You just made my list!

“Help, my husband is having a heart attack!”

“Don’t worry ma’am, I’m a mixologist.”

“Wait, huh? How is that going to help?”

“I told you, I’m a M-I-X-O-L-O-G-I-S-T.”

“What the? Is there a doctor in the house? Please hurry!”

“What part of OLOGIST don’t you understand?”

“All of it.”

And… scene!

Don’t get me wrong, I like a good bartender who knows his or her shit and can whip up some old school cocktails, but can we stop with this “mixologist” nonsense? If your main source of income comes in the form of tips you are not allowed to be an “ologist” of any sort. Your job description can include “tender” or “keep” but let’s stop pretending you work at NASA.

Be proud to be a bartender! You are among greats like Tom Cruise, Moe, the slutty whores of Coyote Ugly and Tammy. Stop in and see Tammy!

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.)

If I wasn’t sort of drunk right now I would put more effort into this and believe me it would be HILARIOUS. Such is life.

Plus, what the fuck could be said about this?

“Holy shit Linda, I think I’m having a heart attack!”

“What did you say Brad? I’m scrapbooking.”

“I said I’m having a fucking heart attack! You need to get me to the hospital!”

“Oh jeez, don’t panic, I saw a really cute commercial the other day for a hospital. The doctors looked so handsome and the girl doctors were Asian. What the heck was it called?”

“Just call 911 Linda!”

“Hold your horses mister, I think you would really like this place, it had a real cute entrance with a cute fountain and the doctors were walking in slow motion. It made them look very hip.”

“I think I just pissed my pants. LINDA!”

“Maybe that dang commercial is on the DVR, I think I saw it during Ellen. Oh, that reminds me, I saved it for you because that sports fella you like was on.”

“Heart…attack…FUCK…THE…DVR!”

“That’s some way to talk! Fine let me check Yelp. Ooooooh, this one gets 4.5 stars! Dave_matthews_1_fan says it has the best vending machines! Brad, does that sound good?”

“Heart…ex…..ex………..exploding.”

“Shoot, sandwich_lover gives it 1 star and says ‘don’t waste your time, I’ve been to better hospitals.‘ Brad what do you think? I wish I could remember what hospital that commercial was for. It was black and white. Brad? BRAD? IT WAS BLACK AND WHITE.”

“dying.”

“OK, keep your pants on. Let me just update my Facebook status real quick and we can be on our way to that vending machine hospital… ‘Leftover pizza, sweat pants, Legos EVERYWHERE and late night trip to the hospital… just another crazy day for the Smithporks!’”

“Take me lord, I am ready.”

“Found it Brad! Honey? Crawl into the living room, I wanna show you.”

Clap. Clap. Clap. Clap. Clap…

That slow clap is for you, Kleenex, for having the balls to stick your middle finger up Mother Nature’s ass and say right to her face, “Fuck you bitch, you’re not the boss of me!” What’s next Kleenex? Q-tips made out out baby seal fur? HELL YEAH, fuckin’ go fuckin’ for it! BEER! (sorry, I’m still kind of amped from the 4th of July)

I will admit, I kind of hate the “green” movement. Not because of what it stands for, it stands for the RIGHT thing and we should all be more conscious about our impact on the environment, but rather I hate the way it has become the flavor-of-the-month for marketing agencies and an empty gesture made by most people. “Sure, I drive a Hummer but I also changed all the lights around the pool to compact fluorescent bulbs, so I’m doing my part.”

But come on Kleenex, disposable single-use hand towels in your home bathroom? Bravo! That’s like trying to sell “I hate America” T-shirts on September 12th. Although, this is one of the rare times I am wrong because people WILL buy this ridiculous gimmick because we (not me, you) are afraid of EVERYTHING in this country.

Kleenex will have everyone believing porn stars sneak into their bathrooms at night and jerk off all over their towels while their family safely dreams about EPCOT Center and Guitar Hero in their bedrooms. Oh, and those porn stars all have AIDS… and bird flu. Also, the birds had AIDS so they are really covering your towels in human AIDS, bird flu and bird AIDS. So if you are keeping score, that’s two AIDS and one flu. ON YOUR TOWELS!

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.

All I know is that every time I get a massage it looks nothing like the tranquil rocks-on-the-back photos I always see advertised. In fact, it’s usually midnight, I’m somewhere near the airport and I’m sitting in the parking lot of a 7-11 trying to freshen up by triggering a Glade Sense & Spray off in my pants. Sorry, I like to be presentable for the ladies, sue me.

But wait, that’s not the point of this post! I’m not attacking hot stone massages, rather I take issue with the endless parade of identical massage stock photos we are forced to suffer through. Sure, the boob squishing out from the side is a check in the plus column but is it enough? Is it enough? I’m here to ask the difficult questions.

I sincerely hope you have found yourself on this page after doing a Google search for “massage stock photos” and I hope you are now rethinking your decision to use a photo of a topless woman with “rock spine.” I understand why you want to use a photo like this but I implore you to help put an end to this epidemic. Let’s do this together, let’s think outside the box.

Maybe… just thinking off the top of my head here… maybe we can try some with the woman on her back? Maybe she’s in heels? You know, something fuckin’ classy.

Remember in the last post when I said my next post would be better? Boy did I get that wrong!

How the fuck did I ever figure out whether or not my beer was cold before the world’s smartest scientists at Coors figured out how to make the box tell me? Hey box, if you’re so smart why don’t you tell me why my parents got divorced?

I’m wondering if people who drink Coors Light might be mildly retarded because Coors finds it necessary to constantly invent space-age cans, bottles and boxes that attempt to explain the difference between cold and not cold to their customers.

Some of you elitists out there are probably using your East Coast liberal voice to say, “Can’t you just touch the can to see if it’s cold?” Oh yeah? Why don’t you get back on your polo horse Spencer, because the working man ain’t got no time to be touching no bottles and cans all day long. Real men are too busy chopping trees the fuck down and hauling them behind their pick-ups with chains to waste time checking the temperature of every beer they encounter. Even if they WANTED to check the temperature of a Coors Light it would be impossible thanks to their leathery man hands.

Wait, I just realized I have no idea if Coors Light is a “working-class” beer or not. Maybe it’s the kind of beer college guys in puka shell necklaces drink? Perhaps it’s the beer you are most likely to see spewing from the mouth of a 38-year-old woman in the parking lot during her 20th high school reunion as Phil Collins’ “Another Day In Paradise” can quietly be heard from inside the Holiday Inn? I have no clue because I literally don’t think I have ever seen a single person drink a Coors or Coors Light.

Isn’t it funny how, like, women want to, like, shop and get married but guys, like, totally just want to watch sports and drink beer?