Wilford Brimley scares the shit out of me. Actual shit comes out of me when I see him.
Why is he SO angry all the time? Although I am not elderly and do not have “diabeetus,” I still called Liberty Medical and ordered 5 years’ worth of supplies just because Wilford looked like he was going to jump out of the TV and wipe that smile off my face, punk. I probably got diabetes from all the fucking Quaker oatmeal the son-of-a-bitch instructed me to eat in the 80s. OK, I don’t think excessive amounts of oatmeal gives you diabetes, but Jesus Christ, Wilford Brimley has some sort of creepy control over me. I feel like my dad is yelling at me when I see one of his commercials.
I will admit that Wilford was a total bad-ass in John Carpenter’s remake of “The Thing.” Of course he was playing a scary old man, so it wasn’t much of a leap for him.
Wilford Brimley doing what he does best… yelling at you to buy things.
Buy some crap, and GET OFF MY LAWN!
“This little shit eats peaches & cream every blessed, god damned morning.”
“We will not be quiet!
We will not try to blend in!
We will not disappear in the background or play second fiddle!
We’re not like the others, we won’t ever try to be!”
You might think this battle cry was overheard at a recent gay marriage rally but NO, you stupid idiot, that’s your mayonnaise talking, bitch!
Fuck you world, I love Miracle Whip and if you don’t like it you can eat my creamy, white shit. Don’t try and tell ME and MY generation what condiments we should eat. Take your old man sandwich spread and shove it up your old man ass because guess what motherfucker, I’m going to eat Miracle Whip with a spoon while getting a mohawk. Look dude, I don’t care if I spill a little M-Whip on my Ron Paul poster, because that’s the way it goes man when you are fucking vibing on a jar of the Whip! Now if you will excuse me, I have to comb my ironic mustache and down a little Whip before going to my bike messenger job. Jealous?
You can have my Miracle Whip when you pry it from my COLD, DEAD, FAT HAND!
First, I need to put myself on my list for watching NBC’s latest waste-of-video tape “I’m a Celebrity… Get Me Out of Here!” three nights in a row. In fact, as I type this I am watching Janice Dickinson cry because John Salley called her a bitch and a motherfucker for spilling water in his boots and using his shampoo. Stephen Baldwin thinks he’s justified and Sanjaya just wants to chill on the hammock. Oddly, Patti Blagojevich is the most likable person on the show. I’m only watching because I want to see when the actual celebrities join the cast. I mean, they are going to have celebrities on this show at some point, right?
Anyhoo, thanks to this future Emmy-winner, I have been introduced to Janice Dickinson’s fleshy horror show that she calls a neck. I could probably type the night away about Janice Dickinson’s loathsome personality but it’s really her ghastly neck that has ruined my night. RUINED IT! I’ve been trying to figure out the best way to describe her neck and I think I figured it out. It looks like an enormous, veiny penis! Yeah, she’s a shriveled head sitting precariously on top of a beastly, repulsive monster cock.
Enough already with the little people, TLC! I have nothing against these (or any) little people, but that does not mean I want to watch them buy groceries and mow the lawn. No offense little people, but you are as boring as “normal” people. Just because you are wearing doll clothes, it does not make the mundane suddenly exciting. WOW, that was mean! Sorry about that little people, you just got hit with a little (no pun intended) rage shrapnel. My beef is really with TLC. The latest addition to their cavalcade of tiny people is “The Little Couple.” From what I gather it’s a show about a couple that is little. I bet the Roloff family from “Little People, Big World” is up in tiny arms over this new show.
Is it just me or is TLC turning into the freakshow tent of the basic cable circus? Seems like every time I whiz past TLC, there’s either an 800-lb. woman being lifted from her bedroom window by helicopter or a there’s a fucking guy turning into a tree. A TREE!
I’m sorry, but doesn’t TLC stand for “The Learning Channel?” What exactly am I learning from TLC? I’m learning to thank pretend God for not giving me two heads and extra hands growing out of my back.
Does this piece of shit commercial only run in Chicago? If you have not seen it, I apologize in advance for ruining your day. I might even be ruining the joy of cooking a meal that ends with a playful food fight with your lover, and I know how much you love that.
The level of fake fun in this Luna commercial is excruciating! If given the choice of kicking either Guy Fieri or this spatula-singing fuckface in the balls, I would seriously have to think about it for several minutes before kicking them both in the nuts and acting like I misunderstood the question.
I’m sorry.
While doing my “research” I discovered that Luna has been around for a long time. Although I grew up in the Chicago area I have never seen these gems. They almost make up for the “Free Flooring” cock-licker.
FUCK! I spent the last 9 months cleansing the brain space that had previously been invaded by “We Like to Party” by the Vengaboys but thanks to a new round of annoying Six Flags commercials it’s right back in there.
I know I already wrote about Six Flags and their mind-numbing commercials that seem to run during EVERY SINGLE commercial break but the gates of hell have opened once again, only this time Mr. Six is actually speaking. It makes me very uncomfortable and I want it to stop as soon as it starts, sort of like an inappropriate hug from a step uncle. On a side note, I just googled “step uncle” to see if it was one word or two and discovered this insanity…
“I have a freind [sic] who is dating her step uncle, they are not related by blood at all, but is it right? because i feel i should advise my freind [sic] on this!”
“Step uncle-step niece relationships are not prohibited under Leviticus 18 in and of itself. As long as, they are of age I don’t see the problem.”
I’m sorry for my lack of focus but what the hell?
OK, what was I talking about? Who cares. I also saw that Mr. Six is on Twitter which reminds me, follow me on Twitter if you want to ruin your day, possibly week.
God, this is the worst site on the internet, why are you still bothering with me?
I made the mistake of accidentally seeing the last 10 minutes of American Idol last night and now I want to hide inside my testicles for the rest of my life. When Adam Lambert and the other douchebag finalist started singing Queen’s “We Are The Champions” I was already booking my flight to L.A. so that I might kick them in their smooth areas. But I was not prepared for what was about to happen next. The stage opened up and there were the surviving members of Queen backing up these turd wads. Yeah, the real fucking god damn QUEEN sharing the stage and taking a backseat to those two motherfuckers! I don’t want to live in a world where Queen has to share a stage with Adam Lambert’s eyeliner. I’m sure as I write this Freddie Mercury’s corpse is zombie walking its way to Brian May’s house looking for answers.
