How could Tiger Woods cheat on his wife?!? Oh, I’m so mad at him!
Wait I forgot, that’s not why I’m disgusted with Tiger. I literally could not care less about his quest for pussy. That’s his business. But what does concern me is his quest for Nickelback. Yeah that’s right, did you hear that Woods chose a fucking Nickelback concert for his FIRST public social outing? First he offended women around the globe with his propensity for porn poon and apparently now he’s trying to offend people with ears.
I guess at the very least we can all forget about the mistresses and the dirty text messages now because compared to singing along with “Photograph,” cheating on your wife is nothing. I would forgive this guy for murder before I would for going backstage to hang out with those agents of Satan. Imagine how disappointed Tiger must have been when he realized he was backstage at a Nickelback concert, the one place on earth guaranteed to be void of vagina, except of course for those residing in the ripped blue jeans of the band.
Now, on to more important things. Are you aware a bonafide music legend left a comment on yesterday’s post? Every one please say hello to Randy Jones of the Village People and make him feel welcomed. He’s one of us.
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.”
I wouldn’t have even noticed how shitty your car was if you didn’t stick that ridiculous spoiler on the trunk of your mom’s car, but now it’s all I can think about. Well, I’m also possessed with the thought of forcing you off the road and watching your car roll over five times, fully engulfed in flames. Oh, that’s right, your car CAN’T roll over thanks to that $30 spoiler forcing your 1996 Honda Civic to grip the road like a Formula-1 race car! You win this one Brad.
Thank God that “wing” of yours is keeping your car on the road as you race through the streets of Beaver’s Knob, Wisconsin on your way to work at Bed Bath & Beyond. Oh Brad, I also wanted to let you know, that fat tailpipe you installed doesn’t make your car sound at all like a moped. On the contrary B Dawg, that crazy thing makes you sound like a fucking jet fighter.
Honestly Brad, when you zoom past me in your space ship car that sounds like a cordless drill, my Dockers get a little tight.
I hate to admit this, but I feel it is my duty to be honest. I finally saw the new Guy Fieri game show “Minute to Win It” and I kind of liked it. Not only did I like the show, but I thought Guy was actually a good host. Should I kill myself?
I tuned in so I could write about how much I hated it, and the next thing I know, I was totally on the edge of my seat watching this lady balance plastic cups. Then, out of nowhere, I find myself LAUGHING at some of Guy Fieri’s jokes! Am I in a coma experiencing some twisted dream or is it because this is April fools’ day? I’m thinking it’s the latter you big dumb idiot. Of course I still fucking hate that dime store, rockabilly nut sack.