I’m back.

Blogs are really only read by other bloggers. It’s a pathetic, incestuous gathering of depressed, megalomaniacal insomniacs that I have come to know well. And despite the lack of a shit given by the general public, there are as many weirdass blogs out there as there are weirdass people. I know they don’t all write, but those who do tend to be a little schizo. Here is a bit of music to listen to while I give you a quick rundown on what this dusty little corner of the internet has to offer:



Porn.

Animal porn.

Give us your bank account number and we’ll give you a free ipod.

Bored housewives with Blogger accounts. I mean porn.

Sign up to get people to read your blog.

Personal stories that only the writer finds witty.

Porn disguised as online dating.

Experts in their field that still live in their parents’ basement.

Occasionally a very interesting person.

Emo blogs written in broken English that declare “life is the shit.”

Celebrities, also known as porn for vacant people.

Christianity, also known as porn for vacant people. One had a beautiful, up close picture of a flower with the caption “Be still and know I am God.” The flower beared a striking resemblance to a hoo-hah.

One financial blog offered a daily tip: Save enough.

An article on George Harrison with this commented at the bottom:

I am in love and his name is Mr. Power Colon Cleanse http://tinyurl.com/PowerColonCleanse ! This is by far the best cleansing product available. I saw it on Oprah and thought I would give it a try. Power Colon Cleanse has pretty much changed the way I live my life. My daily chores are done in a breeze and I have more energy, not to mention more time in my day since I don't mind jumping out of bed in the mornings at 7:00 am now. This is not just a cleanser. It is also a detox. I can feel it working and have only been using it for 6 weeks. I owe my life to PowerColonCleanse

Seriously. You can’t make this shit up.

Welcome to my blog: the lowest form of written communication, just after the dry-erase marker on a sticky note shaped like the first letter of your name. This is what I write about:

Whenever someone talks about two people getting it on, they inevitably mimic porn music with a “Bow, chicka wow wow.” If I ever make a porno (and I am taking screenwriting classes), the soundtrack will just be me in the background with a microphone singing “Bow, chicka wow wow.”

Please press play and continue reading.



I haven’t shaved in a week. I’m cycling through Lord of the Rings characters as my beard fills in. Right now I’m Liv Tyler.

I’m not a fan of the Jonas Brothers, but I do have a purity cockring.

Pantaloons is a fun word. It sounds like a male-specific disease.

“Grant has a bad case of pantaloons. He can barely walk.”

A religious friend of mine recently said “I found my wallet! Praise Jesus!”

I’ll hold my tongue and let that one write itself.

Funny Name: Tom Puetz

The term, “nudist,” makes that person sound like an Olympic athlete.

“I’m a nudist.”
“Really? What event?”
“Streaking.”

I was riding my bike around Florin and decided to turn around when I reached the crack hoes and the Pick and Pull.

Wait. That was redundant.

For me, Father’s Day was a stark reminder of a life experience that I am missing out on. These days, more and more of my friends are blessed with a beautiful thing that I just don’t have:

A witty mug.

Some people are responsible for one simple job which they are unable to perform with any level of competence. I worked for one for several years. Here is another example:



I saw this idiot while on my way to San Francisco to star in the latest music video directed by the amazing Jon Pidgeon. A car stalled on the other side of the highway and instead of circling around to pick him up, the tow truck driver attempted to cross the V-shaped divide. At the time of this picture, the truck has already been completely beached, its rear tires spinning hopelessly in place. The driver is now getting out and wandering toward the back of his truck to see just what is keeping him from moving forward.

Money trumps natural selection.

Which beer goes best with cinnamon toast?

Hoegaarden.

Not witty, but funny to say. And useful for the next time you’re on a bender.

“Do you have any big plans for the weekend?”
“Yes! There’s a Spiderman ball over there and I need it!”

Graduation was fun, but there were parts in which I was glad I brought a book.

In the midst of the commotion at Arco Arena, I heard my mom long before I found her.

Now it’s starting to get awkward.

Why does graduation require cake? Cake is traditionally served at children’s birthday parties. Aren’t we supposed to mature and start liking truffles, tortes and pies?

I like pie.

But even I made cupcakes: Kahlua with a Bailey’s whipped cream and candied tangelo zest. And Maria made me chocolate cupcakes with buttercream frosting and sugar glaze animal shapes on top.

I’ve decided that my funeral will be catered. Or maybe a potluck, I haven’t decided which. I figured I’d better plan ahead, because I am going to be spending July in Fresno. Regardless, there will be cake.

“Cake or death?”

Cake and death.



I’ve taken time to relax now that school is over. Just last week, one of my roommates left the gas on and I spent most of the day sleeping.



In their defense, I should probably be mowing the lawn right now.

Ed McMahon is dead at the age of 86. He had a good run, but all those years of professional wrestling caught up to him in the end.

I hope Anthony Bourdain is lucky enough to die at 86.

That one was for all my peeps in the foodservice industry.

I’m so hungry I could eat a horse. If that horse is in a taco.

I don’t really know what it means, but I really want to fricassee something.

I love cooking and baking. I recently came up with a new type of cookie:


Snickerdoodle All Night Long

D'oh:
2 3/4 cups whole wheat flour (1)
½ teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter (2)
1 ½ cups sugar (3)
2 eggs (4)
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

Coating:
1/3 cup sugar (5)
2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
2 teaspoons cocoa powder (6)
2 teaspoons finely ground espresso (7)

Directions:
In a large bowl whisk together the flour, salt, and baking powder.

Using your electric mixer (or your mind) beat the butter and sugar until smooth (about 3 minutes). Add the eggs and beat well. Scrape down the sides of the bowl. Beat in the vanilla extract. Slowly add the flour mixture and beat until you have a smooth dough. If the dough is too soft to form, cover and refrigerate for about a half an hour (8)

Preheat oven to 400 degrees and place rack in the center of the oven. Line two baking sheets with parchment paper or Silpat (9)

Shape the dough into 1 inch balls (10).

In a medium bowl whisk together the coating ingredients.

Roll the balls of dough one at a time in the coating and place on the baking sheets, spacing about 2 inches apart (11).

Using the bottom of a glass, flatten each ball to about ½ inch thick (12)

Bake the cookies for about 10-12 minutes, or until they are golden brown around the edges.

Remove from oven and place on a wire rack to cool (13).

Eat. Digest. Repeat.

Makes about 5 dozen cookies.

Annotations:
(1) I have used many kinds of flour, and King Arthur 100% whole wheat all natural unbleached is by far my favorite. You can use AP if you want, but I’m just saying. This way, it’s health food.

(2) From unsalted cows. Generally, you’ll want butter to be at room temperature in order to be of any use. You'll also want the room to be at room temperature.

(3) Extra fine pure cane baking sugar is best, but you can use anything here, as long as it’s sugar or PCP.

(4) Chicken.

(5) This is by nature a very soft cookie. I use coarse, untreated cane sugar to give the outside a slight crunch that compliments the texture of the rest of it (especially when warm and/or dunked in milk). But again, you can use whatever you want.

(6) I use unsweetened Dutch process cocoa. You’re already adding the sugar, so you might as well.

(7) Equator’s Jaguar blend is the best espresso I’ve ever had. It’s organic and fair trade and you can buy it here. I’ve only found it served at a place in Yountville called Gordon’s. Tell them Gordon sent you, and they just might look at you funny.

(8)


(9) I highly recommend buying a Silpat nonstick baking surface for your pan. It does a good job with consistent results, is reusable and easy to clean. Remind you of anyone? Ew.

(10) Hehe.

(11) Hehe. You can roll the balls with your hand, but I prefer to throw them in and swish the bowl around like you are sauteeing them. It’s a lot less work, and you feel like a real Mr. Hot Shit Chef. You can make little sizzling sounds while you’re doing this if you wish.

(12) I want to take this opportunity to apologize to all of the men who are reading this. Sorry Aram.

(13) If you leave them on the baking sheet for a minute first, they are less likely to break or deform in transportation. If you don’t have a wire rack, it’s ok if they cool completely on the pan. Just be sure if you’re using parchment paper to peal the paper from the cookie once it has cooled. If you peel the cookie from the paper, you will break a lot more of them. A spatula works pretty well, too.


That’s for all of you who think I don’t post anything useful.

And for Jess. Both of them :)

With regards to the new iPhone,



I miss Carlin like no other. You realize that they brought the interview to a hasty close when he started ripping on materialism and their sponsor in particular.

I’ll be buying a Blackberry when I get back from Fresno.

Spanish speakers: I know “mucho” is the direct translation for “a lot,” but what is the direct translation for “hella?”

Muah.

I walked into a store. “What do you have in a fake vomit?”

I walked into a Burger King. “Do you have any Spock collector’s cups? I need one for my girlfriend. No, seriously.”

I should stop making those jokes.

Ryan and Stef just got engaged. I think I speak for everyone when I say congratulations. It’s about fucking time.

I just caught the new Black Eyed Peas song. My god, do they suck.

My stepbrother just got a Catahoula leopard dog:



I want one. Muah.

The list of side-effects for Ambien keeps growing. The latest: suicide.

So, if you really need to sleep,

I was at work and an old lady persistently talked me up and tried to get these two girls to hook up with me after I ran to help another old lady who fell in the parking lot. That same day I got hit on by a lady cop.

Why does this only happen when I’m attached and therefore uninterested?

I use the Extreme Clean toothpaste because I’m a badass. And because I’m dirty.

Does Dr. Dre have gmail?

Yes. In the box in front of his house.

Blagojevich sounds like a made up name.



Scuba.

It isn’t over when the fat lady sings. It’s over when the lady with the half emptied glass of wine begins a sentence with, “You know, there’s research that shows...”

I just recorded a ukulele song that will make you scratch your head until you lose your mind. Keep an eye out, as I’ll be posting it soonish.

That’s what we call “creating a hook.” In this case, the hook is forged from old school metal.

I’ve been listening to a lot of dead rock stars lately: John Lennon, Thom Yorke’s left eye,

,

and this guy:

You are missed.

"Could you imagine if this was really happening?"

-Steven Wright

Easter is that magical time of year when giant rabbits with thumbs fuck chickens who lay eggs that contain our lord and savior and if you’re lucky, a miniature Reese’s cup. And if Jesus sees his shadow, it’s 40 more days of shuffling and moaning through Mexico looking for human flesh or maybe a piece of bread.

Easter doesn’t seem to care much about the type of bird, as long as it lays eggs. There are decorations with chickens, ducks, etc.

Duck should be the past tense of dick.

But if every bird is allowed, I’d like to see the Easter Emu. That would make things festive. Emu eggs look exactly like giant avocados. And guacamole is a much bigger hit at parties than egg salad.

That would open the door to a nearly month-long celebration of Cinco de Mayo. I think that’s exactly what this country needs: massive piñata sales to kick-start the economy. Unless the piñatas are made in Mexico. Then we'd be in an even deeper hole and have our children bail out the domestic piñata manufacturers.

But even with a month, I doubt they’d sell as much beer as they do on Mother’s Day.

Seriously. More beer sold than on any other holiday.

Driving home at night, I often see an orange cat running across the neighbor’s yard. For the past couple of weeks, the cat has disappeared. In its place: an orange rabbit. What happened? Transmogrification? Not likely. Maybe the rabbit ate the cat. That must be it. If there’s one thing rabbits are famous for, it’s liking pussy.


Hot.

Remember when they made you keep a journal in elementary school and some of the kids just used that time and space to make a list of their friends? "I lik Amy and Erin and Jessie and April and Nikki and Heather and Robin and Shelby and Alicia and Kimmy and Christine and Mia and Heidi and Belinda and Jenny and Cole." Even then, I remember thinking, "Ha! You lick all those people? Skank."

And now one of them is set for life after inventing Facebook.

People I can do without: Anyone who thinks they need to wear pastels in the spring, can't wear black and brown together, etc.

So, what are you dressing up as for Easter? I’ve been working on my costume for a while now. It’s the same person I went as for Christmas.

The beard has actually gotten a bit out of control. I look like this:

I’m thinking of cutting it off. The beard, I mean.

Should I, though? I’d like your honest opinion here. Is it hot? Yes. Warm, at least. And it does a good job of hiding when I’m laughing at you.

So, yes? No? I just don’t want to become the kind of person you wouldn’t want near your kids.

Easter dinner this year is at my brother’s house. You’re all invited. My German mother is making enchiladas. If I was hosting, we would watch Dawn of the Dead and maybe roast a Lamb.


Kyle. In a wind tunnel. With Sarah Palin’s glasses.

I kick ass at Clue.

Colonel Sanders. In the kitchen. With a chicken.

Pilate. On a hill. With a cross.

Some people try to get around swearing by saying, “God bless it!” This is a weak cover. If you aren’t fooling me, chances are you aren’t fooling a supposedly omniscient being. And even if you are, you’re still taking the lord’s name in vain.

Once again, I don’t hate religious people. They can be some of the nicest people you’ll ever meet. But they can do stupid shit sometimes:

That's not really funny.

My work sells a cookie that looks exactly like Bunnicula. You remember that one? The fuzzy little thing with big ears, weird eyes and sharp teeth that likes to hop around at night and suck the juice out of carrots?

No, I will not take this opportunity to post a pic of my ex girlfriend. I’m a gentleman.

Women with butterfly tattoos are just jealous that’s not how their chest hair comes in.

The correct response to an adult woman in a Hello Kitty dress is: “I twat I taw a putty tat.”

Ladies, what are you doing wearing that kind of clothing outdoors? It’s not sexy as much as it is excessive. It shows a lack of judgment, poor morals and a degenerate personality. Your mother would be ashamed. Show some self-control.

Who else contracted a disease while on spring break? I got the rhinovirus.

I know someone who spent the break in Minnesota. Apparently, he was filming "Girls Gone Reasonable."

For those of you still on spring break, Hefeweizen makes a good morning beer.

And you suckers who still live in Napa, would you recommend the Bordeaux or the Rioja with the buttered popcorn?

I’m serious about the Hefeweizen thing. It’s a proper breakfast. It’s like tea and toast, except there is no tea and the toast is a liquid. And if it was brewed with whole-grain wheat, it’s also good for your heart.

Our smuggling mass quantities of arms into Mexico has caused an outbreak of violence and a state of unrest. And the only people we're sending across the border other than arms dealers and thugs are drunken frat kids. They really should build a wall.

Another example of language hiccups by the native English speakers at work:
European Dutch Coffee.

Really? Like opposed to Asian Dutch or Australian Dutch? Actually, it’s more of a South American Dutch, if you want to get technical.

Another one of our coffee flavors is Vanilla Nut Cream. What a weird coincidence. That’s my rap name.

You down with VNC? Yeah, you know me.

It’s better than using my initials to make a rap name: Gizzle Wizzle. I actually kinda like that.

Don’t underestimate my G-ness.

I followed an armored truck that had printed on back, “We reward safe driving,” and then a phone number. I copied down the number, because I’m not one to pass up a good opportunity for employment. I’ll certainly need it if anyone from work reads this.

Penalize (v) - I think you know where I’m going with this.

Working in a European bakery, we should sell Chocolate Mussolini.

I always love it when a kid comes up to me and asks for a chocolate mouse.

When an adult asks for a chocolate mouse, I want to punch them in the face.


Whenever someone learns that I’m an English major, their inevitable first question is, “Do you want to teach?” No. I don’t. There are other things that I can do with a degree in English. Maybe. Hopefully. Probably not. I guess I’d better get used to teaching.

The first lesson is how to begin a proper business letter:

Dear Pimp or Madam:

Be sure to use the colon. It doesn’t cost extra.

But if you were writing a letter to, say, your girlfriend, you should always give her a comma. It’s the gentlemanly thing to do. And I actually like it. A lot. You may be tempted to use the colon. Resist. Or at least ask her first. We don’t want anyone inadvertently getting hurt.

When my neighbors speak Korean, one of their common sayings sounds like, “Fuck yeah!” I honestly want to know what this means. Are they just really enthusiastic?

Ok. This name just might take the cake: Rene Farkass.

I usually meet Rene You-Want-To-What-Ew-No-That’s-Gross-You-Sick-Fuck-What-Makes-You-Think-I’d-Actually-Like-That-Get-Out-Of-My-House-You-Hairy-Bastard.

She’s been married a lot.

I just turned in a serious, academic essay entitled “Flashing The Author: How Reading Can Get You Lucky.”

Here’s an urban myth for you: You know why bike seats have that groove in the center of the ass pads? That’s for the vena scrotalis to rest in whenever a guy is riding the bike. If there wasn’t that space, pressure would build up, eventually causing the balls to explode.

Have you ever taken a really long bike ride? I believe it.

An omelette is a baby om.

Few things scare me. The fuzzy toilet lid yamaka is one of them. Depending upon the make and model of your unit, the shag often keeps the seat from staying up for those precious few seconds. And when you’re in full stream and you see that seat start to fall, the world goes in slow motion before getting a lot messier. Sometimes, it’ll even drag the lid down with it. Then you have the equivalent of a wet sheep, and not in a good way, either.

Some may call what I do, “potty humor.” It isn’t. Potty humor is Cheech and Chong. And they usually don’t stoop to the level of bad puns.

I’ll pause this drivel for a moment of awesomeness:


The butcher next to the vet’s office shut down. Well, way to go, prop 2.

Here’s a bit of freakiness for you: I stayed up late reading the part of a manuscript where the lead character’s dad dies. The next morning, I get an email saying my boss’s mother died that night. Of the same disease.

Ok, so maybe that’s not so freaky. But the Amazing Grace story is, if you haven’t heard it already.

They could’ve had a fax machine in Ghostbusters:
“I don’t know what happened. All of the sudden, it started printing out papers. Ones I’ve never seen before. And do you want to know what’s even freakier than that? The names on them were all people I know.”

That’s scary shit in the ‘80s.


Apparently, the purchase of a single beer with cash requires a 9 line receipt. That’s the kind of excessive behavior that makes people want to hit us with airplanes.

It’s almost as bad as this:

Ladies, just ask. That’s a lot of trouble to go through to get your man to eat you.

What is the plural of penne?

In case you’re wondering, yes, that bit about the shark’s bits is true. They’re called, “claspers.” Not only do they have two, but they can clasp with them? WTF, god?

That would be the best party trick ever.


Um, wow.



My blog is still relatively new, but it has received ringing endorsements. These include:
“It’s easy. If it jiggles, it’s fat.” - Arnold Schwarzenegger
“It’s easy. If it jiggles, it’s phat.” - Russell Simmons

It’s nice, but that doesn’t mean what I write is any good. If you’re reading this in hopes of being entertained, I’m sorry. Watch this instead:



This too, but you can turn it off around 5:15.

What an amazing guy. I really admire what he’s doing. Seriously.

A blind person with Parkinson’s also has dyslexia.

You laughed, so you’re going to hell, too.

People often wonder how writers and artists do it. Awkward and elbowy. No, I’m referring to the creative process: How do we manage to see so much of the “hidden” and relegate it to language? It’s nothing special. The average person does it already: “Hey, Marge! Get the camera. I just made a shit that looks like a little man doing The Carlton.”

Apparently, April is National Humor Month. Shit. I’d better write something funny, stat.

Jugo de pollo

I’ve got that niche locked.

I love food. And I love cooking. But I especially love cooking food.

I want to write a cookbook and call it “Chicken Soup for the Stomach.”

I haven’t made lamb stew in a while. I should get on that. The last time I made it, my friend questioned the morality of me doing so, being Scottish and all. “You wouldn’t eat your dog, would you?” he asked. “No, but I would eat my girlfriend.”

I saw an old lady at the casino really going to town on the Playboy slot.

You sick fuck.

Another old lady at work informed me that she was “ordering for two.” Hey, if all your what-have-you still works, more power to you.

Sometimes, overhearing conversation snippets can make me sad. Like when I walked by, and the lady said, “...wrecks the dog.” Poor thing.

My dixie wrecked.

It’s like we’re in 7th grade again.

I have a very Pavlovian reaction to receiving text messages.

The church down the street has a new slogan on their sign:
“Everyone ought 2 go 2 church 2 get away from himself.”
I’ll provide 3 objections to this, because Christians like that number:

1. First and most obvious is the gratuitous use of the number 2 2 mean ( See? It’s annoying, right?) the preposition, “to.” What the fuck is going on here? Is Jesus sending us a text message? I actually did kinda get a text message from Jesus once. You know how sometimes you forget to lock the keypad on your phone and you end up butt-dialing your ex girlfriend’s mother while making out with your current girlfriend on her dad’s bed when he’s working late and she has the house to herself? It was like that, only I was at work, and instead of dialing someone, my ass hit the exact sequence of keys to purchase a screen saver of Jesus. Now, I understand you’re working with spacial limitations, and the last thing I would expect of a priest is to magically make an abundance of something, but in using the number, you’ve only saved three spaces. And you’re teaching the kids bad grammar.
2. Defaulting to a male pronoun in reference to everyone is sexist. Now, there’s nothing wrong with being sexy. And I’m a dude, so I really don’t mind. But I can see how some might be offended. And you don’t want to piss off half of the population. Ask the Republican party.
3. I realize I didn’t type it as such, but the sign is in all caps, I guess because god is loud. The issue here is that traditionally the church uses “Him” to denote god. Isn’t going to church to get away from Himself contradictory? Maybe even blasphemous?
   

Last week, their slogan was: “Idle gossip keeps some very occupied.”
That’s going on 2,000 years, right?

The anchor on News 10 said, “...and if you don’t watch News 10, you can get updates on your cellphone.”

If you can’t find my blog, be patient. My next post will tell you where it is.

I’m curious as to the necessity of tassels.

Remember Mrs. Goldfarb’s head twitch? I kept track during class yesterday: 177 times. And that wasn’t even for the full class period. I left 15 minutes early.

I just tutored 3 people for their writing on 3 subjects: why consumerism and overspending are good, why church and state should not be separate, and why gays should not be allowed to marry. This is when Gordon loses hope in humanity.



I really wanted to throttle each of the little fuckers, but it was my responsibility to help them improve their papers. This is where Gordon feels conflicted.

I’m in the situation in which my day job requires a (shitty) day job. I’ve stopped asking questions or making suggestions at this job. First of all, I’ve been told I’d be fired if I did so. Second, well, stuff like this:

1. It’s in my job description to ask questions and make suggestions.
2. The company’s framed “Commitment Statement” leans against the wall amongst discarded rubber bands and behind water hoses in a dirty corner.
3. A list of phone numbers with the title "In Case of Phone Numbers." Finally. I know what to consult should I ever encounter phone numbers: A list of phone numbers.
4. That’s really a weak example. A shit ton of other semantical, grammatical and spelling errors abound, which is ironic, considering much of it comes from native English speakers and not the Swiss-born owner.
5. I’m not going to give out any sensitive information, or even list things that people eating there should really know about. But I could. I’ll just leave it at that.
   

You’d lose all hope in humanity too, if you were regularly asked questions like:

• “What kind of fruit is in the strawberry cake?”
• (Staring at the appropriately-labeled lunch menu in his hands) “Where’s your lunch menu?”
• (After walking past the window with our hours posted, looking in to see an empty building, pulling then pushing and then banging on the locked door until someone opens it)
  

“You guys open?”
“No. We closed at 2.”
“Can I still get a cake?”
“No. We’re closed. We’ll open tomorrow at 6.”
“When do you close?”
“2 o’clock.”
“Oh. I just need to get a cake.”
“I’m sorry. We’re closed.”
“Ok. I’m just getting a cake.”
“I’m sorry. We closed an hour ago. There aren’t any more registers.”
“Acchhh! Unbelievable! This is really sub-par service. Who is your supervisor? And your name? I know (Mr. (his first name), his ex wife’s name, etc.)! I’m going to get you fired.”
And then that person actually gets fired.

Situations like those are when money trumps natural selection.

Now that I think about it, I’m the one who is out of place. The management fits the clientele perfectly.



I’m astounded at how often people complain about things they don’t have to. I heard one lady who was honestly irritated with other people’s accents: “‘Kaahfee?’ Why do people say ‘Kaahfee?’ That’s not how you say it. It’s ‘Couuahfee.’”

If I wasn’t working, I’d have totally represented for Chicago with something like this:


For a few weeks now, there have been signs all over campus that say “Protest at the capital. March 16th. www.iwillmarch.com.” None of the signs (nor the web address) hint at what exactly will be protested against. I’m bringing this up now, after the fact, in an effort to avoid aiding their stupidity. Is this just a protest for angry people? If you want to bitch about nothing in particular, go to the capitol on March 16th at any time and scream to your heart’s content. Maybe this was all an act of retaliation by some dude who works at the capitol and is tired of people showing up en masse at his place of business and yelling out bad rhymes while he tries to type a memo. That’s what I’d do. Find some day in which the capitol is closed, and then get everyone to march when it won’t disturb me and won’t help their cause in any way. Or maybe they like protests, but wish they could be a bit more interesting. If you’re general enough with the advertisements, you can get the NRA and the gun control people to show up together. Then you just have to watch the fireworks.

I want to see www.iwillnotmarch.com, a website for those with a deep devotion to apathy.

I don’t have Photoshop, so maybe you can help me out. All of the women in those omnipresent dating site ads are oddly-shaped. Is there like a red eye remover tool for making their boobs poke out?

Several times this week, I’ve been talking to a woman and I’ve wanted to say, “Excuse me. Um. Sorry. But you just. There’s. You have a little something. It’s right there. You. DON’T BLINK! Just. Careful. Really close. Yeah. Around there, kinda.” And it turns out to be a shit ton of mascara. I don’t care so much that it’s not sexy. I’m just trying to save you from painting yourself into ocular surgery.

I try not to be superficial, but the following are deal breakers for me:

• If your purse costs more than all of the clothes on me at any particular moment
• If you can recite the cheers from “Bring it On”
• If you are in no way related to royalty, and yet you are a “princess”
• If your nails, boobs or any other non-vital body parts are not your own. Listen to Mix-A-Lot. Silicone parts are made for toys.
• If you really are listening to that new Nickelback album
  

Yeah, I don’t see myself finding someone for a long time.

Found someone: We were made for each other.

I wonder if she'll blow a fuse on the first date.

Maybe it’s because I haven’t seen the movie, but doesn’t Slumdog Millionaire = Sean Kingston?

All “Lil” rappers should be banned from using the term “shorty.” I’m just looking for some consistency.

“Lil Wayne” sounds like Mike Meyers went schizo.

That was for all you kids who remember the ‘90s.

Did you notice how the new Volvos look like Pacers?


It’s an accurate ad. Garth did bang Kim Basinger.

Car companies need to re-institute the station wagon. You assholes with crossover SUVs are just masturbating.

I’m not the kind of dick who would spend a lot of money on something like custom taillights. But if I was, they would totally look like this:


The weather is getting nicer. Soon I’m going to need one of these:


I just acquired a Casiotone 201.

It’s the first Casiotone ever made. The case is wood. And the keys are ivory-colored plastic.

So, I guess I’ll be needing one of these instead:


Being an English scholar, I always try to do my part to advance the language:
Copy (adj) - having the properties of a law enforcement officer.
“Shit. Do those headlights look copy?”

I’ve never liked the phrase “taking a shit.” It’s misleading. You go to the restroom to leave a shit behind. If you tell me, “I’m going to the restroom to take a shit,” I’ll tell you, “Don’t bring it back here.” Because that shit’s gross. And I don’t want to look at it while I’m eating a hamburger. There must be a better term.

Like “deduce.”

It’s accurate. It uses the number system, so that pleases the scientists. And it also works well in conjunction with sitting on the “think tank.”

Motion carried. Or, should I say, “peristalsis.”

Some laxatives sell themselves on the claim that they don’t contain any harsh stimulants. I’d like to carry it further and sell a combined laxative/tranquilizer: Chillax

The names just keep on coming in:

• Mr. Deepenbrock. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.
• This was written on a cake: Happy Birthday, My Sweet Paniz. There’s a man who loves himself. Long time. But probably not as much as
• Dick Self.
  

My right boob will not stop moving. Is that serious?


Sexy.

Doug would like this one:
I got a captcha that said, “Originally Mr.” That was on Facebook, where they use real words. Some, like Ticketmaster, just randomly throw together letters and numbers. And still, I managed to get this while buying Incubus tickets:


I’ll willingly lose a bit of street cred by admitting that I like The Used. But what the crap are they doing at SXSW?

That’s for bands like this:


And maybe even this:


I wonder if Tricky will cover Run DMC.

Hard times?
There is a direct correlation between conservatism and porn sales. Seriously. More porn is sold in the country when there is a Republican president. And regardless of who is in the white house, conservative states consume more porn per capita than liberal states, number one being Utah, with 5.4 subscriptions to porn services per household.

That’s what happens when you suppress natural human desires. Remember Ted Haggard? He’s now “cured” and selling insurance, so obviously he’s trustworthy now.

Insurance? Have you no faith?

“There was a new study by the Vatican, and by God, why don’t they mind their own business?”
I love you, David Letterman. You have what Leno never had: testicles.

“Have you taken a look at these people? Doesn’t it strike you odd that most of the people who are against abortion are people you wouldn’t want to fuck in the first place?”
I would so have George Carlin’s babies.

I really don’t hate the religious. They can be some of the nicest people. But they can also do some stupid shit sometimes.

That being said, what does the Pope say after taking a dump?
“Who do I have to persecute to get some TP up in this bitch?”

Those of you who said, “Holy shit!” are incorrect. He’d never say that.

I know this might piss off a lot of people, but Battlestar Galactica was on the cover of Soap Opera Weekly. I’m just reporting the truth.

For those who don’t watch it, it’s basically this show where a bunch of wookees run around and stuff happens.

You people may not realize it, but every once in a while, you say something that changes my world. Like referring to someone as “my significant lover.” I like that.