the world's biggest non-verbal fuck you.

Being Mistaken For Brad Pitt

No, ma'am. Sorry, I'm not. No, I get it a lot. I'm just a regular shmoe. Ha, I'm serious. I'm not trying to keep things on the DL. I don't know how Maddox and Zahara are. I'm sure they're fine. I don't think Jennifer Aniston has anything fundamentally wrong with her. She's just unlucky in love. Ross was annoying as shit, I agree. Yeah, I know The Mexican sucked. They can't all be gems, lady. No, I’m not going to say that. No. Okay, fine. . . "What's in the box!!! Just tell me what's in the box!!!" Yes, she's a total freak. Yes, we have a swing over our bed. No no, I'm just guessing. Wait, now I’m confused.

This dude's creepy vibe

Civilian cars that look like cop cars

There's nothing that makes you feel more like a eunuch than having your heart skip a beat from one of your fellow non-cop commuters. Then you're forced to pump yourself up with a little internal dialogue session: I wouldn't have sweated it even if it was five-o. Fuck the po-lice runnin' straight from the underground. Young African-American fellow got it bad 'cause I'm brown. Or what have you. Out of all the cars in the world, some nerdburglars still choose to pick themselves up a white Ford Crown Victoria. Truly astounding. I think many of them actually want to be cops. And what's the only thing worse than a cop? A dude who isn't smart enough to become one.

Designs in my Guinness

You would get permanently banned from the motherland for this kind of skulduggery. I appreciate the artistry, but if that's your thing get into the latte business, Tito. Especially when it's a shamrock. Do have any clue how pissed real micks get when you bring up any kind of pot 'o gold - leprechaun - shamrock shit? Do you have any idea how mad they get when you call them micks? Let's not piss off the Irish. They will punch your face until you die.

EMOTICONS

;) = `_´

CATS

10. They hate water
09. They could snap at any moment
08. They can peer into your soul
07. They're racist
06. They think they're hot shit
05. They don't understand Spanish
04. They think it's hilarious to vomit on quilts
03. They don't believe the holocaust happened
02. The stigma that comes with having 12 of them
01. They taste like liverwurst

THE END OF RAMBO: FIRST BLOOD

He beats up a bunch of hillbilly cops, escapes from jail, steals a motorcycle, makes himself an awesome tarp jacket, jumps over a 75-foot cliff into trees (not water), sews up his arm, throws a rock at a chopper which kills a dude, survives a bazooka attack, navigates through a rat-infested gold mine, kills a dog (who attacked him), commandeers an army jeep, blows up an ammunition shop, shoots up a police station, then he starts crying and gives himself up. Credits roll.

STATUS UPDATES AS A WINDOW INTO YOUR PERFECT LIFE

Nothing makes me want to run straight into a wall quite like this. Here's a taste:

…is curled up with a with a great cup of cocoa and a bad romance novel. Does life get any better? I think not. LOL.

…Roaring fire? Check. Delicious cab? Check. Best hubby in the world? Uber-check!

…is pooped after an 8.7 mile run, but boy was it worth it. 10 minutes of relaxation before I start on dinner.

...is so frustrated with the mechanic down at the Mercedes dealership.