Well, aren’t you just king of the fucking jungle? That’s right alligator, Brad owns your bitch ass just like he rules at medium level Guitar Hero and beer pong. That’s right, shut your pussy mouth, gator, Carol is in control now, just like she’s in charge of the motherfucking office lottery tickets every week. HOW YOU LIKE ME NOW?!?
What kind of a pathetic turd do you have to be to take pleasure in fucking around with some poor animal in a misguided attempt to look tough? Are people going to see the photo on your fridge and think it was taken in the wild and you are not the douchebag they secretly always thought you were? I don’t care if it’s an ant or an alligator, if you enjoy tormenting another living creature you are a grade-A piece of shit.
My honest desire is for every jackass who poses for one of these photos to have their heads torn off by these awesome, prehistoric killing machines. I want to see them eaten whole and I want to be there when the gator poops out little scraps of J. Crew and, ironically, Crocs. I want their families to watch as a fed up alligator grabs Daddy by his fat face and drags him underwater leaving only his soiled denim shorts and NASCAR hat behind. Ahhhhh, let me take a moment to daydream about that a little longer…
These clips are like porn to me. Go get ’em gators!
I made the mistake of stopping on Mtv this afternoon while looking for something on TV to nap to. I love to nap to the vapid drone of the television. I just do. Did you know your brain is less active while watching TV than it is when you are sleeping? Well, my brain just about shut off to the point of forgetting to make my heart beat and my lungs breathe after I made the mistake of watching an hour of the new season of the Real World/Road Rules Challenge.
In college (and maybe a little out of college) I used to casually watch The Real World. I didn’t technically enjoy it, but I watched enough to be able to tell you that Jay on the London cast loved mac and cheese and that Colin from the Hawaii cast was totally NOT into Amaya but made the mistake of making out with her, probably because he wanted to fondle her huge boobs, and she totally fell in love with him and wanted to snuggle and baby talk and make him kiss stuffed animals every night in his bunk bed but Colin was like rolling his eyes and feeling totally trapped but didn’t know how to get out of it. However I had to stop watching the Real World when A) I realized I was an adult and B) Mtv starting exclusively casting idiots with explosive rage disorder.*
The only thing worse than the obnoxious alcoholics that kick, scream and casually fuck their way around the overly-colorful Ikea catalog that is the Real World house is the same people coming back even more obnoxious and alcoholic-y year after pathetic year to compete** in the Real World/Road Rules Challenge. These people really have got to be the biggest collection of douchebags mankind has ever known.
In the same way that you are a shitty parent if you let your kids watch Bratz, you are an equally bad parent if you let your kids watch ANYTHING on Mtv. Unless you want your child to grow up thinking life is simply a series of ever-growing drunken, semi-nude tantrums, I suggest you keep their tiny brains far away from Mtv.
*I just made that up but I’m sure it’s real.
**Compete = fighting and fucking each other
First off, sorry for the non-post. I’m fucking busy so get off my back!
Secondly, shut up. Rather than complain about something in my irreverent and hilarious way, I wanted to change things up and report some You Just Made My List news. For the first time, someone on my list has contacted the site. No, it’s wasn’t Guy Fieri and no, it wasn’t a grapefruit. I’m pretty sure Guy is too busy calling various food items “bad boy” and masturbating to the movie “Swingers” to visit this website. I wonder if Guy screams “You’re so MONEY” as he has an orgasm?
Sorry, I was just throwing up for the last 2 hours but now I’m back. Nope, I have to go barf again, be right back.
OK, there’s nothing left in my stomach to puke up so I will continue. The mystery “celebrity” is Nathan Schwartz, the texting world champion. You may remember Nathan for doing something with a cell phone. I don’t. Either way, Nathan left a comment admitting that he failed as a human being a few weeks ago and I have decided to forgive him. I can see how he won the competition with his lack of punctuation and abbreviated words.
So Nathan Schwartz, I salute you for being the first “lister” to have enough time on your hands to google yourself and find this website. I’m glad you had the balls to stop by and say hello. Although you will remain on my list, I am still giving you a cyber high-five for leaving a comment. Now go get a God damn job and stop googling yourself! LMAO!
(I was able to verify that it was really Nathan who left the comment)
Look, I just want to shake your hand, not dance the forbidden Lambada with you.
I was in a band for years that primarily appealed to a male audience that was usually younger than I am. Often times after we saw a hundred faces and rocked them all, those faces would line up to tell us how fucking awesome we were. They were right. Maybe I’m a fuddy-duddy, but I used to PANIC when some young DJ-type guy would stretch his hand towards me with a smile on his face because I knew I was about to fail at being “cool.”
I could always tell right away from the angle of the hand that this was not going to be my grandfather’s handshake. Oh no my friend, this handshake was going to involve all my concentration and would most likely end in a one-armed, back punching, bro hug. If not a hug, it would at the very least, require me to anticipate what his hand was going to do next in a lame attempt to mimic his movements, thus maintaining my status as the coolest guy in the room. If we locked hands in a soul shake would it end there, or do we have to do that finger-snap thing as we release? I’m sweating just thinking about it. Not only do I not know how to do that finger snap thing, I don’t fucking want to know how! I refuse to practice. I refuse to learn.
I bet a Guy Fieri handshake lasts like 45 minutes and ends shirtless. I have to go throw up.
Since I tricked all your sucka asses yesterday I’m giving you a double post (sort of) today!
OK, let’s get into it. I am sick of the term “bling,” I’m sick of actual bling, and I’m sick of people who say and/or own bling. I’m extra sick of the full use of the saying “bling bling.” As soon as your mom knows a slang term it’s over. I heard a news anchor say “dissed” a few months ago and I nearly set my TV and my own ears on fire. I’m glad the world economy is collapsing because maybe it will put an end to this ridiculous diva attitude everyone walks around with. Actually, now that I think about it most of the idiots obsessed with blingy crap are already poor. Fuck, bling is here to stay.
And while you’re at it, take your 22″ rims and shove ’em up your bling hole. Why is it 98% of the time I see a car with “fancy” rims it is painfully obvious that those rims cost more than the blue book value of the piece of shit car they are attached to?
We have such wonderful priorities don’t we? When I say “we” I mean not me.
I’m guessing if you are the kind of person who is lazy enough to use an automatic shower sprayer you have a bathroom that requires more help than this piece of shit can provide. A push of this magic button is not going to erase the last 10 years of failure as a human being. You are still going to have Flamin Hot Cheeto dust all over your “Everybody Loves Raymond” T-shirt after asking your new high tech shower robot (you will think it’s a robot) to clean that filthy hell hole you call a shower.
Maybe I’m being too harsh but I’m pretty sure I am right about everything, always. GOD DAMN, I’m awesome!
I believe it was the wise and insightful George W. Bush who said “Fool me once, shame on… shame on you. Fool me…………… you can’t get fooled again.” Like most everything George Bush said, I totally agree!
I made the mistake of seeing “Paul Blart: Mall Cop” a few weeks ago. You could say it was my own personal 9/11. It was definitely a tragedy and I immediately made ribbon magnets for my car that say “Paul Blart: Mal Cop – Never Forget.”
Imagine how difficult it was for me to see a trailer for “Observe and Report,” the new mall cop movie starring Seth Rogen. I was still suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder after Blart and simply was not mentally prepared for another catastrophe.
The most confusing thing about these dueling mall movies is that the female lead of each movie is NOT the same actress! Kevin James’ love interest in Blart is Jayma Mays, who looks exactly like Seth Rogen’s love interest in Observe, Anna Faris. In fact, until I did a little research, I was sure both movies starred the same girl.
Is this the beginning of same strange Twilight Zone scenario where eventually every movie is about a fat mall cop who falls in love with a blonde mall employee? It already seems like Seth Rogen is in every new movie. Is Seth Rogen taking over the planet? Is he an alien lusting after human blood? I’ve got you figured out Rogen, and like George W. Bush said “I know what I believe. I will continue to articulate what I believe and what I believe… I believe what I believe is right.”
I always thought Indiana had the worst state slogan with their lame “Crossroads of America,” which basically means “Nothing to See Here, Keep Driving.” Well Indiana, you should thank Wisconsin for announcing today that their new official slogan is “Live Like You Mean It!”
I just about fell off my chair* when I heard this hilarious news. Have you ever been to Wisconsin? Has the Wisconsin Board of Tourism ever been to Wisconsin?!? Wisconsin is not a bad place, in fact I like a lot of things about Wisconsin, but it’s hardly a seize-the-day kind of place. Maybe seize-the-nachos and beer. Carpe diem? Nope.
Now if you are from Wisconsin and think I am unfairly categorizing Wisconsinites as “fat” please do not waste your breath. I have lived in the Midwest my entire life so I know firsthand what a bunch of fat fucks we (not me) are. We like our meat, we like our cheese and we like our beer. Then we like some more meat, some more cheese and 6 more beers. If you give us a salad it fucking better be covered in cheese and bacon or someone is getting hurt.
Back to the topic… how exactly are people from Wisconsin meant to live? What if they don’t “mean it,” should they give up hope and sit around getting fat and drunk? Hey, that sounds a lot like Wisconsin! Perhaps a better slogan would be something like “Mean to Live but Have Another Beer Instead.”
First off, sorry for the non-post. I’m fucking busy so get off my back!
