You just made my list!

Oh thanks beautiful angel for letting me eat your sauce-soaked hair!

There’s only one thing horrible enough to wake me from my recent lazy holiday writing schedule. Angel hair pasta is the pussy of all pastas. I don’t mean that as a compliment, as in, angel hair pasta is awesome like female sexy parts. No, I mean angel hair pasta is the nerd of the pasta world.  Spaghetti is James Brown* and angel hair pasta is the Spin Doctors.**

I think I would rather eat actual hair than ever put another lifeless, slippery tangle of angel hair nonsense in my pretty mouth. Plus, angel hair pasta is always slimy and over-cooked because it’s so fucking thin it’s practically already cooked just from being near a boiling pot of water. It’s like when a little kid pukes just from seeing a roller coaster whiz by. At least in that scenario the people on the roller coaster are having fun, with angel hair pasta everybody loses.

*This could either be the young James Brown or the old drugged out, bat-shit crazy James Brown.

**Pick any era of the Spin Doctors you want.

Sad. Look at your long, luxurious silken mane! Tell me young man, are you a model for romance novels? I honestly thought for a second that you were Fabio. Seriously, I’m not kidding, I saw you and… OH MY GOD, YOU’RE BALD! MY EYES! I WAS SO DISTRACTED BY YOUR BEAUTIFUL PONYTAIL THAT I HADN’T NOTICED! IT BURNS! Come on pal, do you really think those last few tragic strands of hair clinging for life on the back of your head are enough to distract from the polished orb that sits just above? I know you desperately want to tell the world “I’m fun! I own Bruce Springsteen’s greatest hits!” but maybe it’s time to throw in the hair towel and admit that Mother Nature is kicking your head’s ass. I know you have a bit of a “rep” to maintain at the shoelace factory but maybe it’s time to let that new guy in shipping be the “cool, easy-going rock dude” for a while. Nothing wrong with being bald, right? Maybe if you shave your head you will acquire an LL Cool J vibe, or better yet Bruce Willis! There, now we’re talking, you want to be the new Bruce Willis in the neighborhood? I’ll make you a deal, cut off that feeble tail, bury it in backyard and I will buy you a harmonica. I think Bruce Willis said it best… respect yourself.

When will it end?

I have been waiting for Jon Bon Jovi and his hair to go away since 1987 but somehow, like a bland zombie, he keeps eating my brains.

WAIT! STOP! Fight that urge to tell me that 80s Bon Jovi is “awesome” because “Livin’ On A Prayer” sucked then and it continues to exponentially suck now.

“But what about ‘Wanted Dead or Alive?'” you ask. It is true that riding on a steel horse and leaving no face un-rocked has a certain je ne sais quoi but, much like what we see with the Areosmith formula, any awesomeness found within “Wanted Dead or Alive” is erased by 20+ years of faces being sprayed with the shit that spews from this ass’s ass.

The summer before my senior year of high school I was super in love with this mysterious girl who moved to my town from another state, a Bon Jovi loving state. When I discovered she was a huge Jovi fan and not a fan of the flawlessly awesome music I listened to, I had to cut her loose.* Sorry baby, I’ve seen a million faces…

*She dumped me.

First of all, fight the urge to tell me this hairdo is actually called “skunk hair” because I call it “panda hair” and I run the internet.

These black and white dye jobs can usually be found at the mall or Eastern European nightclubs and are most likely accompanied by orange skin, fake designer sunglasses and a yeast infection.

Owners of this hair would defend themselves by saying something like…

FUK U
MA HAIR IZ DA SHIT
AN U R
JUS JELUS BITCH
<3 MUAH <3

While this a valid argument I’m going to go ahead and respectfully disagree.

I like sports as much as the next guy* but come on bros, give your sports boner a rest for 5 minutes.

We get it, you’re a dude, you’re a man, you like beer and you pee standing up. In fact you are such a man that you usually just pee on the floor while crushing a beer can on your forehead. Jeeze, are these guys really so insecure about looking “gay” that they have to get their hair cut at a Hooters?

Plus, have you seen these places? I think they are decorated by the person who did the set decoration for “Saved by the Bell.” You know how the hallways of Bayside were always plastered with crooked posters that said things like “Football Game Tonight” or “School Dance,” well it’s the same, cartoonish atmosphere in these man-a-toriums. SportClips is to sports what The Peach Pit was to diners.

You know how I know you are gay? You get your hair cut at SportClips.

*This is a totally false statement. I guarantee that I like sports much less than the next guy, unless that guy is Austin Scarlett.

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!

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

When you were a child and your parents assured you there was no such thing as the boogeyman… they were wrong. There is a boogeyman and his name is Jaime Gomez or “Taboo Nawasha” or whatever the fuck.

What is up with this turd? Actually, what is up with the whole “band?” What am I missing with this group of misfit toys? Everyone seems to like, or at least tolerate, the Black Eyed Peas but I can’t find a single reason for this phenomenon. Especially with this creepy Medieval Times reject running around like a robot ninja all over the stage.

“Taboo” reminds me of an even more annoying version of the already incredibly annoying Anthony Kiedis. Wait, is it possible they are the same person? They both have that long, flowing hair by Herbal Essence. They both have that Cro-Mag face. They both love to wear gloves at inappropriate times. And the biggest giveaway is their mutual love of incessant karate chopping.

I think this is a conspiracy theory I can get behind.