I was sitting in a long and boring meeting this afternoon, the kind of meeting in which people compulsively pull out their phones to look at the time even though this only makes it worse. A watched pot never boils, and neither does a cell phone. Still, the cell phone does serve as a fun distraction. You can say, “Hmmm, let me look that up real quick,” and then play Stick Hero for ten minutes, and no one cares, probably because they’re playing Stick Hero too. Why we don’t all just stay home and play Stick hero and save everyone the bother of driving to work is beyond me. Continue reading

I ran across some old fashioned finger-in-the-wet-cement artwork today, and I had to step back and admire it because it has been a while since I’ve seen that kind of thing. It used to be that if there was wet cement, there was a kid lurking nearby to quickly defile it. These days those same kids are posting nude celebrity pics, defacing corporate web sites, or hacking into Indian government servers and starting a regional thermonuclear conflict by making it appear as if the Indian Prime Minister just said that “Pakistan blows goats”. And so when I read the unknown artist’s words of wisdom, “Gosnell SUCKS” I immediately agreed. Yes! Fuck that guy! Or girl! Or whatever the fuck Gosnell is! The evidence is clearly in, Gosnell, and I am afraid that you suck. Case closed. Continue reading

I often comment on the fact that during the 1970’s, when network television had a veritable monopoly on home entertainment, quality was… Well, how should I put this? Lacking. Quality was lacking, by which I mean I could, and sometimes do, take actual shits that are more entertaining than anything you would see during any random 4 hour span of programming. To this day, I’m puzzled by this fact. With valuable air time such a scarce commodity, surely only the finest entertainment would make the cut. But TV was so awful that (and I just looked this up) Hee-Haw was ranked as the 18th most popular TV show of that decade. Fucking Hee-Haw, where shirts and teeth were optional, but sister-diddling wasn’t. Continue reading

Wow, I must’ve been high as fuck in the 80’s, because this isn’t how I remember things at all…

I read an interesting scientific paper the other day because that is that is the type of thing that I do with my free time; I read scientific papers. Or at least that’s what I tell people, because people are narrow-minded and judgmental and if I tell them that I actually spend all of my free time drinking shoe polish and lurking in the plus size lingerie department at Walmart, they act as if they’re better than me, which is clearly bullshit because… Well, to be honest, I can’t think of a good way to end that sentence. But my point is, fuck those high-horse motherfuckers. They don’t bother me! Not as long as I’ve got another Kiwi and Coke at the ready. Continue reading

You know what I hate? Commercials that ask questions. “What would you pay for this?” Listen, asshole, I didn’t sit down on the couch and turn on the TV so I could engage in witty repartee. Just get to the fucking point and tell me how much the decorative Abe Vigoda corn cob holders cost already! Jesus. Continue reading

I’m going to come right out and say it: I’ve spent an inordinate amount of time this last month trying to calculate how many people have gotten laid in Abraham Lincoln’s lap at the Lincoln Memorial. Oh, stop looking at me like that. Like you haven’t given it some thought. I suppose next you’ll tell me that you’ve never spent the night lurking in the bushes outside Cap’n Crunch’s house. Right. Continue reading

I had a dream last night that I was in a Godzilla movie. I found myself in an industrial park, cowering in the corner of a large plant as I watched Godzilla’s massive form stomping about in the distance. I remember feeling good about my chances because I wasn’t that poor bastard who always gets stepped on in the middle of the street. Seriously, people, are we not all familiar with the Godzilla drill yet? When a 400 foot tall fire breathing monster is walking down Main Street, you stay the fuck indoors. That’s the rule. Well, that and stay out of trains. I don’t know if Godzilla had some random pervert touch his butthole in the train when he was little or what, but trains send him into a motherfucking rage. He’s always tossing trains around, and so even though a swipe of his mighty tail could bring the factory I was hiding in crashing down upon me, I still felt good about things. I wasn’t crossing a street, and I wasn’t in a train. Continue reading

I’ve been a reader all my life, and so it was only natural that I would spend a lot of time reading to my kids when they were little. They’d get all dressed up in their footie pajamas, we’d hunker down in bed with a big, fluffy blanket covering us all, and I would open a book and begin to read: “We were somewhere around Barstow on the edge of the desert when the drugs began to take hold.” Hahahaha, just kidding. I would never read Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas to my kids. Too many words. We mostly read things with lots of pictures, like Hustler, although if the comics were good, we’d read Playboy in a pinch. Continue reading

You know what show is a goddamn hoot? My Strange Addiction. The concept is simple: They select people with strange addictions and televise a few days of their lives so you can sit there on the couch, laughing at other people’s deep seated psychological issues. Hey, everyone loves a good train wreck, and if the passengers just happen to be drinking shoe polish at the time of the crash, so much the better. Continue reading