They are. And they do.

Thursday, January 20, 2011

The Jigglybits Illustrated vol. 9

Congratulations to Natalie Portman and Aram Fresh.

It’s widely known in Hollywood that when you marry your choreographer, you’re just covering up who the real daddy is. The truth is, she took one look at this


and BAM. Pregnant.

Number nine.

Number nine.

Number NEIN!


If you send me your hate mail, I’ll be a little less lonely.

On the plus side, I think I just gained a whole blitzkrieg of Glenn Beck fans.


Chapter 29:

“I’m a bit jiggler. I jiggle bits.”

I know this shit can seem a tad random, and I feel you. I’ll give you a tip to help you enjoy the rest of this post:

“Please? Can I? Just a tip?”

That was from Chapter 34.

When something happens that irritates me, I tend to say, “Balls.” If you agree, you can then say, “Totes scrotes.”

I’m bringing back the turtleneck. But only in places where no one will notice. Like here.

Sometimes I’ll make a bad decision just so I can use the word “cockamamie.”

Funny name: Tip Blewitt

What's better is that Tip is a dude.

People I can do without:
  • Anyone who posts pictures of their cat on their keyboard.
  • Anyone who begins a Facebook post with "Dear Los Angeles."
  • Or “Deer Beer.”

Pharmacy (adj) - displaying the characteristics of an Iowa whore

Or a cow.

“Next thing I knew…she was all up on me…screaming ‘Yeah!’”

“It’s ok, Mr. Usher. Show us on the doll.”

Do girls spend all day playing with their boobs? Because I do.

Seriously. I think I touch my upstairs junk way more than the average dude.

Ninjas don't have old stomping grounds. When they return to their former homes, they go back to their old sneaking in undetected and snapping everyone's necks like they're fucking twigs, but really they're only wussy little samurai fucktards grounds.

I spent the holidays hanging around the town I grew up in. It was kinda like browsing the new releases section at The Bible Store.


So, is like, the cross his peep?

Locust (n): past tense oral

I’m a twenty-something old fuck:
  • I got a little excited when I heard Wynton Marsalis wrote a symphony. +2 points
  • I had a “This crap all sounds the same” moment with autotuned fem-pop. +5 points

Mathematically speaking, yes. It does all sound the same. That’s the point of the program.
  • I liked my friend's FB status: Bach has the sickest bass lines. +7 points

I saw a windmill-shaped ad for a restaurant. This may not be the optimal shape for your message. When read clockwise, left to right, it said: "Its food at best."

I like sandwiches.

That's not a joke. They're fucking tasty.

Free million dollar idea for charity: Pink strap-ons for prostate cancer.

Because we have to do something for the dudes.

Some Americans are worried about how we would pay for universal health care. They say it would never work. It works elsewhere. Japan has universal health care. They also have used panty vending machines. In statistics, we call that a direct correlation.

Once you do the numbers, it's a bulletproof system. I think we should adopt it. You know how many sick fucks we have? We'd cover health care costs no problem. We may even have enough money left over for a war or two.

But wait a minute. Do the used panties come with an expiration date? Are they regulated by the USDA as a meat product? We need to work out the logistics.

Fellow nerds: "Working out the logistics" is our new euphemism.

It's also very accurate, considering that's probably what we'd end up doing instead of banging.

But if we did, there would be a lot of screaming “A:\Enter Insert.”

Or “An unexpected I/O error has occurred.”

Funny book name: Dixie Reckoning

People laugh when I say “I’m trying to maintain my girlish figure.” But I’m serious. If I don’t maintain my figure, I won’t be getting any girl ish.

Funny book sequel name: Dixie Wrecked

The main character dies in the end.

But really, all I want is someone who won’t get mad if I just happened to have eaten a tuna sandwich beforehand.

Breakfast nook (n): You sick fuck.

I like my coffee like I like my coffee.

When someone says “I love you,” I want to say “I love you back,” but I’m usually too afraid that they’re used to people not enunciating. I don’t want them to think I mean it like


Because I really do.

When you progress further into suburbia, the “speed humps” signs change to “speed Bumps,” because the housewives don’t want word to get out that they have vaginas. But I now live in the hood, where the signs simply read “undulations.” We don’t even try to hide it.

Even in the most romantic of situations, “Wanna undulate?” will usually get a negative reaction.

But if they then jump your bones, you know you have a keeper.

I live in an apartment and my neighbor has a girlfriend. But he’s a bit older, so every night I have to try to sleep while hearing them make really serious, in depth conversation.

And all grunting and moaning is followed by a muffled *sploosh*

You’ll have to excuse me. I just got out of the shower. Or as the French call it, “Le quoi?”

It’s ok. I actually have a friend going to school in France, so I have an unprejudiced, appreciative view of their culture.


French people are fucking dirty. And I’ve been trying to go to that big museum they have, the Loo, but every time I ask, I end up getting shown the fucking toilet.


That one actually goes out to my friends in the UK.

I miss you.

Come home.

The war is over.


Chapter d:

Biggest regrets:
  • Kanye West. I should’ve waterboarded him when I had the chance.
  • Not having the foresight in the fight against terrorism to have an inspirational theme song composed by Antoine Dodson
  • Not following in Clinton’s footsteps. I mean, Laura’s a total leather freak and all, but shit gets boring after a while, you know?

Look at her


That’s the face of someone who will make you do bad things.





“until I

Unlike her husband, she looks just like her parents. She has Thom Yorke's eye and Chris Rock's neck.

A recent excerpt from my travel dairy:

Dear Dairy,

That gallon was sour. Please replace.



Went to Canada. Ate regular bacon. Feel cheated.

Though I was in a foreign country, the cars were just like the ones in America: Japanese. I was at least hoping for an occasional Canuckrolet.

I’m beyond apologizing. You’ve read this far, you know what you’re getting into.

I was given a ride by a Canadian who wasn't polite enough to use soap. Or maybe he was, but just couldn't reach all the little nooks and hiding places. For those who don't know what fat people smell is like, it's as if you're finding baked beans that have been trapped under a boob for a week and a half.

Apparently, the city I stayed in is a joke around Canada for having a lot of valley girl types.

Some friends wanted me to bring them back something. But then they got all pissed and wouldn’t accept their syphilis.

It appears that the stereotype is true. Canadians are polite to the point of psychosis. When honoring people, they will clap for someone who isn't there because they aren't there.

Maybe it isn’t courtesy. Maybe Canadians are like passive-aggressive Jedi.

And you don’t want to oh that’s ok not really anger a people armed with yaks.


They are a secure nation. Their airport has a white picket fence, sells gas cans on site and is just down the road from Ammo Coffee.

In a town named Bamf.

But despite their squeaky clean exterior, I’m sure there exists a seedy and probably quite hairy underbelly. Where else would they place “Pho Cuang,” “Lube World” and “Meat Market” right next to each other?

20th and J.

But I was a good ambassador. I did my best to educate my hosts on their neighbor’s culture.

“What is the current American slang?”
“Well, we say ‘Bootsy’ a lot. In fact, this isn't to get out, but that's soon going to be Diddy's next name.”
“Yeah. I have the inside information, because I'm from California.”

As fun as CA was, I’m glad to be back in CA. Yes, they have the world’s largest wooden spoon shop (now featuring internet), but you have to come to the good ol’ you ess of eh to experience “Your Car is Your Cage Bear Tours.”

Because it worked so well in Jurassic Park.

I heard Rob Thomas the other day and thought, “…still?”

Hey. A pop culture reference. Like a real, grown-up blogger.

I think The Rocker should’ve been called Rock Tease. Like Shaq before him, I’m pining for Rainn Wilson’s foray into music.


Bearz, Beatz and Battlestar Galactica.

Have you ever had one of those really productive mornings where you think, “Ok. I’m done with wearing pants for the day.” I’ve done that before even putting them on.

Efficiency is environmentally friendly. So is sloth.

All of the pages on Wikipedia now have a banner at the top, which reads: “Please read: A thank you from the founder of Wikipedia.” I’ll save you the trouble of ignoring it and just tell you what it says:

Deer Wurld,

Thnx fore nou iye kan aford teh cheezburgers.


Guye hoo gott ritch frum evryone else’z wurk

Burger (n): Wikisteak

I have to applaud the man’s balls.

I’ll pause for that image to sink in.

It took some serious co-goneus to have the world get involved in something that they didn’t ask for without being compensated for their efforts and then ask them to pay millions of dollars just because it exists.



“I like sandwiches.”

I'm canceling my Comcast, which means I'll be without TV entirely. Ugly Betty, it's your fault. You make me want to stick my dick in my eye.

For your convenience, I made that one 140 characters.

I’m glad they finally changed the zodiac signs. That shit hasn’t been accurate for my entire life.

But still, you want to be careful how you disclose that information on Facebook.

My friend: Still a Sag.

Me: Yeah.

Untapped prequel potential:


To be followed by:

Max With A Hangnail

Max Finally Decides To Use The DMV's Website Instead Of Standing In Line Forever Only To Find That The One Function He Needs Is Down Until Further Notice. Fuck.

Because unsolicited prequels work best in trilogies.

Or perhaps, it could go the route of Indiana Jones, with a long-awaited sequel which answers all of those burning, unanswered questions:

Max On Prozac

The perfect Shia LeBeouf vehicle.

A personal appeal from Facebook founder Mark Zuckerberg:

I’m rich, bitch!

I went to a caf├ę and the lady asked me if I wanted a hot Panini. I said, “Slow down. At least buy me dinner first.”

Oh, comedy.

I once dated a girl who used to talk all the time about her hope chest.

Hope chest (n): Bob Hope’s pectorals

Btw, that one isn’t mine. If you can tell me who said that, I’ll love you long time forever.

I really fucking hate when people try to say touching or profound things on a holiday because it’s a holiday.

In 2011, I want little more than to live with the knowledge of someone I lost in 2010.

And thank Jebus the Christmas music has stopped. That shit is good for only one thing: sneaking into the DJ booth at a rave and getting a couple thousand high teenagers to simultaneously freak the fuck out.


It’s Grammy season, so grab your senior citizen rifle.

These aren’t your grandma’s old people. Senior citizens today are quick. The generation that grew up with muscle cars now has muscle electric wheelchairs. And the little old lady from Pasadena now has a brand new, shiny, red, super stock Segway.

Antoine Dodson should get a Grammy for best inadvertent pop song about a rape and/or molestation by some idiot in the projects.

But it’ll probably lose to this:


Because after having read this, that’s probably how you feel.

Come jiggle with me.