I had a wonderful post lined up for tonight, something that would make you weep with joy, gasp in wonder, and laugh until your sides were sore. Then I got my iPhone. Yeah, I’m one of those Apple freaks and I have been since I got my first computer, the Apple II, way back when computers were so primitive that they had carburetors. I know, I know, Apple is not perfect, their shit is kinda pricey, and when he wasn’t revolutionizing every industry he touched, Steve Jobs was kind of a dick. I don’t care. Their stuff simply blows their competition out of the water. So you can cram your fucking Windows Phone (*stifled laughter*). I like my new iPhone. Continue reading

Why the fuck can I no longer go to the mall without feeling like I’m in Mexico? The mall used to be a relaxing place, with the entire walkway dedicated to benches, fountains, seasonal decorations, and horny teens in various stages of the rut. Now, it’s like running a fucking gauntlet of kiosks, carts, and the kind of shuckster that makes Vince, the Sham-Wow guy seem like a deep thinker. This is bullshit. I already have people to harass me while I shop: I call them my children. Continue reading

Whenever I hear the song Mother’s Little Helper by the Rolling Stones, I’m whisked away into a world of pure idiocy, a world in which I am immortal and immune to the laws of both nature and man. I’m sitting in the passenger seat of a car, and in the reality that I am detached from I am either going home, to jail, to the hospital, or to the morgue. But I don’t know this, or if I do, I simply don’t care. Mother’s Little Helper is blaring from the speakers and we are singing along, laughing maniacally, even though merely being seen by a police officer at this point is enough to ensure our arrest. I am 18 years old. Continue reading

My five year old son has this idea in his head that you die when you turn 100. “Daddy? I don’t want to turn 100,” he’ll tell me, his voice quivering with fear. “What? Why not?” “Because when you’re 100 you die, and I don’t want to die!” And so I have to rush to console him, by which I mean lie my ass off. What am I supposed to say? “Shit, most everyone dies before they turn 100! I knew a kid who died when we were in third grade!” I can’t say that, it’d melt his little brain with fear and take away from his valuable house-destroying time. Continue reading

Ugh, I got some distressing family news today, and even though no one died, and no one is sick, it’s been enough to knock me off of my regular schedule. And now I just want to sit on the couch and veg, something I rarely do, so I’m going to.

Instead of the normal menu of dick jokes, immature haikus, and slanderous statements about game show hosts, I’ll throw this doozy out into the ether from the funny as hell guys (who used to be) in The Whitest Kids U Know:

I remember sitting in the back seat of a car in the parking lot of a liquor store when I was eighteen, glumly watching as my friend got shot down again. As he settled back into the car where we were waiting, I said to no one in particular, “Man, when I turn twenty-one and some kid asks me to buy him beer, I’ll totally do it. I’ll buy him a fucking keg if he wants me to!” My statement was met with a chorus of “Yeah’s” and “No kidding”, and we hunkered down to wait for someone “cool” enough to break the law for a bunch of moron teenagers that they didn’t know. I remember that well. And so when I was approached by a gangly-looking teen the other day and asked to buy him some beer, it was with a pang of regret that I said, “Sorry, pal.” As I walked away, I swear the kid’s eyes said to me, “What happened, man? You used to be cool!” Continue reading

For those of you who read last week’s Week In Review, you’ll be familiar with the picture off to the left of what appears to be a Japanese woman slowly turning into an inflatable fuck doll. This is wonderful fodder for smug American pricks such as myself, who like to make fun of anything nonsensical, foreign, or (ideally) nonsensically foreign. In this case, however, I was wrong to poke fun at that advertisement because this wonderful invention will help all of you ladies out there whose faces are slowly turning into mush. Behold the Face Slimmer from the wonderful folks over at Glim. Continue reading

Well, it’s that time of year again: The time when I make up children, donate non-existent funds to fictional charities, and declare myself a blind, Nicaraguan orphan. This is done for “tax purposes”, which is another way of saying that I plan to defraud the IRS out of at least $72,000. Continue reading

I got an email from my eleven year old daughter’s teacher the other day. She was removed from class for communicating in fake sign language with a classmate across the room. During a test. She has absolutely none of the cunning and guile that I had at that age. Through a mixture of wily intelligence, parental cluelessness, and dumb luck, I managed to go through my entire childhood without getting busted for anything major after the age of five. Nothing. My daughter, on the other hand, is evening up the family score by getting busted for every idiotic thing she even thinks of doing. Continue reading

The years I spent in Junior High were the worst of my childhood. That’s relative, of course. I had a happy home life, friends, I wasn’t bullied, and I don’t have any real reason to complain. But those three years were at the bottom of the list for me. The reason is simple: Going through puberty with a couple of hundred other kids is fucking horrible. No one knows where they fit in. The unpopular kids hate the popular kids for being popular. The popular kids don’t think they’re terribly popular and hate the unpopular kids for hating them. You have to conform to current fashion (as seen by tweeners, no less) or be ostracized, yet you have to stand out in order to be recognized. In short, it’s three years of insanity with pubes. Continue reading