You just made my list!

For the first time since I was in high school I have a TV in my bedroom. It is thanks to this TV that I have been exposed to Kelly Ripa and her parade of enthusiastic nonsense!

Regis Philbin is either retarded or the most patient human on the planet. I feel like you could stick that man in a garbage bag filled with mosquitoes and he would keep on smiling and telling stories about having lunch with Charles Nelson Reilly or whatever the hell he talks about.

Kelly Ripa is that horrible kind of woman who thinks, and knows, she is oh so adorable and no matter how fucking annoying she is people fall all over themselves to love her. She could stand up on that desk and explode diarrhea all over Regis while eating a kitten and the audience of sassy hairs would giggle and hoot like a bunch of mindless idiots. The worst thing is that if I ever met Kelly Ripa I would probably fall under her whore spell (3 whore references in 4 days!) like a zombie. I’m trying to convince myself otherwise, but I would probably smile and thank her for blasting shit all over my face too.

Why is Kelly Ripa constantly shooting poop on people?

Hey thanks for inviting me over to stare at your ceiling for 4 hours! What’s that you say, you want to play Guitar Hero? Sure, let me just go ahead and lie on my back on your dirty floor so I can see the TV. Perfect.

You know, just because you see something on MTV’s Cribs doesn’t mean you have to try and recreate it in your Dorito-covered trailer. As a general rule, if you see some dumb rapper do something on Cribs it’s best to do the opposite. Sure, it might seem cool to have an actual panda bear as your butler, but after the money is gone who’s going to feed that thing? God, I would pay so much money to watch a hungry panda chase Lil Wayne around some shitty, beige, Atlanta McMansion. Lil would try to hide behind his pool table only to immediately regret buying the world’s only perfectly clear pool table made from Swarovski crystals. Go get your Wayne on, panda.

Sorry, I got distracted by that fantasy. When did placing your TV at eye level become the exception rather than the rule? Plus, I can think of no better place for your $1,500 TV than over your hot, dirty, smoke-barfing fireplace. I keep my computer in the oven.

Oh IKEA, I hate you, I love you.

Like most people on the planet, within a week of moving to my new place I found myself making the pilgrimage to the blue and yellow monolith. I check my pride at the door, get on my belly and suck that IKEA teat like a hungry piglet. I’m pretty sure I know exactly what a crack whore feels like when she’s “working.” (That’s two posts in a row that mention whores, if you are keeping score. More whores in 2010!)

I feel equal parts shame and excitement as I walk through those doors and the sweet smell of cinnamon rolls and particle board wraps around my body like the ghosts in Poltergeist. Shopping at IKEA is like telling the world, “I’m poor, I’m lazy, I like ümlaüts and I want my stüff to look like your stüff.” I spend most of my time convincing myself that, “It looks OK, right? It’s kind of cool looking, right? It doesn’t look too IKEA, right?”

I would love to sit here on my throne and criticize all my fellow IKEA shoppers as middle-of-the-road, boring, predictable, suburban, wannabe hipsters but how can I when I’m walking around filling my cart with Flürgens, Gråbenfüks and Lüäöküöås just like they are. I want to feel superior, but as I type this from my IKEA Vika Grevsata desk it’s not that easy. I used to be cool. I used to be in a band.

But don’t think the pain ends when you get home with your pile of vaguely stylish products. Oh no silly pants, that’s when you get to decipher Swedish hieroglyphics and spend the next 7 hours assembling your crappy bookcases.

Is it würth it?

Lucky you, today you get to hear me complain about two things that suck.

1) The Apple store!

Let me first say that I love Apple products. However, I’m not a blind “fanboy,” rather I love Macs because they FUCKING WORK and as a graphic designer there is no substitute. Unfortunately I have had to spend a lot of time in the Apple store this week due to the cockless anus face who stole my computer. Have you been in an Apple store recently? They are bucking the system by eliminating any form of check out counter. Instead, each hip t-shirt-wearing employee has the ability to complete your purchase right there where they are standing in their skinny jeans. This may look cool, but it means the end of waiting in a orderly line to be served. The only way, literally, to be served in an Apple store is to stand in the middle of the floor with a confused look, like a sad puppy begging for a Snausage. It makes you feel like a whore standing on a street corner trying to out-whore the other whores.

2) Threadless iPhone cases!

If you have any doubt as to why I FUCKING HATE Threadless, please watch this video and it will all be clear. These fucking assholes at Griffin Technology and Threadless are acting like they cured cancer when they accidentally mixed their cure for A.I.D.S. with their cure for multiple sclerosis. Mark McGlon (never has a last name so perfectly described a lumpy tub of crap) practically has tears in his fat eyes as he describes the printing of doodles on plastic iPhone cases as “brilliant.” Brilliant? BRILLIANT?!? And if you ever wanted to see inside the empty mind of a Threadless design winner (and Threadless employee… hmmmmm), please watch douchebag hipster nerd Joe Van Wetering describe the BRILLIANT design process behind his doodles. Please get your gentle voice and Hitler hair out of my dreams and into my car, where I will drive you to a warehouse and force you to makeout with a girl.

Fuck EVERYTHING and fuck EVERYONE!

OK, I needed to get that out of my system.

Under the best of circumstances I rarely feel whimsical. I hate precious whimsy and I hate effervescent French clowns who run around spewing their made-up jolly language all over wide-eyed suburbanites who happily pay $100 to sit on their fat asses in a tent and watch miniature Chinese slave girls throw each other around with their tiny doll-sized feet.

Did I say I rarely feel whimsical? I meant to say I NEVER feel whimsical. It’s this lack of whimsy that prevents me from pissing my Dockers with excitement when the gay Cirque du Soleil clowns pull some “dad” from the audience and suddenly Mr. Pretend Audience Guy can fly across the tent, powered only by the warmth of his heart. Is it possible to groan so hard that you pass out? And don’t give me any of this, “Why can’t you leave your troubles at the door and see the world through the eyes of a child?” First of all, this stupid tent has no doors, and secondly, prepare your balls for the kicking of a lifetime.

The second worst thing about Cirque du Soleil is the way they keep repackaging the exact same show over and over by simply throwing some new bullshit meaningless name like “Zeedoo” across the marquee. “Oh, Zeedoo is totally different than Pü. In Zeedoo the contortionists are tortured Chinese girls and in Pü they are tortured Romanian girls.”

So what’s the worst thing about Cirque du Soleil? They gave this fuck face a job. If that doesn’t suck the whimsy out of you, nothing will.