You just made my list!

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

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.

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!

Hey great, you found a way to make creepy mannequins even more nightmarish!

Maybe it’s because I accidentally said “excuse me” to a mannequin once, or maybe it’s because female mannequins with erect nipples honestly turn me on a little, I don’t know but I just sort of feel animosity towards them. They stand there judging you with their perfect bodies and handless wrists, convincing you to buy shit at Old Navy that you don’t even like. They suck you in with their spell and make you ponder unthinkable things like, “maybe those Dockers would look good on me.”

Mannequins are assholes, but living mannequins are the poo that squeezes out of that asshole. I feel dumb enough at the mall without some vapid, shiny model giving me the stink-eye while I check out the crotch of their jeans. I’m sorry, I just need to see if it’s a zipper or a button fly. I can’t help it if you happen to be wearing those jeans as I slowly run my pizza-covered hands up the inner thigh of the Levi’s I may or may not purchase. Who told you to be a fucking mannequin for a living?

The word mannequin, when broken down to its Latin roots, literally translates to.. how the fuck do I know what it means? I just know it doesn’t mean 19-year-old-dumb-model-standing-there-making-me-feel-uncomfortable-while-I’m-staring-at-her-nipples.

I was all set to write about how much I hate the Oscars, but God damn it, I didn’t mind them this year. I was happy to see The Hurt Locker steal awards away from that piece of shit Avatar. Keep in mind, I have not seen either movie and yet I have a strong opinion on both. I’m proud to be an American!

Since I have celebrities on my mind, let’s talk about how much more awesome I am than Johnny Depp.

I like Johnny Depp as an actor and I’m sure it would be fun to get drunk with him and have a sword fight. Not like a penis sword fight, I mean with real swords. Although, he was in those pirate movies so it wouldn’t be very fair. OK, let’s just say we get drunk and MAYBE have a pee sword fight. The point I’m clearly making is that this guy dresses like he was part of some childhood game where the participants are blindfolded and race to see how many articles of clothing they can put on before time is up.

I mean what is this guy’s thought process in the morning? “OK, let’s see here… two pairs of jeans, socks on my hands, a leather belt and car keys around my neck, a diaper, five shirts, peanut butter in my hair, tampons in my ears and finally I think I will top it all off with the kind of hat computer programmers wear on game night. Done and done!”

Have you ever seen anything more disgusting than former Miss Universe Jennifer Hawkins posing nude without being airbrushed in Photoshop? I seriously think I’m going to be sick. I had no idea a human being could be so grotesque!

I caught this vapid idiot bragging about her achievement in humility on some morning talk show and I immediately flew into a rage hurricane and spilled Count Chocula all over my favorite Barenaked Ladies T-shirt.

The best part about this madness is that she’s doing this to promote The Butterfly Foundation, which is “dedicated to changing the culture, policy and practice in the prevention and treatment of eating disorders.” In other words, this incredibly skinny supermodel posed “nude” in a professional studio with professional lighting and professional styling to make girls with eating disorders feel better about their shitty bodies. That’s like playing golf with Tiger Woods to make yourself feel better about your own golf skills, or watching Tiger Woods fuck porn stars to make yourself feel better about the slobs you go home with. (My hilarious comedy is topical!)

I mean, take a look at these photos of Jennifer Hawkins naked and tell me if it makes you feel more confident about that nightmare you call your body. Not to mention the fact that she’s so skinny she could wear a wristwatch as a belt. With all those ribs popping out you’d think she was an American Apparel model. If I was a young girl I would start barfing up every meal too.

Why am I so smart?

One of the perks of living in Chicago is our shitty weather. I would estimate that we get about 4 nice days a year. Spring lasts about 15 minutes. Summer is so hot and humid that it regularly kills the elderly. Our fall is basically the 2-hour period between 90-degree heat and 30-degree bullshit. Accordingly, it’s already freezing and snowy here, with a “major” snow storm on the way. Now is the time for all the old-school Chicagoans to start saving public street parking spots with chairs and piles of garbage. It’s a wonder Chicago came in dead last for the 2016 Olympics!

What was I talking about? I should be able to look up at the top of my screen to see my post title, but this new iMac monitor is so fucking huge I have to climb one of those library ladders to see the top of the screen. Boy I’m cranky today!

ANYWAY… I had to break out the giant winter coat today and I’m already suicidal about it. Sure, I could continue wearing my smaller, more aesthetically pleasing coat if I want to freeze my balls off, but I need my balls if I’m ever going to fulfill my dream of putting them on Guy Fieri’s face. So my only option is to wear one of those giant coats with a furry hood and 300 pockets. You know the style, rappers like wear them in the middle of summer. Sure, it’s a warm coat, but climbing into a car while wearing it is like trying to stuff yourself back into your mother’s vagina. Cramming your puffy ass into the car only causes your coat to twist, fold and seemingly grow 5 sizes, so getting the seat belt on is impossible, but no worries, you are literally wearing the equivalent of 8 airbags.

To sum it up… why do I bother getting out of bed?

Yeah that’s right, while strolling through the mall I have not only stepped inside this douche hole, I have PURCHASED a T-shirt there! In fact, I have purchased 3 shirts from Hot Topic and the shame makes me want to set myself on fire.

Occasionally while stopped at red lights in the city I see older “dad” looking guys walking into what is clearly a handjob massage parlor and it is obvious how desperately they don’t want to be seen by anyone, even strangers. They walk quickly, keep their heads down and try to hide behind the collar of their golf jackets. They are willing to suffer through this awkward walk because they want that happy ending! This is exactly how I feel as I quickly duck into the mall’s most shameful teen asshole store. I try to make it look like I accidentally tripped and fell into the store or the wind pushed me in. I’m sorry but I want that God damn Judas Priest shirt, I want my happy ending!

It’s not my fault they have a handful of kickass shirts sprinkled among the other bullshit shitty shit they sell. The problem though is that when I wear one of my Hot Topic purchases I live in fear that someone will know where I got it. I remember seeing a guy wearing the same Johnny Cash T-shirt I purchased at the Topic and I thought “That guy is a dork, he shops at Hot Topic. Oh wait, so do I.” Must be the same when a guy walking into the massage parlor passes a customer on his way out. A simple nod is exchanged that says, “We failed.”