When I was in college, I knew a guy who had chosen a truly ridiculous major. I wish that I remember what it was, but alas, time and alcohol-induced amnesia have thoroughly scrubbed that particular factoid from my brain. Suffice it to say that it was, in my opinion, a colossally useless major, the kind of major you’d pick if you were from a wealthy family and wanted to piss off your parents. “Whitaker! Comparative Queefing? Really?” A major for losers, that’s what I thought. Of course my major was getting higher than Jesus, so I shouldn’t talk. (I told my parents that I majored in Street Pharmacology. Didn’t work.)

In the United States, it’s not uncommon for people to go through the trouble of incorporating themselves. They do this for a variety of reasons, the most common one being limited liability. If John Doe throws a barrel of orphans into a wheat thresher, he’ll be going to fucking jail. If John Doe, Incorporated throws a barrel full of orphans into a wheat thresher, however, his liability will be limited, which means that he will be hailed as a brilliant innovator, receive a large government grant, as well as an honorary degree at some cold, heartless institution of higher learning that specializes in murdering children, like the Wharton School of Business. That’s some pretty fucking sweet liability limiting, if you ask me, although truth be told, the orphans probably feel a little differently about it.

I was proof-reading my post from the other night, which I realize may be surprising to some people. Usually, when people read things on this site such as “parakeet stuffed with cocaine”, they assume that it must be the result of some sort of autocorrect weirdness, or failing that, the author has had a mild stroke. When they discover that it was, in fact, a conscious effort to entertain, they usually laugh nervously and sidle away from me, sometimes sidling as fast as 45 miles per hour. Heaven forbid that I tell them what the original line was before editing. That would be something so foul and depraved that it would result in large men armed with butterfly nets and powerful psychotropic drugs converging on the Dogs on Drugs Headquarters/Bordello, and fuck that. That’s how Highlights magazine went out of business.

When I was young, I spent a lot of time in the woods. I lived in semi-rural Illinois, and so there were a lot of woods to be had. It wasn’t like Siberia or anything, with 5,000 miles of trees separating every couple of vodka-swilling drunks, but pretty much everywhere you looked, there was at least a small grove of trees, and as kids who lived in an era that didn’t have video games, they served as the backdrop for a large portion of our youth. We explored the woods, built tree-houses in them, and later on, in our teenage years, we used them as cover to get higher than Jesus. Man, did we like getting high in the woods. 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

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

I found myself nauseated in the grocery store today. Normally if I feel nauseated in the grocery store, it’s because I’m in the potted meat aisle. There is something inherently wrong with potted meat, and if the lack of refrigeration and sci-fi-like expiration dates (“Best before 2112!”) don’t put you off, the contents should. A friend of mine once lost his fucking mind and tried Vienna Sausage, an experience he likened to eating pig dicks soaked in vomit, which in my mind is an insult to both pig dicks and vomit, because Vienna Sausages are fucking rank. Continue reading

I was sitting in traffic today, stuck behind a large Cadillac with Texas plates when it dawned on me that the state of Texas should really have an additional letter in it. Specifically, it should have the letter “C”, because if it did, then you could rearrange the letters in Tecxas to spell “Sex Act”, and how fucking awesome would that be? Answer: 7 million. It would be 7 million awesome. Continue reading

I’ve been thinking a lot about Christmas trees lately, and not just because they’ve been rammed down my fucking throat since Halloween. Seriously, this three months of Christmas bullshit has to stop. I propose that anyone caught putting up Christmas decorations before Thanksgiving be placed in the stocks, and then we turn Rudolph loose on him. Rudolph on Viagra. And as for commercial establishments, every day that they’re in violation then everything in the store is free, including the employees. No one, and I mean no one is going to put up Christmas decorations in October if there’s a chance that they’ll wind up being sodomized in a double-wide for the rest of their life as a result. Ok, maybe Walmart employees. (45% of all Walmart employees enjoy being sodomized. That’s a scientifically proven fact. But don’t take my word for it, the next time you’re in Walmart, ask every employee you see if they enjoy being sodomized. You’ll see. Also, video that shit and send it to me.) Continue reading

If you’re anything like me, you’re woefully unprepared for the holidays. They come up on you so fast! One minute you’re celebrating Halloween with a carafe of grain alcohol, and the next you’re waking up on a snow covered lawn littered with empty whiskey bottles and lifeless hookers. You don’t know where your family is, let alone what you’re going to get them for Christmas. What you need to do is come up with a perfect gift, that special purchase that says, “I thought of you this holiday season, even if only between the blackouts.” That way your special someone feels needed, which is going to come in handy when you’re trying to round up character witnesses that don’t know you by your incriminating nickname (Drive-By). And Dogs on Drugs is here to help. Continue reading