You just made my list!

Just when you thought the “singing bass” phenomenon of 1998 that swept its way through every trailer park in America had finally gone away.

Recently I received a Bed Bath & Beyond catalog in the mail proudly selling this HILARIOUS singing fish and the ad read “From the hit McDonald’s Commercial.” I can already hear Michael Ian Black’s snarky comments about this “hit commercial” on I Love The 2010s.

But why go all the way to Bed Bath & Beyond when you can pick this gem up at the local drug store during your weekly visit for Slim Jims, diarrhea medicine and cigarettes?

Please explain to me why a fish would be irate that someone stole his fish sandwich. Why the fuck is a fish eating a fish sandwich in the first place? Or is the Filet-O-Fish he is lamenting over actually one of his family members who could not escape McDonald’s fishing boats? Is this actually a tragic song sung by a grieving fish fighting to retrieve the corpse of his dead mother? Is the real tragedy that this poor fish is desperately appealing to any shred of humanity left in our souls to help with his quest to give his mother a proper burial but all we do is laugh and sing along like a bunch of masturbating monkeys? And most importantly, what could this “bonus track” possibly be? AND most importantly-er, why do I ever leave the house?

At least this fish lip-syncs better those Celtic Thunder dick heads.

Kirstie, can you stay off my TV for two seconds, my entertainment center* can’t support your fat ass anymore.

Everyone’s favorite jiggly tub of sausage is back with a new show about… drum roll… being fat! She first rolled (literally) her way into our living rooms with “Fat Actress.” I never saw the show but I’m assuming most episodes centered around Kirstie being fat and talking about being fat. Oh the good times I must have missed! The beast that ate Kirstie Alley (that would have been a way more kick ass title) is back with a new program called “Kirstie Alley’s Big Life,” but this time around the show is about Kirstie being fat and talking about being fat.

I checked IMDB and Kirstie Alley has been in at least 10 shows about being fat…

– Jesus Christ, Kirstie Alley is Fucking Fat!
– Kirstie Alley Eats Her Way Out of Bags Made of Meat
– Kirstie Alley: Only Slightly Less Attractive Than When She Was Thin.
– STAND BACK, ME HUNGRY!
– Cheers
– Hey, Kirstie Alley Just Ate Everything in My House and Drank My Pool!
– Kirstie Alley Tries to Reach Things
– Look Who’s Choking Now
– I’m a Celebrity, Please Help Me Put My Pants On
– Cloggin’ Da Toilet Wit Da ‘K Dog’ Yo!

We get it Kirstie, YOU’RE FAT!

Writing this made me hungry.

*I don’t actually own an entertainment center.

There I was, minding my own business, when all of a sudden, Celtic Thunder takes a big ol’ Irish shit all over my TV!

Well, at least I now know why Irish Dancing is popular… people in Ireland are RETARDED! You heard me Ireland, get your shit together!

I was once like you. Well, I was like a more awesome version of you. Anyway, I once roamed the planet without any knowledge that on that very same planet a group of drunk (I’m assuming) lip-syncing Irish assholes were prancing around on stage like some sort of evil tampon commercial directed by Walt Disney. And the audience is eating this shit up like it’s free cabbage. Do Irish people eat cabbage? I’m assuming they do.

This has got to be one of the most horrifying things ever created by man. These turds make Hitler look like Mr. Rogers and Haiti seem like a perfectly good spring break destination. I’m serious, this is the worst thing I have ever seen.

You know, I’m half Irish but after discovering Celtic Thunder I’m thinking about cutting myself in half and letting some dogs eat the Irish side.

Never has an unplugged guitar rocked so hard.

Caution: This will make you grow a vagina. If you already have a vagina, get ready for another, more vagina-y, one!

We’ve all been there. You’re staying at a hotel with one of those wall-mounted mirrors and you decided to extend it from the wall and take a look at yourself. You think, “Not too shabby, I’d fuck me. I would give myself a handjob at the very least.” This is where the story should end, but we all have that sick fascination with the other side of the mirror. The evil side. The dark side. You know the outcome of this little experiment of yours and yet you still take your dumb hand and flip the mirror over to reveal the most disgusting thing you have ever seen… your own face!

Suddenly a combination of Mackenzie Phillips and Edward James Olmos is staring back at you and every zit you have ever had in your entire life is visible again. Hey look, there’s that zit that ruined prom! Every pore looks like a cat’s butthole and your eyes look like rivers of blood held in place by spaghetti.

The nightmare is far from over though. A sane person would push the mirror away, allowing it to smash against the wall, but you are drawn to this horror show like a fly to shit. Oh no my friend, you lean in for a closer look. Sicko.

Flying home from Vegas today so you will have to wait another day to bask in my brilliant glow. So sayeth the lord, amen.

Hey great, you found a way to make creepy mannequins even more nightmarish!

Maybe it’s because I accidentally said “excuse me” to a mannequin once, or maybe it’s because female mannequins with erect nipples honestly turn me on a little, I don’t know but I just sort of feel animosity towards them. They stand there judging you with their perfect bodies and handless wrists, convincing you to buy shit at Old Navy that you don’t even like. They suck you in with their spell and make you ponder unthinkable things like, “maybe those Dockers would look good on me.”

Mannequins are assholes, but living mannequins are the poo that squeezes out of that asshole. I feel dumb enough at the mall without some vapid, shiny model giving me the stink-eye while I check out the crotch of their jeans. I’m sorry, I just need to see if it’s a zipper or a button fly. I can’t help it if you happen to be wearing those jeans as I slowly run my pizza-covered hands up the inner thigh of the Levi’s I may or may not purchase. Who told you to be a fucking mannequin for a living?

The word mannequin, when broken down to its Latin roots, literally translates to.. how the fuck do I know what it means? I just know it doesn’t mean 19-year-old-dumb-model-standing-there-making-me-feel-uncomfortable-while-I’m-staring-at-her-nipples.

Obviously I went out for my birthday. Obviously I am too tired now to write, but you will be happy to know that a good 30 minutes of my dinner was spent discussing the various reasons why Guy Fieri should be dead and Corey Haim should be alive. Sorry I’m being lame and skipping a day but I think this will help you get over it, you cry baby.

Not only is MY birthday ruined, I’m sure Corey Feldman is having a pretty shitty day too. This is one of your all time boners, God!

True story… I was in a movie with Corey Haim and spent the better part of a day with him. It was the most beautiful day of my life. What is it going to take for God to kill Guy Fieri and leave the good ones alone?!? God is a douchebag.

If you have never seen Corey Haim’s self-produced video “Me, Myself and I” I suggest you find a copy and spend the day in bed watching it. Unfortunately, it looks like that is how I will be spending my birthday.

Throw it to Lucas, in heaven.