You just made my list!

Sad. Look at your long, luxurious silken mane! Tell me young man, are you a model for romance novels? I honestly thought for a second that you were Fabio. Seriously, I’m not kidding, I saw you and… OH MY GOD, YOU’RE BALD! MY EYES! I WAS SO DISTRACTED BY YOUR BEAUTIFUL PONYTAIL THAT I HADN’T NOTICED! IT BURNS! Come on pal, do you really think those last few tragic strands of hair clinging for life on the back of your head are enough to distract from the polished orb that sits just above? I know you desperately want to tell the world “I’m fun! I own Bruce Springsteen’s greatest hits!” but maybe it’s time to throw in the hair towel and admit that Mother Nature is kicking your head’s ass. I know you have a bit of a “rep” to maintain at the shoelace factory but maybe it’s time to let that new guy in shipping be the “cool, easy-going rock dude” for a while. Nothing wrong with being bald, right? Maybe if you shave your head you will acquire an LL Cool J vibe, or better yet Bruce Willis! There, now we’re talking, you want to be the new Bruce Willis in the neighborhood? I’ll make you a deal, cut off that feeble tail, bury it in backyard and I will buy you a harmonica. I think Bruce Willis said it best… respect yourself.

You see this shit?

This is an actual photo of the asshole sky that hung over my head all day today in Chicago. What’s the big deal, every place on Earth has gray (is it gray or grey) days, cheer up little fella. Right? Fuck you, you weather-know-it-all-jerk because this is the sky I have seen for the last 2 weeks and will continue to see for the next 5 months. If it were legal I would pay someone to keep me in a controlled coma for the next 5 months.

If the dark skies don’t convince you to drop a toaster in the bath the unholy wind blasting through your soul like dentist drill will. I am not exaggerating when I say that the winter wind in Chicago has made me cry… as an adult.

But then big beautiful snowflakes the size of cotton balls gently wiggle their way down from the inky night sky and every tree branch looks like it has been covered in whipped cream and mayonnaise by Paula Dean. The snow absorbs all the usual city noise and it sounds like you are hiding under a blanket. Charming. WRONG because the next day you wake up to your street littered with folding chairs and miscellaneous garbage placed by your fucking, dipshit, asshole, white trash, cocksucker, fuckwad, idiotic, selfish neighbors who believe they can save “their” parking spot for THE ENTIRE WINTER. This might honestly be the thing I despise most in life.

Fuck you winter.

Have you ever been sitting around your trailer at 3am and thought, “Well, I have five pieces of bacon and four paper towels, how can I turn this into something?”

Are you wealthy enough to own a microwave*? Then guess what Jethro? YOU-ARE-IN-LUCK! Genius and all around loud person, Rachael Ray, has developed a “recipe” that even your pathetically stupid ass can manage. The creativity doesn’t stop with the recipe, Rachael has even given her creation a catchy name… “Late Night Bacon!”

At first I was confused because when I go trolling for street-walking prostitutes I refer to them as Late Night Bacon, and although both activities require at least four paper towels, I eventually figured out Rach was talking about something completely different.

So sit back and enjoy Rachael Ray’s Late Night Bacon recipe. I recommend reading the comments (including one from me buried in there somewhere).

*It’s like a TV that you stick your food and wet socks into.

How is this OK?

Based on the shape of the “meat” found sadly cowering inside the McRib bun, McDonald’s would have us believe that it’s entirely normal to eat the bones when eating ribs. Forget about pulling the meat off the bone, just stick the whole fucking carcass in your mouth and chew it up like you’re a… you’re a… I can’t even think of an animal that eats bones.

I’ve also found that most award-winning ribs are the color of Guy Fieri’s hair.

Stay classy McDonald’s, I quit.

Congratulations! Now eat your own ugly face.

Yum, your black golf shirt looks delicious Dennis! Or would I rather have a slice of your Dockers? It’s a tough choice, black and khaki are both such appetizing colors. I guess I could go for a piece of your beard, or maybe I should skip you altogether and just eat your golf cart. It’s so hard to choose, your Chamber of Commerce networking event is so mouthwatering!

Fuck it, I’m skipping the whole thing and eating this.

Nothing says “I have failed” like an adult obsessed with Tweety Bird.

You know what? I just fucking hate everything about Tweety Bird and his bullshit. Is he even a him? So much attitude for a little bird, and SO sarcastic! Tweety and Sylvester are only slightly less horrible than fellow Looney Tunes character and hero to white trash the world over, the Tazmanian Devil, and that’s not saying much. I would love to see that cat nab Tweety with his long claws and slowly bat him around the room the way cats do. I want to see Sylvester get on his side and hold Tweety in his front paws while he bashes the life out of that yellow asshole.

Whore.

I have seen exactly none Betty Boop cartoons. What is she? Is she a toddler prostitute? A sex doll that was brought to life by the kindly old man who built her? And what’s wrong with her ham-shaped head? She looks like a cross between Eric Stoltz in “Mask” and an Asian sex slave. Wait a minute, I’m starting to see the appeal.

All those old black and white cartoons with the squiggly noodle arms and legs freak me out. They seem evil and racist, even when they aren’t being evil and racist. I feel like Hitler probably dreamt in that style.

When I walk in to a house and see one of those awful display cabinets filled with little porcelain clowns and angel statuettes I immediately know two things… 1) I accidentally walked into the wrong house and 2) I am within 15 feet of a TV playing America’s Funniest Home Videos… ON A VCR!

In general, I hate clutter and believe less is more when it comes to home decoration and nothing is more horrifically cluttery than a small army of Precious Moments figurines staring you down with their giant heads and soulless eyes. Get a room! I really don’t need to have your filthy toddler love and under-aged romance shoved in my face. How do you think it makes me feel when I’m home alone, drunk, with no girlfriend* and no chance for sex in the near future but somehow these two children have managed to meet, date, fall in love, get engaged, plan a wedding, PAY for a wedding and go to Disney World on their honeymoon, all at the ripe old age of seven? What’s so fucking Precious about that?

We’ll see how long it lasts.

*Sorry ladies, I actually have a girlfriend.

Oh boy, I’m ready for the hate mail to pour in on this one. “You’re a jerk and you live in your mom’s basement and these dolls are beautiful and you’re just jealous that nobody ever loved you, I hope you never have kids, blah blah blah.” There I just saved you all that time.

I’m forced to write this while sitting on the toilet because it’s impossible to look at these creepy dolls without shitting at least a tiny bit. I should have warned you! I’m sorry you now have poop-filled pants.

OK, this shit is fucked up! First of all, these dolls are referred to as “Reborn Babies” and there’s a whole subculture of insane psychopaths buying and making these creepy plastic monsters. The process of making a realistic baby doll is known as “reborning” or “newborning” and it usually takes place in the darkest corner of Hell. Even Satan is like “Um… yeah, I’m going to go see what Hitler and Dahmer are up to for a few hours while you gals finish up… um… whatever it is exactly that… uh, you’re doing over there.” Then the great beast slowly backs out of the room timidly.

At least that’s how I imagine it.

Yikes…