I was reading the news tonight about some airplane in Minnesota (or some state where people molest hay bales), where passengers were stuck on this plane on the tarmac for something like 8 hours and blah blah eating only pretzels, and mwah mwah.
To be honest, I wasn’t really reading the article, I was skimming it looking for some sort of reference to midget stewardesses, as my hobbies dictate I do. (You should see the guys at the Midget-Hunting Club local branch #47 when I tell them of my new finds. Totally worth all the work, being all respected by my peers n’ stuff.)
What caught my eyes were that this ‘Mesaba’ airline company (some sort of Jar-Jar Binks reference, I suppose?) or whatever the hell it’s called is a wholly owned subsidiary of Northwest Airlines, which in turn is a wholly-owned subsidiary of Delta Airlines.
I got thinking for a second, cause that’s usually all I’m capable of. “Self? What the hell would happen if Mesaba went and bought Delta Airlines?”
I just blew your fucking minds, didn’t I. No, I thought not because you’re only half fucking paying attention yourselves.
Mesaba would own Delta which would own Northwest which would own Mesaba which would own Delta which would own Northwest which would own Mesaba.
People would say, “Wait, who owns Delta?” And I’d have to answer the above line infinitely until the universe collapsed into some sort of singularity and we’d all die except for Stephen Hawking, who figured out some sort of freaky physics-avoiding umbilical cord and just floats outside the universal singularity in his tricked-out $475.00 (or more) wheelchair taunting the collapsed universe with his robotic voice:
“Hah Hah You People Should Have Spent More Time In Science Class And Less Time in Phys-Ed With Your Muscles And All That Worthless Shit”. [Imagine that being said in his Windows 95 voice.]
So, we can take from this whole rant that 1) I’m a fucking gimp-brain and 2) see 1)
Lately I’ve been addicted to Gordon Ramsay TV shows. I guess it boils (har har, get the pun?) down to me liking swearing a whole lot, or maybe I enjoy scabby faces? I’m not sure. It doesn’t matter.
Gordon Ramsay shows include:
Hell’s Kitchen: Gordon Ramsay stars as a hypertension-riddled version of himself who screams at wannabe chefs for an hour.
If you’ve ever wondered how mad someone can be at overcooked scallops, this is the show for you to watch. Have you ever fucked up when cooking spaghetti? Holy fuck, it’s time for you to die, according to Chef Ramsay.
This is not a show you watch if you’d like to learn how to cook. This is a show you watch if you want to learn how to insult fat people, women, men, French people, cows, and Texans. But if you get off on people being ridiculed like I do except when the object of ridicule is me, then this is the show for you.
Gordon Ramsay’s Kitchen Nightmares: Gordon Ramsay travels from British town to British town, insulting restaurateurs who suck at pretty much everything. It’s more or less the traveling circus, except without clowns, elephants, tents, and everything that makes a circus a circus unless the circus only featured Gordon Ramsay saying “Holy fucking hell” for 30 out of a possible 40 minutes of air time.
The premise is this: Gordon Ramsay swoops into a restaurant, swears a whole lot, leaves for a month, then comes back and sees how much his swearing has improved the restaurant’s business. (It usually proves somewhat successful.)
Gordon Ramsay Kicks An Effigy of Mother Theresa In The Snatch Repeatedly: This show, which is perhaps less famous than the previous two shows, features Gordon Ramsay kicking a stuffed doll of Mother Theresa in the vaginal region for a half hour. No dialogue, no plot, just the occasional grunt and foul word, and a whole lotta foot-flailing. Due to limited syndication, this show is perhaps only aired in my brain.
“Why Mother Theresa?” you might ask. The answer from Gordon Ramsay is, “Fuck you, pig.”
Unlike other children in my Ultimate Fighting weight division, I never grew up on the teat of the Cheez Whiz.
Other kids would frequently bring their yellow-smeared vegetable sticks, sandwiches, and crackers for lunch and give me desperate looks when it came to trading time. “Sorry old chaps, this kid would be happier with his own lunch, thankyouverymuch!” (Yeah, I said it just like that because I wanted to be an elderly British man, okay? It was a phase I was going through. Wasn’t long after that I wanted to become an old Chinese lady too, that’s how I developed my “wise but disapproving ” face that I use whenever someone someone wants to do something stupid like go golfing in the middle of the night or put sticky-notes featuring a sketch of a penis on the back of our boss or something.)
Even at a young age, I was able to discern between what I should be sticking down my throat and what was clearly inedible and should be given some sort of government classification like, “Warning: Nutritional value for this product on par with eating radioactive slug excrement”.
Don’t get me wrong, the lady that birthed me would occasionally purchase a bottle of the vile orange vomit to eat herself, but even then it generally eventually wound its way to the back of the fridge -unopened, expire, grow mold, and try to crawl out of the fridge on its own and kill us while we slept and dreamed of hunting tarantula men with a bow. So it’s not like in my life I’ve never tried Cheez Whiz as if I were some sort of elite and repulsive Food Network critic, but Jesus Christ, what the fuck IS that shit?
Seriously, what is it? I just looked at the Wikipedia entry for Cheez Whiz and was only left more repulsed. Its least-horrific ingredient appears to be ‘processed cheese’, which I’m not sure if you knew or not, was created by the Germans in 1941 to poison the French into submission, which was a sure-bet given the French’s propensity to consume stupid shit like snails and frog legs. Okay, I lied about this part.
A ‘processed spread’ containing ‘processed cheese’ is like some sort of double evil entity worthy of being exploded on a remote island in the pacific to see what sort of toxic effects it has on an ecosystem. I mean hell, to start with, processed cheese itself is an abomination of epic proportion – let us not forget its origins of being the random shit they sweep up at a cheese factory when it’s not visibly contaminated with rat shit (look it up). Then they mix it with more Xanthan gum, candle wax, pig vomit, and orange food coloring, repackage it into bottles that look like they should be holding embryos at a research facility, then it ends up in your fridge. No wonder they can’t even spell it ‘Cheese Whiz’, they’ve probably been forced at some point by government to change the name in order to not mislead people into thinking they’re getting some sort of nutritional value.
Probably the most disgusting thing since Elvis Presley or edible underwear.
—
Speaking of processed cheese, America, you and I really need to sit down and have a talk about this association you have with ‘American cheese’. See, most nations are associated with shit they’re proud of, like “French Wine”, we have “Canadian Bacon”, “Polish Sausage”, “Mexican Tequila”, or “Australian Koala Toes”. (I made the last one up, but I’d expect them to be tasty with the right sauce.)
YOU though, awesome America, have unfortunately been associated with the dredges of milk byproducts, ‘American cheese’. ‘American cheese’ was a product of the US government’s Commodity Credit Corporation in 1982, as a way of simultaneously dealing with milk overstock and pacifying welfare folks with something they could use to slap on their burgers and not feel so welfare-y.
Now it’s been twisted into some sort of desirable topping on hamburgers or tacos, hell, even foo-foo kitchens keep blocks of this shit on their shelf somewhere since it never goes bad and advertise it on their fancy-pants menus – “Oh look, how quaint, Reginald, American Cheese on our foie gras! Let us!”
There are far more awesome things that could be associated with the word ‘America’, like chicken-fried steaks. Or cornbread. Or cheesecake. Or hell, liver is even better. Please make it so that when I travel to some sort of exotic international destination like Sioux Falls, South Dakota, and choose to have a Whopper, it comes with something that remotely resembles cheese instead of the tasteless processed crap that has become known as “American cheese”. It’s not worthy of the title, considering your awesome-but-not-quite-as-awesome-as-Norway (according to recent polls conducted in my memory) nation.
Thanks America, I’m glad we could have this little chat. Can we speak later about your aversion to free healthcare? It’s the other retarded thing with your sexy country that we need to talk about, then you can brag all you want again. Shhh though, I’m liable to be shot by some sort of medicare operative for telling you things you’re not supposed to know. Shhh.
Due to the large amount of overtime im working, the 2 head bosses at my work decided to take me to a smart new edmonton restaurant for dinner. I eagerly scanned the menu, only to recoil in horror and confusion. The menu was all in foreign! There were some words I understood, like fried and with, but the dish descriptions were alien to me. The waiter sneered as I pretended to study the menu. He knew I had no clue, the bastard. Panicking, I picked the cheapest dish and hoped it didn’t have tentacles.
If you are intending to visit a fancy restaurant this weekend, here’s a few translations you need to know. Unless you like dining dangerously.
Starters are not called Starters any more. It’s First Dish, Amuse-Bouche or whatever the pretentious phrase is this week.
Soup is no longer soup, it’s bisque. It isn’t cream of mushroom, it’s organic shiitake bisque with crème fraiche emulsion . If you are unfamiliar with those ingredients, who knows what could arrive on your plate? A shit biscuit covered in cream paint?
How about panko encrusted scallops with tamarind drizzle ? Anything with a panko encrustation should be examined by a doctor. I don’t know what a tamarind is, or that it causes drizzle (or indeed any sort of damp weather).
The next danger dish is carpaccio. The description sounds innocent enough - warmed winter salad with organic carpaccio . Carpaccio must be like some kind of goats’ cheese, right? No.
Carpaccio is RAW MEAT. Just-dead. No flame has touched its bloody mass.
You end up with raw beef and cooked salad. The chef must have some serious issues.
Perhaps stick with the bread rolls for now.
Now for the main course, sorry, Dish Principal, Fourth Course or whatever the hell we’re up to by now. Attempting to impress your fellow diners, you order boneless grain-fed Cornish Rock with a compliment of seared potato shards and a blemish of spiced Peruvian tomato reduction . Your friends are not impressed when waiter serves you chicken and chips with a dollop of ketchup.
Pan-seared halibut with... green things! Eww.Those dastardly chefs can’t even leave simple Italian food alone. For years I avoided pizza topped with pomodoro, assuming it was some kind of chewy squid. Pomodoro means tomato. Why don’t they just say tomato?
Sometimes you recognize all the ingredients - except one. Roast (ok) pork (ok) with apple sauce (ok) and seared Ulluco. Uh-oh. Ulluco sounds like it may still have eyes attached. Pan-seared halibut sounds familiar, but unfortunately that psychotic chef has coated it in rocambole jus . Some poor rocambole (which I imagine is some sort of shrew) has been squeezed all over a nice bit of fish. Time for another bread roll.
Thank goodness for dessert! You won’t find any raw cow or crusty crustations in that. Probably.
Although you are reasonably safe ordering anything from the dessert menu, don’t expect your expectations to match what is plonked in front of you.
Four things are guaranteed:
Chocolate cake! With shrew!- Your dessert will be six times smaller than expected.
- There will be a single strawberry and two blueberries somewhere on the plate.
- The plate will be coated with a squiggle of unidentifiable brown sauce (probably chocolate and rocambole jus).
- Your dessert will cost six times more than expected.
If you are invited to a fancy restaurant this weekend, be prepared. Be prepared to face three courses of embarrassment, indigestible food and disappointment. Or tell your host you refuse to eat there as you contracted food poisoning after your last visit. Their carpaccio was suspiciously warm.
Fuck. I’m so bored of that swear word. I use the same old insults every minute of every day. Fuck off, screw you, suck a swan, blah, blah, etc. These insults are getting old and tired!
Luckily for everyone, I’ve come up with a variety of new swears, insults and handy phrases you can use for your everyday rants and road rage showdowns.
1. Suck My Invisible Cock - This is a useful insult for ladies. Or men without cocks.
2. Dick Trap - a nice change from the usual slut or whore.
3. Twat Ratchet - Every mechanics’ garage should have one, and frequently does.
4. Go Fuck Toffee - Have you tried fucking toffee? It’s very difficult.
5. Frig Magnet - Not to be confused with the handy kitchen accessory.
6. Wankatron - A great nerd insult. You’ve spilled Cheez Whiz all over the file server, you wankatron.
7. Jizz Jockey - A bit like a Disc Jockey, only stickier.
8. Butt Frog - Not something you’d want to see in your local pond.
9. Mitch - A male bitch. Apologies to readers called Mitch, but hey, wouldn’t it be cool to have a swearword as a name?
10. Cock Doctor - OK, some people really are cock doctors.
11. Twot - Only very posh people should use this, like the Queen or Oprah Winfrey
12. Chimney Whore - I don’t really know what one of these is.
13. Fog Fucker - Have you tried fucking fog? It’s almost impossible.
14. Twatwagon - A great insult for the motorist. Why don’t you go join your rolling twatwagon of fog fuckers… Officer.
15. Nadbadger - A comparison to a testicle-loving woodland animal? Ouch!
16. Kiss My Colon - I’m sure I wouldn’t want to do that.
17. Penguin Filler - Go fill a penguin, you wankatron. Another good insult for nerdy Linux fans.
18. Fuckerydoo - A game played by nadbadgers with the intention of pissing you off. My neighbor played fuckerydoo with the cops and busted my illegal puppy farm.
19. Sharkey - You’ll never hear this very rude word on TV, that’s for sure! For added impact, combine with Fergal - Nearly as bad as sharkey, but referring to a less moist orifice.
20. Jam Banger - Have you tried… oh, never mind.
So, next time some dicktrap driving her twatwagon full of screaming frig magnets rear-ends you, you can let the jam-banging cock doctor know exactly how you feel. Then you can tell that fergal sharkey of a twat ratchet at the repair garage to quit playing fuckerydoo and fix your car, otherwise he can suck your invisible cock. Fog fucker.
No, don’t thank me or send money for adding new swears to your lexicon. It’s just a service I provide.
I’m not thinking of dropping dead any time soon. There are things I need to do first. So, like those old guys in the coincidently titled “The Bucket List”, I’ve made a list of all the things I want to do before I kick the bucket.
Have you ever done any of these things? If they were a bit boring let me know and I’ll cross them off.
1. See inside my brain.
2. Vomit sake into a Tokyo gutter.
3. Fire a gun without killing someone (for once).
4. Win the Turner Prize for Art with my work Frozen Prawn in a Bucket.
5. Win a Dog Show with a cunningly disguised hamster.
6. Drive a tractor into the Sphinx.
7. Eat a jam and spam flan on a trip to Milan.
8. Send back a meal cooked by Gordon Ramsey.
9. Tour Namibia on a space hopper.
10. Endure a bitter and acrimonious divorce from George Clooney.
11. Roll a joint in less than three hours.
12. Ride a Segway around the CERN particle accelerator while it’s on.
13. Crawl through air ducts while being chased by robots.
14. Win an Oscar for my screen adaptation of the Yellow Pages.
15. Accidentally delete YouTube.
16. Run over a pop tart with a traction engine.
17. Give a three-hour lecture to an audience of people I hate, entitled “My Favourite Spoon”.
18. Think up a funny Lolcat caption.
19. Liberate Greenland.
20. Enter rehab for an addiction to tree sap.
21. Star in a medieval-themed adult movie called Robbin Hood of Sherfuck Forest.
22. Use the ‘c’ word in a company presentation.
23. Invent a new kind of cheese.
24. Take pot shots at kite boarders with a potato gun.
25. Ban the word “soccer”. It’s football.
26. Tickle a panda.
27. Steal a cloud.
28. Open a peanut-themed restaurant and call it The Nut Sack.
29. Un-see Two Girls, One Cup.
There’s no knowing when that ragged mob will catch up with me and burn me at the stake, so I’m pumping up my space hopper and heading off before it’s too late.
What’s on your bucket list?
You’re sitting at your office desk, minding your own business and pretending to work when the boss shoves a greetings card in your face. Some office monkey you don’t give a crap about is leaving/having a baby/had the sense to clear off and get another job. And now the whole damn company has to sign a tacky greetings card. By the time the card reaches you, it is already full of witty and clever remarks.
Stuck for something to write? Here are a few ideas.
Good luck with the op! I’m sure the surgeon has extracted stranger things from “up there”.
If you die, can I have your desk? No, only kidding! But assuming the worst happens, can I have it? Only kidding! Although you never know.
Let me know about the desk.
You’re so brave! May you endure the searing pain with dignity, and I hope the very long road to recovery will be worth the obvious distress it will bring to you and your family.
Don’t
Eat
Anything
Too
Hot while you’re recuperating!
Do
Ingest
Every medication you doctor gives you!
Please
Advise
If
Nothing works and you’ll be off work for longer!
Don’t
Be
Long-
Our
Office
Doesn’t feel the same without you!
Look on the bright side mate! That morphine drip will be a lot stronger than that other “stuff” you like to put up your nose, eh?!
Now they’ll never know who was stealing all the pens! And they never missed that photocopier. Nice one, dude!
Good luck with your new “career” - when I see a nicely sewn mail bag I’ll think of you.
Are you going to masturbate over the boss’s desk like you said you would? Oh go on, it’s your last day after all!
Congrats on your new career in “customer relationship management”!
Don’t forget this customer likes large fries with his Value Meal.
The washroom won’t smell the same without you! I’ll miss you like you missed the bowl, Lol!
To be honest, that was pretty disgusting.
an’t quite imagine someone having sex with you, but well done anyway.
Congratulations! What colour is it?
Here’s to many years of sleepless nights and vomit! Really, it only gets worse. You may regret this.
Yeah, it’s a baby. What a miracle. Special bundle of joy etc.
I know what one looks like, so don’t junk up my e-mail with baby pictures.
I’m so happy for you! As you watched that bloody, mucus-covered being spurt forth from your wife’s hideously stretched vagina, it must have felt like the most special day ever. Isn’t childbirth a miracle?
Does it look like you? Or does it look like the father? Only kidding! Although Jeff in Accounts mentioned something about… anyway, congratulations! I think.
Congratulations on your little miracle! I can’t have children, so I’ll never experience the joy of that first smile. Some people have all the luck! And some of us will face our old age forgotten and alone. Some couples breed like rabbits, while us barren rejects are left to suffer having baby pictures shoved in our faces and hearing the same frigging cute anecdotes again and again in a torturous reminder of how useless we are. Bastards.
I’m so excited for you! It must be the best thing that’s ever happened to you! It’s probably the best day of your life, right? I guess that’s kinda sad in a way. It’s only a sales award after all.
OMG dude, whose cock did you have to suck to get that award?!?!?!
Seriously, let me know.
God bless you! An angel from heaven must have been on your shoulder when you made that winning sale. And Jesus himself can guide you to strive for more! Have you felt Jesus’ love lately? I’ll be round your office in a while to share some exciting news about God’s big plan for you! See you soon!
I know what you did to get that award, you filthy pervert. I was hiding under your desk with my camera phone.
Don’t believe me? Search “Sock Puppet Anal Domination” on YouTube.
Hey Dave, well done! I’m so happy for you. I always knew you were the best. That cute smile, those big blue eyes… you are a special guy. I’ve been thinking about you a lot.
I’ll swing by your office after work, maybe we can get to know each other a little better?
XXX
John
Now when that office card drops on your desk, you’ll never be stuck for a comment again!
(Disclaimer: Employment termination may result from using these comments. Do not use.)
Why do healthy foods taste like cack? I’m sorry, but a weedy carrot is no substitute for a moist chocolate cake dripping with cream and hot silky fudge.
I’ve tried to follow a healthy diet, but there are some foods I cannot get past my gullet…
Brown Anything
“Substitute regular pasta and rice with the wholemeal variety!” squeaks the skinny fitness guru on TV. “It will make your heart and rectum happy!”
Have you eaten wholemeal pasta? It puts the ‘rough’ into roughage, that’s for sure! Rather than sucking up silky strings of spaghetti, the wholemeal version feels like your lips are being sandblasted. It has a crunch that should not be there. It’s brown.
I bet that if I traveled the length and breadth of Italy I wouldnt see a single shred of brown pasta anywhere. I guess the Mafia destroyed the Italian wholemeal industry after a ‘healthy’ lasagna made a Don a bit too regular. Well done, chaps!
Brown rice is even worse. Health nut vegans coming to dinner? Out of brown rice? Simply get your hamster to shred a cardboard box and serve the chewy shards with tofu. Your pasty party guests never notice the difference!
Raw Food
My granny swore by raw food during World War II. Having spent her rations on silk stockings and liquor, she often had nothing left for cooking fuel. So she would ‘dig for victory’ and unearth a few turnips to chew on while the Luftwaffe bombed seven bells out of her. That was the wartime spirit! And everyone was as fit as an ox! Not like kids today, mutter, mutter, etc.
Granny was wrong. Most people from World War II are now shriveled, white-haired and have false teeth (probably from all that raw turnip chewing). The epitome of health and vitality? I think not!
Bacteria
Seen those TV adverts for probiotic yogurt? The advert seems to think that having billions of crawling bacteria in your pudding is a good thing.
This is what bacteria look like:
an you imagine that swimming around your yogurt pot?
I’d like to know what makes these wiggly critters so good for me. Would they make me taller? Whiten my teeth? Put more smart thoughts in my brain? I doubt it. I don’t know about you but I don’t want any bacteria in my body, thank you very much.
Be everyone's friend at the movie theatre with a durian!Smells Funny
I should eat more green vegetables. But they smell funny. That tempting clump of broccoli smells good at the supermarket, but as soon as I get it home it starts to give off a strange cabbagey aroma. Boiling it turns the aroma into a toxic stink. Dinner guests move outside and eyes begin to water. Suddenly a Chinese take-out is looking favourable.
Did you know the world’s stinkiest fruit is the durian? Imagine a main sewer blockage on a hot day and you’re about there. In many Asian countries you can’t take a durian for a ride on a bus or to a movie because they are banned from many public places (sadly, this ban does not extend to sweaty tourists).
If you can get over the rotting flesh smell, the durian is the sweetest and most delicious fruit ever tasted. Apparently. Next dinner party, I’ll give it a try. It might mask the smell of broccoli.
I feel quite queasy now. I wonder though - maybe there is sales potential in the eco-nut health market for brown rice and broccoli yogurt…?
Examination day is almost upon me! My job is making us do stupid little tests to gauge how much we know about the workplace and our jobs.... Being the fool I am, I have compiled a series of pencil-chewing mock exam questions for you to try out for fun.
You have three hours… no talking, eating or bleeding.
Good luck!
MATHEMATICS
1. Assuming an average erect penis is 5.25″, how many members of the Toronto Maple Leafs hockey team would be able to sign their name on one penis before they run out of space?
2. A car is travelling at 130 kilometers per hour. A police officer has 6 minutes to wait before being served at the Tim Horton’s drive-thru. How long will it take for the cop to finish his coffee and apprehend the speeding car?
3. A Somali pirate has slashed your throat after seizing control of your ship.
Assuming a bleed rate of 58ml of blood per second, how many minutes will you wreathe on the floor in agony before succumbing to your injury?
4. An Amsterdam prostitute charges €50 an hour for services rendered. At an exchange rate of €1 to $1.37, calculate the cost of a 7 minute blow.
5. Scholars insist 3 into 7 won’t go. Make it go.
HISTORY
1. Did the 19th Century Chartist movement represent a major challenge to the English political system? Or was it all just a bit gay?
2. “Peas in our time.” Discuss the political impact of frozen vegetables on the 1948 Berlin Blockade.
3. The construction of the Great Pyramid of Giza - How dey do dat?
4. With reference to the socio-economic hypothesis presented in Das Kapital, if Karl Marx was an ice cream, what flavour would he be?
5. Explain the main issues behind the Great Papal Schism of the 14th Century, in a French accent.
PHILOSOPHY prepared for the inevitable Meat Loaf question!
1. Meat Loaf would do anything for love, but won’t do that. Explain what you think that thing is he won’t do.
2. “‘Tis is better for a man to be noble and impotent, than be ignoble and have a really hard cock.” Discuss.
3. Why do birds suddenly appear every time you are near? Explain.
4. “You’ll be saying ‘Wow’ every time you use it.” Examine this statement a) in relation to ancient Greek Sophist theory and b) with reference to Aristotle’s assertion that a Zorbeez was a lot better at mopping up cola spills.
5. Why is Richard Simmons? Discuss.
BUSINESS STUDIES
1. Your business can save $1,000,000 a year by transferring production to an African sweatshop. Give five reasons why having small children working in your factory is actually for their own good.
2. A competitor has copied your product and has flooded the market with a cheap imitation. Explain how to counter the threat using a) revised marketing strategies b) legal action and c) a dirty hooker and a video camera.
3. Wholesaler #1 has 55 grams of poor quality Kush, whereas Wholesaler #2 is offering 28 grams of premium Moroccan hash. The wholesale price for both is $13 per gram. Assess the best value deal for your clients.
4. Customer profiling reveals that 57% of your customers are male, aged 35-50, with a preference for large hairy men. Explain how this will affect your forthcoming advertising campaign.
5. Discuss how the stock market crash of 2008 affected commodity values of a) oil, b) puppies and c) Meat Loaf.
Time’s up, pencils down. So how did you do? I’m guessing not so well.
Don’t despair, hopeless exam flunkers! Trump your tests the Fool's way, with my new study guide Math, Marx and Meat Loaf - only $19.95, available from all good pet stores.
Governments are always trying to think up sneaky ways to tax us. Here are some things that annoy me. I think they should be taxed more.
Crocs Tax
I nearly bought a pair of these hideous plastic things once. In theory Crocs are a good idea - you can get them wet and are perfect for the beach! Fortunately, my fashion sense beat back all rational thoughts and I managed to escape the store empty-handed. Phew!
Free Form Jazz Tax
Now I like a good tune as much as anyone. But free form jazz sounds like an orchestra being fed into a crushing machine. It confuses my brain and makes me cry. I sometimes think they play it in trendy furniture stores just to get rid of me.
Tax on the Phrase “Going Forward”
Next time your boss uses this phrase in a meeting, thump him. It’s for his own good. If your boss is a lady, don’t worry as ladies don’t say that sort of thing. If your boss is a lady and uses that phrase, she is really a man in disguise, so feel free to thump her/him. Then call the tax office and squeal.
Dog Tax
This umbrella tax covers Dog Poo Tax, Dog Piss Tax, Dog stupidly barking at nothing tx and I Only Bought A Dog So I Could Take Amusing Pictures Of It And Post Them On The Internet Tax.
Irritating Receptionist Voice Tax
“Good morning, TwatCorp - how can I direct your call?” squeaks that irritating high-pitched voice on the other end of the phone. Have you noticed how receptionists always sound slightly sarcastic? They don’t really want you to have a good day, TwatCorp can go suck it and it doesn’t matter who you want to speak to because they are going to cut you off in three seconds. All receptionists should be taxed out of existence and replaced with Steven Hawking.
Terrible TV Tax
Oh hang on, I think we already have that one. It’s called ‘Cable Subscription’.
Facebook Tax
Maybe not a popular tax, but if Facebook was taxed I may think twice about spending hours poking friends, sending pretend cocktails to people I don’t know and taking “What Colour Spacehopper Are You?” quizzes.
I mean, really! Come on. I mean, not to come on, but...Tacky Fake Tits Tax
Ladies who show off their man-made mammaries because they think they look sexy should be slapped with a huge tax, or at least compensate the rest of us for visual tit trauma. You’d think boffins would come up with fake tit implants that actually look like real breasts. They spend enough time on the internet looking at them.
Are there any other products or services you would like to see a huge tax slapped on? (Please note: suggestions including blond Tax, Fat Arse Tax and Canadian Blog Tax may result in you being banned from my blog.)
1. A cop wearing only one shoe
2. People who order skinny lattes but aren’t sure what skinny lattes are
3. People who believe Sunday is the first day of the week
4. People who insist a tomato is a fruit
5. A lap dancer that smells of cheese
6. Eighty-seven Goths
7. A door-to-door tampon salesman
8. A Christmas Parade Santa with a weak bladder
9. A vicar clenching a potato between his buttocks
10. An underage ambulance driver
11. A one-armed pizza chef
12. A dwarf dressed as a pixie
13. Anyone who bought a ShamWow because they liked the TV ad
14. A superhero with Tourette’s
15. A door-to-door door salesman
16. A bishop with a squirrel under his hat
17. A lawyer who lives in a trailer
18. A heavily perspiring Hooters Girl
19. A pixie dressed as a leprechaun
20. A Wal-Mart greeter with an erection
Have you met anyone you don’t want to meet recently?
If I had a million dollars, I’d buy you a green dress
And if I had a million dollars, I’d buy you some art
If I had a million dollars, I’d buy you a monkey
If I had a million dollars
I’d buy your love…
So sang popular music group The Barenaked Ladies. Well, it’s alright for them, isn’t it? With their luxury jets, platinum records and gold-plated bongs, it’s easy for rock stars to imagine such fabulous wealth. But in the current financial climate we are all going to have to lower our sights somewhat.
What if I had a hundred dollars? Could I still live a jet-set lifestyle?
Travel
Taking an exotic vacation is an everyday task for the rich and famous. I was planning to slip onto a flight to Bermuda disguised as an oversized golf bag. Then I realized it would cost me $60 for a taxi to the airport. And $60 to get back home. That’s $120, dammit!
Magnetic Hill! More fun than, erm...Forget air travel then. What about the bus? Not very glamorous, but if I pretended it was a rock ‘n’ roll tour bus I might just cope. I could pretend the old people were roadies and the lanky students were drug dealers.
Unfortunately, for $100 return I can only get as far as… Calgary, Alberta Bermuda it ain’t. I can spend my luxury vacation in a hot disgusting city full of rude hicks. Oh good.
Shelter
Forget a penthouse apartment. Forget a basement bed-sit. Forget a tent - they’re $200! But for $100 you can buy a lot of bin bags and a roll of duct tape. Simply stick them together to create a fabulous tent! You can even add an extension by taping grocery bags together. All the stars will be living in them soon! I’m going to take it on my Calgary camping trip.
I wonder… are bin bags bear-proof? At $3 a roll, I bloody hope so!
Food
Jet-setters never set foot in the kitchen - cooking is for poor people! So how can you eat out every day for months, on just $100? Easy. The cheapest food is found in a school canteen. I’m sure we all have fond childhood memories of school lunches and that plate of succulent meat thing pizza, fries and grease sauce. Yum!
Invest $50 in a pile of textbooks, a bundle of papers and an unfashionable sweater. Roam the corridors of your local school pretending to be the supply Physics teacher. When the lunchtime bell rings, join the queue for your hearty subsidized feast!
If your disguise is too convincing, you may find yourself in front of a class full of bored teenagers. Simply tell them to open their textbooks at page 132 and read to themselves for an hour, while you hide in the janitor’s shed until home time. That’s what my teachers did!
Bargain bling! And a free key with every purchase.Stuff
$100 isn’t going to buy much stuff. I went to the dollar store to splash out on $1 trinkets and shiny things, but to my horror I discovered everything cost $2! Bastards.
Fortunately, I’ve found the perfect store to load up on bargain gems. Murder Mo’s House Of Bling & Key Cutting While-U-Wait offers glittering collection of stunning jewelry that looks a million bucks, but only costs a few Canadian Dollars! Now I can ‘jewel up’ and hang with the beautiful people in the hippest clubs in Deadmonton, without looking like a cheap idiot! Phew.
So in conclusion, is it possible to live like a jet-setting rock star on $100? Well, unless you live in a bin bag tent in Calgary and spend your days hiding in school sheds wearing plastic diamonds… No.
The internet is full of people looking for answers to things. Well, this is how I like to screw with them. The following are via yahoo answers.
Original Post:
How do I get rid of a beehive? I have a nest under my porch and every summer there are tons of bees all over my yard. Anyone know how to make them stop coming back?
Bee master (ME):
Have you tried the honey technique? Dip your hand in honey get really close to the hive and lure the bees away. When they get tired of making their own honey and realize that you have an abundant source of free, non union honey they will move to the good life. Then just smear all that honey on a neighbors door preferably the one you didn't like anyways.
Optimus Bee (also me):
lol the honey hand only works in the UK. You need to lure the bees from hiding by pretending to be their queen. The queen of the Africanus Beeimus calls her bees with a low hum like sound. Everyone knows bees will not sting their queen, so get as close as you can and hum loudly; when you are designated as the new queen you simply have to walk away from your house and the bees will follow. Hum again and the bees will stay where you designate. This worked for my neighbor Bill.
Original Poster:
Ok, "Optimus Bee" that sounds totally made up nothing I googled about humming to bees comes up at all.
Bee Keeper 3000 (also me):
No Optimus is Totally right. I have been a bee keeper for 30 years, this is what I always use to keep bees from stinging me. Just make sure you get very close to the hive, when you start to hum your lips almost have to be touching the skin for it to work right. Also I have heard of the honey hand technique working in Canada but I have never tried it personally.
Original Poster:
........ Are you serious!?
Bee Keeper 3000 (also me):
Why would I take the time to answer you if I was just going to blow smoke?
Original Poster:
I think I am just going to get some pesticide or something.
Bee Master:
Fine if you don't want to get rid of that neighbor I guess killing innocent bees is the answer YOU MURDERER!
Original Poster:
I don't want to kill them they are just dangerous don't get all huffy.
Optimus Bee (also me):
If you want an organic pesticide that wont hurt them but just drive them away, combine 2 cups of water, 1 cup of sugar, 1 tablespoon of honey, and a dash of all spice (for flavor). Then spray liberally.
Original Poster:
Wont sugar and water just attract more bees?
Optimus Bee (also me):
I thought you wanted more bees? For less bees don't use the all spice.
I never heard back from her I hope her bee situation worked out.
BREAKING NEWS: MICROSOFT AND YAHOO ANNOUNCE LONG-ANTICIPATED PARTNERSHIP TO CHALLENGE GOOGLE’S DOMINANCE AS A SEARCH ENGINE.
Right before I headed home these words were splashed across the top of CNN.com’s web site this morning.
I could hardly contain my enthusiasm as I read the headline, quietly sipped on my coffee, and pondered if ‘masturbating astronauts’ – a random term that came to my head – would be a fucking awesome band name or just a terrible way to get semen all over your face in zero-G.
Like most people, a partnership of two such search entities might have all the importance and significance to me of, say, a partnership between Hanna Montana and Spongebob Squarepants. Oh sure, they may be all cute and fun and you may get off a little bit imagining them in bed together (perhaps fisting or wearing latex with strategically-placed holes), but how does a partnership between two highly irrelevant search engines impact MY world?
The short answer is: “It doesn’t.”
See, you strap Bing, Yahoo, Ask Jeeves, DogPile, Webcrawler, StinkMonkey, Twatsniffle, and whatever else dumb named search engines there are in the world together, and they’d all dump out useless junk. Want to see what I mean?
Google: Useful, relevant, information. Do you see how Google’s results point to Yahoo Answers? That’s like irony…or serendipity….or agony….or some frikking word that ends with the letter ‘y’ and means “kinda funny”. But either way, my search for wanking moonwalkers (not the Michael Jackson variety) turned up some valuable material.
No so with Yahoo.
Porn blogs and web pages with the words ‘astronauts’ and ‘masturbating’ somehow stuffed together on the same page by idiots. Hell, the first result doesn’t even HAVE the word ‘masturbation’ in it. WTF? I want my money back, bitches? (Oh, Yahoo is FREE, you say? Nevermind then.)
And to make matters worse – Yahoo didn’t even link to it’s own Answers articles on astronauts whacking off. Useless.
What about Bing – the renamed (due to a lawsuit from the defunct band of the same name and shitty quality…rock songs about dolphins crying? You pieces of shit!) and still highly useless search engine formerly named ‘Live’ from Microsoft. How would they handle ‘masturbating astronauts’? The short answer – they don’t.
Holy sweet Jesus.
You can see what I mean though – the brightest minds at Yahoo and Microsoft can’t produce meaningful results in either of their search engines, yet now I’m supposed to be excited that they’re knocking booties? Well, I’m not.
I’ll just keep on sipping on my coffee, thinking random thoughts about sexual excrement in space, illicit sex between cartoon and Disney characters, and using Google to feed me my morning results – just like I like them, hot and steamy, and entirely relevant. Thank you Google, for continuing to read my mind like you do.
Have you ever had dreams where you, in your dream, keep thinking “I gotta go pee” and keep trying to work peeing into your dreaming events somehow?
“Pardon me, Mr. Half Tarantula Man that I am chasing with my bow and arrow in this dream, I must take a break from pursuing you in order to find the nearest bathroom.”
Then you wake up and realize, wow, you really did need to pee just like in your dream? And the half-tarantula man is really waiting for you outside, just like in your dream?
Happens to me all the time.
I was going to write something about how it’d be funny to mix up sudoku and hentai, they’re both Japanesey-sounding words and one is concerned with filling in boxes with numbers, while the other is concerned with filling in numbers of boxes with tentacles. Pretty darn close.
But then I started thinking about my parents who could love sudoku. Maybe they also like hentai? Maybe mom and dad dress up with big swords and schoolgirl outfits (respectively) and get their freak on? Then I thought, “Maybe I’m a product of their fantasy lives?”
Then I was totally thrown off whatever I was going to post, and instead posted this. I think I’m going to return to my coffee now and forget that I ever pictured my parents roleplaying.
I love messing with my coworkers, partly because I’m evil and partly because I’m usually drunk at work and don’t know what I’m doing.
I would love to work at a big faceless corporation sometimes just for the anonymity factor and how easy it would be to make someone sweat or wonder what the fuck’s going on. I would leave all sorts of sticky notes hanging from people’s screens to mess with their minds.
(A customer is trying to cancel a non-refundable reservation at my hotel…)
Me: “I apologize sir, but we will not be able to issue a refund at this time.”
Customer: “I am a doctor and will have to attend to an emergency at that time. So, you need to refund me.”
Me: “Again, I apologize, sir, but as the hotel is unwilling to refund, we will be unable to refund you at this time.”
Customer: “Well, I guess I will just have to see you in court. I am a lawyer and I am going to sue you.”
Me: “Sir, as a lawyer, I am sure you read over the terms and conditions of your reservation. As I am sure you noted, this reservation is nonrefundable. If you’d like, I’d can review the terms and conditions with you…”
Customer: “The Catholic Church is going to curse you! I am a lawyer for the Catholic Church and I will tell the bishop to curse you!”
(At this point, I didn’t know what to say to this multitalented doctor and lawyer for the Catholic Church.)
(day 2 with no sleep)
Yes, it’s true – I burp about 25% of the time whenever I get up. (Look! Math! Percentages!) Fortunately, I don’t pee myself when I laugh or poop myself when I see bright lights, otherwise I’d be coated in my own waste for most of the day.
(As an aside, I was sure I was going to get through a blog post without mentioning excrement, but it turns out I was wrong.)
That brought me to thinking about the people that orgasm uncontrollably and I began wondering, “Self, what sort of things would you really really hate to have as an automatic reaction?”
* Crying every time I hear about Michael Jackson.
* Crying every time someone tells me a sad story.
* Crying every time I’m upset.
* Crying when I’m really happy.
* Flying off the handle every time someone leaves a dirty plate laying around.
* Bleeding without being cut.
Turns out I don’t want to be a woman.
But the upside to being female is that you can get away with murder, which would be really fortunate since OMGHAIGTGROTBITC? (Oh my God, how am I going to get rid of the bodies in the closet? Cops only frown on that corpse disposal if you’re male – if you’re female, it’s cute.) Oh, and have sex whenever you want. And have vaginal monologues, whatever those are.
Speaking of vagina monologues, if I were a woman I would do crazy things, like train my vagina to bark or speak or make funny noises. You ladies are probably thinking that I’m mental, but seriously, have you ever TRIED getting your your vaginas to make noise? I thought so. I think all it’d take is a bunch of Kegel-type exercises and maybe a tubelike prop, for amplification purposes.
I can just imagine rolling into work: “Hey gang, how do you make a cat sound like a dog?” ***WRRROFFFHPPH*** [That'd be the sound of my punani making a loud barking noise.] Everyone would laugh and I’d be a frikking CELEBRITY and then by word of mouth I’d get hired for private functions and eventually get rich and then have lots of free time to do my nails or whatever women like doing with lots of free time. Having babies? (Have I offended women enough yet today? No?) Buying shoes, then?
Alright, well that was a big rambling incoherent mess of a blog post. I bet none of that made any sense. Jesus Christ – day two without sleep and I’ve become a misogynist Japanese video game script writer all of a sudden.
There are many kinds of silence in this world, so many in fact that I have not had a chance to experience them all. There is a certain silence at 3:08 in the morning that differs slightly from the silence at 6:05, right before the sun comes up. There is a silence after you tell a joke and anticipation before you know if there will be laughter or more silence. There is a silence of mourning and a moment of silence for the fallen. There is a palpable silence when you take a stage that only you can hear. There is the silence of a hunter stalking it's prey and the silence before something spectacular is about to happen. And with all the variations and tapestries of silence that are woven together I have come to a conclusion. I don't really like silence well, not "that kind" anyways.
I find that I narrate many things in my own head, and while most people just think about things. I on the other hand have a tiny me inside that actually takes time to punctuate every thought as though from a podium. He has slides, video clips, a laser pointer, and rehearses the way he wishes conversations would have gone. I sometimes argue with him but he always seems to win. He can make me laugh at random times, so when you see me randomly chuckle for no apparent reason it's because tiny me has just told a particularly good joke. Not necessarily because I think you looked really stupid talking on the phone and trying to push your elevator button and missing 4 times in a row. Although tiny me will probably bring that up later.
Im sure you've all seen the make-ya-wanna-barf commercials for a certain nutritious chocolatesque drink wherein all the childrens are extremely happy to be given the chance to drink it, and their moms discuss how healthy it is. Right? They conclude with the kids whining in unison "More chocolatesque product, please!"
Oh, man I hate childrens. Especially ones that get excited over nutrition. I'd think about buying their drink if the commercials were more like my rendition:
Kid 1: Wow! Playing in the sewers all day sure makes me thirsty!
Kid 2: Yeah! I have diseases now!
Kid 1: How ‘bout we go back to my house?
Kid 3: Your house blows, Rodney.
Kid 2: He’s right! Your dog gave me cancer!
Kid 1: We can all have some rich chocolate Circletine!
Kids 2 and 3: Yay! Let’s go!
Sounds of scampering, shouting, clanging and shattering glass.
Cut to a spacious suburban kitchen. Two women are wandering around in it, putting away groceries and throwing carrots at eachother.
Mom 1: Ow! My eye!
Mom 2: Ha ha!
Mom 1: The kids will be home from the sewers soon. How about we turn off all the lights and pretend we’re not home?
Mom 2: That’s a good idea! I’ll go set fire to the lawn!
The two women hi-five and run to put their plans into action.
The childrens burst into the kitchen through the side door and track in mud, grass clippings, leaves and dog doo.
Kid 1: Mom?
Kid 3: Mom?
Kid 2: I’m itchy, and it’s dark in here.
Kid 1: Mooooommm! Can we have some Circletine?
Kid 3: It’s rich and full of chocolate, vitamins and lemur fur, Mrs. Rodney’s mom!
Kid 1: Forget her. She’s probably doing drugs with your mom, Kid 3!
They all laugh
Kid 2: Here’s the can. Yay! I’ll get some skim milk!
The other two beat the crap out of him
Kid 1: Skim!? That’s nasty!
Kid 3: Yeah. Here’s some butter instead.
The lights come on and the two women enter the room.
Mom 1: You little—!
Mom 2: Be careful with the microwave, childrens!
Mom 1: Roll your musty little friend out onto the porch, will you?
Kid 1: Can we have some rich chocolate Circletine when we’re done?
Mom 1: Hell no!
Mom 2: Of course!
Kids 1 and 3: Yay! Circletine!
Of course, it's not likely that any company interested in making money will air a commercial like that, but I've got my fingers crossed and my wallet ready.
He came from a small town, hypnotized by the big city life.
He came looking for a piece of action, all he received was a big city life.
He tried to convince himself that this was leading somewhere, but just like on the last day of school, everything was gone by the time he got there.
This guy Can't keep them boys away. We all thought he was happy.
But he say's "nooo, see I used to have dreams. But I cashed in something long ago, that I can't redeem. Once you do, your just another cut away. Scarred forever, and they just won't fade. I learned you don't get something for nothing, without giving up your soul."
He's now got the "get away" look, with a drink in his hand.
And he feels like no one.
He tries to put the past behind him.
And in his mind he he thinks that if he ever get out of this place things could be different.
But he still hides at the bottom of the bottle, and cries when he looks in the mirror.
Thoughts flicker through his mind;
Am I looking at myself?
I don't see anybody else
This is the price I paid. It's costing me my life just to get out of the game.
Once you are just another cut away you lose a part of your soul.
Now im scarred, And these scars won't fade.
Elvis put it best, as usual:
"But if I've done something wrong there's no ifs and buts
'Cos I love you just as much as I hate your guts."
It's almost five months after the fact, and it still hurts like hell and pisses me off all at the same time. In spite of the faith I try to hold that at any given time things are exactly as they should be, I can't help but feel like in this case, this one time, it should just be different. I don't know if there was ever even a possibility that it could have turned out any other way. But the very thought of the potential existence of that possibility is absolutely killing me, and thus must be extinguished post-haste. I deserve more. And better. Soon.
Those of you that have the elusive "it": Congratulations. Sincerely. Don't fuck it up.
There are a few things you can count on as you go through your life. 2 + 2 will always equal 4, and the fall TV schedule will bring another slew of irresistibly stupid reality shows. But above all these, we know when we walk along our city streets, play our Xbox 360s, and eat at our favorite restaurants, we are doing so within the confines of a round planet Earth. This is what is considered "common knowledge" by those of us who have been educated beyond Kindergarten. While not everything we learned in elementary school was accurate (for instance, the world--particularly sailors--had long accepted the Earth's roundness by the time Christopher Columbus came along), I'm going to go out on a limb--just this once--and say that I believe without a shadow of doubt that the Earth is indeed spherical in nature.
There are those who would disagree.
Meet the Flat Earth Society. At first glance, the site, which consists of nothing more than a message board, seems as though it has to be the product of someone's very dry sense of humor. I read entry after entry, convinced this must be the case. My friends, after long and thoughtful pursuit of this topic, I am no longer convinced. These people--these sad, sad people--actually believe the Earth is flat. As I read through the "literature" and "arguments" presented on the site, I felt a strange mixture of head-shaking-bewilderment and nervous glee. I don't think I have to explain the former. The latter I felt because I think I may have finally come across a site that fulfills a lifelong ambition of mine: to find the dumbest people on the Internet. I thought this mission was already fulfilled after studying the individuals who post comments on Youtube, but this had to take the cake.
In case you're reading this, scratching your head, and asking "How? How could they believe such a thing?", I shall take the liberty of reproducing some select choices from their FAQ. All your answers are inside. Delightful from the very start, the author of the FAQ informs us that he created this list after the society realized that for someone coming from a "round earth" background, the Flat Earth theory would appear to have some holes. Well, you have to give them credit for at least a modicum of self awareness. Here are some of the Flat Earth's Society's most frequently asked questions:
Q: "Why do you guys believe the Earth is flat?"
A: Well, it looks that way up close. In our local frame of reference, it appears to take a flat shape, ignoring obvious hills and valleys. Also, Samuel Rowbotham et al. performed a variety of experiments over a period of several years that show it must be flat. They are all explained in his book, which is linked at the top of this article.
This is perhaps the most enlightening thing a prospective reader will take from the site. Indeed, "Well, it looks that way up close" is the primary basis for the Flat Earth Society's belief in their doctrine. The book they mentioned was published in 1881 and, while we had made some important scientific and technological discoveries by that time, let's just say that we've learned a lot since then. Well, some of us.
Q: "Why do the all the world governments say the Earth is round?"
A: There exists a conspiracy among world governments claiming to have space programs and has disseminated the lie to the other governments, the media and the general public. The conspiracy hides the Earth's true shape from us for unknown objectives.
Rii-ight.
Q: "What about NASA? Don't they have photos to prove that the Earth is round?"
A: NASA is part of the conspiracy too. The photos can be faked using simple imaging software.
Do you see how close to the satirical line they travel?
Q: "If you're not sure about the motive, why do you say there is a conspiracy?"
A: Well it's quite simple really; if the earth is in fact flat, then the governments must be lying when they say it isn't.
Folks, there's no arguing with logic like that.
Dear 7-11 Manager,
You should really post a sign reading, "Do not drink directly from the nozzle" on your Slurpee machine if that is your store policy.
Thanks,
The Fool
A first date, according to a study I read somewhere a few months ago, is one of the most stressful situations for a human being to put themselves in. Many have simply not mastered the fine art of mating. Well, I'm here to help. Follow these tips and you'll have a great first date and be on your way to the kind of relationship most people (most other people) can only dream about.
Brag
Early and often. This may go against your modest and polite nature, but you know what? Your polite and modest nature is going to leave you alone and desperate, drinking bacteria-infested water out of some creek in the middle of a Michigan forest.
Now some will complain, "But I don't have anything worth bragging about!" To this, I say "Nonsense!" Everyone can brag. Sit down and make a list of all your accomplishments, no matter how small and seemingly inconsequential. Did you graduate college? There you go. Only high school? Brag about it! Less than high school? Let's find something else to talk about!
"I can beat Super Mario Bros. in less than eight minutes."
"I was voted MVP of my T-ball team."
"My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard."
All of these make fine and decent brags, certain to impress your date and set the stage for a wonderful evening.
Tell an Uncomfortable Truth
Most people go out on a first date with the idea of "putting their best foot forward". Well, if you keep putting your best foot forward, you're going to wind up at a home for retired circus clowns, sucking down Jamaican ginger extract and slathering greasepaint on your old, wrinkled face. Not only is honesty the best policy on a first date, uncomfortably frank honesty will show your date you trust them and will engender a deeper connection. Some examples:
"I have an incurable foot fungus."
"Sometimes I poop in my cat's litter box."
"I have an unopened bottle of Crystal Pepsi I'm planning to drink when I lose my virginity."
Feel free to improvise with your own.
Forge a Bond
You might think it's impossible to forge a real bond on a first date. You might also find yourself sifting through camel dung in your later years, looking for something edible and moist as you make your way across the vast Arabian desert.
One of the easiest ways to make an instant connection is through the use of magic. Invite your date to think of a two-digit number between 1 and 50. When they have the number, do a little wave of your hand and guess, "37." Most of the time you'll be right, and your date will be utterly taken aback by the psychic connection you share. If the number was not 37, grumble, "Well, the trick only works with smart people." This will leave your date feeling ignorant and defenseless, possibly bringing them down to your league.
Specific Advice
You're probably saying, "Come on, Fool, isn't this enough? How am I going to remember all this?" You'll also probably be saying, "Hear ye, hear ye," as you accept a job as a town crier at Fort Edmonton just a few days shy of your 80th birthday, you sad, pathetic loser.
Guys/Girls: Flip a coin to see who pays for dinner. If you win, lucky you! If they win, tough break, sucker.
Girls: Take off a shoe and place it on the dinner table just before dessert. Say, "I'll be your Cinderella."
Straight Guys: Research one topic for a week straight before your date. You can then talk over your date's head for most of the meal, which will subconsciously remind them that, as a man, you are naturally smarter than her.
Everyone: Spend at least 1/3 of the meal repeating the phrase, "I could have made all of this at home for much less money." Increase percentage to 1/2 if the dinner costs more than $100.
Guys: Place a condom in your wallet. "Accidentally" let them glimpse it when you pay the bill. If they arent looking, mention it directly.
Gay Guys: Casually mention that you've had sex with so many guys this month that you're sure your AIDS test results are no longer valid. Guys like a sense of risk and adventure.
Getting a Second Date
Truthfully, I don't have a lot of experience in this area. Feel free to offer your own suggestions.
I was reading an interesting story the other day about a mom who had given her son up for adoption at the age of 7 because the kid would not listen to her or do anything she told him to do. Wash the dishes, no. Clean up your room, nuh uh. Go to bed at a decent hour, not gonna happen. What happened next was especially sad, as the boy was adopted by an unsavory religious cult somewhere north and was soon eaten by an bear as part of a bizarre ceremony. Even sadder, the bear turned out to be allergic to brat, and died subsequently. Adding to the misfortune, the bear's rotting corpse polluted a small section of the forest, causing myriad wildlife to die or relocate.
Okay, I'm not sure if I really read that story somewhere or I dreamed it, but the point remains the same. Many parents are unable to get their kids to listen, and the results can be horrifying. I thought it would be nice to once again give freely of my wise advice. Here, for struggling parents everywhere, are my top ten punishments to dole out to misbehaving children, so that they may avoid causing a minor ecological disaster in the future.
#10: Refuse to allow the child to wear his or her seatbelt for a three week period.
#9: Take away Playstation 3. Replace with Atari 2600. 
#8: For teenagers: Drop child off in front of school each day for a week. Make big production out of kissing and hugging them before letting them go inside.
#7: For small child: Read them the classic children's book, The Invisible Bees Who Are Everywhere. Do not alert them to its fictional nature.
#6: Gently remind them that they are the reason Dad left.
#5: Threaten to pull car over.
#4: Friend them on Facebook. Immediately post brutally honest 25 Things About Me meme.
#3: Continue regimen of haphazard, rage-driven corporal punishment.
#2: Write a starkly inappropriate love note to his teacher, signed with his name. Instruct child to give to teacher.
#1: Pay neighborhood bully $5 to teach em a lesson.
I was reading an article some time ago that was addressing some of the variations on one of the most common questions people have--namely, "When is it okay...?" The questions and answers were so common and generic, however, I found myself losing interest rather quickly. "When is it okay to lie?" "When is it okay to wear white?" "When is it okay to...to...zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz"
I looked through the article, but I couldn't find any answers to the questions I found most pressing in my life. Knowing that the article was likely to be popular and recurring, I penned a list of ten questions in the same format and submitted them to the magazine. Well, it's been roughly a year and none of my questions have made it into the magazine. However, I still need answers! Therefore, I'm turning to you...the Internet...to help me find the answers I'm seeking.
Question #1: When is it okay to eat one of those dishwasher detergent cakes?
***
Question #2: When is it okay to tell a department store clerk that you'd like to feel the inside of their pocket?
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Question #3: When is it okay to don a rainbow colored vest and skip through a public park?
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Question #4: When is it okay to use your finger to sample the salsa, rather than a chip?
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Question #5: When is it okay to tell people you saw a dinosaur in their laundry hamper?
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Question #6: When is it okay to poop in the shower?
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Question #7: When is it okay to show co-workers your nude drawings of Abraham Lincoln?
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Question #8: When is it okay to ask your father to change his name to Forrest Whitaker?
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Question #9: When is it okay to admit to a (possible) homicide (legally speaking)?
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Question #10: When is it okay to punch an otter?
It’s time once again to take a look at what people were searching for when they came across my blog. To be honest, I think I get more enjoyment out of this than anyone else, but here goes…
Jack the necrophiliac: The part of the nursery rhyme you hadn’t heard. I guess climbing up a hill to fetch a pail of water wasn’t’ Jack’s only passion.
Olympic boinking icon: Who knew that this was an Olympic event, let alone what the icon for it is. Gold medal, bronze medal, who the hell cares…just tell me where the tryouts are being held.
Cyanide pie: I’d bet my last dollar that it was Martha Stewart who typed those words. The judge who sentenced her to prison might want to avoid baked goods for a while…I’m telling you this woman never forgets.
Average life span of sumo wrestler: Well, lets’ put it this way, I’m pretty sure that unlike baseball, there’s no “Old Timer’s Day” in sumo wrestling.
World record largest bowel movement: I don’t have any exact numbers on this, but I wouldn’t be at all surprised if it involved one of the aforementioned sumo wrestlers.
Alternate uses for a motorcycle helmet: Lets see…a hot tub for hamsters, an ashtray, a some what leaky Jell-O mold…oh, the possibilities are endless.
Naked druid priestess: Probably someone from the “Dungeons & Dragons” crowd surfing for porn.
Cat Stevens half eaten sandwich: I couldn't figure out if this was a search for a Cat Stevens song called “Half eaten sandwich” or if someone was looking to buy an actual sandwich that Cat Stevens didn’t get to finish. This may haunt me forever.
The howler monkey’s enemy: Anyone who has ever heard the song “Daydream Believer”, no wait…wrong group of monkey’s.
Strudel sayings: When you start to believe baked goods have the ability to speak, you’ve probably “over medicated” yourself.
If ever I were. And now may have to stop this silly thing-whatever-it-is.
Those waiting for any elaboration upon the subject of the dreadful ‘Jeremy’ may have to wait FOREVER!
Today.
I am At Work.
As I take my job very seriously, I am reading a online newspaper. As are several of my colleagues. There is a news item regarding a very pleasant – by all accounts, and there are lots of them – local man who had tried to prevent some youths from being a terrible nuisance on his street and who had been killed to death for his trouble.
I read it, and can only think that the sub-editors have let themselves down.
The page headline on the subject reads ‘Death of Mr. Nice Guy’.
It could have been better, I think.
How, ask my colleagues. What would be the more effective headline?
Me: ‘No More Mr. Nice Guy’.
Absolutely nobody laughs.
Many look horrified.
I quit.
I just read that Jon and Kate are getting a divorce, and now I’m wondering how this affects their math equation?
"Jon minus Kate, plus eight, minus four, three out of seven days?"
In other news, who the hell cares? If I could punch both of them in the vaginas, I would.