It’s sad because this is the before picture

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It's probably his

I know, I know, I should be grateful because, unlike me, you are breeding and ensuring the survival of mankind and sh*t, but honestly, having kids turned you into a lame, holier-than-thou *sshole. Ah hello?! I’ve have pictures of you from back in the day ripping gravity bong hits and making out with strangers at bar time, and by the way, why do you keep un-taging yourself from those pictures on Facebook?

You know what? I’m the one who should be concerned about your drinking problem. You used to party like you were gonna start rehab the next day. Now you act like your breast milk will come out like a white Russian if you have one drink.

And, guess what? No one cares about whatever stupid 90th percentile your kid is in or how you’re not sure if you like his or her speech pathologist. That crap is boring. That’s why all your childless friends don’t call anymore. And, stop measuring time in months. 24 months is two years so just say “two f*cking years old”. I hate math.

I know you desperately want to ditch that stupid baby and husband and go on a drunken, sport f*cking spree that would make Tara Reid look like a nun. So turn on the TV, put out a bowl of food and some water and get the f*ck out of the house for once. You’re welcome.

“You’ll Understand When You Have Kids” Douche

Wears
Pleated khaki shorts
J-Jill sweater sets
New Balance Shape Ups shoes
Pearl Necklace (not the kind you wipe off)

Can’t Leave Home Without
Stupid baby
Stupid no-fun Husband
Things with dumb meaningless names like “Bopper” or “Binkie”
Tiny packages of Kleenex
Gold Fish crackers
Hand sanitizer

Can be found at…
JC Penney sales
Sam’s Club (not night clubs)
Baby sign language classes at the community center
The Cheesecake Factory

Probably…
Thinks a lot about that bartender that dick-matized her for three semesters
Thinks you can have a conversation over the sound of a screaming toddler
Has a zoo membership
Is thinking of voting for Mitt Romney
Thinks swim diapers aren’t totally disgusting
Might pull a “Casey Anthony”
Gave up her dreams
Thinks you’re a slut

Help Wanted

March 14, 2012


Where's Waldo's Dignity?

Back before I quit my abusive job, I, like you, spent a good portion of my workday thinking about all the awesome sh*t I’d do if I didn’t have to work. I imagined myself jogging and doing healthy stuff; volunteering with the charity I always meant to give money (you know, the one with the gimpy kids); or finishing that novel that, unlike the Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, it isn’t one big rape fantasy.

Don’t kid yourself. If you lose or quit your job, you won’t do sh*t. In fact you’ll reach personal depths of depravity you haven’t known since you dated that funeral home director. One day you’re showered and in a suit, giving a Power Point presentation and then you quit your job and 24 hours later you’re wearing 4-day-old underwear and eating leftover chili, on the toilet.

So if you do find yourself jobless here are some helpful tips to keep you from turning into Al Gore after the 2000 election.

#1 Mind your hygiene – The day you think a sloppy ponytail and clean-ish, Halloween-themed pajama pants are totally fine for a run to the grocery store is the same day you’ll run into that co-worker you banged enough times to consider him an ex, and yes, he can smell the alcohol on your breath.

#2 Know your limits – Become familiar with just how far you’ll go to bring in some cash. Sure you may start off by selling unnecessary things on Craig’s List for scratch, but if you’re not careful you’ll find yourself at a Walmart parking lot waiting for a guy named Bart who’ll pay to watch you eat a sandwich.

#3 Treat yourself – Buy the good baby wipes with aloe otherwise your constant whore baths will leave your privates more chaffed than usual. And, always remember my famous saying, “Front to Back, Clean your Crack — Back to Front, Poop in your C*nt”

So as you read this on your iPhone while in the work john, think of me and count your lucky stars because, yes, your boss does suck, but trust me, you’d be way worse at managing yourself.

My Apologies

February 2, 2012


I didn't know Sarah Silverman came in an unfunny, gentile version

Sweet Jesus, the booze was flowing last night! I don’t remember a ton, but since the back of my hand looks like a passport, all my money is gone except for one balled-up dollar bill, and I have a huge bruise I know nothing about, I think it was a pretty great time.

What I do remember of the night looks something like a child’s art project, all squiggly and disproportional and crap. So, I asked the guy I brought home, and he told me that I was talking a lot of sh*t and acting like a dick, mainly in your direction.

So because you are one of my best get’n-sh*t-faced buddies, I want you to know how sorry I am that I…

  • Got you kicked out of your favorite bar for trashing the bathroom
  • Put my lit cigarette through that hipster’s gaged ear
  • Kept calling your Asian friend “Short Round”
  • “Got real” and told you 15 times that I cherish you
  • Touched you where a swimsuit covers
  • Wept when I dropped my sub in the gutter
  • Ate the sub anyway

And, even though it was totally funny at the time, I am really sorry I…

  • Took your phone to the bathroom and sexted your boss
  • Tried really hard to start a fight with that carnie and his gay lover
  • Pizza cut your south wedge
  • Talked you into sleeping with that guy because he looked like a “snatch gobbler”
  • Pooped in the tank of your toilet
  • Ruined your duvet, don’t ask, just throw it away

So, what I guess I’m trying to say is, all that stuff that I said and did but don’t remember saying or doing, I am really sorry for and I promise not to say or do those things again unless I am totally boozed up.

But we’re cool, right?

Apocalypse Now?

January 25, 2012


Yeah, it's all you can eat but there's hardly any meat on him

Do you have your bucket list ready? Good, because it’s 2012 and we’re all going to die in a fiery blast that destroys the earth and melts our faces off and sh*it. Everyone says so, but how do we know it’s really gonna happen this time?

Well, apparently our annihilation in 2012 is so plainly obvious that the Mayans knew about it a few thousand years ago. But remember, they also pulled thorny ropes through their genitals to ensure their corn would grow, so…perhaps they didn’t have all the answers.

Astrologers say that the Age of Aquarius is beginning and will bring about the destruction of civilization. Well personally, I don’t trust anyone that can say, “Uranus rising” without giggling, and besides, in the Age of Aquarius we all wear sparkly pantsuits and listen to psychedelic soul music. I can get down with that.

Speaking of astrology, the great seer Michel de Nostradamus wrote some vague sh*t about a comet that may or may not hit the earth in 2012. And yes, I will admit it. He did accurately predict that time I crapped myself in the park last summer, but everyone forgets that the famous diviner also invested heavily in the Michael Jackson comeback tour “This is It.” Ah, even I saw that one coming, Michel.

What about the seemingly endless parade of scientists that say global climate change will kill us all? Well, I’m not gonna listen to someone that went to school for a decade and makes 38k a year. Also, everyone knows that global warming, like the moon landing, is a ruse cooked up by Alec Baldwin, so no one remembers that -despite having impeccable comedic timing- he is an incurable D bomb.

So who can we trust to tell us the future? Well, not Jesus. He said don’t ask him because he doesn’t know sh*t about it (Mathew 24:36). He also sent that mass text, “Hey idiots, stop look’n 4 hidden codes in Tebow’s QB rate’n. TTYL, ur savior, JHC.”

Now, I know that you’re scared because of all the fornicating you’ve been doing lately (or that hobo you killed), but, someone is always predicting that the end times are nigh.  It is just a product of our perennial human vanity to believe we are the ones living at the end of history. So, if you’re worried about the 2012 predictions, take a Zanax. It’s going to be okay.

I will say this though, if the world does come to an end this year, I hope it’s right before I get my pap smear, like right before, like I’m in the waiting room. That would be sweet!

Organized Crime

January 13, 2012


Hanoi Hilton staff

The United States is used to rock’n at everything. Like how we kick ass at incarcerating people. A whopping 25% of  the entire world’s prison population is right here in the good ole USofA! Whoot Whoot! Not impressed? Well remember that prisoners serve an important role in society. Who else would write all those fan letters to Kathy Griffin or marry fat chicks?

But why should the Government bear the financial burdens of carrying out its own punishments? For-profit prisons are so much more cost effective because they are unencumbered by all that bureaucratic nonsense meant to protect inmates from cruel and unusual punishment like data entry jobs. For-profit prisons are good for America too because their profits go right back into the economy in the form of political bribes thus ensuring longer and tougher sentences and thereby increasing prison profitability. Nicely done, way to incentivize taking away someone’s liberty.

But surely there is a way for the government to save even more money. Why not outsource our prisons to other countries like China? They’d bring about real cost savings and efficiencies. They’d replace gang rape with forced organ donation and use redacted letters as bedding. It just makes good financial sense and that’s way more important than any moral obligation the Government has to its citizenry.


Head Cheese

On December 18th, the Green Bay Packers faced the 5-8 Kansas City Chiefs, a teams whose entire offense was recently replaced by the varsity squad of Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrow Catholic High School. The 13-0 Packers were predicted to easily trounce the feeble foe and maintain their perfect season. That is until Josh Jacobs of Altoona Wisconsin, let his wife Sara wash his lucky Packer sweat shirt. A shirt that hadn’t been washed for 19 straight Packer victories.

According to Jacobs, his wife insisted on washing out the cheese and beer based vomit from last week’s routing of the Falcons. A defensive and obviously drunk Jacobs shouted to reporters, “I told ‘er absolutely not to, but she went an did anyway.”

Every game day starting at 10 AM, Jacobs drank exactly one case of Miller, bottles not cans; urinated repeatedly on a football signed by Brett Farve that his son gave him for father’s day back in ’96; and, most importantly, wore his lucky, unwashed Packer’s sweat shirt. But this time it all went wrong.

Jacobs tried to follow his pre-game ritual wearing his Tide fresh sweat shirt, but the magic was gone. “Gosh darn it if it wasn’t fool proof and I mucked it up!”

An obviously disappointed Aaron Rodgers commented after the loss to Kansas City, “I knew something was off the entire game. It just didn’t feel like every pathologically obsessed fan was doing their part.” Turns out that missing link was Jacobs.

Jacobs pre-game ritual propelled the Packers to a 19-0 record spanning two seasons. A record that nearly eclipsed the Patriots’ 21 game long gang rape of the NFL in ’03-’04.

Don’t Sh*t Where You Eat

September 1, 2011


Street Dance Romance

Did we win a war?

Since I was 16, I’ve been searching for a bar that is just right, and I think I found a pretty great one. It is the kind of place you can take your best friends (if they weren’t already regulars or employees) or your parents. It is the kind of place where they know my camouflage clothing is ironic. And, it is not like those college bars I used to frequent that need to be hosed down with bleach and Penicillin at the end of the night.

 Because I cherish this relationship, I try really hard to behave when I am there. But, since I don’t really want to stop at 5 or 6 bottles of wine, I cheat on my bar with other less respectable establishments where I can pile on the cheap booze and act da’ fool.

Let me paint you a picture. The evening will start at my steady bar. There will be some great conversations about topical issues like “the lightbulb freedom of choice act” (thank you president Bachmann) or why there are so many hookah lounges all of a sudden, or shit like that. Then we’ll politely but affectionately part with a kiss on the cheek at about 11:30 pm. Otherwise Dr. Jekyll will turn into Mr. Hyde and I’ll end up talking about sport f*cking, or worse, my novel, before puking in the one-stall bathroom. No, I save that crap for my blackout bar where I don’t give a f*ck.

You probably have a blackout bar too, or did back when you were cool. It is the place you go when you should really catch a cab and go to bed. It is where you make colossally bad decisions that might involve a carnie.

The blackout bar is downstream of every other bar on the planet. It is dark. You don’t know anyone there except the dude you brought, who you just met 3 bars ago. It is totally overflowing with early twenties jackassery, and old weirdoes that you wouldn’t give directions to during the day but somehow are your best friends at 2:00 am. And, most importantly, when you are there you are magically invisible – or that is just how you feel after three unnecessary shots of tequila – yuck I am too old for that sh*t.

So if you want to suck face with that dude, or drink until you puke on the bar, or show your tits to that ex-con because his daughter has the same birthday as you, just head over to that bar your friends won’t follow you to and use it like it’s your own personal toilet.  Because…let’s face it… your steady bar, won’t put up with that sh*t.

Very Punny

August 17, 2011


Three 6 Mafia Scampi

I hate puns. They are the lowest form of comedy (yes, even lower than knock knock jokes). Only dumb, unfunny people use puns. I am not alone in this opinion. English poet and literary critic John Dryden called puns “the lowest and most groveling kind of wit.” So if you use them, please stop. You’re embarrassing yourself.

Puns suck because they are normally way too cute and corny. People say crap like “You’re tea-rific” over a cuppa, or “I’m aging gray-cefully,” on their 40th birthday. Then they are likely to get a dumb, gleeful look on their face and say, “get it?” Yeah I git  it, you are a f*cking looser.

And don’t get me started on cheeky sex puns like the ones James Bond made famous such as, “I think she got the point,” (i.e. his weiner) and “I’m sorry, I can’t make it…(speaking into the phone and staring lasciviously at some half-dressed buxom 70’s babe)…something’s come up.” Sh*t like that makes me want to puke in a pint glass.

I believe the only way to redeem the pun is through dark humor. Keep in mind; this is not for the faint of heart. People will be offended. Take for instance the crushing silence that would follow if a detective exclaimed with a chuckle, “Of corpse!” upon finding the lifeless, mangled body of a child in the most obvious place ever: the basement of some lecherous old man’s house. And, think about the real courage it would take for an OB/GYN to say, “Hey don’t be sad. You need to turn that frown upside Downs,” to the pregnant woman with the mentally retarded, unborn baby. Possibly a rent boy calling his clients could say, “I don’t mean to be a drip, but your leaky dick is probably from the raging gonorrhea I gave you.” 

Extreme punning like this is only for the very brave few that are willing to lose friends, respect, and potentially jobs because of their commitment to comedy despite whatever tragic event is taking place around them. So if you must pun, reacquaint yourself with the dark twisted monster inside you and make crude jokes that will most likely get you into fistfights.

Cruel Summer

July 19, 2011


How did your parents meet again?

I am pretty sure that summer unequivocally hates fat people. How do I know? Actually, I am a total lard ass. It wasn’t always this way. When I was younger summer didn’t hate me at all.  But now, it beats down its wrath upon me and millions of other fat people in the world– or, as Europeans call us: Americans.

On the other hand, summer and thin people get along super well. Thin people strip down to their two-piece bathing suit, hangout outside without boob sweating, get some rays, play beach volleyball like in Top Gun without their thighs chafing, and crap like that. It all looks like a beer commercial to me.

It is hard to get into summer because fat people are disallowed from all the things that thin people do to beat the heat like wearing bathing suits, swimming in public without a t-shirt; taking off one’s shirt; or hanging out in the frozen foods section of the super market.

There are some optimistic fat people who try to fight back and start working out, but not me. See I know I have no will power (e.g. my Rubenesque form). If you didn’t get skinny for your best friend’s wedding or your 10-year high school reunion, chances are a few sunny days worth of running embarrassingly slow for five minutes isn’t going to make you the svelte puma you envision yourself in your head.

And, God forbid there is some social event like a wedding or a pool party or a BBQ. These are just opportunities for summer to embarrass me totally, mostly because I have nothing to wear (No joke, I wore a sweater the other day. It was 90 degrees). This is true of all fat people. We don’t have summer clothing. We just can’t bring ourselves to buy any. If you send a fat person to the mall to buy a pair of shorts, they’ll come back with a blousey sweater and some dip n’ dots.

So go easy on your plump friends when they beg off that brisk walk or bike ride or swimming at the lake. And to all my rotund friends, stay inside because summer hates you.

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