You just made my list!

How is this real?

Writing about getting your fat ass massaged at the mall reminded me of another utterly useless form of relaxation. I am of course speaking of reading a good book on the beach. Oh, and also oxygen bars!

If the sky was made of free beer would you still bother going to a bar to BUY beer? (And with that sentence, I complete my journey to becoming the world’s bestest thinker. Me smart!)

Do you realize these idiots are paying over a dollar a minute to breathe flavored air? Suck that concept up your nose holes and try to understand it. Oh, but it must be special oxygen because look at all those colorful beakers of bubbling potions! If it looks like science from the classic 60s Batman TV show it must be good!

The meaningless fun does not end there. If you are feeling a little frisky you can have one of the bartenders(?) mash a piece of hard plastic into your spine or dig out your brain with a German mind-scraper used in the late 17th century to extract homosexual fantasies and other demonic thoughts from your skull.

I quit.

Tags: air fresheners, dumb, oxygen bar, the end of the world

“Blah blah blah. Yap yap yap…”

“Is he talking to us? Is he a crazy person talking to a mailbox or is he a high-powered attorney?”

What’s that? You lost both of your arms in a farming accident? Great, you may use a bluetooth earpiece. You might still look a little douchey, but realistically people will mostly be staring at your stumps and will not even notice that dumb thing in your ear. It’s up to you.

For the rest of you two-armed humans, I implore you to stop walking around like some pathetic cross between the Pillsbury Doughboy and the Terminator. This is where you say in the fucking annoying voice of yours,”Shut up jerk, in my town it’s illegal to drive while talking on a cell phone unless it’s hands-free.” (Have you ever heard a recording of your voice? It sounds like a cat in a meat grinder.) Listen you pussy, break the law like a real man and quit cryin’ bout it.

I guess I don’t really care if you want to look like a tool walking around with that shit in your ear but stop looking at me and talking to your imaginary friend. I’m old and it confuses me! In my day, when someone looked in your direction while speaking it meant a conversation was being initiated or possibly a wise drifter was going to teach you a life lesson. Nowadays, apparently it’s OK to broker real estate deals 4 inches from my face and somehow I’m supposed to be the asshole for thinking you were talking to me.

I hate everything.

Tags: bluetooth, cell phones, douchebags, products, technology

Can’t I just walk to Old Navy and return these cargo pants in peace without seeing your fat lazy ass getting molested by a robot in front of Cinnabon?

I don’t need to see you on the brink of an orgasm while you sit there getting a happy ending from a La-Z-Boy in your Everybody Loves Raymond T-shirt. And for the love of God, can you PLEASE put your shoes (Crocs) back on? Your dirty Frito toenails are ruining my appetite for Sbarro.

Is this “massage” a wise investment? Can you really relax while basking in the glow of The Cell Phone Zone? Luckily, you won’t need massage oil because the sweat of every Insane Clown Posse fan who preceded you keeps your little robot chair nice and lubed.

Congratulations, you found a way to make shopping malls even more horrible.

Tags: america, fat, lazy, malls, massage, shopping

(world’s largest sigh followed by eye rolling so intense it causes vomiting)

Video games are fun, I get it. I practically got an erection on Christmas morning, 1983, when I saw a present under the tree that was the exact size of an Atari 2600. I hadn’t even unwrapped the thing yet and I was already pissing my Yoda jammies from excitement. But I’m sorry, it just seems wrong for the Cub Scouts to award kids for playing video games.

Maybe “wrong” is not the best way to describe it, “lame” is probably more appropriate. Cub Scouts should be all about tying knots, burning stuff in campfires and watching your dad build you a kickass Pinewood Derby car, because let’s face it, he’s more excited about building that car than you are. Say, that reminds me, did you know you can now buy pre-built Pinewood Derby cars that require no effort other than slapping a few stickers on it? Fuck that! Pinewood Derby was all about seeing whose dad was awesome and whose dad was no better than a little girl. Want to know which dads have a sweet set of tools and which dads secretly give handjobs in forest preserves… you need look no further than Pinewood Derby day. Pinewood Derby was a thinly veiled pissing match for the dads and it should stay that way.

Where was I? Oh yeah, video games. Um… I’m bored with that subject, I should have made this post about Pinewood Derby. Fuck everything!

Tags: children, cub scouts, kids, the end of the world, video games

When I heard that melty face Celine Dion spent millions constructing a water park in her back yard for her ONE child, Rene Charles, I immediately knew I had to write about it but I had a hard time finding a justification for hating it so much. Then I decided, fuck it, it’s obscene and wrong, simple as that.

I am not some dirty, tall bike-riding hippie who thinks nobody should be rich. By all means, get rich singing your shit songs, have a big house and a fancy car, but at some point I can’t stomach ridiculous displays of wealth. What fucking 9-year-old needs a private water park? I’m sorry, it’s just kind of sickening when you think about the fact that there are millions of kids who go to sleep hungry every night. Now this is where Celine Dion fans put down their doughnuts (a rare occurrence) and chime in with “Hey jerk, Celine Dion has given X amount to charity.” I don’t care, I will never be on board with shit like this.

Plus, what kind of a monster are you creating when you treat your kid like king of the universe? When I was a kid, all of my toys fit into one toy chest and my childhood didn’t seem to suffer. Somehow I found the strength to face each new day even though a miniature Mercedes with a working DVD player was not parked in my driveway.

I swear to God, if one person says that I am jealous I will hunt you down and I will destroy you with my incredibly potent farts. I wouldn’t mind being rich but I honestly could never live like Celine Dion.

Sorry this one wasn’t very funny. Sometimes I just have to deliver hard-hitting, award winning commentary.

Tags: assholes, celine dion, money, music, swimming

Yeah yeah, I know… “You’re really phoning it in Listy.” Fuck off, I have a job and sometimes it requires me to blow off being awesome on this website that you worship so much. On the other hand, you are in for a real treat. My friend (also editor of this site) sent me one of these clips today and I am embarrassed by how much I enjoyed it.

So sit it back, snap into a Slim Jim and enjoy the only good thing about those fucking annoying novelty singing fish pieces of shit.

Tags: drunk, fish, youtube

You can’t polish a turd but apparently you can take its picture.

God bless you for thinking some zitty kid at the mall can magically turn your nightmarish face into that of a mid-level 80s porn star. Don’t get me wrong, nothing turns me on like a woman with high hair in an acid washed jacket holding her collar with sausage fingers while giving me that “Do me on top of this cat calendar” look.

I just get so hot when I think about slowly removing your vinyl cropped motorcycle jacket from Walmart, ripping open your velcro fly jeans and making love to you on a pile of Star magazines while your Precious Moments figurines nervously watch the entire sweaty mess. I want to trace the curve (yes, the one curve) of your body with a jumbo Cheeto before placing it in your hungry mouth with my orange fingers. Finally, as we time our orgasms perfectly to verse 11 of “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald” I will pour a two-liter bottle of Mr. Peepers (your favorite generic Dr. Pepper) all over our naked bodies right there on the dirty floor of your trailer.

Gallery of sexy women holding their collars

Tags: cheese, fashion, Glamour Shots, hair, sex, white trash

Fuck me.

Spring is in the air which can only mean one thing… Six Flags will be entering your soul, Freddy Krueger style, while you sleep and filling your mind with nightmarish dancing bald things in tuxedos, all set to a torturous soundtrack of pumping Vengaboys music. Welcome to hell.

Why is Six Flags trying to get me to commit suicide? First they tried to break my spirit with Mr. Six, followed by the yelling mad Asian guy. When I came out of that experiment alive they instructed that dancing penis to talk! I somehow made it through that summer without chopping my own head off but I’m not so sure I can make it to June thanks to the introduction of Mr. Six’s baby(?) “Little Six.” What the fucking fuck is going on?!? I feel like I’m watching an incredibly well-dressed kid with Progeria have a seizure.

And kudos to their ad agency for getting right on that Austin Powers/Mini Me craze (of 1999)! Top notch work.

Take me now lord, I’m begging you!

Tags: assholes, commercials, little six, mr. six, six flags, the end of the world, TV