Spring is in the air which can only mean one thing… Six Flags will be entering your soul, Freddy Krueger style, while you sleep and filling your mind with nightmarish dancing bald things in tuxedos, all set to a torturous soundtrack of pumping Vengaboys music. Welcome to hell.
Why is Six Flags trying to get me to commit suicide? First they tried to break my spirit with Mr. Six, followed by the yelling mad Asian guy. When I came out of that experiment alive they instructed that dancing penis to talk! I somehow made it through that summer without chopping my own head off but I’m not so sure I can make it to June thanks to the introduction of Mr. Six’s baby(?) “Little Six.” What the fucking fuck is going on?!? I feel like I’m watching an incredibly well-dressed kid with Progeria have a seizure.
And kudos to their ad agency for getting right on that Austin Powers/Mini Me craze (of 1999)! Top notch work.
There are times in life when we must balance comfort with money. Often times one’s financial situation wins this battle and you find a can of Milwaukee’s Best pressed up against your lips. But this is OK sometimes. It is entirely wrong, however, to find a stiff slab of cheap toilet paper pressed up against your butt lips!
There simply is no excuse for choosing toilet paper that feels about as soft as a lemon zester when perfectly good, triple ply quilted toilet paper is sitting right there on the shelf. What is this, Russia? The great thing about being American is that we can smear our feces on toilet paper so luxurious a princess would gladly sleep upon it. Not the feces… she would gladly sleep on the toilet paper!
Pooping is already a horrible experience as far as I’m concerned, so why turn an ugly situation into more of a nightmare? I don’t want to hear about your budget or the environment or blah blah fucking blah. Grow up, buy some real toilet paper and watch your life change, you dirty ass (literally) hippie.
What’s that you ask? Which brand do I allow to touch my sweet bottom? I prefer Charmin Ultra Strong or Charmin Ultra Soft. I mean look at this… you can drag a 3 pound block of shit across your table and it won’t even rip!
You know when I run? Never. I MIGHT run if a bear was chasing me but to be honest, I think I would rather be eaten alive than be out of breath. I think being inside a nice warm bear would be much more pleasant that dealing with those darn leg cramps the next morning.
Even with my disdain for using my legs for anything other than as a kickass napping bridge for a fluffy cat, I can still understand why some people enjoy running. I barely understand why anyone would want to subject themselves to a normal marathon but this Antarctica bullshit is just out of hand.
Polar bear clubs are like the Ford Tempos of winter enthusiasts but these over-achiever marathon assholes are the Hummers. “LOOK AT ME! I’M SPECIAL! I’M BETTER THAN YOU!” I hope it’s worth the $4,300 entrance fee plus the money and effort to get your tight ass down to the bottom of our planet so you can run around in your tights with snot frozen to your handsome face.
I’m taking a day off, but these childhood photos of Guy Fieri (Real name Guy Ramsay Ferry) should get you through the day. You can already see the seeds of douchiness beginning to grow. I just can’t believe he’s not a natural blond!
I want to take a time machine back just so I can fill his hat with that mustard, Bad News Bears style. Original Bad News Bears style, not that piece of shit remake!
Walking around with a soul patch or a god-awful chin beard is like announcing to the world “I grew a pussy on my face because that’s the only way I will ever get near one.”
While the soul patch and chin beard are equally horrifying, they tend to attach themselves to an entirely different group of tools. Your average chin beard can usually be found sprouting from the unwashed face of most species of white trash, including suburban metal heads, guys who work as bouncers at suburban metal clubs, guys who weld metal by day and play in metal bands by night and guys who pretend to be UFC fighters while listening to metal in their bedrooms. If you really want to take your chin pubes to the next pathetic level just ask your little sister or your mom to dye and/or braid your little face forest (see Alice in Chains, Korn, Anthrax, et al.)
The soul patch is more elusive and difficult to nail down. Tiny lip pussies can be found on middle class beach hippies, jazzbos, ultimate frisbee enthusiasts and old white guys in blues bands. It’s a regular United Nations of douchery. The chin beard sends a “I’m not playing by your rules” message but a soul patch meekly whispers “I’m playing by most of your rules.”
I wouldn’t have even noticed how shitty your car was if you didn’t stick that ridiculous spoiler on the trunk of your mom’s car, but now it’s all I can think about. Well, I’m also possessed with the thought of forcing you off the road and watching your car roll over five times, fully engulfed in flames. Oh, that’s right, your car CAN’T roll over thanks to that $30 spoiler forcing your 1996 Honda Civic to grip the road like a Formula-1 race car! You win this one Brad.
Thank God that “wing” of yours is keeping your car on the road as you race through the streets of Beaver’s Knob, Wisconsin on your way to work at Bed Bath & Beyond. Oh Brad, I also wanted to let you know, that fat tailpipe you installed doesn’t make your car sound at all like a moped. On the contrary B Dawg, that crazy thing makes you sound like a fucking jet fighter.
Honestly Brad, when you zoom past me in your space ship car that sounds like a cordless drill, my Dockers get a little tight.
Thank God you protected your 1997 Dodge Neon from possible dings by parking in five spots. I wish your parents aborted you.
These assholes should be sterilized. The sterilization process should consist of their shitty car being shoved up their penis until it explodes. I honestly want these people to die. Seriously, I want all people who park in two spaces in some pathetic attempt to protect their shitty car to die. Actual death. DIE!
I just realized there is not much more to say about this subject and now I’m panicking because everyone is going to be like, “Listy, you suck. You’re off your game.” So let me say this, fuck off. Sometimes I just need to complain and not be funny. Also, I’m in a very good mood thanks to many beers and it’s hard to complain when you are feeling jolly. So don’t bother telling me I suck, I already know.
So, to sum it up, people who park in two parking spots should be murdered.
Also, this is the greatest thing I have ever seen. If you disagree, please stop visiting my website.
No problem, paint your horrible face while you drive. As long as you got an additional two minutes of sleep this morning, it’s worth running over a few kids on your way to your sad, grey cubicle.
And don’t worry about me, I’ll just go ahead and drive through this Dunkin’ Donuts so that you may drive in every lane. I was in the mood for a “Today’s Special” anyway. Hey that reminds me…
Why the fuck has the Dunkin’ Donuts “Today’s Special” been the same God damn doughnut for all of my adult life? Don’t get me wrong, a glazed doughnut covered in chocolate frosting and half covered in sprinkles from Dunkin’ Donuts is awesome, but I think they are confused about the word special. Unless they are trying to say this doughnut is retarded, they need to mix it up a bit. And what’s up with the half sprinkles? If I wanted an abstract work of art I would… well, I wouldn’t want a piece of abstract art so I don’t need your creative sprinkle configuration either. Knock off this under-achiever attitude towards sprinkles and throw some other doughnuts into the mix. That would truly be special.
