You just made my list!

Goodbye, turds.

No, you are not turds. Well, some of you are. Wait, when I really think about it, I have dealt with an incredible amount of turds and turd-related activities on this website. To be honest though, it was those turds who got me out of bed each morning. I LOVE all the hate mail that continues to pour in every day, it truly does make my day. I salute you, turds!

But where does that leave you, the non-turd? Well, I love you even more. Yes, even I have the ability to love.

If I may be human for one brief moment, I really have loved hearing from all of you over the last few years but the reality is that I simply do not have the time or energy to continue writing. You may not be able to tell from my past writing, but I actually really put effort into this site and I don’t want to continue unless I feel I can give it my best effort.

“Fuck you Listy, how hard can it be to rant about Guy Fieri?!?”

What did you just say to me? Do you have any idea how much vomit I choked down over the past 3 years while writing about powerful enemies like Guy Fieri, Miracle Whip and corn? Holy shit, I just realized something, if Guy Fieri has a recipe that involves slathering corn on the cob with Miracle Whip I might have to kill myself.

Back to the point… Dedicating 5 nights a week to my genius opinions was taxing but I did it for you, the little people. And WOW, was I good at it! Not to mention, all the hilarious writing I did (and continue to do) in the comments. I really am great, just like you guys always tell me. I’m high-fiving myself. Now I’m taking off my shirt and karate kicking the air while singing a Kid Rock song. I don’t know if it’s a real Kid Rock song but when I sing about America, tits and eagles I just assume it’s probably one of his songs.

So, as much as I hate to say it, I think it’s time for me to close up shop. It feels weird to make it official but all moderately good things must eventually fizzle and die a slow, forgetful death. Like Aerosmith.

I’m trying to find just the right words to sign off with. Something sincere, poignant and heartfelt. Perhaps I will simply say this…

Everything is the worst.

Goodbye.

So, why haven’t I been writing lately? Turns out, when you move to Hawaii, you have to sell everything you own first. And, it turns out, selling everything you own is a fucking pain in the ass that takes up every free minute of your life.

I mention this so that I can fully illustrate my disgust with today’s topic. It takes something insanely stupid to get me motivated enough to hop back on the computer, and today I found it at a Red Robin restaurant.

Has it really come to this? Are Americans actually so lazy that they can’t be bothered to raise their heads to watch TV? Do we need TVs in the floor? You wouldn’t want to miss a single second of Maury Povich while waiting to cram a Fiesta Southwestern Ranch Bacon Spicy Beef Jerky Slim Jim Burger with extra bacon crumble and a side of bacon juice down your fucking throat. Who’s the real father of the baby? I don’t know but there’s a good chance he’s in back “cooking” my “food.”

We deserve to have our economy collapse. We deserve Donald Trump as our President. We deserve Jersey Shore and the Kardashians. We are pathetic. It’s over.

I am fairly certain Dr. Ted Leon is getting a blowjob just off camera in this commercial because nobody should ever look that happy, ever. In fact, you really shouldn’t even be making that face while getting a blowjob! I prefer the angry look, the one where you look like you are pissed at the person servicing you. I sometimes even shake my head in disgust. It’s the same look I use while air-drumming to Rush songs. I used this facial expression once when I went to a store on a Sunday and it was closed. People still close up shop on Sundays (blowjob face)?

Give me the cranky antics and mispronunciations of Wilford Brimley any day over this grinning rube. Awwwwww, does it hurt your little finger to test your glucose levels? WHAM! Punch in the mouth from Wilford, you sissy! Mr. Brimley will literally stare at you until your “dia-beat-is” squeezes out your butt and runs away in tears. Wilford Brimley will reach down your throat with his big, elephant hoof hands, that smell like mustache and Scotch, and yank the diabetes right out through your mouth, you fucking Mary.

Obviously I have a great understanding of diabetes.

Well, I posted the photographic evidence and the videos, so my work here is pretty much done. No need to say anything more about this, goodnight.

Fine, I’ll try to get through this without killing myself but I’m just warning all you babies out there, the next baby I see is getting punched in the face. I know it seems harsh but you can blame E-Trade and especially these nightmarish commercials directed by Satan for Hawk Ford. Yeah that’s right, I now hate ALL babies, way to go TV!

I didn’t like it when E-Trade hired magical talking babies to peddle their website, but at least the E-Trade kid doesn’t look like an angry, deformed baby who just dunked its own face into a bucket of acid before running after you with a knife. Jesu Christo, how did this shit get approved?!? How is it possible that somebody at the ad agency didn’t say “Well, obviously we can’t show the client this, what else do you got?” Why not just hire the fucking baby from Eraserhead for your next round of commercials?

Oh, and by the way baby, why don’t you shut your mouth and leave the car-buying decisions to the people actually paying for the God damn car. You get no say in the matter so keep your snarky opinions to yourself until YOU can afford to buy your own car, you creepy Michael-Myers-mask-looking piece of shit!

I think I’m going to be sick.

Shivers.

OK, before Rick Bayless tries to sue me, let me CLEARLY state, I DO NOT think there is anything sexual or technically inappropriate between Rick and his daughter Lanie… however let me also CLEARLY go on record and say ewww.

I mean come on Rick, you are obviously unable to see what everyone else sees. These two giggle and flirt back and forth worse than Jerry Seinfeld and Sheila on the “Shmoopy” episode. You hang up first. No, you hang up first. No, YOU hang up first. It’s creepy.

What’s that, you don’t agree? Well try this one on for size… there is an episode of Chef Bayless’ program “Mexico – One Plate at Time” where he decides to dig a fire pit in his yard while Lanie yucks it up inside, pretending to know what the fuck she’s talking about. Rick strips down to his wife beater (a woman’s wife beater, not the cool ‘Raging Bull’ kind) and gets all sweaty shoveling in the dirt. It’s borderline gay porn. Meanwhile, Lanie is blabbing on about some bullshit in the kitchen and actually says “Speaking of hot, let’s see how my dad is doing.”

[the link has been found – 9:25 into this clip – It’s 100 times creepier than I remembered!]

Take a moment to re-swallow your vomit.

Let’s take the whole father/daughter sexual tension horribleness out of the equation and talk about the other thing wrong with this picture. Why the fuck am I listening to a 13-year-old tell me how to make salsa? You know what Lanie, thanks but I think I can take it from here. Aren’t you missing a therapist appointment or something?

Well, it’s official, the universe will implode on February 5th, 2011 at 11:30 Eastern Standard Time.

The earth will rip apart and just as the molten goo from the center of our planet begins to melt your skin off, you will have just enough time to reflect on all the time you wasted carefully placing 20 pillows on your bed every morning. You will beg God for another chance to live life to the fullest but your screaming prayers will go unanswered, because the instant Dana Carvey and Linkin Park share the Saturday Night Live stage, heaven will be the first thing to explode. Poof… no more God. Satan is calling the shots now, pal. It’s over.

I already know that I’m the only person who cares about this so feel free to discuss any topic of your choice. I don’t care, It’s my list and I am sticking to my boring topic. Blogging fever, CATCH IT!

Dear Music Video Director Jerks,

Can you hear the slow clap I am currently performing in your honor? It’s so slow that my first clap occurred on March 15th, 1993 and the next scheduled clap will take place on August 3rd of this year. This slow clap is so fucking epic that I don’t anticipate the pace to pick up to its unstoppable fast clap ending until the year 2051. I have planned the culmination of my slow clap to coincide with the 100 year anniversary* of the microphone you love to use in every music video since the birth of MTV in the early 80s.

I get it, you think the Shure 55 series mics have more “presence” on film and make the singer look “sexy” when they inevitably wrap their hands around the mic and press their disease-ridden mouths up against it, but maybe it’s time to move on to the next cliché. Hey, it’s OK, don’t cry! I’m sure if we work together we can find some untapped cliché to exploit. How about singers singing into giant, realistic dildos? If Justin Bieber was singing into a big, veiny rubber cock I might actually start watching music videos again.

So let’s just put the wacky 50s microphones away and move on to big rubber dicks.

Thank you in advance.

Sincerely,
Listy

*I think it’s about 100 years. If I’m wrong I don’t need some microphone nerd telling me otherwise.

For the record, I had no idea if this Creed video actually used a Shure 55 microphone but I had a feeling. I was right. I’m always right.

Also for the record, I had no idea if any Alice in Chains videos used this mic but, once again, I was right. I should also point out that this song rules.

They sang…

They laughed…

They played…

Hey, these dapper dudes seem pretty fun. Who doesn’t love a good joke and a quick ride on some children’s playground equipment? Who are these festive people and where did they get those cute boots?

…And murdered millions!

WHAT? I – did – not – see – that – coming!

Jeeze, Time Life, you had me reaching for my credit card there for a second. Coming off Christmas day, where I watched “A Christmas Story” for approximately six hours in a row, I guess I’m in a 1940s kind of mood, so when I saw the happy old-timey footage and heard the lovely children’s chorus, I felt all warm and cozy inside.

Well I’ll tell you what, mister, I was not ready for the twist ending and I will NOT be buying the DVD! Although, it is free shipping…