You just made my list!

It’s bad enough being told to “dream” by some piece of shit hanging on your wall, but when you cheerfully ask me to let God’s love climb inside me and do something blah blah blah at the end of your email, it fills me with a form of rage yet to be described by the English language.

I just want to know why you haven’t shipped my Ninja swords yet, I don’t need your dime store Obi-Wan Kenobi bullshit at the end of your email. When a person is sitting at home waiting for their fucking Ninja swords to arrive so that he might protect himself from rival Ninjas in the neighborhood, do you really think he wants to be told “When you believe in yourself the possibilities are endless?” NO! I WANT MY SWORDS!

Why is it that the more horrible and pathetic your shitty life is the more you believe in crappy inspirational nonsense? Do you think Donald Trump ends his emails with “Faith is daring the soul to go beyond what the eyes can see?” Of course not, and we all know Donald Trump is the most powerful, rich, awesome, charismatic, classy man in the universe. We should be so lucky! You think Donald Trump has to lock himself in the house for two weeks while he waits for his swords to arrive? Are you kidding? That man gets his swords flown to him on a private jet directly from Chinese Ninja training camps.

And PLEASE stop telling me to have a “blessed day.” I don’t want a blessed day, I simply want my swords.

Yeah that’s right, I said onion rings! Bring it on motherfuckers!

I’m really getting tired of these asshole onion rings walking around like they are God’s gift to fast food. We have all been bamboozled by these greasy jerks for too long and it’s time someone took a stand! This is your cue to use that annoying voice of yours to quietly say to the computer, “Who do you think you are? I like onion rings.” Do you ever listen to yourself? Let me tell you something, you THINK you like onion rings. You don’t.

First of all, what makes these jerks so expensive? When did onions become the Cristal Champagne of vegetables? It’s not even a vegetable, what the hell is it? Why is a giant basket of french fries half the price of these six pathetic pieces of crap you just brought me?

Secondly, It would be nice to bite into an onion ring without hot air shooting into my mouth. I feel like I’m giving a jet engine a blowjob. I’m hungry now, onion rings, I don’t want to wait two hours to eat you.

And another thing, it sure is nice to have that slimy onion booger flop out of the batter on the first bite leaving me looking like an idiot holding my empty ring. Nice teamwork onion.

Before you start pissing your panties with anger, consider this… battered and fried onions DO taste awesome BUT the ring format must be put to rest. I suggest we all switch to onion CHIPS!

I am right, I know everything.

Are you tired of cracking eggs in your mouth and eyes? Are you sick of cracking eggs with a shovel? Do the simplest tasks cause you great anxiety because you are such a fucking moron? Not anymore. Introducing the EZ Cracker egg cracking robot!

I can’t tell you how many times I have tried to crack an egg by chucking it against the wall, only to be disappointed by an omelette filled with dangerous shells. For a brief period in the early 1990s I would crack most of my eggs by running them over with a rented Home Depot truck but even THAT didn’t work. At least it gave me a good excuse to enjoy the many grunge radio stations programmed into the truck’s radio. I would wake up around noon, brush my long hair, tie a flannel shirt around my waist and mosh my way to the driveway for another attempt at making a delicious ham and cheese omelette.

To add insult to injury, I would be forced to listen to Eddie Vedder and Chris Cornell scream “I’m going hungry” while attempting to crack open eggs in my rented pickup. If only the fucking EZ Cracker existed in 1992!

Congratulations, you can scrape two things together, now that’s what I call talent!

Not since the invention of the hacky sack have smelly fuckheads had such a useless form to express themselves. Isn’t it ironic that filthy hippies would choose an object made for cleaning to make “music?”

I guess it makes sense really. Some folksy turd was probably sitting around his shack when something shiny in the corner caught his eye. Having never washed his clothes or body, he stared and poked at it like the apes in 2001: A Space Odyssey when the monolith appears. He probably grabbed his booger-pickin’ spoon from the cluttered floor and threw it at the washboard, thinking it was some sort of a dag-gone space monster or something. Well there must have been something about that horrible clang of metal hitting metal that sounded like music to his dirty hillbilly ears, because the next thing you know, he’s jiving and shucking all over the woods with his jug of xxx moonshine and his new “instrument.”

Now, thanks to this dick, I’m forced to see these assholes every Fat Tuesday on the wacky morning news, jamming with some shitty Zydeco band. You know what? Zydeco, you just made my list too. You suck!

For the first time since I was in high school I have a TV in my bedroom. It is thanks to this TV that I have been exposed to Kelly Ripa and her parade of enthusiastic nonsense!

Regis Philbin is either retarded or the most patient human on the planet. I feel like you could stick that man in a garbage bag filled with mosquitoes and he would keep on smiling and telling stories about having lunch with Charles Nelson Reilly or whatever the hell he talks about.

Kelly Ripa is that horrible kind of woman who thinks, and knows, she is oh so adorable and no matter how fucking annoying she is people fall all over themselves to love her. She could stand up on that desk and explode diarrhea all over Regis while eating a kitten and the audience of sassy hairs would giggle and hoot like a bunch of mindless idiots. The worst thing is that if I ever met Kelly Ripa I would probably fall under her whore spell (3 whore references in 4 days!) like a zombie. I’m trying to convince myself otherwise, but I would probably smile and thank her for blasting shit all over my face too.

Why is Kelly Ripa constantly shooting poop on people?

Hey thanks for inviting me over to stare at your ceiling for 4 hours! What’s that you say, you want to play Guitar Hero? Sure, let me just go ahead and lie on my back on your dirty floor so I can see the TV. Perfect.

You know, just because you see something on MTV’s Cribs doesn’t mean you have to try and recreate it in your Dorito-covered trailer. As a general rule, if you see some dumb rapper do something on Cribs it’s best to do the opposite. Sure, it might seem cool to have an actual panda bear as your butler, but after the money is gone who’s going to feed that thing? God, I would pay so much money to watch a hungry panda chase Lil Wayne around some shitty, beige, Atlanta McMansion. Lil would try to hide behind his pool table only to immediately regret buying the world’s only perfectly clear pool table made from Swarovski crystals. Go get your Wayne on, panda.

Sorry, I got distracted by that fantasy. When did placing your TV at eye level become the exception rather than the rule? Plus, I can think of no better place for your $1,500 TV than over your hot, dirty, smoke-barfing fireplace. I keep my computer in the oven.

Oh IKEA, I hate you, I love you.

Like most people on the planet, within a week of moving to my new place I found myself making the pilgrimage to the blue and yellow monolith. I check my pride at the door, get on my belly and suck that IKEA teat like a hungry piglet. I’m pretty sure I know exactly what a crack whore feels like when she’s “working.” (That’s two posts in a row that mention whores, if you are keeping score. More whores in 2010!)

I feel equal parts shame and excitement as I walk through those doors and the sweet smell of cinnamon rolls and particle board wraps around my body like the ghosts in Poltergeist. Shopping at IKEA is like telling the world, “I’m poor, I’m lazy, I like ümlaüts and I want my stüff to look like your stüff.” I spend most of my time convincing myself that, “It looks OK, right? It’s kind of cool looking, right? It doesn’t look too IKEA, right?”

I would love to sit here on my throne and criticize all my fellow IKEA shoppers as middle-of-the-road, boring, predictable, suburban, wannabe hipsters but how can I when I’m walking around filling my cart with Flürgens, Gråbenfüks and Lüäöküöås just like they are. I want to feel superior, but as I type this from my IKEA Vika Grevsata desk it’s not that easy. I used to be cool. I used to be in a band.

But don’t think the pain ends when you get home with your pile of vaguely stylish products. Oh no silly pants, that’s when you get to decipher Swedish hieroglyphics and spend the next 7 hours assembling your crappy bookcases.

Is it würth it?

Lucky you, today you get to hear me complain about two things that suck.

1) The Apple store!

Let me first say that I love Apple products. However, I’m not a blind “fanboy,” rather I love Macs because they FUCKING WORK and as a graphic designer there is no substitute. Unfortunately I have had to spend a lot of time in the Apple store this week due to the cockless anus face who stole my computer. Have you been in an Apple store recently? They are bucking the system by eliminating any form of check out counter. Instead, each hip t-shirt-wearing employee has the ability to complete your purchase right there where they are standing in their skinny jeans. This may look cool, but it means the end of waiting in a orderly line to be served. The only way, literally, to be served in an Apple store is to stand in the middle of the floor with a confused look, like a sad puppy begging for a Snausage. It makes you feel like a whore standing on a street corner trying to out-whore the other whores.

2) Threadless iPhone cases!

If you have any doubt as to why I FUCKING HATE Threadless, please watch this video and it will all be clear. These fucking assholes at Griffin Technology and Threadless are acting like they cured cancer when they accidentally mixed their cure for A.I.D.S. with their cure for multiple sclerosis. Mark McGlon (never has a last name so perfectly described a lumpy tub of crap) practically has tears in his fat eyes as he describes the printing of doodles on plastic iPhone cases as “brilliant.” Brilliant? BRILLIANT?!? And if you ever wanted to see inside the empty mind of a Threadless design winner (and Threadless employee… hmmmmm), please watch douchebag hipster nerd Joe Van Wetering describe the BRILLIANT design process behind his doodles. Please get your gentle voice and Hitler hair out of my dreams and into my car, where I will drive you to a warehouse and force you to makeout with a girl.