You just made my list!

What can be said about the McDonald’s “Don’t Talk To Me” coffee commercial? For starters, FUCK OFF!

It’s pointless for me to waste your time talking about what a dick head, asshole, douchebag this guy is. What really gets me about this commercial is that we, the audience, are expected to believe a lot of stupid shit for this commercial to work.

1) This turd actually found someone desperate enough to be his roommate, possibly even his friend.

2) Strangers on the street and public transportation always greet you with a warm hello. Oh boy, I hope the tall sweaty guy sits next to me, I can’t wait to wish him a good morning!

3) This guy’s sole purpose in life is to drink his fucking precious coffee, yet when he wanders into McDonald’s he has no idea they sell coffee? When presented with the opportunity to hear more about this so-called “coffee”  he acts as if the woman behind the counter just offered him a handjob. “What? You sell coffee? That’s great news, I was just walking around like a giant douchebag looking for coffee and, much to my surprise, you here at this restaurant that serves breakfast also have coffee! How do you pronounce the name of this restaurant, I might just have to tell my friend about it. Is it mock-dan-lords… mick-doogles… mac-john-john’s?”

4) Drinking coffee makes you forget the difference between a sweater and a scarf. The guy drinks one coffee on his way to a busy day of masturbating in the public library and suddenly he’s telling non-scarf-wearing girls he likes their scarves, and acts like scarf-wearing girls are wearing invisible scarves. Dick.

Talk to me.

Understand something from the git go, I LOVE old people. If I’ve waited in line at the post office for 20 minutes and just as it’s my turn an old lady hobbles past everyone and walks right up to the counter I’m overjoyed. I’m being serious, I love it.

Good for you old people! You’ve been through enough shit and don’t need to be wasting your last few precious moments waiting in some bullshit line with a bunch of assholes checking their email on their cell phones. You don’t even know what email is and you could not care less that I currently have a score of 40,572 in “Cat Physics” on my iPhone. Although, to be fair, I worked really hard on that score, old people, and you should at least acknowledge it, especially if I’m letting you cut in line at the post office and drive 6 MPH in front of me on the road. Would it kill you to just say “Good job sonny” and take an interest in something I like for a change?

Having said that, old people should not be guarding the bank. I’m guessing the security guard at my bank was born around 1835 but he doesn’t look a day over 130! When I walked in the bank today I was trying to figure out why a guard’s uniform was sitting on top of a pile of dusty meat in the corner and then I realized it was just the guard.

God bless the guy, but forget about him running across the room to karate kick a pistol out of the hands of a robber. At best, this guy might be able to muster up a cranky glare or a disapproving “Hmmmpfff.”

So, I think I’ve made myself clear… old people acting selfish = awesome. Old people with guns = my vast fortune getting robbed.

Bullshit.

What’s worse than taking a nap? Not taking a nap! At least that’s how it feels at the time. And therein lies the dilemma, the catch-22, the reason I KNOW there is no God!

I hate naps. I HATE NAPS! I hate naps and yet I can’t stop myself from falling under their spell. It’s like naps are a super hot naked girl with every possible STD coursing through her perfect body and I’m the guy who says, “Well, I don’t have a condom but… maybe just a little oral, anal and vaginal sex. Possibly some needle sharing. What the heck, I’ll go ahead and drink some blood while I’m at it.”

I’m powerless when faced with the cozy, couchy siren song of naps. I think to myself, “This time it will be better. This time I won’t wake up wanting to murder my own family.” But no, I have never woken from a nap feeling anything other than miserable… miserable, confused, hot, cranky, angry, bewildered, sweaty, demoralized and filled with regret. I wake with my heart pounding and dullness that can only be described as abhorrent.

Oh, and look out world when I start my nap in daylight and awake to total darkness.

I would rather spend an entire day with Guy Fieri listening to Zoot Suit Riot than take a nap.

Yes, once again I have failed you. I had a long, busy weekend and simply had to choose between watching “Undercover Boss” or writing more bullshit about bullshit. Luckily I chose Undercover Boss because now I know the secret code for poop floating in a pool… AFR (Accidental Fecal Release). Who needs school when you have the TV machine to teach you everything you need to know.

Unofficially this post is about a link my friend who lives in the Stockton California area sent me. Good fucking lord, what the hell is going on in California? I can barely remember the last time I punched someone in the face for eating the last pork chop or burned my mother’s deceased body in the backyard BBQ pit.

So sit back and enjoy some of the scariest mugshots you will ever see. Don’t forget to read about their charming crimes too!

Oh, and fuck you Monday, I hate you.

Take a nice long look at our future. We are fucking doomed.

Haven’t bought your copy of “Flirtexting,” the exciting new guide to flirting via text messages yet? Oh man are you dumb! No wonder you aren’t married yet you stupid piece of shit, you are texting all wrong!

For example, when a guy texts you at 3 am saying “hhey gurl wha yo u doingf wanna blowjon me” how would you know to respond with “I guess so, might as well.” Guess what? You just FLIRTEXTED! You are on your way to a rich and fulfilling life.

These two geniuses actually found a secret formula to make men do what they want… via text. I know, can you believe women finally know the secret? Up until now, getting a man to do what you want was virtually impossible.

And such a noble pursuit, controlling men with your cell phone. Their parents must be so proud.

Doomed.