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.

Kisses,

Bono

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.

(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.

http://www.vajazzling.com/content/what-vajazzling

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.

Va-Jay-Jay-Z.

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.



http://www.aolnews.com/2011/01/06/chemical-in-womens-tears-turns-men-off-study-finds/

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: www.kjzz.org

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.

Funny


The daughter of Lotz Jansen and Shit Ton Jansen.

Words that are not Yiddish: www.hypertufa.net

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

http://puddlegum.net/radiohead-01-and-10/

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 TIME TO GET IL!”

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?”
“Candy.”
“What kind of candy?”
*fidgets*
“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?

Dictionary.com 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 whitehouse.gov. 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?”

“Yakback.”

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.

Kisses,

Bono

Aren't we at war?

#Oscars

Lyrical math

Valen * ≥ 2 =



:)

Happy Anna Howard Shaw Day.

I refuse to be another douchebag who says, "Happy V.D." and then proceeds to giggle like he isn't a total douchebag.

So instead, I have become another douchebag on Strikingly Average Cupid.

This little social experiment will go on roughly until I get kicked off of the site. It's been live for about an hour now, and I already have people contacting me. I see it going down a bit like this:



Updates will follow as I feel like posting them.

-Bono

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.

Dude,

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.

-E

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.

“
me.”

“
me.”

“
me.”

“
me.”

“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.

Kisses,

Bono

11-30-10
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.”
“Really?”
“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.

Luv,

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.



Chapter

:

“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 café 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.

The Jigglybits Illustrated vol. 8

Aram’s laundry day Twitter: Underthings tumbling.

Sorry if this isn't good for you. I'm recovering from total hard drive failure.



Um.



Wait.



No. It’s not like that.



Ok, fuck. I admit it.



It’s ok, though.

http://www.news.com.au/technology/tablets/seven-inches-is-enough-rim-tells-jobs/story-fn5knrwy-1225941209049

RIM/Jobs is getting pretty nasty.

And not to go overboard with the excuses, but I was also poisoned.



No, fuck. I mean an angry midget slipped something into my drink that made me violently ill.

When does that ever happen? My life isn't a James Bond movie.

It's a James Brown movie.



I’m on the scene.

Ah, winter. I for one can’t wait for the cold weather because it makes the women wear all sorts of practical clothing. Don’t get me wrong. I like boobs. But when the jackets come out, talk of bikini season and insecurity over having multiple dimensions disappears. Insecurity isn’t sexy, nor is tangible bone definition. Sexy is me knowing I can throw you around a little without worrying about breaking you. Sexy is a woman chin deep in a turkey leg, not because poultry is less fattening than beef, but because it’s fucking delicious. And shared body heat is perhaps the best side effect of tryptophan and cold weather.

I also like being able to open beer with my nipples.

It’s hoodie weather.



Glee < That episode of Futurama where Fry makes a deal with the robot devil to get robot hands so he can write a symphony to win over Leila

More robots. Less autotune.

“Michael likes The Book Beaver on Facebook and suggests you like it too.”

That’s like a triple redundancy for a given.



I’d like to think these two towns are eternally locked in bitter, violent war.

Happy Valley (n): The female what-have-you

If you don’t know how to get there, follow the trail.

Do you spit or swallow when you throw up a little in your mouth?

This month’s installment of Not a Porn Site: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sergeant_Stubby

It's ok. It's a dog.

But look at the dog’s smile. Then look at the bulge in his uniform.

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

Deer Wurld,

Plz mak uh movee abowt mee.

Kthnx,

Guye hoo gott ritch frum evryone else’z wurk

Apparently, the founder of Wikipedia is a cat.



With the fire he’s come under lately, he needs one hell of a witness protection program. His new name will be Julienned Sausage.

No one will ever know.

Unfortunately, his new name will put a damper on his otherwise promising career in Greasy French Information Superpirate Porn.

"Who ordered the Assange?" had a much nicer ring to it.

Here’s a new monthly segment, tentatively called: Note to self that makes it look like I’m getting a lot more than I really am.

Wed. 5:30 – Meet Jen for a taco downstairs.

Wed. 6:30 – Giggity.

Sorry, Diddy. But I’m not ready for that kind of long-term relationship.

Cause it’s Bad Boy for the length of my contract unless either party deems the relationship to be less than beneficial over the next several years. Bitches.

I love being in shape, but I don't think I'll ever join a gym. Pjs > spandex.

I lead a very introspective life. Perhaps the question I most ask myself is "Why am I still wearing pants?"

Those who know me know this is true. Pants are for pussys. Or dicks, depending upon what your jigglyquipment is.

I like making up words.



Bushlit.

Fairlegh Dickinson University in New Jersey offers a master’s degree in Homeland Security: 36 credits, 12 courses, teaching Weapons of Mass Destruction/Terrorism Awareness in a predominantly online setting.

Kermit: How did you learn to drive?
Fozzie: I took a correspondence course.

“Wocka wocka wocka” is the official sound effect for what that department is doing to us.

Dear Speaker John Boehner,

I learned in first grade that when two vowels go walking, the first one does the talking.

Kisses,

Bono

You know what we need to combat that dickhead?



We need Lance Armstrong to donate a lot of blood.

No.



America, meat A. Weiner.

Codpiece (n): Prosthetic available from The Hair Club for Fish

It also sounds like a traditional Christmas decoration. So, next time you’re at a friend or relative’s house and they have a tree set up, point in its general direction and ask them if they put the codpiece on.

I’m taking a poll. You can email me their responses. Proceeds go toward hiring Julian Assange to find and bring to the internet a high-res image of Brendan Fraser from Encino Man.

I like Christmas because it makes people abandon their morals.

Now be a good little boy and/or girl, and I'll go throw some elbows to get you that expensive hunk of plastic and lead paint made for pennies by a child.

I sure hope Patty Larceny turned her life around. I mean, it can’t be easy breaking away from the expectations of that kind of family name, but she shouldn’t have gone hanging around some German lady named after a whale’s vagina.

That woman sure did get around.

If I ever get an anal polyp, I’ll name it Carmen Sandiego, just so I can ask the doctor that question.

I don’t own a microwave. I just make everything fresh. Or depending upon the day, funky fresh.

Don’t judge me.



Check out my new place:



People ask me if living by myself is lonely as fuck. It’s not. It’s lonely as making love.

Wow. That was like Mitch Hedberg without the Prozac.

It’s ok, though. I get out. In fact, I recently went up north and spent a weekend with two women in a little shack in the middle of the woods. We shared some laughs, had a lot to drink, and then we all huddled together and I introduced them to Battlestar Galactica.

No, that is not what I call my man piece. But I think I may need to adopt that.

Chess in the Castro: Queen takes man piece.

And everyone wins at least once.

What what







In the Batcave.

Btw, that removed image was an undoctored screenshot from Batman and Robin.



That was Mr. Popeye and Southside Johnny covering The Swallows.

I can’t make that shit up.

Some URLs tell a story: http://plans.boostmobile.com/shrinkage.aspx

It’s ok. It happens to a lot of cell users.

College basketball season always gets me a little excited. I don’t ever plan on watching it, but part of me always holds out hope for this:



Wheezing the Jews = Pauly Shore + Matisyahu 4 ever.

Those two need to wake up and realize that they were made for each other. And that it’s a sin to date outside of your religion.

Back when that film came out, I’m pretty sure Weezer were still playing Bar Mitzvahs.

Btw, the number one Google image result for “Pauly Shore Jew” is this:
http://image63.webshots.com/163/7/50/82/2286750820078724846nwnHAS_fs.jpg

Every year around Hanukkah, I get a mild case of German guilt. I don't have a lot of German in me, but I have enough that if it came down to it, I'd have to go to a camp.

But then I think of this and I feel much better:



The pancake recipe I like to use suggests that you pair it with a Harvey Wallbanger or maybe some coffee.

I have one thing to say to Harvey: Go around. I cannot open the wall. I don’t know if you have a doorknob on the other side, but over here there’s nothing. It's just flat. Like pancakes.

I briefly looked into writing web content as a way to make some extra whiskey money.

Btw, plz sendd sum. Rite meyow.

Kthnx.

They wanted me to write little how-to bits on subjects I’m generally not good at, and if each post didn’t have to be approved before it went up (and I got paid), I would’ve been all over that shit.

Q: How do I keep my windows from fogging up in the winter?

A: Stop fucking.



You can imagine my disappointment when that scene did not mark the beginning of a zombie apocalypse.

That would've made the film actually kinda watchable.

Q: How do I keep warm in the winter?

A: That’s what we call “natural selection.”

I kinda like bitter single Bono. I feel like I’m writing better. It’s like, you know how when the guy from Staind had a daughter and stopped taking all those drugs and it made me realize how shitty their music is?

Raise your hand if you’ve heard me say that joke before.

Ah, the internet.



AT&T stands for Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaauuuuuuuuuuuuuughhhhh! Motherfucker!

And Telegraph, Inc.

Telegraph? Thank jebus. My TSP has been down for the longest time.

I don’t mind so much having a machine talk to me when I call tech support, it’s when it pretends to type and does the sound effect.

It’s not even a good sound effect. It sounds a bit like a computer masturbating.

I went to a tech high school, so I know that’s true.

Q: How do you bring the rate of population expansion under control?

A: Instead of a rattle and a pacifier, give each child a tricorder and a 7 sided die.

Guess who’s going to hell?

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Timbits

Apparently, Lou Gehrig isn’t the only one to have his own disease.

Q: Timbits are to doughnut balls as Lou Gehrig’s Disease is to…?

A: I’m going to hell.

When I die, I want to ask Jesus one thing:

Q: What’s wrong with being sexy?

To those of you who are offended at the notion of a sexy Jesus: The new testament is all about free love and the old testament makes repeated mention of bondage.

I learned about S&M from church when I was 6. And I recently found out that shit is real. I was cced on an email to “God Almighty.” His address is: almightygodxxx@(website).com

Give me your finger. My god. He’s like this.

I’ve done my job if I get at least one person to think “Now, Borat was funny. But Jesus fuck.”

Actually, it’s ok. God isn’t really like that. With all of the religions and prophets out there, he’s a bit of a deitywhore.





Christmas music sucks balls. Especially when it pretends to be pop.

It’s ok, NPR. I liked you when you weren’t trying to be cool. You don’t have to play The Kurt Elling Quartet featuring John McClaine.

Instead, I leave you with this:



Merry Christmas, bitches.

Love,

Team Aramrod