You just made my list!

Let me tell you something pal, if you say one negative thing about SkyMall I will hunt you down and I will cast a spell upon you with my Harry Potter® magic wand! SkyMall fucking RULES!

I hate flying. I’m not afraid to fly but I hate everything about the process. I hate getting up early. I hate airports. I hate huge crowds of cranky people dressed in their finest sweatsuits. But mostly I hate how cramped, uncomfortable and boring sitting on an airplane is. There is only ONE thing that I look forward to… the SkyMall catalog.

I’m not kidding, slowly soaking up every page is one of life’s purest joys. Forget your shitty wedding and the birth of your dumb kids, SkyMall trumps them all.

There is an art to reading SkyMall and when done properly it can easily provide two or more hours of entertainment. Only an amateur asshole would start flipping through the glorious pages of SkyMall while still sitting on the runway. Idiots. A connoisseur knows to wait until about 30 minutes into the flight, right about the time you begin to level off. Believe me, I know how hard it is to fight the temptation to sneak a peek before takeoff but you MUST fight it!

After about 30 minutes you are free to begin your journey through the greatest products known to man. I like to spend about five minutes just staring at the cover. This is like the foreplay or the romance, if you will. I think about how excited the inventor of the Floating Bar must have been when he learned he was that month’s cover product. Chills.

On the flight to my destination I like to spend most of my time concentrating on the photos, this way I can enjoy all of the product descriptions on my way back. This technique should give you about an hour of bliss on each flight. Smart.

I sit there and imagine how good my life would be if I just had some unsightly pipe to cover with a plastic rock or some snow to rake. Damn it, these people are so lucky! I wonder how I make it through the day without my own Indiana Jones leather bullwhip and why I have never thought to use a propane torch to kill weeds. I fantasize about the looks on my dumb friend’s faces when they are startled by my awesome garden statue and the girth of my incredible noodle. They are going to be so jealous, I hate them. But nothing makes me happier than this (you still have time to buy me one for Christmas).

You are probably wondering what the Holy Grail of SkyMall aficionados might be. I will tell you but I might get a little emotional in the process. Ahab had Moby Dick, Don Quixote had windmills but my white whale has yet to show itself in my presence. The day I get on a plane for my return flight and discover a new issue of SkyMall, not yet available on my previous flight, waiting for me in the seat pocket… I’m sorry but thinking about it right now has me in tears. That day will be the best day of my life.

Tags: air planes, me, products, SkyMall, the greatest thing ever

Unless you make a living shooting 80s porn in your home or hope to one day rent your house out to Chris Hansen’s cock-block-a-thon “To Catch A Predator” series, I would suggest avoiding vertical blinds. They only lead to bad things.

Sure, passing through vertical blinds is like walking inside a giant tickley mustache, and who doesn’t love that? And yes, it’s really awesome the way they gently knock everything off your plate as you attempt to navigate your way through them at your family reunion, but is that enough? IS IT?

Vertical blinds are like elderly security guards, they sort of get the job done but ultimately just end up making everyone sad who has to be in their presence.

Tags: homes, the worst thing ever, ugly, white trash

I rarely (maybe never) personally call out people who leave moronic comments on this website, mostly because a majority of the comments I receive are pretty decent. When I say “decent” I don’t only mean people who agree with me, there have been plenty of intelligent comments that disagree with my opinions (even though I am always right). But the thing most of my readers do not realize is that I am flooded with comments on old posts on a daily basis. There are some crazy back and forth arguments that go unnoticed by most readers.

At this point I should admit that I LOVE hate mail, I honestly do. The hate mail I receive is some of the most entertaining reading material I get to experience and it usually just reinforces my awesome opinions on any given subject.

I realize it’s kind of lazy for me to write about this subject but I wanted to share a comment I received this weekend concerning those prancing, lip-syncing turds, Celtic Thunder. Actually I get a lot of funny hate mail on that one but this one really made me happy. It’s not the craziest comment I have seen but it still made my day. I don’t even need to explain why it’s ridiculous, just site back and enjoy…

WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH THIS PERSON CELTIC THUNDER ARE THE BEST SINGERS IN THE WORLD (ESPECIALLY DAMIAN AND RYAN) AND WHO EVER WROTE THIS ARTICLE I’M GOING TO HUNT YOU DOWN.!

YOU LITTLE IMMATURE FREAK SHOW GET A FUCKIN LIFE YOUR JUST JEALOUS BECAUSE THEY HAVE MORE TALENT IN ONE HAIR STRAND ON THERE HEAD THEN YOU DO ON YOUR WHOLE ENTIRE BODY. JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU SHIT HEAD, FUCK OFF, THEN GO AND EAT SHIT OUT OF A DITCH YOU SHITTY ASSHOLE!!!!!!……SUCK THAT…..WHAT!

Tags: dumb, idiots, me, the end of the world

OK, if you are a female you might as well tune out right now because I think this might be a boys-only kind of rant. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe this is a me-only kind of rant. Who cares, I just suffered through an hour and a half of Project Runway and I’m cranky thanks to an accidental nap. I fucking hate naps.

Look, shut up for a second, all I’m trying to say is that when I was a kid I would stare at the toy section of the Sears catalog until my eyes would bleed and every year they would feature a mini pool table. I would stare at it and imagine myself setting up an entire room of mini pool tables in my basement, turning it into a dark and smoky mini billiards hall with mini Asian men gambling in the corner and mini blues musician types shooting pool and drinking Scotch while a mini George Thorogood bad-to-the-boned his way around the room. How could it not be great?

Well guess what, it was all a lie! If you want to see a child’s dreams die just watch them play miniature pool for the first time. Fuck you Sears!

Nobody cares. Why are you even reading this?

Tags: games, products, the worst thing ever

Are you in a wacky improv group but just don’t know how to convey how hilarious you are in your promo photo? I am here to help with a few tips.

1) Forget everything you know about what adults find funny. Remember in 2nd or 3rd grade when sticking your tongue out in a photo was considered edgy? Well guess what motherfucker… IT STILL IS! Make a funny face, crank your jaw to the side, cross your eyes and bend your fingers all silly like. This technique is know as the “Stephen Hawking” and its power to illustrate wackiness should not be underestimated.

2) If you want to get a little more advanced have a couple members give a “sexy” look. This works best when delivered by the most overweight male or female in your group.

3) Suits! Yeah, suits are funny. Why? Because it’s unexpected! People expect you to be in jeans and t-shirts so you go ahead and turn their world upside down by doing the opposite. Think about it, Carrot Top in a tie-dye tank top… funny, Carrot Top in a suit… I think you get my point.

4) James Bond finger guns. It’s simple really, just imitate your favorite James Bond poster but use your fingers as guns. I know, right? People will be like “What?” and then they will start peeing their pants.

5) This one is NOT optional. Any successful impov group knows to ALWAYS climb all over each other in their promotional photo. Really get in there and fight for it like your job at Best Buy depends on it. Stretch those arms and legs like crazy until the whole group looks like some sort of rollicking comical octopus. Holy shit, I’m laughing just picturing it.

It’s that easy, just ask these guys.

Tags: comedy, douchebags, improv, photography

Yeah, I masturbated to this novelty, disappearing clothes pen. Jealous?

I’m not proud of it (maybe a little) but it happened and I think we should all just acknowledge it and move on.

How was it that I found myself straining my eyes to masturbate to a tiny naked lady on an ink pen? That is a great question, thanks for asking. You see, the year was 1998, the Barenaked Ladies (ironically) topped the charts with their brilliant Canadian-comedy-pop-rap, Robin Williams turned the world of pediatrics on its red rubber balls with his touching portrayal of Patch Adams and thanks to pre-9/11 American bliss we were still innocent enough to masturbate to pens at work.

I was an optimistic young man working at a mid-sized company and occasionally I had a little extra time on my hands (ironically). Don’t get me wrong, I worked very hard (ironically) for this company but when I was between projects I had to literally stare at my desk. All you whippersnappers out there don’t know what it’s like to kill time at a job WITHOUT THE INTERNET but it was brutal!

Sure, I perfected the 20 minute walk around the office looking busy and the taking a nap sitting upright at my desk with my hand on the mouse (ironically) but that wasn’t always enough. Now, the following formula may seem foreign to you ladies but do your best to follow along…

Boredom + Time + Penis = Masturbation

The only unknowns in that equation are how and where. And in my case, which pen to bring along.

It was pretty simple really. I would bring my date, either the tall blonde in heels or the cute brunette with the big 70s bush, into the bathroom stall and quickly do my business. It had to be quick because the receptionist’s desk faced the entrance to the bathrooms and I’m sure she knew the time it took the average person to pee and/or poop. Any deviation from those two options would not go unnoticed so I really had to emulate the duration of a normal poo session. If someone walked into the bathroom while I was romancing myself I immediately ceased operations and switched to simulated pooping. It was the perfect plan.

Keep in mind, this only happened a couple times because usually I was too busy and the sadness of jerking off to a pen was not lost on me.

Deal with it.

Tags: masturbation, me, porn, sex, the greatest thing ever, the office, the worst thing ever

Shit, where will I buy my fanny packs and shiny disco leggings now?

Ironic hipsters and flat-chested teen runaways (AKA future American Apparel models) the world over are freaking out because dressing like a fucking asshole is about to get a little harder. Seems that Dov Charney’s business model of sitting around masturbating all day and rehashing every fashion mistake of the 80s is not working out too well.

You’d think a company that sells satin jackets and features vaginal penetration in their ads would be around longer.

Bye bye now.

Tags: american apparel, assholes, douchebags, dov charney, fashion, the greatest thing ever, the worst thing ever

You know what “flickr” stands for?

Finding
L something
I something
Creepy
K something
R something.

OK, maybe I didn’t work that out very well but my brain is about to melt thanks to finding the world’s scariest photo.

I want to be delicate here because the photographer had good intentions (if you call taking a photo of your grandfather on his deathbed a good idea) but holy shit do I wish I never saw this nightmare. I mean COME ON, it’s got everything you need to keep you up at night… exposed light bulb in a dark room, grainy black & white, mysterious little dolls, a crucifix and a dying grandfather who looks remarkably like he’s wearing a “Michael Myers” mask.

Blow it up at your own risk, I’m pretty sure it steals your soul.

Tags: creepy, death, old man, photography, the worst thing ever