You just made my list!

Not much to say about this other than it grosses me out to see someone smoking while riding a bike. Actually, as a non-smoker, smoking in general is pretty repulsive to me but there’s something so wrong about a person smoking while bicycling. Your lungs must be like, “hey asshole, I’m working here.”

Not only did I see someone smoking on a bike today, I also watched some lady smoke on her way into the gym. Yeah, she was literally sucking it down seconds before walking in the gym door. Why not drink a beer and eat some bacon while punishing that sweatsuit of yours?

Wow, I sure talk about bikes a lot. It’s probably because my parents never loved me enough to get me a BMX bike. I was stuck with a YELLOW stingray. Pathetic.

How is this real?

Writing about getting your fat ass massaged at the mall reminded me of another utterly useless form of relaxation. I am of course speaking of reading a good book on the beach. Oh, and also oxygen bars!

If the sky was made of free beer would you still bother going to a bar to BUY beer? (And with that sentence, I complete my journey to becoming the world’s bestest thinker. Me smart!)

Do you realize these idiots are paying over a dollar a minute to breathe flavored air? Suck that concept up your nose holes and try to understand it. Oh, but it must be special oxygen because look at all those colorful beakers of bubbling potions! If it looks like science from the classic 60s Batman TV show it must be good!

The meaningless fun does not end there. If you are feeling a little frisky you can have one of the bartenders(?) mash a piece of hard plastic into your spine or dig out your brain with a German mind-scraper used in the late 17th century to extract homosexual fantasies and other demonic thoughts from your skull.

I quit.

I share my toys and I also share signs my parents make me hold.

I’m writing this on my brand new computer! When a friend brought “Kidical Mass” to my attention this morning I was so filled with rage I literally ate my old computer. Yeah, I ATE a 27″ iMac!

I realize I just wrote about bike hipsters a couple days ago and have already taken a shit on “Critical Mass” but this is child abuse and it must be stopped. These poor kids are being turned into bearded hipsters and Bon Iver fans without their knowledge. It reminds me of the children of KKK members. Yeah, that’s right, Kidical Mass is exactly the same as the Ku Klux Klan!

Apparently this nonsense is designed to raise awareness about bike safety or something. Here’s an idea, keep your kids OUT OF THE ROAD! The road is for cars, not toddlers with poopies in their pants, struggling to stay upright on a SpongeBob bike. The last thing I need is some mini-hipster scratching my SUV when I’m trying to watch YouTube on my iPhone while driving.

Here’s the deal… If this is just supposed to be some fun family activity don’t name it after such a jackass event. Call it “Family Fun Bike Time Festival of Fun and Bikes!” Everyone (yes EVERYONE) hates Critical Mass except the hipster douchebags who participate in it, so associating your kid with such a bunch of misguided bullshit is lame. Just stay home and listen to Neutral Milk Hotel* as a family.

I will sit back and await my Nobel Peace Prize.

*For the record, I love Neutral Milk Hotel

Thank God your shitty kids don’t have to suffer through watching the same program while you DRIVE TO FUCKING WAL-MART!

Are you kidding me with this? It’s not good enough to have a DVD player in your minivan, now you have to have a TV that allows each of your horrible brats to watch their own show? No wonder every kid walks around like they are King Awesome. When did the world start revolving around white, suburban toddlers?

You know what my parents would have said to me if I asked for TV in our car? They would have said “What the fuck are you talking about? It’s 1978.” I was lucky that our car had FM radio, not that I was ever allowed to control it.

When I was about 8 years old we drove 1200 miles (each way) to fucking Florida from fucking Illinois in a fucking station wagon. And guess what assholes, there were four adults so the THREE kids had the pleasure of riding in the back ALL THE FUCKING WAY TO FLORIDA AND BACK. You know what that station wagon didn’t have? A fucking seat in the back so we rode on a hard slab of asbestos filled plastic. Oh yeah, you can forget about that little fantasy of air conditioning too. You know what the craziest thing about that trip was? The fact that all four adults and all three kids fondly look back at that vacation as the best vacation ever.

It was a great trip because we shared the same experience and we were connected as a family. Sure, much of the trip involved the car being pulled over to occasionally beat the children but we were beaten as a family and that’s all that matters.

The more “entertainment” you cram down your kid’s throats the more bored they become. Some of my favorite childhood memories involve lying down on the back seat as we drove through the country, watching the night sky float past as the AM radio filled the car with static-y warmth. Perfection.

Ridiculous.

Why am I the last person on Earth who can do anything that requires the skill set of the average kindergarten student? How is it that I manage to close and seal a sandwich baggie without the aid of color-coded plastic OR special sounds gently encouraging me and reminding me that I’m doing it right?

The latest sandwich bag technology, “Smart Zip,” comes to us from the genius bag scientists at Ziploc. That’s right idiot, your baggie now comes with sound! As you run your greasy unemployed fingers across your bag of weed it says things like, “You can do it! Good for you, you’re closing the baggie. Don’t give up now, you can do it! Almost there… YAY you did it, high five!” Before you know it, you’ve actually closed a Ziploc bag all by yourself! Next on the agenda, tying your shoes.

Imagine the hellish life of the poor assholes who work in the windowless labs at Ziploc, desperately trying to invent new bag “technology” so they don’t get fired and have their Sea-Doo personal watercrafts taken away. Those Dave Matthews tickets aren’t going to pay for themselves!

“How was your day honey?”

“NOT NOW Carol, I just need a drink. Who the hell drank all the T.G.I. Friday’s Mudslides? Damn it Carol I just made those last freakin’ night. I’ll be in the garage sitting on the Sea-Doo.”

Here’s a spoiler… you’re a dick.

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.

Just when you thought the “singing bass” phenomenon of 1998 that swept its way through every trailer park in America had finally gone away.

Recently I received a Bed Bath & Beyond catalog in the mail proudly selling this HILARIOUS singing fish and the ad read “From the hit McDonald’s Commercial.” I can already hear Michael Ian Black’s snarky comments about this “hit commercial” on I Love The 2010s.

But why go all the way to Bed Bath & Beyond when you can pick this gem up at the local drug store during your weekly visit for Slim Jims, diarrhea medicine and cigarettes?

Please explain to me why a fish would be irate that someone stole his fish sandwich. Why the fuck is a fish eating a fish sandwich in the first place? Or is the Filet-O-Fish he is lamenting over actually one of his family members who could not escape McDonald’s fishing boats? Is this actually a tragic song sung by a grieving fish fighting to retrieve the corpse of his dead mother? Is the real tragedy that this poor fish is desperately appealing to any shred of humanity left in our souls to help with his quest to give his mother a proper burial but all we do is laugh and sing along like a bunch of masturbating monkeys? And most importantly, what could this “bonus track” possibly be? AND most importantly-er, why do I ever leave the house?

At least this fish lip-syncs better those Celtic Thunder dick heads.

Hey great, you found a way to make creepy mannequins even more nightmarish!

Maybe it’s because I accidentally said “excuse me” to a mannequin once, or maybe it’s because female mannequins with erect nipples honestly turn me on a little, I don’t know but I just sort of feel animosity towards them. They stand there judging you with their perfect bodies and handless wrists, convincing you to buy shit at Old Navy that you don’t even like. They suck you in with their spell and make you ponder unthinkable things like, “maybe those Dockers would look good on me.”

Mannequins are assholes, but living mannequins are the poo that squeezes out of that asshole. I feel dumb enough at the mall without some vapid, shiny model giving me the stink-eye while I check out the crotch of their jeans. I’m sorry, I just need to see if it’s a zipper or a button fly. I can’t help it if you happen to be wearing those jeans as I slowly run my pizza-covered hands up the inner thigh of the Levi’s I may or may not purchase. Who told you to be a fucking mannequin for a living?

The word mannequin, when broken down to its Latin roots, literally translates to.. how the fuck do I know what it means? I just know it doesn’t mean 19-year-old-dumb-model-standing-there-making-me-feel-uncomfortable-while-I’m-staring-at-her-nipples.