You just made my list!

I’m sorry but this is bullshit! First, the love of my life goes and marries that stupid Irving (I’m twice the man) and now she has the balls to call it quits and leave us in the dark with only our feeble imaginations to guide us through Cathy’s future! ARE YOU AACKING KIDDING ME?

Now you listen to me Cathy and you listen good, I don’t want to live in a world without you and your mundane problems, and I sure as HELL don’t want to lie awake at night wondering how your job at Product Testing, Inc. is going or if you were able to find a bathing suit that actually fits for once!

I was fully prepared to watch you grow old and die but you just had to fucking ruin everything. So much for the Cathy funeral I had planned. Happy?

Of course you aren’t happy, you never are. “I’m eating too much chocolate… My cat keeps me up at night… Irving’s mother is overbearing… I can’t find my keys… Aack this… Aack that!”

You know, on second thought, who needs you and your problems? I have enough to deal with, lady!

Who am I kidding? I take one look at you in that robe and I fall right back in love with you. You melt my heart faster than a box of chocolates accidentally left in the car. Goodbye sweet sweet Cathy, I will see you in my dreams (my wet dreams).

Where do you turn when you need a boring white guy to act opposite a dog? Tom Hanks. But what if he’s too busy and not quite bland enough… call The Belush!

What’s that you say, you need to film a scene where a dog and a salt-of-the-earth tow truck driver put on sunglasses and play the harmonica to get out of a dicey situation? BELUSHI! You need your leading man to share a slice of deep dish pizza with a slobbering dog? BELUSHI! Your dream scene is a man and a dog getting drunk together at a bowling alley? BELUSHI!

Don’t believe me? Well then I would ask you to direct your attention to Jimbo’s resume, which includes…
K-9
Dog’s Best Friend
K-911
Snow Dogs
K-9: P.I.
What’s New Scooby Doo
Underdog
Snow Buddies

Oh shit, that’s right, I forgot to mention that Belushi can also PLAY a dog! You can send me the bill for cleaning your carpet and painting the walls because I know I just blew your mind all over the fucking room.

Buckle up because you WILL have nightmares tonight.

I don’t like puppets. I especially don’t like puppets from the 70s and 80s. OK, I guess the puppets of Sesame Street were badass (not that piece of shit Elmo) but most other puppets from that era look like fucking burn victims. Burn victims who want to lure you into their van and stick you in a secret room under their back yard. I’m amazed that the children’s programming I watched as a kid didn’t cause me to go crazy and kill my parents in their sleep.

Let’s start with a show that, sadly, I grew up watching, Gigglesnort Hotel. In this hotel, a human named B.J. is forced to live and work with a dragon named “Dirty,” a bell boy named “Weird,” a faceless hunk of clay named “Blob” and a bunch of other freakish puppets. Truth be told, it’s a pretty shitty hotel and I can’t imagine it getting more than 1.5 stars on Yelp. I would also like to mention that occasionally a bad guy shaped like a lemon would throw bad jokes out of a helicopter and cause anyone who read the jokes to become horribly deformed. But have no fear, “Weird” would become a superhero named “The Shusher” whose only power was to quietly shush people. WHAT? My parents are lucky they got out alive.

Gigglesnort Hotel

One of the best ways to make a puppet creepy is to give it human hands. I can’t figure out how old these horrible creatures from Peppermint Park are supposed to be. They look like they belong in the AARP and yet the sight of bubbles sends them into an excited frenzy. I also like that they suggest putting newspapers on the floor before blowing bubbles indoors. Huh? Is that because the excitement is going to cause you to shit your little puppet pants?

Peppermint Park

I vaguely remember Outerscope II but I think I have pushed it way way back into that dark part of my brain that tries to forget such horrible things. In this scene, Henry, who looks like a young George Costanza, falls in love with a rocking horse and fucks it in the ass while the other children read a diary entry about a dying Indian. Hurry kids, you’re going to be late for school!

Outerscope II

This clip is supposed to prevent house fires but if I saw this as a kid the first thing I would do is burn my house down to keep the demons away. This clip reminds me of this fetish.

And this brings us to the perfect storm of creepy…
Puppets + Clowns + Jesus + Hugs = Your worst childhood memory.

You know how at the age of 10 we would all fill in Mad Libs with witty and intelligent responses like “farty” and “boobs” and “bloody tampon?” Well, we were all infinitely funnier than Lisa Lampanelli and her lazy insult “comedy.”

In fact, constructing a Lisa Lampanelli “joke” is not unlike filling out a Mad Lib. You simply need to follow this boring formula…

“You sir, in the front row, what are you a fuckin’ [racist ethnic term]? Is that [derogatory term for a woman] your date? You’re a lucky lady, I want to bang your [racist ethnic term] boyfriend because after we [overly shocking sexual activity] he will [commit a stereotypical ethnic crime]. Oh sorry, you don’t like it, I hope you get [fatal medical condition].”

Genius!

Fans of this hack will argue that I’m “overly sensitive” and “too politically correct” but the truth is I gravitate to offensive fringe comedians and it’s not easy to offend or shock me. Shocking is great as long it’s FUNNY! In fact the only thing shocking about Lisa Lampanelli is how utterly unfunny she is. She has got to be one of the least clever comedians in the history of comedy.

I would sit through 100 Carrot Top shows before I would endure even five minutes of this tedious bore. I would rather spend a night in Las Vegas with Guy Fieri declaring everything he sees is “money” than allow even one more farty joke from that bloody tampon to enter my boobs.

If I wasn’t sort of drunk right now I would put more effort into this and believe me it would be HILARIOUS. Such is life.

Plus, what the fuck could be said about this?

Veronica Robinson can try and wrap this madness up in her cute little Harry Potter accent, but this insanity is straight up Deliverance banjo-picking-butt-fucking territory!

Mrs. Robinson (hmmmm, interesting) believes her children should decide on their own at what age to stop sucking milk out of her body. Really? I guess that’s because children make such good decisions on their own. Most of my brilliant decisions around the age of 8 involved setting things on fire or falling off things. If you want to put it in food terms, my 8-year-old brain would happily tell my 8-year-old mouth to eat an entire box of Cap’n Crunch until my gums were bleeding.

This nut actually says, with a straight face, that her children can’t breastfeed forever because eventually they have to go to college and/or get married. I have news for you, marriage is not in your daughter’s futures and judging from the pictures they like to draw of your tits the best they can hope for is a life in fetish porn.

I think her daughter sums it up best when she says she would “rather have lots of breast milk than a million melons.” I think her other daughter sums it up even better when she says, “Mmmmm…grunt…swallow.”

What the fucking fuck?

I’m going to keep this short for exactly 2 reasons.

1) I got home late after dinner and drinks at the latest trendy hipster whiskey tavern (more on that later).

2) My neighbors are going apeshit because we won the Stanley Cup and there’s a good chance our apartment will burn to the ground by morning.

3) There’s only so much to say about these assholes.

4) It’s late, I’m tired and I hate blogs.

Sooooooooo anyway. Tonight was my second trip to the latest hipster hangout in Chicago. It’s more saloon than “bar” and the amount of waxed handlebar mustaches and suspenders holding up tiny pants is staggering. Apparently now it’s cool to look 90s… 1890s. Just ask loyal reader of this amazing website, Erica, about the transportation of her coworkers.

My point is this… FUCK YOU, YOU RIDICULOUS BORING HIPSTERS.

My point is also this… I have coined a phrase for this new breed of precious turn-of-the-century hipster and all I ask is that you spread it and make it catch on. The “Urban Howdy Doody.”

Good night.

I know you have had a rough week with God going on yet another killing spree, nabbing Dennis Hopper, Gary Coleman and Paul Gray (Slipknot) with his greedy cloud hands, but I am afraid I have more bad news… I am taking a week off. I’m going to be away from computer machines for most of the week so unless you want me to call you personally for an over-the-phone rant, I will not be able to share my important opinions with you. I know it will be difficult but I believe in you and know you will be able to make it one week without me.

Please do not visit any other so-called websites in my absence.

Fart.