They are. And they do.

Saturday, August 27, 2011

The Jigglybits Magazine


© 2011 Vancouver

We have a new concept, which means we’ll soon do a lot of coke and split over creative differences. I wanted a National Geographic, but Aram pussied out on getting his boobs gauged with the bones of a porpoise. He wanted a fold cover, but I’d rather buy booze than pay for your broken monitors. I’m already looking forward to our eventual reunion in the form of a supergroup: Crosby, Stills, Nash, Young, Merrill-Lynch, Sacco and Vanzetti. Featuring Aram and Bono. We will wear unlaced ADIDAS and help bring hip hop to the masses. But until then, enjoy The Magazine.


To open The Doors, turn to page 65.

To continue feeding Roger Ebert ketamine, turn to page 1.

Shoes, omg. Page 1.

Yes, it’s a shoes your own adventure.

Or for my Spanish speaking friends, un zapatas adventurate.

Because butchering my native tongue is too easy.

If you say “Doug” with a bit more exhale, you have “Dough.”

Restaurant Review - McDonalds: Kinda like if Gattaca was a snuff porn. I give it 2 bits.

Note to self that makes it look like I'm getting more than I am: Give chocolate lovin to Shannon and Heidi.

The word “Candelabra” is proof that even before modern technological advances, people have enjoyed glow in the dark lovin.

I mean, how else are you going to explain the Great Chicago Fire of 1871?

That proves nothing.

Letters from the Editor:

Dear Reader,

Stop it with all the letters already. You're starting to freak me the fuck out.



Protip: If you’ve read Super Sad True Love Story, you should befriend the James Beard Foundation on Facebook.

Today’s phonics lesson: LOL

If something happens that irritates you, you might say OMFG. Unless you're an atheist. Then there is no G. Dr. Dre is jobless. Times are tough. But if you're an atheist and something really rubs you the wrong way, you might say OMFS. Oh my fucking science. And if you're an atheist and a scientist, you might say OHMS. Because that's the unit for resistance.

That was inaccurate, I'd like to apologize. If Dr. Dre was jobless, there would be no OG. And then you'd say MF, because new hip hop kinda sucks.

LMFAO (v): to suck at rapping

Autotune sounds like a computer entering puberty.

So, Charlotte Kemp Muhl is like totally dating Sean Lennon, and stuff. Hella dating. Wouldn’t it be fucking adorbs if she dressed up as Han Solo for Halloween?


Good news: This girl says we’re a Beatles song.

Bad news: I think I might be the walrus.


Blow his mind with 100 new red hot napping positions!


Listen, Sonny Jim. Sleeping this way will add 10 years to your divorce. I learned it from Keith Richards when I toured with the Stones.

I'm all for people trying things out. I've kissed a few dudes, never on purpose.

Music can be a powerful thing.


I said crink crank a crinka a crinky dinky crink crink crank ita yo stank bacrankadanka bank sank da Jason Statham crink crank a crinkydinky crank wanksta wicket n cheese.

I wrote the word “love” in an email, and Google

No, no, no.


And Google gave me suggestions for “sad love song lyrics.” Wtf, Page and Brin? I don’t like your automated virtual commentary on my situation.

I’m afraid to type “we should hang,” because it might give me suggestions for “rope.”

Btw, I didn’t know who owned Google, so I had to Google it. If I owned Google, I would make the result Chuck Norris, because I’d have that kind of power.

A friend just asked me what my wrestling name would be.

That's something I've never had to think about. What would I like the announcers, and other wrestlers (not to mention the rabid fans) to yell out? What would I like to have people write on signs with the hopes that they'll be seen on national TV?

First watch this

Then press mute.

Then watch this:

My friend: Jack Benny was always 39, and so am I. :)

If you know who Jack Benny is, you’re not 39.

Rodney Dangerfield moment. Ready?

I know, I know. It’ll only take a moment.

We were so poor growing up, man, we were so poor.

Yeah. And?

No, fuckass. You’re supposed to ask me how poor I was.

Oh. Huh. Well, how poor were you?

That’s right, prick. We were so poor, we didn’t eat Top Ramen. We ate Meh Ramen. Ha!

That isn’t funny.

Why are you still reading this?

Now is the time on Sprockets when I scare the shit out of you: I read someone describing himself as a “Sergeon,” and I am contractually unable to tell you who it is.

Enjoy that.

Printed above the nutritional facts on a can of Coke are the words "Low Sodium." In a related story, Chernobyl has great water pressure.

Bush got Saddam (giggle), Obama got Bin Laden. The next president will be a let down if he doesn’t get Dr. Evil.

But who do we have who could battle an intergalactic superdickhead?


As they say, fight spaceship willie with Spaceship Willie.

I’m usually against nepotism, but George Clinton would make an excellent Secretary of Non-Vehicular Transportation.

I recently got to witness a parking cop giving me a ticket, but I win because I’m not a parking cop.

He drives around in what is essentially this:


I don’t know what’s more amusing, that the back looks like this:


Or that he wears a bicycle helmet.

Regardless, that job is what happens to lower middle class men with small penises.

My neighbor is either vacuuming or very lonely.

My Friend: I’d give my firstborn to be able to fall asleep right now.

Me: If you’re handing out firstborns, I’ll take two.

Our generation needs a Groucho Marx.

One of my friends just had a kid, and another just won an Emmy. This forced me to wipe the Funyuns grease on my boxers so I could click “Like.”

I’m a busy guy, so I don’t always write this out in one sitting. Often enough, I jot down little snippets that I end up revisiting and expanding into entire bits. But occasionally, that leaves me with a random bit of incoherence that doesn’t fit in well with these other random bits of incoherence. If you can decipher my latest Seinfeld moment for me and tell me why it’s funny, I will personally take you out for a romantic evening of 40s on the curb at the Target parking lot. And I’ll even pay for mine:

Bono’s Boners! Look at the dancing monkey!

See, even I don’t have a clue what that means.

Dear girl at the ATM,

You were hot until you let the machine beep forfuckingever before taking your card.



Natural selection is me tweaking my neck while trying to scratch the inside of my ear with my shoulder. I think it’s better that I don’t breed.

“When I count, it means the whole world can hear me, even in the movies.”

Kids say the dumbest shit.

AF: So, tell me a bit about what makes Bono tick.

BONO: As a rock star, I have two instincts, I want to have fun, and I want to change the world.

AF: Mmm.

BONO: I have a chance to do both.

AF: Yeah.

BONO: In dabut

Today’s Tip for Hella Hotness:

Just the tip. Please? It won’t hurt. Trust me.

The Ladies Mullet: Business up front, party in dabut.

Things to do while in Dabut:
  • Spelunking
Funny name: Robert Packwood

While baking something for this girl I like, I accidentally burned myself so that it looked like I’m really lonely.

Funny name: Bruce Cockburn

Protip: Don’t be a fool, Bono Isatool.


Look. Advil makes condoms. In case your partner’s a sadist and you’re just a really nice guy.

AF: Be honest. Did you really know a bitch named Eric Wright, or did you just need a rhyme?

That's some real conversation for your ass.


If you find yourself having deez nuts, double deez nuts, or really anything above a B cup, call a Dr. immediately.

I take care of myself, but it tends to lead to injury. It makes me feel a lot older than I am. The other day I was working out and I think I pulled my triceriteps.

Fitness tip: If you find yourself about to pull your triceriteps, remember that every time you do, god kills a velociraptor.

In my line of work, I’m really young. Whenever someone asks what my cell is, I say “stem.”

In Massachusetts, you have to be 5’9” in order to donate sperm. That seems a bit too selective. I know plenty of women who couldn’t do that.

The reasoning behind this is that people don’t want short babies.

Gattaca! Gattaca!

That’s not exactly fair, nor is it necessarily the best decision. The short ones are so much easier to fit in a purse or an overhead bin. They’re convenient. You could keep a few in the glove box or in your back pocket in case you suddenly needed one. You could hand them out as party favors or stuff them in a piñata.

You’re not the first to tell me I’d make a great dad.

But I’ll just settle for a Facebook app that lets me input certain words that will filter out the status updates I see.

My Friend: Ooo how good is the I just bought my first ever coach purse (on sale of course) :)

Perhaps I just need to start deleting people.

Question: “I know from Lev. 11:6-8 that touching the skin of a dead pig makes me unclean, but may I still play football if I wear gloves?”

Answer: Religious people are fucking crazy.

And no. You throw like Stephen Hawking.

I hear that publishers are trying to get more money from libraries by only letting their ebooks get checked out 25 times before the library has to buy a new file. As a reader, I think that’s a flawed system. How am I supposed to eat bacon while reading and licking my fingers to turn the pages in case the next person to check out the book happens to be someone who thinks that animal doesn’t belong inside of us?

Technology fucks everything up.


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“Be yourself!”

“I dare you! I double dare you, motherfucker, say ‘what’ one more goddamn time!”

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I often wonder about the vampire equivalent of the BANG! gun. Is it like an inflatable wooden stake? Or maybe one that leaves a smudge, like that gum that turns your mouth black.

“Mmmm. Blood. Fucking nom.”


“Aaaaah! You dick! What’d you do that for?”

“It was funny.”

“Oh, right. Funny. Now, how am I supposed to get that out?”

“Well, you know. Do you have one of those little…”

“What, like a Clorox pen? I’m wearing a cape. Do you think I have fucking pockets? You’re lucky this thing is black. It doesn’t really show dirt.”

“Well, maybe you should get one of those satchels.”

“What, like a man purse?”

“No, man. I mean like a satchel. Indiana Jones has one.”

“I’m already in negative man points for dressing like this. You want me to add a strappy strap bag thing?”

“It’s practical.”


“What, are you not secure about yourself?”

“Secure? I’m fucking Dracula, bitch. Read a book. I have issues.”

Yeah, that’s pretty much how it would go down.


Fitness tip (n): Arnold Schwarzenegger’s what-have-you

To see what that’s like, turn to page 1.

To experience it firsthand, vote Republican.




Um, hello?


Anyone there?


Oh, I’m sorry. Which one of you ordered extra Assange?


It is ok. I am expert.

Yeah. You read this for the articles.

George Carlin said that most of the people who are against abortion are people you wouldn’t want to fuck in the first place. Though I’m straight, I feel the same way about homophobes. And I don’t think I’m alone. I doubt the lesbian collective just looked at Michele Bachmann and said, “Balls.”

Though I am a bit surprised we haven’t seen any bad “Bachmann: Turn Her Over, Drive” jokes yet.

Surprised narcoleptics say, “Ohh, nap!”

I’m sorry. But you can’t pick up a tomato and expect The Onion.

Area Man Will Turn Car Around If You Don’t Stop It Right Now

Twitter Ponders Increase to 160 characters. Internet Changes Its Pants.

Betty Ford Dead at 93 of Massive Heroin Overdose

Fall Out Boy Seeks Speech Therapy After Thousands Show Up To Concert Wearing Mullets

Oxford Style Guide drops the Oxford Comma. Andre 3000 Decides Smart Girls Just Aren’t That Hot

Inflatable Shark Among 300 Species Discovered in Philippines

No joke. That’s just fucking rad. And likely the future cause of human extinction.

In lieu of making a will, I think I’ll make a scavenger hunt. I don’t promise everything will be easy to reach.

The PT Cruiser is like a hearse for short people.

Free T-shirt idea: Save the drama for your Oxford comma.

Please, someone make that so we can distinguish the nerds from the douchey nerds.

Don’t get me wrong, I love nerds in several different positions.

Unfortunate acronyms:
  • NARD
Hey, that looks like a porn site:

It’s not.

I have so many of those that I could almost start a second site of just filthy URLs.

URL sounds like a sexual preference, BTW.

But what would I call it?

(n): man mouth on girlybits

If I ran Facebook, I would include a “relatively indifferent” button for us not to click.

Alternate names for Google+:

Google Your Friends


The Googleybits

Google Yes! Oh God, Yes! WAKA WAKA WAKA!

If you happened to get the Dishwalla reference in that joke, let me know so we can both awkwardly deny having ever listened to that band.


Album Review: Shit sandwich.



Adjacent to Aruba, Jamaica and at least one frigid, but still kinda hot biochem student with several children and alcoholic tendencies, this tropical destination is known for its vast steel reserves, no longer relevant psychedelia and wild, untamed reverb on the snare drum. The local population consists of mostly immigrants, astronauts, and narcoleptics. National pastimes include alliteration and pretending alliteration will get you laid.

That song is like the creepy old man anthem. I’m sure even Prince thought, “Um, bitches, I think you’ve crossed the line.”

Dear Facebook,

The 30-Day Song Challenge is not a challenge. It’s like saying “Bet you can’t masturbate every day this month.”



I think that might be the first time I’ve used the word “masturbate” in this blog. Sorry.

Hokay, kids. Has everyone ready for making the English?




A belief or philosophy must have one to bring it about. If there is no one to think it, it can not be. Linguistically speaking, where there’s an ism, there’s an ist.

You get the gist? No?

Bob Marley was a firm believer in the practice of smoking a good J. He was a Jist. He practiced Jism.

Bob Marley and Dr. Seuss! And Dr. Dre! And Dr. Phil! Secret love child!


Pac Man Dead

Pac Man was found dead today in the depths of a blue maze, but only for about a second before he withered away into nothingness. The cause of death for the 31 year old infinite-sided polygon is believed to be accidental. An analysis of his stomach contents revealed 63,834,678,902,345,423 pills, several pieces of fruit and one ghost. When reached for comment, longtime lover and professional talking carpet, Fozzie Bear, appeared devastated, but not at all surprised. “That was just the lifestyle they had, him and the Ms. I think we always knew he couldn’t go on like that forever. Often times, he would seek escape, but just end up right back in the same place he was before.” Bear, 35, cited the irony of one of their more prominent exchanges. “I was in pretty bad shape, too. I mean, it was the 80s. It got so bad that he and the Ms., they tried to make me go to rehab. I said, ‘Yes! Oh god yes! WAKA WAKA WAKA!’ Which is probably why I’m here talking to you today.” According to Bear, the deceased was a spiritual being. “He always believed in reincarnation,” said Bear. “And I personally don’t think it’ll be long before we see him again.”

That will be $3.95, please. Seriously. I’m out of Jameson.

Come jiggle with me.