They are. And they do.

Sunday, May 9, 2010

The Jigglybits Illustrated vol. 4

Includes Aram Fresh. Never Aram Frozen.

Sorry for leaving off on a cliffhanger last time. Contrary to popular belief, your family was not started when Uncle Fester farted. Uncle Fester had been secretly banging Morticia the entire time (it’s no coincidence Pugsley looks just like him). But seeing how Fester comes from her side of the family, they all in fact came out retarded.

Those wacky Adamses.

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Adams. Adams. 5’7” weighed about 200.

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I heard that, motherfucker couldn’t see his dick.

Someone called me “a sarcastic scatter-brained asshole.”

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@:D

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:>()<

(That one's a penguin).

I appreciate back-handed compliments almost as much as front-handed insults.

A friend asked me what she should wear for going on the radio.

Wait a minute.

WTF do you wear to go on the radio?

Saliva has a greatest hits cd. It’s a single.

I love sneezing at the resonant frequency of my guitar. It’s amusing. Like farting on a snare drum.

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One of my band mates is a girl I call “Puffy,” for obvious reasons. She then felt charged to come up with a nickname for me and asked for suggestions.

“How about Bono?”

She totally said yes.

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How come a rapper hasn’t used this as a euphemism yet?

It recently came to my attention that death needn’t get in the way of collaboration.

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Lil John Lennon says, “End the war, bitches.”

Although I’m bummed at having to add “Funkadelic” to my spell check dictionary, I’m thrilled that it still offers the correction “star bucks.”

A grown ass woman – “What makes the water hot?”

I don’t like the Starbucks cup because when the java jacket

which is a stupid term. I think we should adopt something else, like coffee muff.

when the muff starts to slip off, which will inevitably happen, no matter how hard I jam it up in there, I’m not quite sure for a split second whether it’s the muff slipping down or the lid popping off.

Coffee is so fucking dirty. Ask those who pick it.

So, I try to avoid getting my coffee “to go” because most often I don’t go far. It seems like a waste. I may walk a few paces and then sit down to enjoy my coffee while it’s still hot. At that point, I am not going anywhere. And then I start to feel like a failure, one more useless prick with an English degree sitting in a coffee shop with a paper cup in my hand like I’m fucking Magellan, when the only “to going” I’m about to do involves carrying the cup to join its brethren in the trash can on my way out.

Yet, it’s not the gluttony of our natural resources or the acceleration of global warming that keeps me from using a paper cup, it’s the feeling of impending doom in the form of scalding my pinky when I experience muff slippage. I don’t like that uncertainty. When I put something in a cup, I want to make sure the motherfucker will stay in there until I am ready to tip it up between my lips and let gravity work its magic. I do not take caffeine through my hand.

I very much prefer drinking from a ceramic cup. In fact, I may be the only straight man under 30 on the planet who has a collection of antique teacups from around the world. And because refusing to put liquid in a vessel is like slapping it in the face, I make it a point to use them fairly regularly. Those cups have traveled thousands of miles, survived revolutions and changed hands too many times to sit unused. And just like how vinyl sounds better and real books smell better, coffee and tea from an antique cup tastes much better. Kind of like opium money. And quite possibly lead paint.

I like drinking white tea, even though green tea tastes better. White tea is the tea equivalent of veal, and I like the idea of maybe getting someone pissed off at a leaf.

Tea and toast are quite good together. Whomever invented that combination should find the genius who first paired potatoes and tomatoes and do battle. Tasty, tasty battle.

Tea and toast would win because although potatoes would bruise pretty badly, tea would scald the fuck out of you. Tomatoes would just be annoying. And toast delicious.

This is the kind of shit I don’t get paid to think of.

Rooibos is delicious, but unfortunately named.

“Hey, Phil. You remember Chastity from history class?”
“You kidding? Bitch left me with a raging case of Rooibos.”

This is where I openly give the finger to every douchebag who has ever used the “I like my women like I like my coffee” line.

Immediately after handing over my phone to the repairman, I saw what may be the world’s best license plate:



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“JZNTIME.”

That’s when “mashup” doesn’t refer to mixing songs together.

Having euphemisms for sex is really fucking stupid, considering it is one of the most common compulsory actions among life forms, plants included.

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Still, it sure is fun. The euphemisms, too. Here’s a new one for you:

What did the brown chicken say to the brown cow?
Let’s fuck.

I bought some generic brand raisins, and the box has a drawing of some black raisins in front of some green grapes. I guess the 39 cents I saved was in botanical accuracy.

It’s tax time.

Right?



And while everyone is giggling over “Are you blind” or whether or not you expect to be a widower next year, I’m contemplating checking the “Ottoman Turkish Empire Settlement Payment” box.

Investing in clothing means letting people laugh at your acid-wash wearing ass for about 20 years.

Yes, I’m still bringing back on old jokes you’ve probably forgotten about.



A sharpie is the manliest possible highlighter.

“What’s that intoxicating scent you’re wearing?”
“Chorizo.”
“Come to Papi.”

The smell of a bright summer day always makes me nostalgic for fabric softener.

Perhaps boogers have one of the strongest odors ever, but we’re just used to it.

For those of you who don’t think our humor is intelligent:

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It's not high-brow or low-brow. It's manic-depressive-brow.

The name, “Tiff,” sounds like a speech impediment. Or an uncompressed image file.

First Kierkegaard, then Nordenbrock. Friends, don’t make me wait till your funeral to learn your embarrassing middle names.

One recently deceased friend shows up on facebook every time I log on. Today, under his photo read “Reconnect with him.” My peripheral vision read “Resurrect him.”

I do. Whenever I cook with chevre, I sing “The Love Goat,” if only in my head.

I miss you, buddy.

Funny ninja name: Mitsu Miyagi

I made ninja salsa. It starts out smooth and rather refreshing, but then it bites when it goes down.

Sometimes I don’t even have to finish the joke.

FEEED MYYYYYYYYYYY

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GERTRUDE STEIIIIIIIN!

Gertrude Stein – “This Alice Cooper you speak of. Is she hot?”

HUNGRY FOR LOVE AND IT’S READING TIME!

If you haven’t gathered, the aim of this blog is to provide a service to the female population. I’m reducing your sea by one fish. You’re welcome.

And if you’re the kind who gets the slightest bit turned on when someone says “put the punctuation inside the quotation,” then you’ve found your fish.

Dear Katy Perry,

I too use cherry Chapstick. And no, you may not have any.

Kisses,
Bono

A Scottish radical feminist burns other people’s bras.

You know. Because they cost money, and stuff. And we’re cheap.

Look! Shiny object!

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Team Player

Though it’s not exactly nerdxcore material, you have to admit, that shit is perfect for a T-Shirt.

I like the Blackberry because it comes with a holster that easily clips to my pajamas.

Working from home is fucking great. Especially now, because it’s gearing up to be summer, and I’m saving a ton of money on deodorant.

How do people in Mississippi keep time?

“One us. Fuck. Too short. This clock’s gonna be fast.”

It’s that famous Southern punctuality.

This has become a bit of a tradition every year since I first jiggled:

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Happy Mother’s Day, Shaft.

I’ll translate the rest of the blog for my Spanish-speaking readers:

Juevos Benedict.

Every once in a while, something from a blog long past will become relevant in international media:

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Cuando Benedict y amigos estan tocando los juevos de niños, the Lutheran Church just abolished all anti-gay policies.

Oh, yeah.

You know what that means.

Two girls.

One chalice.

Seriously, though. Bravo. It took you motherfuckers long enough.

For those of you playing The Jigglybits home game

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Lutheran clergymen are allowed to marry and have families, making them honest to God motherfuckers.

That kind of comment is not the biggest reason why I’m going to hell.

Few bumper stickers are as effective as the Make A Wish star on a slow-moving vehicle.

You laughed. I’ll keep a seat warm for you.

Come jiggle with me.