You just made my list!

Thanks for giving me the names of all your kids, it will be much easier to kidnap “Boogers” from the playground with that info.

These stupid bumper stickers have been mentioned in comments before on this site, but it’s time they got their due. They have more than earned their place on my list. I don’t give a shit about your stupid anorexic family, I just want to drive behind your slow-moving minivan in peace. I don’t need to know the intimate details of your life. I don’t need the pressure of trying to figure out everyone’s hobbies from the rudimentary cave drawings you have provided. Perhaps you could also display your tax returns for the last 3 years, your resume and the kids’ grades? Tell me, who is Booger’s favorite Jonas Brother?

The thing that really bothers me about this crap is everyone’s willingness to be the same. I hate fads. I guarantee these turds have a box of “valuable” Beanie Babies collecting dust in their basement and a full assortment of Crocs waiting by the door. It’s ironic that these decals end up making every family look exactly the same.

I hate it when other people are happy.

Piece of shit.

If you are reading this post from your iPhone while sitting in the waiting room at one of the thousands of hair salons hilariously named “Shear” something, I can promise you 3 things… 1) you are about to get a shitty haircut 2) you are sitting within 5 feet of a Nagel-style window decal and 3) you don’t really own an iPhone, that’s your VCR remote.

I’m sure the first person to come up with this hilarious pun probably sat straight up in the middle of the night and screamed, “I’ve got it! Shear Talent! Ed. Ed. Ed. ED, WAKE UP! I finally have a name for my salon!” I’m also sure Ed rolled back over and prayed to the Lord to kill him in his sleep. I will give this first person a pass, but this madness (shear madness?) needs to stop. The Government needs to forget all this health care nonsense and immediately put an end to any new salon wanting to be named “Shear” something. Priorities!

Just when you thought hipsters had run out of ways to be ironic, those geniuses figured out a way to tap into one more ridiculous trend… the beer belly. According to The New York Times, looking like a fat tub of shit is now cool. The New York City dump is about to be flooded with useless skinny jeans.

I see a problem though. The fat trend is not going to work very well with the trend to be vegan. Then there’s smoking, a habit many hipsters use as a way make their body odor even worse. Smoking has been the skinny hipster’s friend for many years but it could really slow the transformation from cool heroin skeleton to beer-guzzling bubba. I’m thinking a new industry will have to grow around this trend. I’m going to start a “diet” magazine called “Brooklyn Gut” for hipsters looking for tips on weight gain and beer belly shaping. My first article will be titled “Critical Mass Won’t Give You That Critical ASS: Time to Give Up Your Bike.”

SHIT, what will happen to American Apparel? They are going to be working day and night making XXXL ironic shiny disco pants and satin jackets! Luckily their employees are so well-paid and have the best working… SHUT UP!

Is this why Kevin Federline is so fucking hugely fucking god damn fucking fat now? Is K-Fed a trend-setter?

Sorry, no “real” post today. I met the love of my life and we have spent so much time in the bedroom I simply can’t find the time to write for the site. Her name is Icy Spicy Leoncie and she is probably the most talented singer/songwriter/performer/lover on the planet! THE WHOLE PLANET! Jealous? Yes, you are.

Leoncie and I just love to have fun.

My favorite song about getting killed while jogging in the park.

I LOVE YOU LEONCIE!

Boredom + white women + sponge = sponge painting!

I was going to write this long, super hilarious rant about sponge painting and how it looks like a cartoon character has wiped its shitty ass all over your walls, but then I realized I was lazy. Actually, the truth is that while searching for sponge painting photos I discovered the site uglyhousephotos.com and spent WAY too much time on it. The end result is that I have run out of time to write AND I literally feel nauseous from looking at these disgusting houses. I need to cry for a while.

I suck but you probably suck too, so we are even.

Do they?

Right now you are correctly asking yourself, “What is this ‘Shack’ that all my friends are constantly talking about? Is it the latest trendy nightclub? Is it a sexually transmitted disease?” You idiot! It’s the god damn, motherfucking Radio Shack, bitch!

Much like Miracle Whip, Radio Shack is about to dial up their attitude and punch you in the face with their dick, and if you don’t like it you can kiss their ass right through their skinny jeans. I’m sure you’ve been on the subway and overheard a couple young hipsters in Flaming Lips T-shirts talking about cruisin’ on down to The Shack to pick up some 4700µF 35V 20% Axial-Lead Electrolytic Capacitors before going to the liquor store to pick up a sixy of PBRs. BOOYAH!

I was just at Lollapalooza and all I heard in the audience was “Shack this” and “Shack that.” In fact, Snoop Dogg spent half of his set giving shout-outs like “Where my bitches at? Where my 20A 250V Ceramic Fuses at? Raise your 4A, 400V Full-Wave Bridge Rectifiers in the motherfucking air, and wave ’em like they are rated 4-amps, with 400 Peak Inverse Voltage!”

PEACE!

I know I should be happy for guys like Edward Williams who won big in the Kansas lottery TWICE this year, but all I can think when I see his, or any winner’s smiling face, is fuck you. Take that giant check and shove it up your money hole. This turd won $75,000 in September playing a scratch off ticket and just last week he won nearly $900,000 when he matched all the numbers in the “Super Kansas Cash” drawing. Once again, fuck you.

My level of jealousy for these people is sickening. I cannot play any form of the lottery because the second I buy my ticket I am CONVINCED I am going to win. There is no doubt in my mind I will soon be purchasing 4 white tigers (to eat) and a solid gold suit of armor that I will exclusively wear for no apparent reason. I don’t consider for a second that I might not win. I mentally prepare myself for all the begging and groveling my soon to be ex-friends will do at my feet and the various ways I will tell them to eat shit. Of course all my fantasies of delicious tiger sandwiches and diamond-encrusted toilet paper disappear as I realize, one by one, that I have not hit a single number.

So to all you big winners out there, let me be the first person to say, go fuck yourself.