A while back, I made a strong case for being named the Secretary of Transportation and fuck the current guy, Ray LaHood. That guy probably ass-fucks coma patients for a hobby. Ha ha! I’m just kidding! Of course a person such as Ray LaHood doesn’t fuck coma patients! He’s the head of an important department, a member of the President’s Cabinet, and hob-nobs with Department of Justice people, all of whom could probably arrange to have me set a record for longest prison sentence handed out for committing an act of libel. Ray LaHood is a saint and I’m sure that whatever ass-fucking he does is entirely within legal limits. Continue reading

I was driving in rush hour traffic this morning when I thought to myself, “This is fucking bullshit.” This, of course, is far from an original thought. We all hate traffic. If you know anyone who says to his friends, “Hey, it’s almost five o’clock! Let’s see if we can get caught in a traffic jam on the 101!” that person is fucking crazy and you are legally allowed to administer powerful psychotropic drugs to him, even if you need a funnel and a fire hose to do so. Traffic gargles donkey-balls.

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I want to live on a farm in Vermont. Well, not an actual farm. I grew up in the Midwest, so I understand the dreamy, romanticized vision most people have in their heads when they think of farm life. Farms are nothing like that. Farms are hot, smelly places where backbreaking labor does nothing to guarantee success. And even if, against all odds, harvest time has come and everything has gone right, with no drought, or flood, or pestilence, or fire, or anything else crazy getting in the way, and you find yourself with an actual crop to sell, some motherfucking asshole from the city will pipe up and complain that eighty-nine cents is way too much money for an ear of corn that you’ve worked from dawn till dusk for an entire season to produce, and the next thing you know, you’re sitting in the county jail, charged with Murder by Combine. Continue reading

Regular, long time visitors to this site may recall a momentary fascination with Japanese WTF band BabyMetal. They were even considered (along with Mini-Kiss, Nudist Priest, and Fat Benetar) as an act for the first annual Dogs on Drugs liver-stomping party and AA recruitment drive. But if I have learned one thing during my brief stay on this planet (and I haven’t), it’s that people give you sidelong looks when you’re a grown man trying to hire thirteen year old girls in any capacity, let alone one in which they must fly across the globe to shake their asses on stage for a room full of howling drunks. It just doesn’t look right. Continue reading

Yesterday, I hinted that Sting, Bruce Springsteen, and Bono had joined forces to make the world a safer, preachier, and much, much whinier place. This was all in good fun and not, as friends, family, and copyright lawyers at A&M records insinuated, a sign of impending mental breakdown on my part. The idea that these three musicians could get their shit together long enough to rule the world is ludicrous. It was a joke, although to judge by the email that informed me that “STING WOULD NEVER HURT ANYONE LIEK THAT YOU FOOL!!!!!”, not a very good one. Continue reading

I was thinking about my job benefits today, when I remembered that I have long term disability insurance. For those of you who don’t know, this is a gamble your employer takes on your behalf: “Greg is a very valuable and skilled employee. But let’s be honest here, he’s kind of nuts. So let’s pay a company some money so that when he chops his hands off mowing the lawn on ether, they can pay his salary and we won’t have to feel guilty for firing his handless ass.” Continue reading

I know this is going to come as quite a shock to you, but I’m kind of an unorthodox dude, and I’ve got some rather wacky ideas. Unfortunately, society tends to frown upon some of my more outlandish ideas. “Greg,” they’ll say, “a topless car wash isn’t legal under any circumstances. Having one to raise money for your day care bill doesn’t change that.” Fucking whiners. There are all kinds of things like that that I can’t do. I can’t push a baby stroller full of steaks through the zoo, I can’t hang out near the bank dressed as the Hamburglar, and I can’t even go grocery shopping without pants. This is bullshit. Continue reading

I was pulling into a shopping mall today, and the road that you turn in on has no stop sign, while the roundabout road that circles the mall does. This usually causes some confusion for people used to having a three-way stop there, and so some guy laid on his horn when I did what I was supposed to do: Keep driving. If we were speaking, this is how the conversation would’ve gone: “Hey, nice stop, asshole!” “I don’t have a stop sign, you blind fuck.” “Oh. Shit. Well, fuck you anyway.” Instead, our conversation went like this: “HOOONK!” “HOOOOOOONK!” “HOOOOOOOOOONK!” In this day and age, that’s the lowest level of discourse you can get outside of Facebook. We can do better. 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