If you are anything like me, you’re hiding in a display tent in the Walmart sporting goods department, drinking beer and eating Funyuns by the metric ton. You’re also insanely excited about the upcoming birth of the Royal Baby which, according to the Huffington Post is “looming”. That doesn’t sound right, if you ask me. This is a baby who is destined to be born into obscene luxury, not the spawn of Satan. The Huffington Post needs to stop being so inappropriate OR I WILL HAVE THEM BEHEADED AND PLACE THEIR BLOODY NOGGINS ON A PIKE, I WILL! Continue reading

Ever heard of Frankie MacDonald? He’s a 28 year old autistic man who lives in Sydney, Nova Scotia. He’s got a thing for creating weather alert videos, which he posts on Youtube. Some of them are outright classics, such as Severe Earthquake Warning for California, Severe Onion Rings Warning for Southern Australia, and Severe Ping Pong Warning for Japan.

Now, as you can imagine, Frankie’s somewhat odd take on weather, along with his condition have resulted in some pretty unflattering comments, especially on Youtube, where the average IQ of a commenter is below that of a brain-dead moose. Frankie himself has said that he finds these comments “rude and disrespectful. Some of the people make fun of me on the Internet and it is not a nice thing to do. I have a good heart.”

And that’s what I like about the guy. He knows that people make fun of him, but he doesn’t let that hold him back. He goes out and does what he loves. Wouldn’t the world be a much better place if we all embraced our inner Frankie MacDonald and did the things we loved, regardless of what everyone else had to say?

About a month ago, I was bestowed with a great honor: I was added to the 2013 edition of the Worldwide Registry for Business Professionals. You probably remember it well. It’s all anyone was talking about, if by “anyone” you mean “me”. I wouldn’t shut up about it. We’d be in a meeting at work, and I’d rudely interrupt the proceedings because, hey, I’m in the 2013 edition of the Worldwide Registry for Business Professionals, and you assholes aren’t. I’d actually say that, and everyone in the room had no choice but to agree with me because logically, my position was unassailable. You know how people will say, “Shut the fuck up!” or “Get the fuck out of here!” in a good-natured manner? That was pretty much their reaction, although they did get awfully red in the face and spent a lot of time pointing towards the door. Continue reading

My seven year old son came home the other day with a book: The Hardy Boys – Trouble at the Arcade. I laughed at the title because it was obviously an attempt to breathe new life into an old franchise by making it “modern”, when in fact, arcades are virtually extinct, and by now the Hardy Boys are dead and rotting in the ground alongside that simpering twat, Nancy Drew. And good riddance, too, because they put a lot of pressure on kids, didn’t they? They solved so many fucking mysteries that you felt inadequate by comparison. The only mystery I knew of as a kid was why my art teacher’s office smelled like the bus driver’s Black Sabbath jacket, and it took me until high school before I figured that one out. One mystery solved in ten years. That paled in comparison to the fucking Hardy Boys, who probably solved a mystery or two before they got around to dealing with their morning wood. Thanks for the low self-esteem, assholes! Continue reading

A few days ago, I posted a video, the infamous “This Is My Fucking Single” post which was a big hit in that it made people want to hit me, big time. Actually, I don’t know what all the whining was about. I mean, we’re talking about a deaf castrato teen prancing around his room in front of a green screen. I can remember practicing some rock moves in my room as a teen, and although I hope that even my worst outtakes would blow “This Is My Fucking Single” out of the water, I’m certainly glad no that film footage exists to check my memory. Continue reading

This post was originally going to deal with an important topic, one so universal in scope that it would appeal to the broadest number of readers possible; namely that Huey Lewis is a horse-faced retard. Seriously, what kind of fucking drugs were we doing in the 80’s? First of all, Huey Lewis became popular, and then, even more inexplicably, he was not strapped to the Space Shuttle and used as a heat shield while his shriek-filled last moments were beamed across the globe to the ever-lasting delight of people with fucking taste. I mean, what the fucking-fuck? Huey Lewis was rewarded with money, drugs, and (one would assume) deaf and blind women when what he truly deserved was a trip to the bottom of the Marianas trench in a 50 gallon drum. Continue reading

I was too busy having forty-seven heart attacks while watching the Blackhawks outlast the Bruins 4-3 in three fucking overtimes to write a post tonight. Seriously, this kind of shit ages me. I love it, don’t get me wrong, but man, I get so fucking nervous that it can’t be good for me. In between OT periods, I built one of my kid’s LEGO sets (a really cool space shuttle) just to take my mind off of the craziness. Anyway, for those of you Bruins fans ready to throw yourself off of a cliff right about now, it could be worse. You could be forced to listen to this over and over and over again:

A while back, I sent someone a video of Angela Lansbury masturbating in a tub. Now, you may be asking yourself, “Greg, with all of the millions of videos of women masturbating in a tub on the internet at your disposal, why would you send someone a video of Angela Lansbury, of all people, furiously working her twat?” I did it because my brain is hard-wired for weirdness. Continue reading

I just got back from taking my daughter to the urgent care. Not that she need care urgently, or even really needed a lot of care. It’s just that under our insurance plan, an urgent care visit costs the same amount as a doctor’s visit and since it’s closer and takes appointments, we went there. If they had a place called Not Really Important Semi-Care, we would’ve gone there. Continue reading

As my long time readers are no doubt aware, Dogs On Drugs has long been a trusted authority in the world of international finance and business. I’ve got business acumen like a motherfucking wildman, yo. South of the border, I am known as Señor Acumen. Peasants doff their sombreros when I pass, and slay their burros in sorrow when I leave. So it should come as no surprise to you that I have been named to the 2013 Worldwide Registry of Business Professionals. That’s right, read it and weep, people. I am now fucking unstoppable. You may call me Señor Unstoppable Juggernaut Acumen, and you’d better have a fucking burro handy. Continue reading