I’m starting to have a little more faith in there are weirder people out there than me.
This was just sent to me by one of my adoring fans.
Thank you. Thank you.
i love the way the dwarfer looking one scurries around on the floor and props himself up and the nearest object. If it was a crawling contest instead of a fight he would be champion. If it makes you feel better, at least he gets the midget chick in the end
Wait unitll after the Asian kid leaves and check out the dorky orange sweater guy. Little geeky guy does a mean robot. He dances like a a wet soul noodle. Good stuff. I love it when dorks dance it up.
I got caught picking my nose in my car yesterday. It was by a middle-aged lady with a bad haircut. She had this look of disgust like I was doing something wrong, something she had never seen before. I froze like a deer in headlights. We locked eyes at a red light as I waited for a right turn and my finger was jammed up my nose searching for some gold. Her jaw slowly opened in disgust to reveal bad teeth and crappy breath (I’m guessing on the breath, but I wouldn’t want to smell it based on her haircut and teeth alone.) She caught me fair and square and I didn’t like it. How dare her make me feel bad for picking my nose. Who the hell was she anyways?
Of course this happened at the longest red light in the city. I’ve been caught picking my nose before and usually I know how to handle myself in these situations. Laugh and run. Not this time. I froze, completely and utterly froze. I cold not even move my finger from my nose. It was like her breath had seeped its way in to my car and hypnotized me. She could have robbed me for my $34 and I doubt my finger would have even left my nostril. Thank god the guy behind me honked and shook me out of my nose picking slumber. The honk made me jump and my finger jammed up my nose a little to far and it hurt. The creepy lady just drove away, not even offering a tissue. Mean lady. I turned and went on my way a little confused and violated.
I continued on my way home and wiped my nose with the back of my hand only to reveal blood. Sweet, now I had a bloody nose and I didn’t even get to pick the big booger I was looking for earlier. I give up. I promised myself to drink through out the rest of the month but my bloody booger infested nose changed my mind. There is always tomorrow. Today, I’m cleaning my nose and I’m going to make grilled cheese and watch old porn. I am going to pick my nose in the privacy of my own home lady. I’ll be back and the next time me meet lady, you better look out. My boogers are coming for you and your teeth.
For those of you that do know Bas Rutton already, then you know how much he rules. For those of you who do not know who he is, you are in for a treat. Bas is one of the greatest mixed marital artists of all time and is perhaps the greatest color commentator of the sport or of any sport for that matter of all time. This guy kicks ass all day everyday and cracks some good jokes between cracking skulls. What we have below is a highlight of his world famous bar self-defensive video. Words from me do no justice to the ass kickery of this video.
Enjoy children, enjoy
“Sure, ill meet you out for one drink.” Famous last words. I have no self-control. None. Zero. Zilch. (Evidently, I also enjoy short sentences.) Alas, one drink turned in to several and then a few more. I entertained myself with a pair of moose haired Jersey girls and an evening full of strange events. Getting wacky with chicks and being my usual douche bag self out on the town is not what today’s bloggity blog blog is about. No no. This is my declaration that I am giving up the entire month of September to the drinking gods. Pretty bold statement with only 5 or 6 days left in the month. When its time to man up, I’m your guy.
I enjoy being hung over lately and I have September to thank for that. I’ve become really good at it though. I’m a trained professional, hangover artist. My house is filled with different kinds of pills, from vitamin B to vitamin Vicodin that ease me through my tough demanding days. I have eggs and cheese and VH1 on Tivo. There are hours of Scrubs at my disposal with the push of a button. In the corner of the dusty living room, a plethora of hangover movies call my name. Hungary? I got you covered, I know every take out number by heart, sometimes I scream out broccoli with beef late in to the afternoon. I need help.
That help will come with the month of October. October is my friend and wants me to work hard, exercise and do un to other and all that shit. Not like September, or August for that matter. Those ugly fucking months forced booze and debauchery down my throat like I was a baby bird dying of hunger. Bastards
For the next few days im going to succumb to wrath of September and roll with it. I like moose haired jersey girls and I don’t see October bringing anything to the table just yet.
In the mean time I do enjoy people screaming obsinities that have turrets. I give to you Turrets guy. He is one of my favorite people on the world and is the sole reason I scream out BOB SAGET when I’m pissed off.
Wow, the fact that people actually read this blog is awesome. The fact that you people are sick and send me some fucked shit, well, that rules even more.
Thank you Slint for sending this god-awful footage of lesbian comic extraordinaire, Margaret Cho shaking her junk in some sort of performance comic piece. I give credit where credit is due and for a 40-year-old lesbian Asian chick, she can really shake her boobies. Very impressive tit control. I am going to try and find out what the heck this is and why I enjoy it. Ill gets back to you soon.
In the mean time, enjoy naked dancing Margaret Cho.
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This made me laugh. Ha! I dig it when i find other people (besides myself and my many personalites) funny.
This cartoon rules
I had a really great poop the other night. I know I know that sounds disgusting. I mean really, who the hell wants to read about another mans poop. Evidently you do, because you are still reading this.
I was at a very nice, clean diner party. The girls even wore dresses. There was cheese, champagne, expensive wine, lovely conversation and white couches. I had on a t-shirt and jeans. I am the Webster’s dictionary’s definition of class. I’m not really used to being around this things. I’m used to loud messes, I spill everything from my glass of wine to words from my mouth on a regular basis. It all made me a bit nervous
All of this lovely mingling and eating while trying to act like a civilized human being, took its toll on me, or maybe it was the drugs. I knew the future was not going to be pretty and I wished I had brought my sunglasses. The next thing I know, my stomach was a growling and spitting and there needed to be some action taken. I could tell it was not going to be a quick explosive one. My stomach and I and have been dealing with each other for years, so rarely do I gamble and lose with it. This poop in the slot was ready, I could also tell had weight to it. It felt like a small child, one that had been waiting and was pissed. Usually, it waits until Sunday morning when I have the NY Times and after I drink a large coffee. Nope. This son of a bitch wanted out right now. A premature poop. Damn it. This shit was an asshole
I pointed out the fat ass of a chick in a green dress walking by the window and while her fat green butt distracted everybody, I made a beeline for the small guest bedroom on the other side of the house. Better to use the bathroom nobody else would be visiting tonight. Ha, pure heaven.
As the cold seat sent a chill up my back from my ass cheeks I thought about pooping and how wonderful I felt right at that moment. It occurred to me that anytime something is leaving your body it feels great. I love to blow my load. Sneezing sends chills down my back and sometimes it gives me a touch of wood after I rip a few off. Pissing in the snow is one of my favorite things ever and I miss it dearly. I ask any guy, is there nothing more satisfying than hawking out a big loogy and watching it launch through the air for like 40 feet? Kind of like Pumpkin hacking one up right to New York’s chin on The Flavor of Love. Bodily functions are fun and feel great. Alas, back to my poop.
Ill spare the next 17 minutes of details. But I will say this much. I love Vanity Fair n the bathroom. Vanilla candles are also a nice touch. The combination of sweet smells and simulating reading material provides for a lovely pooping atmosphere. I did have to to grit my teeth through the final push, streams of sweat dripped from my ears and splashed on a Victoria Secret ad. When the birthing was finally over, I wanted a cigarette.
I wiped and finished my business. Then came the prerequisite, check out the poop before you flush. I was told this is a natural thing to do, to make sure everything that came out of our body is good and healthy. If you’re lucky you might find some corn. It’s like the poop jackpot!
My poop sent me back half a step and my jaw dropped. I tell you what; this was the healthiest poop I had ever seen. I was HUGE! HUGE! I’m talking long, thick and full of life. I couldn’t believe it came out of my butt. I mean this thing looked like a solid meat loaf that my German grandma would make for Christmas. Impressive shit. Literally.
I stood there in awe for a minute. I just couldn’t bring myself to flush this thing of pure beauty. It was not my house, I could not keep it around to admire for a couple days. Before I sent him on his way, I named him Dwight. He was my baby poop and I loved him. It was time for Dwight to go and I did what I had to do and flushed. He didn’t even leave a mark as we went down the hole. I shed one tear. Dwight was a great poop. The best poop I ever knew.
I walked back out to the party. Walk is being generous. I waddled out. Dwight had left a mark on me. I now know what it feels like to have giant things rammed in your butt. Or forced out of your butt in my case. Ouch. I give big props to chicks who dig anal and gay dudes who take it up the butt.. Not sure how you guys handle that on a regular basis. You do make a lot of people happy. Cheers to you.
I went back to the party and I’m pretty sure nobody realized I was gone. I wanted to share my experience with Dwight. The house was too clean, the conversations were too classy and the couches were to white.
That’s why I have you guys. I love you like Dwight, but I’m not ready to flush you quite yet.
Next time you have a good poop, cherish it, live it, Name it.
Talk to you soon suckas
EDIT: Someone just sent me this via email. It’s a wonderful cartoon about pooping.
Nice to know im not the only weirdo out there. Thank you mister mystery email person for this strange gem. Thank you.
ps. Check out the live kid at the very end doing his “work.” Wow, the Japanese are weird.
If you really want to feel good about yourself I suggest getting really wasted on scotch then drink a bottle of champagne and go to party where everybody is 10 years younger than you. After you hit on every girl in the room and fail miserably, go home and pass out naked with your window open you so your neighbors can blind themselves by looking at your lightening white ass.
After you wake up and suck down as much coffee as you can handle, you think, “Hmm life isn’t that bad, You’re not to bad of a person. Everything is Okay.” You pick your phone up to call a friend up for a good old-fashioned hangover breakfast. Then you notice all of the drunken text messages you sent out between 4-5 am. Oh shit.
Here is a list of my messages
To Girl 1 “come to my house and play”
Translation: “Come bang my sloppy drunk ass”
Response: none
To Girl 2: “Wanna hang out”
Translation “Come over and give me a blow job.”
Response none
To Girl 3 “ Come over now and get naked”
Translation “ come over and get naked and you can be the lucky chick who gets to bang my drunk smelly ass.”
Response: “Stop texting me.”
My game has gone out the window like Michael Jackson’s baby. Dangeling and waitin for someone to save it. My game also wonders why it’s not black, another thing in commen with MJ’s kid.
I don’t know what it is that enters my head when I stumble home that makes me think every chick I know is sitting at home waiting for my drunken text to come over and bang me. It seems to make sense when I’m doing it. I lot of things make sense with enough scotch
I think they need to have a service for the cell phones that you have to breath in to a phone breathalyzer before you are allowed to use it. If you hit a certain number you are declared to drunk to text. Much like ring tones you could the assign this service to those who you do not want to drunken text.
I guess ill have to leave my phone at home from now on.
My girlfriend gave me the boot a few months ago. She packed up her stuff and moved back to Connecticut. I was discussing this with my buddy last night over a couple beers and he imparted some advice to me “Never date girls from Connecticut.”
I didn’t know this. Is this common knowledge to everybody else but me? Christ, I’ve dated three chicks from that up collared, alligator emblemed state. I must be a bigger fool than I anticipated. You see, I’m from Minnesota and Connecticut is just a place where 80’s movies I was supposed to like all seemed to take place in. My buddy informed me that once the preppiness gets in their blood, there is nothing they can do but run back to it once they begin to want to settle down and own an Audi. It’s like a pastel colored collared shirt, white hat wearing, tennis playing on the weekend’s bomb goes off in their heads at around 25 and turns them in to corporate Stepford Wives. Scary shit!
So now, I don’t have a girlfriend from Connecticut it. It’s not to bad though. I do miss the warmness of a nice home, instead of the sweat filled sheets and dirty dishes that has taken over. On the other hand, it’s also nice to act like a complete chump, getting wasted on cheap booze, eating cheaper food and taking home even cheaper women every weekend and some Monday nights. (At least I try to take home cheap women every weekend and Monday nights.) I think I might buy a Playstation 3, just because I can. Take that Connecticut. Take that!
It’s too bad those preppy Connecticut looking chicks are so darn cute. I have a thing for those girls. I can’t seem to help it; they hypnotize me with there perfect hair. I love the expensive shoes on their little feet. They way they load cocaine up their nose with the gracefulness of an egret mystifies me. It’s like I want to live in those bad 80’s movies, but be the Rob Lowe guy. The problem is, I’m just not that cool. I try. In my head I am the 80’s badass guy with a cool earring and all the preppy girls flock to me to fix me. Alas, it’s all a pipe dream. They run the other way.
I am turning over a new leaf. From now on I am only dating girls from North Carolina. That seems like a fine state. Mountains, tobacco, ocean, barbeque, and moon shine. I dig all of those things. They don’t have alligators on their shirts there either. They probably eat them as a snack on a stick at street fairs. I think I could love me some southern women, get treated like a real man. Plus they wear those flowery dresses and from what I hear make a mean sweet tea. The only thing that worries me is that their daddies have lots of guns. I’m not good with armed daddies. Never have been
I’m sure somebody will tell me never date girls from North Carolina some day to. At least it will keep my mind of Connecticut for a while. If that fails there is always Eastern Europe. I do love me an angel in black with a short skirt and a long jacket.
