G-20

Bajingo!

This jigglybit is a bit shorter. I don’t want any of you women getting a false sense of reality.

Or you men.

Dartmouth (n): 1) The condition of having a pointed tongue. 2) The condition of having herpes

It also sounds like a paranormal medical condition in which your jaw takes off running. Kinda like in Victorian times when strong, independent women were diagnosed with a wandering va jay jay. I believe the cure was to burn them.



History is sexy.

The Jigglybits Illustrated vol. 5

vs. Aram Fresh

In an effort to continue the idea of having continuity in posts that appear upwards of a month apart:

Poking fun at clergy is not the main reason I’m going to hell. But clergy poking for fun is why they’re going to hell.

I’m getting enough mileage out of that comparison that I decided to make things easier for us and consolidate.

Funny name: Mrs. Slutzki

An apple a day keeps the doctor away, but a

a day means you have to get a quick shot.

If apples keep away doctors, what brings the nurses?

Disease. They are medical professionals, after all.

Cheesestick (n): the result of too many Pink Ladies.

Ah, Kanye.

Cheese sandwich (n): The female cheesestick

(n):

In an attempt to have a real relationship with this girl I was banging, I set aside a night for us to play Scrabble, drink tea and just enjoy each other’s company. She set up the board and I pulled my 7 pieces, careful not to let her see what I could lay down: AVAGINA.

Brown chicken, brown cow.

It’s funny how implied bestiality is more socially acceptable than the word fuck.

Those who pay attention to punctuation may notice that what they’re reading is textual intercourse.

Go back and look. I’ll wait.

Or perhaps, considering that I’m the only one writing (unsolicited, I might add), you’re really witnessing word self-gratification.

My technique is refined.

As an active nerd, I want an animated gf.

I’m a sentimental guy, one who appreciates a moment of real connection with someone special, usually with good background music that helps us openly express our feelings.

Hold me.

Whoa. I thought a bird just ran into my window, but it really just delivered the largest avian crap I’ve ever seen.

I have to tweet this.

Follow Aram’s Twitter so you can keep up to date on his laundry:

• Laundromat. It’s a pants party, and if you’re not downstairs, you’re not invited.
• It’s true what they say. The penis mightier.
• Though my diet hasn’t changed, I’ve been passing gas authoritatively over the past four days. Should I call the doctor?

I’d like to post a door on my Facebook wall @thinking-how-the-hell-I’m-going-to-get-outside-the-box

Gay men think outside the box.

I think it’s necessary to capitalize “Facebook.” Otherwise, it becomes real.

facebook (n): Colonel Angus

Colonel Angus (translation: Spanish): Papi Chow

How many of you are on facebook right now?

@multitasking

Cockroaches (n): The final stage of crabs.

It’s no coincidence “exterminators” so closely follows “escort services” in the phone book.

1. Wait. The phone what? You’re not making sense.
2. Wait. You’re saying…that Mexican song I used to sing as a kid…

Regina (v) – Female sex change reversal

I eat a lot of rice, and if you eat rice, so do you. No one eats just one rouse. You have to eat a lot of them for anything to happen. It’s the most inefficient food ever. But fucking delicious.

A mamosa would be champagne and milk.

Milk is an excellent appetite suppressant. And quite better for you than cigarettes. Next time you’re at the bar, skip the middleman and have a Caucasian.

Again, shit I’m not getting paid to think of.

And thankfully, shit Aram isn’t getting paid to draw.

I went from a miserable 9-5 to a glorious 7(EST)-5(PST) that makes very little money. Living the dream.

Pizza and beer for breakfast in bed in my underwear, working.

There’s a triathlon on. Which mean’s there’s a quadrathlon.

I sure hope they’re able to athlon. They’re trying awful hard.

The perfect quadrathlon would be like a triathlon, but they have to play badminton afterward. By itself, that game doesn’t require much coordination or strength. But after all that swimming and whatnot, it would be a true test of human endurance.

Sean Taro Ono Lennon Belushi

What does everyone say when Marilyn Monroe walks into a bar?

“Holy crap! It’s Marilyn Monroe! Isn’t she dead? Am I freaking out, man?”

Wrong. The correct answer is:

“NORMA!”

If heaven exists, it’s a bar with Marilyn Monroe, Cliff Burton and Sam Malone (the DJ on KHMX Houston Radio, but he has to die first).

Once you record a laugh track, that shit is forever. It can be used over and over again, which is why I have never tried out to be on one. I wouldn’t like to contribute to people thinking that The King of Queens is funny.

I like Cheers, because they tell you right in the beginning that it is filmed in front of a live, studio audience that has been bribed with free cokes and maybe even beverages.

It was the 80’s, after all.

I wonder if some of those old school fuckheads who refused to laugh at Ellen know that the chuckles they did give are now being used in any sitcom on network TV.

Free million dollar idea: microwave ringtones.

Or at least a microwave with a volume control, because jesus fuck.

Dairy products are almost reason enough to believe in a god. I have therefore determined that the lagging number of teens and young adults attending church is directly attributed to a lack of sufficient snack food. That is the period in your life in which you are usually growing the most and eating in a correlated amount. That is also the period in your life in which you are growing the most and smoking in a correlated amount. And if you’ve had enough hits that you start to see Jesus, then you’re going to want some cheese and crackers. Or nachos, depending upon your denomination.

I knew a pothead who is now a Christian minister, which makes no sense. Don’t potheads usually love themselves?

Rastafarian preachers are men of the hemp.

I think Christians’ decision to name their clergy “Pastor” is a big middle finger toward the Jews who cannot enjoy proper Mexican food.

That’s fucked up, people. You aren’t practicing your message of peace, love and pork products.

Pork products (n): Children

Funny name: George R Weiner

Funnier name: George, R Weiner

Just want to make you comma.

One picture I failed to take was of: G Spot Dog Kennel for trucks.

Animal husbandry (v):

I just googled Freud.

No, no, no. Barry Dick.

Barry! Barry! Barry!

It’s July, my roommate works for mosquito control, and if I really wanted to, I could scare the fuck out of you right now.

Just make sure you cover up, stay inside around dusk and spray yourselves with plenty of

Heidi. What’s your hetero life mate’s name?

Describe the female cast of Baywatch.

I had to straight up move before I found matches to some of my socks. Only some, though. The rest are in Narnia. And even though I usually wear pants, I can't mis-match my socks. No one else would notice, but it would be like lying to myself. That problem stems from my childhood, when all of my tube socks matched, except for the stripes at the top. And I didn’t have duplicates of any of the colors, partly because my parents didn’t stick to any one brand. So, if I had two pair of dark blues, they would be different shades. Once or twice, I actually did have two pair where the color matched, but one had two stripes while the other had three. Or the width of the stripes varied.

Parents take note: You can fuck up your kid with your choice of socks.

I want to kidnap my dad and take him skydiving, just to see what sorts of words he comes up with.

You won't find that on Shit My Dad Says.

Happy Father's Day.



I’m sorry if you don’t get that one, but I refuse to use footnotes. The joke is so far inside, you’d better hope it’s wearing a rubber.

It is, btw. I don’t bare-nyuck.

I'm not quite sure what that means, but I think I need to go take a shower.

I saw an ad that said, “Give your dad a Droid for Father’s Day.” Um, no. Bad idea. He isn’t comfortable with texting, let alone all of the various what-have-you. And if he did get a Droid, he’d probably name it R2. No. Fuck that. I get to name mine R2.

It would certainly help for when I lose the thing.

+4 Nerd Points. And if you got that, you can have 3 of them.

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.



Adams. Adams. 5’7” weighed about 200.



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

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

!

@:D

(_!_)

























:>()<

(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.



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.



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.





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:



+



=

“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.







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:



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



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!


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:



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:



=



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



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.

Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's

brrrrrraaaaaaaaaaaiiiinnnssss...

(S)he bangs

Topical humor in an attempt to maintain readership!

I applaud Ricky Martin for coming out of the closet, but jeer him for not doing so when people still gave a fuck about Ricky Martin.

This was a bit expected, so it really is no big deal. It wasn't like when Rob Halford came out, and a shit ton of macho metal heads were like, "Dude, fuck. Dudefuck. You mean all the leather and innuendo and high, squeaky vocals?" Apparently, it caused quite a bit of unrest. I remember clearly thinking that the Beatles were so much cooler than Judas Priest and not caring in the slightest.

It's not like that with Ricky Martin. I care as a writer. From now on, if I make a repression-laced jab at him buddying up with the menfolk, the immediate response is

"Yeah. He is."

And I'm boned. Because he is.

"Today is the greatest

illustrator in the world's birthday."
-Billy Corgan



Show him some love.