I donated $50,000 to your shitty event and all I got was this lousy T-shirt!
Think of the business that’s going to pour in from that 1/4 inch logo on the back of the T-shirt for the event you sponsored. Unless your company manufactures exercise equipment or sleeping equipment, don’t waste your time because these t-shirts will be exclusively worn at the gym or as a “sleeping shirt.”
At least with the incredible amount of white space separating each piece of art your logo will REALLY stand out! I think they should combine all the logos into one super logo that fills the entire back of the shirt. Everyone wins!
That’s all I got. There’s BBQ chicken in the next room begging to be eaten.
I share my toys and I also share signs my parents make me hold.
I’m writing this on my brand new computer! When a friend brought “Kidical Mass” to my attention this morning I was so filled with rage I literally ate my old computer. Yeah, I ATE a 27″ iMac!
I realize I just wrote about bike hipsters a couple days ago and have already taken a shit on “Critical Mass” but this is child abuse and it must be stopped. These poor kids are being turned into bearded hipsters and Bon Iver fans without their knowledge. It reminds me of the children of KKK members. Yeah, that’s right, Kidical Mass is exactly the same as the Ku Klux Klan!
Apparently this nonsense is designed to raise awareness about bike safety or something. Here’s an idea, keep your kids OUT OF THE ROAD! The road is for cars, not toddlers with poopies in their pants, struggling to stay upright on a SpongeBob bike. The last thing I need is some mini-hipster scratching my SUV when I’m trying to watch YouTube on my iPhone while driving.
Here’s the deal… If this is just supposed to be some fun family activity don’t name it after such a jackass event. Call it “Family Fun Bike Time Festival of Fun and Bikes!” Everyone (yes EVERYONE) hates Critical Mass except the hipster douchebags who participate in it, so associating your kid with such a bunch of misguided bullshit is lame. Just stay home and listen to Neutral Milk Hotel* as a family.
You know when I run? Never. I MIGHT run if a bear was chasing me but to be honest, I think I would rather be eaten alive than be out of breath. I think being inside a nice warm bear would be much more pleasant that dealing with those darn leg cramps the next morning.
Even with my disdain for using my legs for anything other than as a kickass napping bridge for a fluffy cat, I can still understand why some people enjoy running. I barely understand why anyone would want to subject themselves to a normal marathon but this Antarctica bullshit is just out of hand.
Polar bear clubs are like the Ford Tempos of winter enthusiasts but these over-achiever marathon assholes are the Hummers. “LOOK AT ME! I’M SPECIAL! I’M BETTER THAN YOU!” I hope it’s worth the $4,300 entrance fee plus the money and effort to get your tight ass down to the bottom of our planet so you can run around in your tights with snot frozen to your handsome face.
Want to know what every hipster in Chicago looks like? I mean do you want to know EXACTLY what EVERY hipster in Chicago looks like? Then simply gaze upon this cookie-cutter douchebag. You will have to imagine the body odor but just think of what it might smell like if a dog barfed onions all over a homeless man’s pubes on a 95-degree day.
Look, I get it, people like to be around other people with similar interests but does everyone have to be wrapped in the exact same uniform? Especially when your clique is supposed to be all about individualism and counter-culture blah blah blah.
It used to be that all the “cool” people played in bands but for some reason, in the blink of an eye, everyone ditched their guitars and started pretending to be “Dave” from Breaking Away. I miss the days when hipsters pretended to be working-class British factory workers!
I’m taking a day off, but these childhood photos of Guy Fieri (Real name Guy Ramsay Ferry) should get you through the day. You can already see the seeds of douchiness beginning to grow. I just can’t believe he’s not a natural blond!
I want to take a time machine back just so I can fill his hat with that mustard, Bad News Bears style. Original Bad News Bears style, not that piece of shit remake!
Walking around with a soul patch or a god-awful chin beard is like announcing to the world “I grew a pussy on my face because that’s the only way I will ever get near one.”
While the soul patch and chin beard are equally horrifying, they tend to attach themselves to an entirely different group of tools. Your average chin beard can usually be found sprouting from the unwashed face of most species of white trash, including suburban metal heads, guys who work as bouncers at suburban metal clubs, guys who weld metal by day and play in metal bands by night and guys who pretend to be UFC fighters while listening to metal in their bedrooms. If you really want to take your chin pubes to the next pathetic level just ask your little sister or your mom to dye and/or braid your little face forest (see Alice in Chains, Korn, Anthrax, et al.)
The soul patch is more elusive and difficult to nail down. Tiny lip pussies can be found on middle class beach hippies, jazzbos, ultimate frisbee enthusiasts and old white guys in blues bands. It’s a regular United Nations of douchery. The chin beard sends a “I’m not playing by your rules” message but a soul patch meekly whispers “I’m playing by most of your rules.”
Thank God your shitty kids don’t have to suffer through watching the same program while you DRIVE TO FUCKING WAL-MART!
Are you kidding me with this? It’s not good enough to have a DVD player in your minivan, now you have to have a TV that allows each of your horrible brats to watch their own show? No wonder every kid walks around like they are King Awesome. When did the world start revolving around white, suburban toddlers?
You know what my parents would have said to me if I asked for TV in our car? They would have said “What the fuck are you talking about? It’s 1978.” I was lucky that our car had FM radio, not that I was ever allowed to control it.
When I was about 8 years old we drove 1200 miles (each way) to fucking Florida from fucking Illinois in a fucking station wagon. And guess what assholes, there were four adults so the THREE kids had the pleasure of riding in the back ALL THE FUCKING WAY TO FLORIDA AND BACK. You know what that station wagon didn’t have? A fucking seat in the back so we rode on a hard slab of asbestos filled plastic. Oh yeah, you can forget about that little fantasy of air conditioning too. You know what the craziest thing about that trip was? The fact that all four adults and all three kids fondly look back at that vacation as the best vacation ever.
It was a great trip because we shared the same experience and we were connected as a family. Sure, much of the trip involved the car being pulled over to occasionally beat the children but we were beaten as a family and that’s all that matters.
The more “entertainment” you cram down your kid’s throats the more bored they become. Some of my favorite childhood memories involve lying down on the back seat as we drove through the country, watching the night sky float past as the AM radio filled the car with static-y warmth. Perfection.
Why am I the last person on Earth who can do anything that requires the skill set of the average kindergarten student? How is it that I manage to close and seal a sandwich baggie without the aid of color-coded plastic OR special sounds gently encouraging me and reminding me that I’m doing it right?
The latest sandwich bag technology, “Smart Zip,” comes to us from the genius bag scientists at Ziploc. That’s right idiot, your baggie now comes with sound! As you run your greasy unemployed fingers across your bag of weed it says things like, “You can do it! Good for you, you’re closing the baggie. Don’t give up now, you can do it! Almost there… YAY you did it, high five!” Before you know it, you’ve actually closed a Ziploc bag all by yourself! Next on the agenda, tying your shoes.
Imagine the hellish life of the poor assholes who work in the windowless labs at Ziploc, desperately trying to invent new bag “technology” so they don’t get fired and have their Sea-Doo personal watercrafts taken away. Those Dave Matthews tickets aren’t going to pay for themselves!
“How was your day honey?”
“NOT NOW Carol, I just need a drink. Who the hell drank all the T.G.I. Friday’s Mudslides? Damn it Carol I just made those last freakin’ night. I’ll be in the garage sitting on the Sea-Doo.”
