They are. And they do.

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

The Jigglybits Illustrated, vol.1

Some of the following images were created by the amazing Aram Fresh. The rest of them belong to random people on the internet who will receive no credit.


“Might as well jiggle.”


-David Lee Roth in his later years. I mean, now.


W is really a double v. That shit’s deceptive. Even in penmanship they have questions that try to fuck you up.


The Land Before Time was an awesome movie. It has such a cult following, that it’s being referred to as TLBT.


TLBT totally sounds like a sexual preference, BTW.


So does BTW. And you will now think that every time you see it.


Pride, BTW.


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Fuck Edward. Team Aramrod is in full effect.


And now, this week’s installment of Superhero or Venereal Disease:


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Want to see my Prometheus?


Wheel of Fortune, Before and After: We’ll cut off your Lobster Johnson.


I don’t watch Wheel enough to know if that’s the right category, but I know that’s a situation with a definite before and after to it.


My favorite soap opera is Fight Club.


The DMV can be fun, if you bring a Battleship board.


Pictionary, Before and After:


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Seriously. You’re better off just


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I’ve been single for a good long time and I now hurt my wrist while playing the ukulele.


The word “innuendo” is.


“Would you use it in a sentence?”


“I’d love to.”


“Bitch, I’ll put it innuendo.”


That’s for anyone who’s wondering why I’m single.


Funny name: Mahnaz


The first time I saw this:


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I thought for a second I was looking at robo-Nazis.


Too soon?


What post in the army did GI Joe hold? Judging by his name, I’d say proctologist.


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Things I can do without:

  • The 100 most beautiful list
  • A pregnant Russian ordering a glass of “Koala”
  • Facebook offering to hook me up with Christian girls
  • People crying on The Biggest Loser
  • The Biggest Loser
  • Yogurt lids for breast cancer. I’m all for helping out a good cause, but I’m not going to wash and save ripped pieces of foil that smell like sour milk so I can stuff them into an envelope and pay to send them back to the distributor. Why don’t they just keep track of the sales and make the corresponding donation? It can all be done electronically. Instead, they’re leaving it to us to do all of this useless legwork because they figure we probably won’t do it and they’ll get the publicity of donating without actually having to donate. Cheap, lazy bastards.


So, my friends are always asking me “Hey, Bono. When are you gonna get all tatted out?”


Good question, my friend. I’d love sleeves, but I appear to be the love child of Jack Skellington and Harry from Harry and the Hendersons, so that pretty much rules out any part of my body that could potentially grow hair. Not only that, ink is effing expensive, so it would have to be something practical. Something that will eventually pay for itself.


I think I’ll get my palms ruled.


WTF is with writers and pen names? If your name is Ricky Casper, you don’t need a pen name.


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I’ve come across a lot of bad book titles:

  • Hogan’s Run
  • On Thin Ice

And bad character names:

  • Don Coyote
  • Dr. T.

Apparently, dude got his degree.


“I pity the fool who don’t say ‘cheese’ when I give colonoscopies.”


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Oh, shit. I’m about to flow.


“Things that Eminem says to his gynecologist?”


“Correct.”


Wheel of Fortune, Before and After:


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the fool.


I still don’t completely understand that category.


A real item from my “to do” list: Save Jesus for Christmas.


The latest slogan from the church down the street: “You can’t stumble when you’re on your knees.” Yeah. And you can’t talk back, either.


That was actually last week’s. This week's says “You’ll never get anything done by starting tomorrow.”


That doesn’t carry a lot of weight coming from Jesus.


Seriously though. I joke, but the one that really got to me was “To reduce your spirituality, simply close your bible.”


That is exactly the kind of head-in-the-sand thinking that is the major flaw of most religions. To quote the great philosopher Tom Smothers:


“All religions have one thing in common.”


The belief in a supreme being, you may ask?


“No. All religions believe that they’re the only one who’s right.”


With the possible exception of the U-U’s, I think he hit it on the head there. This church takes it a step further by advertising that not only does their god have a bigger dick than everyone else’s god, but their god is the only one with such equipment. And apparently it’s impossible to spooge yourself with the spirit if you don’t bow down and grab your ankles to this particular god.


Of course, you don’t have to look far for exceptions. I don’t know if Buddha ever cracked a bible, but he was a pretty spoogy guy. You know. Enlightenment and all.


Perhaps my favorite exception would be the poetry of the British Romantic period. It is the beginning of England’s initial break from traditional Christian thought and an embracing of oneness with nature in a manner that coincidentally mirrors the Advaita Vedanta philosophy of certain sections of India.


+5 nerd points.


My college education and your tax dollars at work.


I took that education and that piece of paper and used them to sell cakes for a living. One recent wedding cake was for Paula Spackman.


Congratulations, Ms. Spackman.


If I was marrying someone with the last name Spackman, I would totally take her last name.


I wonder if she has a sister.


“Yes! Oh, God, yes! WAKA WAKA WAKA!”


I dream of Jeannie. She’s a light brown hare.


For those of you who still oppose same sex interspecies relationships, first of all, get with the times.


I mean, how would you like it if they voted on who you could and could not eat?


You too, ladies.


Such closed-mindedness by Americans at large is denying the happiness of equal rights to such perfect couples as Fozzie Bear and Pac Man.


“Yes! Oh, God, yes! WAKA WAKA WAKA!”


Where I come from, that’s called love.


Before you criticize, think of how much you enjoy eating chicken boobs.


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Rocky Horror described in terms of Ricky Martin: (S)he bangs.


I wonder what Ricky Martin is doing right now.


(S)he bangs.


That very well may be the case. His rise and fall were so quick; I doubt he took the time for proper financial planning. If it happened to me, I would not be living the vida loca. I’d invest half of it in Morris Mutual Funds and take the rest of it to my friend Asabulah who works in securities.


At least Sisqo had the foresight to be able to fall back on his computer networking empire.


Let me see that 0111010001101000011011110110111001100111.


Baby.


That 0111010001101000011011110110111001100111, 0111010001101000011011110110111001100111, 0111010001101000011011110110111001100111, 0111010001101000011011110110111001100111, 0111010001101000011011110110111001100111.


R Kelly, however, is only interested in your 71.129.3.106.


+8 Nerd Points.


Free punk band name: The Constipated Elvises


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I got a letter from the government addressed to Mr. (me) and Miss (my roommate’s girlfriend) warning us against signing over the deed to our house to some stranger claiming to help keep us from losing our home.


Hokay, so:

  1. We rent. By now I’m a bit suspicious of this random, unsolicited attempt at making contact from some “assembly member” I have never heard of who obviously knows where we live, but didn’t manage to get a single generalized assumption about us correct. Sounds like a scam.
  2. Is this what America has come to? We need to be told not to sign the deed to our house away to some random person?
  3. Yes. Remember McGruff, the crime dog? That bitch who used to come on in between Mr. Rogers and Reading Rainbow and tell you not to talk to strangers? He is now doing commercials aimed at preventing adults from falling victim to identity theft. I saw it with my own eyes after seeing Lance Bass dressed up as a giant banana on Let’s Make A Deal. Forget that I had a 101 degree fever. That shit really happened.


I’m not scaremongering. This is really happening.


Dear Amazon: Why are you offering me the best deal on a $280 pair of moon boots? Do you know something I don’t?


I hope I’ll never have to perform for a room full of ghosts.


One of the many reasons I don’t have TV: Jay Leno is still employed.


But that does allow for a new party game: Try to guess what combination of anti-depressants Kevin Eubanks is on.


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I also got one from a Ying Ding, which I think makes for a much better euphemism.


I heard on the news that they will be building a new Target where I live, generating X amount of dollars per year in sales tax revenues for the city. How did they figure that out? Did they add up the amount of annual sales tax from the local businesses that will be displaced by the new Target? Keep in mind, they did not say X amount of additional tax dollars per year. What are we solving here? I know the simple act of construction will generate jobs and kick more money back into the hands of the workforce, but that’s a temporary solution with a long-term side effect. The only thing left for Mom and Pop to do is to buy some flannel and get fitted for hard hats. I’m pretty sure they sell both of those at Target.


I freaked out because the soap I bought wasn’t sealed. But then I remembered that it’s soap.


That’s almost as bad as having to go get a sharp object to open my package of razors.


Wheel of Fortune, funny Same Name: Forrest Bush


And now this week’s installment of free bad standup material:


People have stopped me and asked, “Hey Bono. Why haven’t you been blogging on your jigglybits?”


Wait for it.


“If I could do that, I’d never leave the house.”


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This jigglybit is getting pretty long. It may soon turn into a jigglybyte. If it gets to that point, please hold my hair.


I had a lady ask me “Do I pay first, or do I tell you what I want?”


The following is a real conversation with a grown-ass woman:

“Could you write on the cake ‘Happy birthday Lori?’”

“Sure, and could you spell the name for me please?”

“Oh…well…uh…maybe I should just put ‘Mom’…um…can I call you back?”


The following is a real conversation with a grown-ass man:

“I can’t remember the name of this one. Is it a Pecan Square?”

“No. It’s a triangle.”


I’m not even thirty yet, but I think I’m ready for senility. When I go into a room to do something, I immediately think of a more important reason to be in there, which invariably involves something that needed to be done prior in the room I just came from. So, I go back into that room, and more often than not, notice something else that I should eventually do while in the current room. But instead of getting what I need and going back into the other room to complete the important task, I sit down and get started on that eventual work because, fuck it, I’m here. I’ll get to that other thing later. If I remember. I’ll remember. If not, it wasn’t that important anyway.


If I own a house when I’m 80, it will be one bigass room.


It’s that time of the year for Mother Nature. Things could get a bit wild, so you have to prepare yourself in case she gets in a huff and decides to strip away the things we often take for granted. For example: If there’s a storm and your power goes out, you should make sure you have



a hand-crank radio tuned to Parliament Funkadelic.


But there’s more.



I wouldn’t just give you part 1 and leave you hanging. There was so much unresolved funk.


Rave reviews = Roger Ebert in a tent with a bunch of friends, eating pills, listening to techno music and passing judgment on things.


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Things that blow my brain: I heard a blind woman say “Nice to see you.” Twice.


Maybe she’s a ninja.


Ninjas of the Caribbean would just be two hours of staring at an empty sea.


Cats are impatient bastards. Mine will walk right up to me and say, “Now!”


I tell it, “Later!”


I like what Prince sings about, but I prefer what Ella sings about.


Notes on love from a man who can’t get a girlfriend: If your man ever asks you to dress as a naughty nurse, wear a set of bloodstained scrubs to bed.


He’ll fucking love it.



Come jiggle with me.