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.
Yeah, that creepy poster of a baby dressed as corn is really going to brighten up your beer-soaked, double-wide trailer. IT’S SOOOOO CUTE!
I think I hate Anne Geddes because I’m jealous of her. I mean could there be anything easier than plopping some stupid babies into a giant salad and snapping a few photos? Put a baby in a bunny suit and get ready to start counting your money. BITCH!
The only people worse than Anne Geddes are the tasteless dolts who eat this shit up. I honestly can’t comprehend looking at one of these posters and thinking “Oh yeah, I love that. I love it when babies dress in cactus outfits. I NEED that!” I like children, but this shit makes me want to do a Geddes-style poster of a baby dressed as a golf ball that’s about to get whacked by a giant golf club.
And can we all just PLEASE agree to stop taking black and white photos of tiny babies being held by hairy shirtless men? OK, we get it, life is precious and fragile and babies look small in big hands and look how strong those hands look and we have to protect babies and the circle of life and kumbaya and peace on Earth and that scene in Ghost where Patrick Swayze fucks Demi Moore on a pottery wheel and Sarah Palin, and Jesus and Blue Collar Comedy and Walmart… Lord, take me now!
Hey, here’s a great idea, let’s float around the middle of the ocean trapped in a giant mall with a bunch of shitty assholes. If we really get lucky, we can all catch the same mystery illness from our little white trash ecosystem. Don’t worry too much about catching something though, it rarely happens!
Who wants to do this? What’s fun about floating around on a giant Holiday Inn and stopping for only an hour in various ports where the locals descend on you like the pubic lice you will no doubt catch from your bed sheets? Then, every night you are forced to eat dinner with strangers who just can’t stop talking about how much they enjoy reruns of “Tool Time.” They will be referring to “Home Improvement” but will call it Tool Time even though they literally watch it every day.
You know when people disappear form cruise ships? I promise you they are jumping to their deaths after the third day of listening to yokels babble on and on about how “funky” that Paula Deen is.
There is no amount of money that could convince me to waste my vacation on a cruise.*
*I know, I know… there are cool, smaller cruises that go to places like Alaska. I’m not talking about those. Maybe I am. I don’t know anymore.
It’s bad enough being told to “dream” by some piece of shit hanging on your wall, but when you cheerfully ask me to let God’s love climb inside me and do something blah blah blah at the end of your email, it fills me with a form of rage yet to be described by the English language.
I just want to know why you haven’t shipped my Ninja swords yet, I don’t need your dime store Obi-Wan Kenobi bullshit at the end of your email. When a person is sitting at home waiting for their fucking Ninja swords to arrive so that he might protect himself from rival Ninjas in the neighborhood, do you really think he wants to be told “When you believe in yourself the possibilities are endless?” NO! I WANT MY SWORDS!
Why is it that the more horrible and pathetic your shitty life is the more you believe in crappy inspirational nonsense? Do you think Donald Trump ends his emails with “Faith is daring the soul to go beyond what the eyes can see?” Of course not, and we all know Donald Trump is the most powerful, rich, awesome, charismatic, classy man in the universe. We should be so lucky! You think Donald Trump has to lock himself in the house for two weeks while he waits for his swords to arrive? Are you kidding? That man gets his swords flown to him on a private jet directly from Chinese Ninja training camps.
And PLEASE stop telling me to have a “blessed day.” I don’t want a blessed day, I simply want my swords.
Congratulations, you can scrape two things together, now that’s what I call talent!
Not since the invention of the hacky sack have smelly fuckheads had such a useless form to express themselves. Isn’t it ironic that filthy hippies would choose an object made for cleaning to make “music?”
I guess it makes sense really. Some folksy turd was probably sitting around his shack when something shiny in the corner caught his eye. Having never washed his clothes or body, he stared and poked at it like the apes in 2001: A Space Odyssey when the monolith appears. He probably grabbed his booger-pickin’ spoon from the cluttered floor and threw it at the washboard, thinking it was some sort of a dag-gone space monster or something. Well there must have been something about that horrible clang of metal hitting metal that sounded like music to his dirty hillbilly ears, because the next thing you know, he’s jiving and shucking all over the woods with his jug of xxx moonshine and his new “instrument.”
Now, thanks to this dick, I’m forced to see these assholes every Fat Tuesday on the wacky morning news, jamming with some shitty Zydeco band. You know what? Zydeco, you just made my list too. You suck!
Just when I thought it was impossible to make wraps suck any more, McDonald’s has decided to shove a Big Mac up my wrap hole. I’m picturing the people in charge of developing new “food” at McDonald’s slumped in their chairs and just sort of lazily tossing crap from the garbage onto a table and saying “Um, I don’t know, I guess I would eat it if I was forced to. Steve, what do you think? I’m too drunk to care.” What’s next? Big Mac milkshake? Just toss some chocolate chips on that sucker – BOOM – meat cookies!
I also really love it when food brags that it’s made from FOOD! Congratulations Big Mac, your beef is made from beef. Way to go Easy Cheese, you’re made from cheese. Honestly though, I think most Americans would be just as happy to eat a Big Mac if it advertised “Made with some meat.”
I give up. What in the fucking fuck is going on? I honestly don’t know what is worse, a lamb born with a human face or a straight edge douchewad with tribal earrings and a fucking Adam Duritz back tattoo. For once, I am speechless. I need you to decide for me while I drink myself to death.
Much like the Terminator, you can be sure that after you eat Wendy’s “Baconator” it too will be back.
Do I really need to “conquer” my food? Ted Nugent and Sarah Palin may love to bring their food to its knees, but I just need something that will go down and come out the other end without trying to kill me in the process. Don’t get me wrong, I hate fussy food, but I also don’t need a fucking pizza on top of my pretzel. How in the hell am I supposed to walk around the mall and impress 18-year-old girls (or their moms) when I’m trying to balance a pizza on top of my God damn pretzel? I’m already carrying 4 bags from Hot Topic!
A Triple Baconator clocks in at: 1330 calories 86 grams of fat 780 calories coming from fat.
Let me put that into perspective for your fat ass… a Big Mac has 540 calories with 29 grams of fat and 260 calories from fat. In other words, a Triple Baconator is like eating 2.5 Big Macs. The recommended caloric intake for a 25 year old male who is 6 feet / 175 lbs is about 2500-2900 depending on how active they are. So let’s add medium fries and a large Coke to your Wendy’s order, please drive to the first window. Congratulations you just consumed 2020 calories and 106 grams of fat in ONE MEAL! I’m sweating just from the thought of it.
Your body literally does need to conquer that son-of-a-bitch!
If you can’t live without your precious Baconator, you might as well class it up a bit.
