You just made my list!

Where do you turn when you need a boring white guy to act opposite a dog? Tom Hanks. But what if he’s too busy and not quite bland enough… call The Belush!

What’s that you say, you need to film a scene where a dog and a salt-of-the-earth tow truck driver put on sunglasses and play the harmonica to get out of a dicey situation? BELUSHI! You need your leading man to share a slice of deep dish pizza with a slobbering dog? BELUSHI! Your dream scene is a man and a dog getting drunk together at a bowling alley? BELUSHI!

Don’t believe me? Well then I would ask you to direct your attention to Jimbo’s resume, which includes…
K-9
Dog’s Best Friend
K-911
Snow Dogs
K-9: P.I.
What’s New Scooby Doo
Underdog
Snow Buddies

Oh shit, that’s right, I forgot to mention that Belushi can also PLAY a dog! You can send me the bill for cleaning your carpet and painting the walls because I know I just blew your mind all over the fucking room.

What the fuck is wrong with white people?

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.

Dicks.

How to “churn the butter”

Step one – Be white.

Step two – Drink two beers (preferably light beer).

Step three – Place upper teeth over bottom lip.

Step four – Think it’s 1989.

Step five – Extend arms from body and move them in circles (preferably not in rhythm to the shitty music playing at your lame office party).

Step six – Look around office party proudly, for you are now the funniest guy in Mergers and Acquisitions.

Step seven – Poop out what little dignity you have left and give up on life*

*If you are male, now is a good time to get adjusted to the new vagina in your Dockers.

These kids think churning butter is funny. These kids are wrong.

Look, I just want to shake your hand, not dance the forbidden Lambada with you.

I was in a band for years that primarily appealed to a male audience that was usually younger than I am. Often times after we saw a hundred faces and rocked them all, those faces would line up to tell us how fucking awesome we were. They were right. Maybe I’m a fuddy-duddy, but I used to PANIC when some young DJ-type guy would stretch his hand towards me with a smile on his face because I knew I was about to fail at being “cool.”

I could always tell right away from the angle of the hand that this was not going to be my grandfather’s handshake. Oh no my friend, this handshake was going to involve all my concentration and would most likely end in a one-armed, back punching, bro hug. If not a hug, it would at the very least, require me to anticipate what his hand was going to do next in a lame attempt to mimic his movements, thus maintaining my status as the coolest guy in the room. If we locked hands in a soul shake would it end there, or do we have to do that finger-snap thing as we release? I’m sweating just thinking about it. Not only do I not know how to do that finger snap thing, I don’t fucking want to know how! I refuse to practice. I refuse to learn.

I bet a Guy Fieri handshake lasts like 45 minutes and ends shirtless. I have to go throw up.

It is not going to be easy getting through this without vomiting.

I hate hippies. Everyone hates hippies. The only thing worse than a hippie is a hippie with dreadlocks. Ew, a little barf just came up. By definition dreads are disgusting. They are born from neglect and filth (on white people). HOWEVER, somehow it works on real Rasta dudes. BLACK Rasta dudes! It’s an entirely different story when Brad from Cinnabon lets his disgusting hair brush against your cinnamon roll. Sure, Brad loves Sublime and owns Bob Marley’s Greatest Hits on CD and MP3 but he’s hardly “jammin.” Now get me another cinnamon roll you smelly hippie and this time keep that shitty hair of yours out of my delicious icing! You know what Brad, forget it, I don’t even want a cinnamon roll anymore, in fact I may never eat again.

Ironically, these white dirt bags attempt to give off this “hey man whatever” vibe when in reality they are thinking, “hey man look at me, I’m cool, I’m different, do you think I’m cool, I’m in your face, me me me love me.”

If my kid ever tried to pull this shit I would ship him off to Jamaica to live in a tenement yard in Trenchtown.