They are. And they do.

Sunday, March 27, 2011

Today always feels like an anniversary,

even though that was back in November.


I want to have your jigglies.

Was that out loud?

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

I love this time of year,

if only for the increasing popularity of the word


Tuesday, March 8, 2011

The Jigglybits Illustrated vol. 10



It’s a new dawn. It’s a new day. It’s a new life x40.

And I’m feeling jiggly.

Hey, everyone. Look at Aram.

Twitter is fucking stupid. But I admit, I’m on there. I kinda want to follow Mitch Hedberg, but I’m a little scared.

I also want to follow an amnesiac.

Oh, look. I ate corn last night.

Or an alcoholic vegetarian.

That’s called a dangling modifier, kids.

Friday was National Grammar Day. But that’s over. And today is actually National Write Whateverthefuck You’d Like With No Chance Of Repercussion Because Your Eighth Grade English Teacher No Longer Rules Your Life And Can Go Suck A Bag Of Dicks Day.

We should have a parade. But we’ll have to keep it short enough to fit on Twitter.

This post is conveniently in 140,000 characters. That way Aram doesn’t have to tweet.

I think that’s what being a Power User gets you.


Dear Jeff Dunham,

Please go away. You have funny voices, but your jokes are crap. I’d rank you in between Frank Caliendo and Sport Coat Willie out at the J Street rail station.



Dancing Dan has a Facebook page. Congratulations, Mark Zuckerberg. You have created The Information Superstreetcorner.

I think that site exists to make me look like a douche.

My friend: There are no words to truly capture how I feel. The mental and physical exhaustion is all worth it when your patient smiles and is genuinely grateful for your presence. There is so much to be learned from their honesty, resilience, compassion, and wisdom.

Me: I still haven’t showered, but damn this fudge is tasty.

My friend: ‎"i was a heavy heart to carry, but he never let me down. when he held me in his arms, my feet never touched the ground"

Me: (Arrested Development reference)

My friend: ‎"In the United States, for every two men who receive college degrees, three women will do the same. This past year, for the first time, there were more women than men in the workplace." Read the Atlantic article, too.

Me: Look at this picture of my dinner.

My friend: ‎"No artist is pleased. There is no satisfaction whatever at any time. There is only a queer divine dissatisfaction, a blessed unrest that keeps us marching and makes us more alive than the others." ~ Martha Graham

Me: I made a turd that looks like a little man doing The Carlton.

My friend: Look at this picture of my cat.

Me: Douche.

Photobucket (n): swampass

I like taking care of myself, but I also like Lebanese food.


I appreciate their honesty.

Why are the drawers for cheese and butter much smaller than the drawers for everything else? This does not reflect my diet.

I’m skinny as fuck, but my inner fat kid is far superior to yours.

I recently
1. Made chocolate chip cookies
2. out of chocolate cake
3. and candy
4. which I then ground up and used as a crust
5. for a cheesecake
6. which I then dunked in milk.

If you are lactose intolerant, I am sorry for how awesome my life is.

I have a fork that is shaped like a raptor claw. +2 man points. It only has 3 prongs, and it’s pointy as fuck, perfect for stabbing and ripping at whatever kind of meat I happen to be eating because I’m a man and I’m totally always eating a lot of meat and stuff, hella. But as with every perfect weapon, there’s a weakness. My kryptonite is rice. I tried to use my fork to get the last rouse on my plate, and I probably ended up burning more calories than I achieved in the end. It sucked. In fact, I’m pretty sure that’s what happened to the dinosaurs. Shut up, you weren’t there.

Are you there, God? It’s me, Bono.

I did a Google Image search for Mohammed. Am I going to hell?


God’s brown and curlies.

I quit studying biology because several years and thousands of dollars later I still didn’t know whether or not fire ants had fire crotches. They should each have three of them, if my calculations are correct. They would be the United Nations Fire Crotch Ambassadors, provided that fire centipedes don’t exist.

Three word story: Itchiest mistake ever.

I am the #1 Google result for Hemingway’s Jigglybits.

Lesbianism (n): The Vagina Dialogues

Jonathan Knight from New Kids on the Block announced that he is gay, which elicited the response from young females everywhere, “What What on the What?”

Which happens to be the title of his latest single.

Dance Hall (n): hehe

I probably should be upset that I didn’t invent the term, but I’m ok, considering I don't want to be with someone who does this. It’s not that it’s disgusting or unnatural. I just have no desire to be with someone who feels the need to do this to be happy.

I’d give it about 3 years until it gets popular with rappers.


But what would we call the male equivalent of this?

Gluing shit to your cock.

We’re simple creatures. Straight shooters. We get right to it. No dicking around.

Third base (n): Va-Jazz Hands

I think a mindfuck is like a ground rule double.


This makes sense, given the theory that tears are an indication of vulnerability, rather than sadness. I like a strong woman. Nothing turns me off more than one who makes herself helpless in the face of easily conquered adversity. And yet, there are men who prefer when the stripper is crying.

That means that if you aren’t right for me, don’t worry. There are plenty of fish in the pants.

I prefer a woman of good melon-quality who makes me pay attention to her upstairs. And if she also has nice boobs, that’s a plus.

I live above a cute girl around the same age as me. She has this aura of an indie rock listening slightly awkward because she’s not wearing her glasses today hating human contact and always on guard in case some fucktard gives her reason to verbally pimp slap them but she’ll be civil to me because I’m probably a douchebag not worth her breath and if she doesn’t contribute to the forward motion of the rapidly dying conversation than I should leave soon yes please soon get the fuck out of my doorway at 5:00 in the fucking afternoon so I can go back to doing or not doing anything else kind of personality.

Yes, please.

The only time we’ve really talked was right after I moved in when I made her cookies to introduce myself and offer the obligatory “I’m here if you need anything.” She then gave me this look like my unsolicited act of neighborly kindness totally skeezed her the fuck out, which I’m pretty sure is why I’m attracted to her.

I doubt anything is going to happen because:
  • I’m not really a looker.
  • I’m almost positive she can hear me fart but she can’t hear me work out.
  • And if she did, she’d probably think I’m attached.
  • She probably also thinks I’m gay (and not a very good partner) with how often I say, “Goddammit, Kyle!”
  • Perhaps the only thing I have going for me is that she doesn’t know I write this. I’m a nice guy, but this shit is about as endearing as herpes.
  • She moved away about a month ago. This is what happens when I skip posting in an effort to freak online daters the fuck out. Everything you’re reading is old news and should be ignored.


And now, this month’s installment of Not A Porn Site:

I don’t see all the fuss. It’s just a jzz org.

Remember those comics where you had to find each thing that was wrong?


Find each thing that is wrong. Answers printed upside down at the end.

I realized when I was about 10 years old that Garfield is not funny. I’m not sure if what changed was my mental development or if his best years are simply behind him.

That strip should be renamed “I can has been.”

I like standup comedy, but I don’t watch it because I don’t have cable, and the only network show that features standup comedians is Comics Unleashed.

Their guest list, which changes every night, more often than not consists of D-list comedians.

Will you please welcome…Denny Smith!

Nobody knows who the fuck Denny Smith is. And there’s a reason he is on network. He’s not funny. But sometimes, they’ll spice things up by having forgotten celebrities on the show who are now stand up comedians because they have bills and nobody wants them to act anymore.

Ladies and gentlemen…Pauly Shore!

That helps in that you know before they start talking that you aren’t going to care, and you can go back to concentrating on the person you share a bed with being a frigid bitch.

The show itself is set up like a conversation, but it’s one of those awkward setups where the host only speaks in phrases meant to spark one of the guest’s routines. Fuck lobbing them softballs. They should break into the hard-hitting questions.

So Pauly, what’s the deal with the conflict in Libya?

I’m glad you asked me that, Spanky, because it’s an issue that we’ve been wrestling with for weeks now at the Shore compound. Though my children are convinced that Gaddafi is a menace to the livelihood of the Lybian people at large, they remain in their younger and more vulnerable years while I hold out the possibility that we might be victims of a slightly jingoistic domestic media amalgam who can’t help but serve as a vector for their corporate benefactors and the Neo-Smithian system of late-market capital which maintains their prominence. And regardless, my own independent judgment is skewed by the inherent viewpoints brought unto me by my being a member of the privileged, Caucasian upper class in a traditionally isolationist (when not imperialist) Western society, not to mention my apparent reliance on foreign petroleum and the global financial consequences resulting from conflicting sociopolitical philosophies and the recent unrest and upheaval in the region. And I am the fucking weasel.


The daughter of Lotz Jansen and Shit Ton Jansen.

Words that are not Yiddish:

Oof. She got me right in the hypertufa.

I wanted to hear some good piano pop and I made the mistake of putting on Billy Joel. It’s no contest. He’s an ass clown compared to Elton John.



She’s a robo-babe. In Latin, she would be called “Babia Majora.” If she was a president, she’d be “Baberaham Lincoln.”

Robust (n): mechanical boobs

I get it.


My friend: iPhones are trying to make the world seem dummer.

I think this is a good time to tell you that anything you say on Facebook may eventually end up here.

My friend: So this guy in my history class looks like one of the ss Nazis from Indiana jones kinda weird

I know what you mean. Screenwriters today just don’t have the creativity that they used to.

I want to go to North Korea just for the protests.

“What’s the time?”


It's on like Kim Jong.


Does your phone have a Geiger counter app?

I kinda hope I drop my phone in the toilet. As far as smartphones go, the Brickberry is a bit of a waterhead.

Someone gave me an individually wrapped piece of candy with 8 words of instructions on how to open it. Is this their sly way of telling me I’m an idiot? Not only are they giving me something that is usually consumed by children, but they’re including an operations manual. This is clearly intended for me because kids don’t read what they eat. If you ask a kid,
“What did you eat?”
“What kind of candy?”
“It was good.”
If 8 words of instruction on the package are necessary, they should read “Open it or your ass gets no candy.” Don’t insult me with procedures. But truth be told, I don’t really mind the instructions as much as the associated drawing showing me the exact mechanics I need to employ to achieve the desired outcome. Is this where natural selection has led us? It’s really rather insulting. I’d show you a picture, but I got frustrated after 10 minutes of tugging on the wrapper and I threw it away.

PBJ = peanut butter, beer and jelly. Have you ever eaten something with peanut butter and not had something to drink with it?

Why is “Redneck” not a derogatory term for a Native American? Or a communist? Why must it imply someone who tends to hate those two groups? has a word of the day in English and Spanish. But they’re not the same word, which is frustrating. No joke, I would use the Spanish word for “autoschediastical.”

No. Not how David Carradine died.

I can’t be the only one who hopes Dick Cheney dies in an autoerotic waterboarding accident.

When aliens discover the internet, I hope they go here before It always helps to have some context.

I’m a nonfiction writer, so it’s my job to bring people reality. I’m a realitor.


Politicians and pundits getting mad at Jon Stewart is like musicians getting mad at Weird Al or Beavis and Butthead. Nobody made a fuss over “Eat It” or “Total Eclipse of My Bunghole.”

I don’t know if that last one actually happened, but it should have.

My neighbor hung a bedsheet out of her window with all sorts of writing condemning human trafficking within the US. I share her viewpoint, but because I live to the left of her, I can not effectively express my agreement via bedsheet. Most people in this country were taught to read left to right, removing all context from my message. They would look at my sheet first and not know what I refer to when I say, “Hella.”

I’m trying out this super intuitive new browser, but it never assumes what I want it to.


And it’s clearly trying to make me pick a fight with my friends.

My friend: I hate reposts. I also vow to stop retweeting people I follow on twitter. That is all.

Me: I hate reposts. I also vow to stop retweeting people I follow on twitter. That is all.

Facebook has a new game for me to not play, called Cityville. It appears they have run out of ideas. After Farmville, Fishville and all the rest, they have resorted to what is essentially Villeville.

I am going to play the fuck out of Tunafish.

Buss (v): A playful kiss, a smack

Short Buss (v): You sick fuck.

If any of you happen to be working in IT, I know computers are meant to be multitasking devices, but mine keeps spitting Ritalin at me from its disk drive. What does that mean?

You know who was awesome? George Burns.

I just saw the AT&T man pull up, set cones on either side of his van, spend 20 minutes talking on his phone in the driver's seat, pick up the cones and drive away. In a related story, my internet had been spazzing all day and is now working just fine. There is only one explanation for this:

My computer is cheating on me with the AT&T guy.

Yes, right in front of my eyes, he sat out there, cooing on the phone to my moody little Thinkpad, getting it to act like it was several years younger, working in ways that I could only wish for maybe once a year on my birthday.

It’s not like I neglect the thing. I mean, I keep it turned on more often than not. My hands are constantly running across it, pressing buttons, fingers swiping across the heat-sensitive multitouch pad. I even swapped out the hard drive once with the help of another man. But perhaps the part that gets the most attention from me is the trackstick. I always have my finger directly on that little red spot that doesn’t take much pressure to really make things move.

But obviously, that wasn’t enough. It required a whole different type of interaction. And I blame myself for not taking the time to set up, much less use the voice command function. That could’ve really made things kinky.

TCP/IP (v): 1) the act of giving a silicon shower. 2) 01110010-Kelly’s latest single.

+2 nerd points

Dabut Rock (n):


Most people don’t know that film was actually a remake.


He’s lurking. In the shadows. Of your couch. For fucking weeks. He’s 35 years old. And he works at Old Navy. He has a cat. Named Dorito. This summer. Just like last summer. And probably the next. An inaction hero. For us white guys with dreads. Colin. Firth. Is.

Definition from the ‘70s :
Stash box (n): a place to keep your weed because your parents will never think to look in the one box you own that also just happens to reek of weed

Not to be confused with

Stache box (v): man mouth on girlybits

Ladies and Gentlemen: St. Michael of Ahehe!


No reason for this. Just wanted to.

Young George Harrison looks much more like a vampire than the dude from Twilight.


And that sparkle? It’s sweat. From being a fucking god.


I wish more people traveled by yak.

“How’d you get here so quickly?”


Why are you still reading this?

Funny city name:


Hehe. Lemonwood.

I grew up in a small town, where the local government is referred to as “The Itty Bitty City Committee.”

Today’s reason why my hometown sucks: They sold out a Boz Scaggs show.

I am continuously amazed by the witness protection program. They managed to take John Belushi and reposition him in a much safer role where nobody will pay attention to him:


Aram’s is drawing.


He’s not quadriplegic. He’s quadriplwinning.

Dear World,

See how annoying that shit is? Let’s knock it the fuck off.




Come jiggle with me.