Monday, April 30, 2012

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If you think your life sucks, fret not, because you my friend are not a dude dressed up as a bear promoting tanning oil.

I went through all the stages of emotion with this thing. Came into the gym confused with a, "Why is there a dude in a fucking bear suit roaming around?" attitude and immediately moved to anger. My man was TERRORIZING the gym. Curling weights that made no sense in a desperate attempt to try to be funny. We get it, it's absolutely zany to curl a 10lb weight and 20b weight at the same time. Benching the bar in the bear suit like an asshole. Stop it, bro.

Then I started to feel bad for it. I mean it IS a grown man dressed as a bear suit in a pretty warm gym. He is subtly staring at girls, but he knows he has no shot because again, he's dressed as a bear. As a last ditch effort to justify his existence, my man hopped on the treadmill for one of the saddest photo-ops I have ever seen. He was jogging at level 1.2, incline 0.7 looking as disheveled and out of shape as a bear-suited man could possibly look.

Maybe work sucked today and maybe your girlfriend dumped you, but rest assured that you were NOT dressed as a bear sweating your ass off trying to sell Darque Tan. Rock bottom.
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Nah, that ain't me. In the realm of "things I don't fuck with", a bottomless toilet experience is at the top of the list.

The bathroom should be a safe-haven, not a god damn amusement park ride. Ultimately this begs the question, can you poop in here? Pardon my French, but that's the giant brown elephant in the room when you look at this picture. Ever experience stage fright in the bathroom? You know, that terrible situation when someone stands or sits in the stall right next to you and both of you are waiting for the other to go? Well picture that, but instead of being worried about Joe Schmo, you're worried about plummeting 700 feet.

How embarrassing of a police report would that be?

Anything that features..
-Dead and crumpled
-Covered in glass, toilet shards, and feces

is not a good look. I'm not a daredevil pooper and I'm not afraid to admit it.

Friday, April 27, 2012

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Thursday, April 26, 2012

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We now know what Mike Rowe's next "Dirty Job" is going to be. While the position of Egyptian Necrophilia Time Analyst sounds sneaky baller and moderately lucrative, I can't imagine anything worse than being the guy that has to monitor a posthumous humping. No lower low than that.

And who was the government official that stamped that one 'approved?' That guy has to be a real piece of work to go through the thought process of, "Six hours really is the perfect post-death sex timeframe." Disgusting. Egypt needs to clean it up from roughly every possible angle. When shit's not exploding and making headlines on CNN every second, dudes are flopping around on their dead wives.

Just do what we all do, fellas: go on "incognito" mode on Google Chrome, light a few candles, and get weird.

Wednesday, April 25, 2012

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Before I dive in, what the fuck are these things?:
No real idea what's going on here, but they have been at my desk on the first day of every job I started. Basically corn on the cob holders without the sharp part is all I see. Took me like 2 years to muster up the courage to ask what they were needed for. Blew my mind when I realized they are used to turn pages for people with weak-ass fingertips.

What world do we live in where we need saliva and finger condoms to turn a page in a book? I'm pretty sure that's why the Kindle and the Nook exist. People have become less and less able to effectively turn the page. I must admit, I've hit a few hiccups in some instances of page turning. Occasionally pages will get stuck, I may skip a page by accident and worst case scenario, a paper cut. While a paper cut is a very real and very dangerous catastrophe, I think we'll be ok. Saliva is a whole 'nother animal though. Not a clue in the world on how it aids in the page turning process other than making things uncomfortably sticky and wet. I'd like to guess that it's a generational thing, but damn. Let's make a rule right here. If you own a phone that doesn't flip or have polyphonic ringtones, you shouldn't spit on your fingers to advance through a hardcover novel.

For the record, I turn my pages like a bawse. It's like the And-1 Mixtape tour at the cubicle. No-looks, behind the backs and if I'm feelin' frisky, a real acrobatic/unnecessary between the legs. More or less, I'm the black "Professor" of turning pages of PowerPoints and Excel documents.

Tuesday, April 24, 2012

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Saw this commercial like 2 hours ago and I just stopped crying. Pure, unadulterated creepy love. As an internet blogger and renowned creeper, I felt like I was watching myself for a second. Beautiful foreshadowing of my life. There's no doubt in my mind that a WMD post will be dedicated to a girl one day and it will be exponentially shittier than this. It'll just be a hodge-podge of confusing Excel documents, a flashy PowerPoint, and links to crudely depicted "inside jokes." I'll probably throw in the "We Found Love" video because I'm a dick that would ultimately lack in creativity in a situation like that.

Seriously Jen, you're an absolute slut if you didn't meet Mark for coffee.
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When a 61 year old elderly ninja comes at your with three knives and succinct grammar, it's probably a wrap for you. Got to chalk up that gruesome, embarrassing death to chance and bad luck.

The end of this article is the definition of cliffhanger. "..three knives, including a meat cleaver, imbedding a.." What the fuck? Don't really know why an elderly ninja is "embedding" anything, but I'm concerned. Thought that was reserved for tech dudes and nerdy bloggers.

Wielding machetes and embedding videos on people's faces? Ninjas are getting weird and I like it.
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At this point, just give us a fucking pizza with a side of chicken tenders and sliders. The logistics are a disaster with these new crust ideas. Like, I straight up don't know what's happening in these pictures.

Is there a way to even eat these individually? Because I will NOT resort to eating pizza with a fork and knife. I'm not about that life anymore. I can't even imagine what fat people are thinking. The initial feeling of joy must immediately be followed by the realization that they are going to die a cheesy disaster of a hot dog/cheeseburger/chicken tender related death. Pretty sure this is potent enough to kill a 5 year old child.

Whatevs, I'm all for America being America. It's like buying a Hummer for the sole reason of parking your hybrid inside of it. Demented luxury IS chicken strip pizza crust.

Monday, April 23, 2012

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This was possibly the worst thing Alfonso Ribiero could have been videotaped doing. I'd rather he get caught doing cocaine off a prostitute's back with a heroin needle in his arm before I see him doing the Carlton dance again.

You don't see Will Smith egregiously hitting on women in hilarious fashion anymore. Whoever played Geoffrey isn't talking in a British accent. Hilary popped up in a few movies and Ashley got into music and then became a whore. No one is resting on their Fresh Prince laurels except you, bro.

You look kinda jacked, which is to be expected since you've been "off" for literally 15 years. Maybe parlay that into a workout DVD that'll have modest, yet respectable sales. Get a hobby. Create a competitive cooking item that can compete with George Foreman's grill. I don't know what you need to do, but I know you don't need to be organizing a nationwide "Carlton Dance" when you should be fielding interviews from BET sitcoms.

Will, please extend a hand to ya boy and throw him a bit role as an alien in that new Men in Black.
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Sometimes you just want to get out of your car, drop off an order, get back in your car and drift away into your thoughts. Not this guy. His day/week/life was just ruined by an unexpected wannabe-Glee flashmob. 

Honestly, I'd be very surprised if this guy mentally came back from that.  You can't get worked like that by 30 college kids without contemplating going on a rampage.  Especially when he didn't receive ANY money.  Now I'm no expert on crazy, but if there was a time to snap and go on a serious crime spree, this would be it.  Someone may want to put this house under witness protection or else we'll be dealing with some massacred college kids real soon.

Let's talk Domino's for a second.  Is it me, or does it fucking suck?  I think they realize they suck too.  Every commercial for the past 2 years has been like, "Um, we recognize our pizza is pretty disgusting and we are making continued efforts to fix it" and "I truly thought we got it right, but apparently our pizza is still disgusting."  I almost respect that they know they are giving out a shitty product.  Makes every slice that doesn't make you want to throw up taste that much better.  Genius/Terrible advertising.

Thanks, GF.

Wednesday, April 18, 2012

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No, not the hoodrat, Detroit-based, docu-horror-dramedy "The Girls Bathroom", this one:

If there's one thing know nothing about, it's the fucking women's bathroom. Obviously I shouldn't know the ins and outs of the place, but I literally have zero clue about anything involved with it. What's the construction like? What do you guys have in place of urinals?

This may be a figment of my imagination, but I was convinced that I saw a couch in a girl's bathroom years back. Blew my mind to pieces. If there are actually couches in there, we need to have a HOUSE MEETIN' YA'LL. But seriously, I may send a letter to the United States Bathroom Commissioner about gender equality. I'm grinding every day STANDING around like a jackass if all the stalls/urinals are being used. All I'm saying is if there were couches in the guy's bathroom, I may or may not have 10 years added to my life expectancy. Now I'm going to die relatively old with wobbly bathroom worn knees.

Plus there must be some sort of draw to the girl's room. You guys regularly go in packs, never really seem to have to go, and spend at least 45 minutes in there. The "cocaine is a helluva drug" excuse is too easy, I think there's something fishy going in there. I think we should all stop wondering if Jay-Z is in the Illuminati, and get a non-creepy, not-that-hidden camera in the girl's bathroom.

If there are karaoke machines, Sega Dreamcasts, and snow cone machines in there, I'm going to be so pissed.

Tuesday, April 17, 2012

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I got nothin'. This is accurate as shit. I've never been much of a Nickleback hater, because I just chose not to listen, but everything else is spot the fuck on.

1) As soon as the credits rolled in "Face-Off", Nic Cage's career effectively ended. If you liked National Treasure, you're just lying to yourself. And as soon as you start making MULTIPLE movies featuring yourself with a flaming head, it's a wrap.

2)I don't think anything has disrupted my life quite like Internet Explorer. Whether it was thousands of pop-ups, "waiting for _______" to load, or just being unable to find the address bar, there were almost infinite problems to deal with. You'll always remain as my sneaky, incognito do-weird-shit browser, but I will always hate you.

3)Someone told me that Crocs were edible one day and for years I believed that crock (pun intended) of shit. Once I found out they weren't the ultimate edible, plastic survival shoe, I quickly gave up on them. Plus they look absolutely ridiculous.
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Hey everyone, drop what you're doing right now. Your 34th favorite candy just shook the entire world up. Blatant-yet-unadmittedly gay candy duo Mike & Ike have called it "quits" in order to stir up some sales.

That's like "Murder She Wrote" killing off the main character. No one under the age of 70 gives a shit. It's like the old adage, "If a tree falls and no one is around to hear it, did it make a sound?" Except, instead of twigs and shit, we're talking about a decent-at-best candy treat.

I don't know about you guys, but every time I got Mike & Ikes I fell into the most "meh" form of existence imaginable. Just candy purgatory. I felt nothing towards it. Wasn't excited, wasn't upset and didn't particularly feel a certain way when I finished them. A box of Mike & Ikes basically boiled down to time being taken out of my day.

While I applaud your attempt to rise from complete and utter mediocrity, I can't see this working one bit. In the event 33 other assorted candies aren't available, I may give you guys another run.

Monday, April 16, 2012

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Can't imagine the shit these two get into on "off" days. The entire staff must fucking hate these two guys. Once the blinds close and the secret behind-the-bookshelf White House liquor cabinet comes out, I bet these two get after it.

Bill talking about his term like he was a stud high school QB and Obama just ignoring him for hours. Both of them drunk as hell.

Part of me wants Bill Clinton to chloroform Biden and become the most ballinest VP ever.
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You're telling me this:



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In the realm of starving for superficial attention, there are children, some girls, and Dub Jeezy. I titled this post, "Things I Shouldn't Tell You" because you assholes should NOT know about my affliction.

Full disclosure: I'm afflicted with the "need to be recognized for being fresh" syndrome and there is nothing I can do about it. Whenever I get a haircut, I'm walking 2.4 centimeters off the ground atop a fake cloud with a perma-half smile on my face ready to take control of everything. It's like my birthday once a month for about 2 hours. And more or less, I look like a dickhead.

Now here's the kind of (extremely) embarrassing part: when I get home I put my roommates on a timer that dictates when they HAVE to respond to my new cut. The newfound dominance that I convinced myself I'm exuding needs to be recognized. What ends up happening is very sad. I basically put a spotlight on my head, where a shirt with an "UP" arrow on it, and thrust my face into spots that'll draw attention, like alongside the TV or right by the kitchen table. Sends me into a tailspin. Roommates saying stuff like, "You're exactly like a chick", "Get your head away from the TV", and "I purposely didn't comment on your haircut because I've grown to hate your haircut antics."

Can't tell you how long this ridiculous segment (?) I created may last, but it's really self-deprecating and most certainly made me sad. It's like I'm my own psychologist, I guess.

WMD=a dude constantly feeding into his latent God-complex.

Friday, April 13, 2012

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"I'm gonna have to shut down the studio...there's a homeless crack head running around my house in one of my silk robes and a chicken leg in his hand."

Love crazy dudes. They always find themselves in such wacky scenarios. Got to tip my cap to Quamine Taylor. He's been a mainstay hobo at Diddy's house for over a decade. Based on that stat alone, he's lead a far more successful life than I will ever lead. With pure knowledge that I'd get arrested, I'd love to spend a day at Diddy's place.

I'd turn on the very underrated "Come With Me" off the "Godzilla" soundtrack, pop on the most outrageously expensive robe I can find, smoke some crack, and start my day. If you don't think I'd pour Ciroc in my Diamond Cheerios, you're out of your mind. Maybe I'll scavenge some old shoe boxes for some compromising pictures of J.Lo and...Cameron Diaz, but I don't know if there's enough time for that. No time to creep on pictures when I just called Ma$e over to play some Mario Kart and eat diamond studded cocktail shrimp with me.

After trying on assorted Mitchell & Ness Throwbacks that were stuffed in the back of the closet, I will take rest in what I'm assuming is a bed made entirely of 100,000 thread Egyptian sheets. At that point, I'll be so liquored/diamonded up, my body will force me to pass out. Wake up in prison, spend 120 days behind bars, and do it again. Take that, take that.

This has the makings of a HIGHLY edited children's book.

Thursday, April 12, 2012

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Not even exaggerating, this was the most disgusting thing I have ever watched.

Once they did the wheel-barrel, I almost threw up. I'm not trying to peruse the internet and find geriatrics doing everything from the Kama Sutra. I absolutely shouldn't be learning things from this video either. Almost brought out a notepad.

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10 Hours, 9 felonies=efficiency

This story has circulated the past few days, so I'm going to be brief about what this guy was arrested for with the biggest run-on sentence of all time: burglarized a store, stole a taser, revolver, and a shotgun, fired shots, lit the place on fire, (take a breath), hold 4 people up at gunpoint, pistol whips a guy, steals everyone's money, steals a cab, balls out at Walmart, breaks into a law office, poops everywhere and smears it on their law degrees, (take a breath) breaks into a hotel while impersonating a female and steals 600 dollars all while crying the entire time, (finds time to shave his head), crashes his cab into a parking garage, tears into a mall and dives head first into a penny-fountain, gets arrested.

Yikes. Here's my worst night: didn't check in with my mother when I stayed out past dark, had like 3 beers, chugged vodka, blacked out, threw up on myself, played Mario Party while blacked out and got my ass kicked, woke up in a strange bed, new clothes, and 25 voicemails from my mother, got smacked in the face by my mother.

Eat that William. No where in your string of insane criminal activities did you get smacked in the face by your mother. I'll take the W on that one.

Wednesday, April 11, 2012

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I wish I had more hands, so I can give these boy bands more thumbs down. All I see are 14 dudes that I can beat up.

So apparently we are going to war with bands named: One Direction, The Wanted, and Hot Chelle Rae. Yikes. These aren't names I can rally behind. Backstreet Boys? They kept you wondering what "back street" they were from. N'Sync? Hilarious play on words. 98 Degrees? Human regulatory temperature. All quality names. Back in the day, we had stars in the making. Future crack addict Nick Carter was a legitimate beast in the boy band scene. All he did was take over tracks and don the windy white button up with the best of them. Then there was Justin Timberlake. Before he lost his mind and started making terrible movies, he was in the booth making love to microphones and headphones nationwide. I'm pretty sure the physical FutureSex LoveSounds CD was able to date any chick it wanted.

None of these kids give off that charisma. Here are my top 3 least favorite of the entire bunch.

3) Third picture, all the way on the right: Pretty sure it took HOURS of photoshop work to mask that ugly mug. (sick rose tat)

2) TIE--First picture, first guy to the right with the Bruno Mars hair AND First picture, all the way on the left with the suit jacket on: Bruno Mars already happened and people didn't enjoy it. And if you're going to rock a crude-color-schemed suit jacket, at least be on the same page with the band bro.

1) Second picture, second guy from left: self explanatory. There's something really terrible to be said about a guy that wears a tank-top to an awards show.

Answer: No, boy bands aren't back.

Tuesday, April 10, 2012

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^0:34 mark

Could have happened to any of us. I've said it multiple times, texting is a god damn issue these days. I was inches away from running into a telephone pole today. Well this is the pinnacle of what could possibly happen. Gone are the days of "I'm lost" and constantly bumping into people because we've got motherfucking bears causing chaos in the streets. Love the dude's style too. Didn't stand around to question what was happening or analyze the situation. He just turned and goofily ran off into the distance. Whoever said "playing dead" is the move was a fucking idiot. Just turn and run ya'll.

This dude ((and bear) could have benefited GREATLY from the texting lane.
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Pure genius. Throw a meme up in the right situation and you have internet gold.

Why hasn't JT gotten back into the booth? Our biggest unsolved mystery since Jon Benet Ramsey.

*Thanks to @bflip33 for the picture.
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Monday, April 9, 2012

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Because this blog is a desperate attempt to be cool and relevant, I obviously had to post about this Instagram business. Facebook bought it for 1 billion dollars (which is completely stupid) and that's where my knowledge of anything related to this situation stops.

What this is really about: this fucking pigeon. I posted this on my Facebook wall with a brief description of what happened. Moral of the story, this bird was REALLY about THAT life. He parked himself on the busiest street on my path to work and refused to move. He knew what was going on. Everyone's like, "That pigeon definitely has kidney failure" and "Why'd you take a picture of a pigeon, that's really weird", but those people don't get it. They didn't see what I see. I saw evolution in progress. I saw a pigeon that knowingly gave zero fucks. As much as I want to give respect to him, I just can't because he didn't respect me. If pigeons aren't clearing out when you enter their 5 foot radius, you don't have enough testosterone. I don't have enough testosterone.

(I seriously tried to instagram this. I signed up, realized I didn't actually sign up, accidentally linked it to Facebook, couldn't unlink it to Facebook, deleted it, couldn't re-download it, downloaded it twice, tried again, couldn't use my email address again, forgot the password I created, and deleted it again. Good luck with that bullshit Zuckerberg)
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Lucky for me, bedazzled, diamond-shaped glistening phone cases are what's hot in the streets right now or else I'd look fucking weird.

I'm an old-school cell phone user. I've been around since the days of "if you lost/break your phone, you may never get a new one" and that era made me rock solid. Never bought a phone case or a screen protector once (except for that one time that Best Buy associate salesman'd the shit out of me). I pride myself on never once creating a "OMG dropped my phone in a barrel of jungle juice, need numberzzz" group. Then I got a fucking iPhone and instantly became a douchebag.

If you're counting with the rest of us, I think this is my 4th phone-related post in the past 2 weeks. I'm obsessed with my new elitist status and inability to correctly play iPhone exclusive games. I also caved and bought a case. Because I had no idea where to buy cases aside from Best Buy, I went the route of Amazon where I immediately got steered wrong. Apparently I bought a Sailor Moon-ish juvenile case meant for preteen girls. No shame in my game though. I'm going to rock it with confidence and come up with crazy mind boggling excuses to why I own it like:

"If Prince has an iPhone, he probably owns this case"


"The hologram diamonds are supposed to absorb sunlight and increase battery power"

More or less, I fucked up and will be going to the Verizon store this week to right this wrong. I just wanted to post about my new phone again.

Wednesday, April 4, 2012

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Hate when people try too hard to be funny (i.e. Dub Jeezy).

Sick formula you got there. Throw up a generic pug pic that you found on page 3 of Google Images when you searched "pug", crudely draw some stars, make like 3 bad jokes, and for the coup de grâce, insert a fucking "Hotmail" email address. ZOMG LOLZ LMGDMFAO, Hotmail?! That doesn't even exist anymore!

Once your 15 minutes of internet fame elapses, take yourself and your jokes and jump off the nearest roof.
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Now suspend belief and pretend this isn't a high-as-shit college junior that found a cane on the ground, dressed like a wizard, and most likely got arrested shortly after this.

You done? If so, this shit is absolutely fantastic. This Merlin motherfucker is killing it to an extent that few have reached. Moving at a smooth, herky-jerky, 6 MPH holding up traffic is literally all I want to do with my day. Excel? Pfft, give me a stick, a longboard, and some magic powers. Bet I'll be just a little bit happier.

Un-suspend belief now. How much do you hate this kid at your school? You know, that douchebag that tries to push boundaries and makes really aggressive efforts to be funny?

Hope they throw this dude in Guantanamo.

Tuesday, April 3, 2012

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We should have looked harder...
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When you have a permanent sad expression on your face, an oblong head, and are barely able to walk, the general public moves from "that's adorable" to "is he okay?"

Seriously though, is Marshmallow ok? I thought I was diving into an adorable video about a newborn kitten trying to figure out it's way in this world. Then I found out it was a month old. A month old is when a kitten starts being worthwhile and awesome, not feeble and quivery.


-"Marshmallow was born on March 1st with low birth weight"
-"At this point, we're just thankful that she's made it through the first month. What a blessing she is."

Well, I feel like an asshole. No lower place in this world than picking on a feeble, low-birth-weighted kitten that can't properly regulate it's temperature.

The least I can do is link to Marshmallow's website after such a treacherous act of fuckery. My bad.
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Before I dive in, two things: 1) Just got an iPhone and fully recognize I'm late. 2) I'm straight up not good at this game.

With that out of the way, I am completely comfortable saying that as a grown man, I may never play this game again because of these fucking monsters. I was under the assumption that these things were just some rowdy chimpanzees chasing me because I caused some unrest in their cave-dwelling. Well apparently, this suave ginger looking asshole decided to take a god damn relic from the cave-dwelling of some of the most horrifying 3D demons I've ever seen. At some point you have to think to yourself, "Do I really need this golden toad?" Got to weigh the risk reward like a legitimate archaeologist Indiana Jones knock-off.

Sidenote: I'm so bad at this game, I didn't come close to encountering these guys for my first 50 rounds. Just kept falling in pits and getting my ankles burnt by fire. It took until my commute home today to realize these demon-monster-devil babies existed. Borderline shrieked in front of some old lady and threw my phone against the window.

I also have no idea how this dude can even THINK about collecting coins under such duress.

Monday, April 2, 2012

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Oh Japan, you guys just keep pushing boundaries that don't even exist. I'm pretty sure zero people were like, "Wish I could kiss a poster right now." Sure, you may want to kiss the hot chick in the poster, but a lip-lock with glossy paper really isn't my bag.

Call me a prude, but I'm not ready for kissable posters. Maybe I'm the weirdo that's going to be standing in a bar all by himself while people are sitting at home making out with their walls. I'm willing to be that ornery old man that repeatedly says, "Back in my day, we met girls, asked them out and earned our kisses."

It pains me to know that Justin Bieber is 100% the most kissed poster. I don't even need statistics to know that.
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Umm, ew?

Is it bad that I don't think this thing is remotely cute? It's hard to be adorable when you're covered head to toe in cooking oil and looking sad as hell. Lift your head up, bro. I know it ain't easy being a "pygmy" anything--just life dealing you an absolutely shit hand.

If you're a miniature greased up hippopotamus, you have to own being a miniature greased up hippopotamus. Knock over some tables, consistently make VERY weird noises, and maybe do some non-hippo things like use a human toilet. Obviously the first order of business is figuring out how to dry yourself off because you look slippery as fuck. Can't even consider cuddling with you without getting my t-shirt wet. You may need to un-bug your eyes too if you're going to chill in my backpack at the clubs. Your swag is my swag hippo.