Ladies, have you ever wanted to transform your jiggling fat rolls into solid hunks of slightly less gelatinous fat? Have you ever wanted to go from a size 53-inch waist down to an incredible 52-inch waist? Do you want to go from looking like fat 1992 Rosanne Barr to the incredibly sexy 2010 Rosie O’Donnell? And most importantly, do you want to reshape your neglected body without making a single lifestyle change or watching what you shovel into your mouth cave?
Then let’s start celebrating with a sack of cake because the Kymaro Body Shaper is about to rock your fat ass!
Why waste all that time at the gym when you can simply cram yourself into a giant sock? Eat what you want and let the magic Kymaro do all the work. Hey, it’s not even your fault that you’re overweight, it’s that damn fat gene that they are always talking about on the news! God did this to you, not Pizza Hut and Mountain Dew!
Some people are just genetically fat and no amount of McNuggets or ice cream can stop them from gaining weight. For example, look at this poor woman below. You can clearly see why she needs an elaborate device to control all that disgusting fat all over her body. When I think about the unlucky guy who has to have sex with this woman… I want to be sick.
Sure, there’s going to be an awkward moment when the young stud in the Affliction shirt you lure back to your apartment sees you naked for the first time. He thought he was going home with Brooke Burke but once you squeeze out of your little space suit there, he’s staring down Delta Burke. Yes, he will start making excuses and will bolt for the door but luckily you are now big enough to fill it.
I think the infomercial host sums it up best when she says, “Keep your doughnuts.” Yes America, keep your doughnuts. Keep them in your cold dead mouth!
Much like its cousins, the line beard and the soul patch, the overly trimmed beard makes me feel uneasy. There’s just something about them that says “I have secrets. I have a secret box in a secret room where I keep my secret things. Keep the fuck away from my secret box in my secret room!”
If you are planning a beard-watching vacation anytime soon might I suggest our southern states if you want to check “The Kenny Rogers” off your beard list. A good place to start is near a church or a store that sells jorts. But really, your best bet is to attend any Blue Collar Comedy Tour event. Your beardless head will spin from all the neatly trimmed beards and goatees within reach. Fight the urge to pet these magnificent creatures however! They may seem soft and cuddly but don’t forget about the box of secrets!
A couple weeks ago I attended the ultra-hip Pitchfork Music Festival. When I walked in the front gate, I thought I had possibly just passed through some sort of Michael J. Fox time portal to 1986. I was thinking, “Shit, have the past 25 years been a dream? Am I still in high school? Am I a virgin again?” Luckily I was still in 2010 and it was simply thousands of unoriginal, uninspired ironic hipsters walking around looking like extras on a John Hughes movie.
There are too many details to write about when it comes to these hipster turds, so I will focus on two unfortunate fashion trends that I thought I would never have to suffer through again.
Two-tone Ray Ban sunglasses!
Life’s a beach, right guys? These glasses were dumb in the 80s and they are even dumber now. If memory serves me, this style of sunglasses was never actually cool in the 80s. They were usually cheap promo items with some company name stamped on the side, like “Newport” cigarettes or “Pert Plus” shampoo. Maybe that’s why they are cool now because they are anti-cool? I can’t tell anymore. All I know is that your funny, ironic sunglasses suck and you smell like Pert Plus.
Girls with giant glasses!
This is a new trend in female hipsterdom that is concerning to me, I call them “Mary Gross Girls.” With this phenomenon we see frumpy girls working their hardest to take their frumpiness to new heights in an attempt to make us think their frumpiness is totally on purpose. “I’m actually super sexy under these culotte shorts that accentuate my incredibly smooth mom-ish FUPA. This mess is all on purpose!” Oh yeah, and they wear giant mathlete glasses, blah blah blah.
New Star Wars characters released! Soon every child and adult nerd will be collecting the new Robert and Mike action figures from the latest installment in the George Lucas franchise, Star Wars: Let’s Golf This Weekend.
That would be a better explanation of this insanity but sadly these things exist on our planet.
As you all know, since the Iraq and Afghanistan wars began, the burka craze appears to be unstoppable! Seems like EVERYONE owns at least a couple burkas. Moms are wearing them to Walmart and kids in the ghetto are shooting each other over them. I don’t need to remind you that the runaway hit last Christmas was the Snuggie Burka!
Even THAT would be a better explanation.
In reality, these are to protect your precious face and hair (?) from the sun. How about this… if you are that sensitive to the sun you just have to stay inside. Maybe it’s selfish, but when I’m bench-pressing sexy babes on the beach for a crowd of onlookers I don’t need to see you and your sun helmet in my peripheral vision. To be honest, it’s dangerous for me and the girl I’m bench-pressing. I don’t have time for your distracting headgear, not now, not ever.
(This is the part where Jeff leaves a comment like “You know actually, these are for burn victims who need extra protection from the sun” and ruins everyone’s fun. Thanks Jeff.)
Ladies, when you go to bed at night do your huge tits slide off the side of the bed and rest on the floor like half-filled beanbag chairs? Have you tried duct tape and rope to hold those jugs in place? There’s got to be a better way! Well, no there isn’t. However, if you are too fancy to stick a can of Coke between your meat pillows, why not try the Kush breast support system.
Ladies, do you like to dress like a whore at night but don’t want to lose your day job at Verizon because your funbags are flopping all over the place? What can you do, bring a nighttime whore outfit to change into after work? What a pain! Thanks to the Cami Secret fake undershirt you can transform effortlessly from boring daytime prude into an awesome, super fun cleavage-rocking slut in seconds! Your boss and coworkers will never know that just under your Cami Secret resides a beautiful, deep canyon of flesh begging to be explored by the lucky guy you are going to hook up with from the “casual encounters” section of craigslist that night.
I’ve avoided talking about this bore for as long as possible but I just can’t take it anymore.
Can we please agree to stop pretending this empty bag is “interesting” and “provocative?” And for the love of GOD, what will it take to stop saying every new female “artist” is the “next Madonna?” I’m sorry but Madonna was tolerable at best so being the next Madonna is like being the next Bud Light.
Yeah, you heard me, Madonna really wasn’t that great. Compared to Lady Gaga, however, Madonna was fucking Johann Sebastian Bach. Compared to Madonna, Lady Gaga is simply Sebastian Bach.*
You can’t polish a turd but apparently if you put that same turd in a costume made out of tampons it’s suddenly pushing artistic boundaries. Here’s an idea, work on the music first and once that’s perfected dress up like cereal boxes all day long. Actually no, forget that, I’m officially declaring no more costumes for anyone. It’s been done and it’s been done better… David Bowie, Kiss, Devo, David Byrne, The Village People, GWAR, The Ramones, Elton John, The Residents, Marilyn Manson, etc.
So there you have it, I have spoken, it is written and I’m sure within a matter of days Lady Gaga’s career will be over. (please don’t wake me from this dream)
*Was that a good joke, I honestly can’t tell anymore.
I’m going to keep this short for exactly 2 reasons.
1) I got home late after dinner and drinks at the latest trendy hipster whiskey tavern (more on that later).
2) My neighbors are going apeshit because we won the Stanley Cup and there’s a good chance our apartment will burn to the ground by morning.
3) There’s only so much to say about these assholes.
4) It’s late, I’m tired and I hate blogs.
Sooooooooo anyway. Tonight was my second trip to the latest hipster hangout in Chicago. It’s more saloon than “bar” and the amount of waxed handlebar mustaches and suspenders holding up tiny pants is staggering. Apparently now it’s cool to look 90s… 1890s. Just ask loyal reader of this amazing website, Erica, about the transportation of her coworkers.
My point is this… FUCK YOU, YOU RIDICULOUS BORING HIPSTERS.
My point is also this… I have coined a phrase for this new breed of precious turn-of-the-century hipster and all I ask is that you spread it and make it catch on. The “Urban Howdy Doody.”
You want to know what keeps me up at night? (See above)
When did this shit start? Not only are they all wearing matching pants, but they all have matching genitalia crammed into those matching Walmart jeans because no man who allows this to happen has a penis.
I guess if your goal is to make everyone think your entire family works at the same electronics store this is a good idea, otherwise knock it off. Put your foot down, Steve, and say, “Gosh dang it Brenda, I told you ten times, I’m wearing my jean jacket embossed with the Coca-Cola logo and my favorite jean shorts and I really don’t give a hoot what you and the kids wear! I’m me. I’m STEVE! Steve likes his jean jackets with corduroy sleeves and Steve likes his jorts. If you need me I will be in the basement playing with Steve’s, I mean my, trains.” (Door slams… framed “Footprints in the Sand” falls to the floor and shatters like so many of Steve’s dreams.)
Steve doesn’t need this shit, not now, not like this, Brenda.
