You just made my list!

Fuck you.

Chef Daniel Angerer wants you to know he’s cool and the only way he could think to convince you is to milk his wife like a cow and start churning titty milk into boob cheese. Keep your disgusting hooter cheese to yourself, you douche.

The female breast is meant to be soaked with icy water and judged in Mexican bars, not used as an Easy Cheese can. God made boobs so young girls have a way to acquire beads and T-shirts, he never intended them to be used as nacho cheese fountains.

On his blog, Angerer rambles on about some hippie bullshit and wanting to donate his wife’s excess milk to Haiti, but somehow that morphed into sweater cheese. This guy craves attention even more than I do!

I was all set to write about how much I hate the Oscars, but God damn it, I didn’t mind them this year. I was happy to see The Hurt Locker steal awards away from that piece of shit Avatar. Keep in mind, I have not seen either movie and yet I have a strong opinion on both. I’m proud to be an American!

Since I have celebrities on my mind, let’s talk about how much more awesome I am than Johnny Depp.

I like Johnny Depp as an actor and I’m sure it would be fun to get drunk with him and have a sword fight. Not like a penis sword fight, I mean with real swords. Although, he was in those pirate movies so it wouldn’t be very fair. OK, let’s just say we get drunk and MAYBE have a pee sword fight. The point I’m clearly making is that this guy dresses like he was part of some childhood game where the participants are blindfolded and race to see how many articles of clothing they can put on before time is up.

I mean what is this guy’s thought process in the morning? “OK, let’s see here… two pairs of jeans, socks on my hands, a leather belt and car keys around my neck, a diaper, five shirts, peanut butter in my hair, tampons in my ears and finally I think I will top it all off with the kind of hat computer programmers wear on game night. Done and done!”

OK, here’s the situation, my parents went away on a week’s vacation and they left the keys to the brand new Porsche.

Sorry, those are the lyrics to Parents Just Don’t Understand. OK, here’s the REAL situation… I went out to dinner tonight, had a great time, drank some wine and now I don’t feel like writing about the topic I was planning for today. I would much rather eat beef jerky and watch Lost on the DVR, even though it will cause rage-induced vomiting from the lack of ANYTHING FUCKING HAPPENING! Why do I continue to watch this fucking show???

So, I will leave you with this. This is actual footage of the world ending. A friend (soon to be ex-friend) sent me this today and I felt like ruining your day too. I dare you to watch this all the way through until the end when things really get emotional. Did you ever wonder why Kurt Cobain killed himself?

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.

If I am ever this bored please kill me. Punch me in the face, take the metal detector out of my trembling hands, use it to find the nearest large metal item and kill me with it. The only problem with this plan is that it will most likely take you 10 years to find a metal “treasure” big enough to even slightly wound me. I don’t want to sit there for weeks while you try to kill me with someone’s lost earring. Fuck it, just kill me with the metal detector.

I know I shouldn’t care if this activity makes people happy, especially since it’s usually old guys, but it depresses me while I’m chugging my Corona and flexing my biceps for the young ladies who inevitably crowd around me at the beach. Do these dorks realize how hard it is to keep my pecs pumped while watching this sad display out of the corner of my eye? I’m trying to decide which girl gets to oil me up while Joe Treasure Hunter is collecting bottle caps. It’s very distracting.

THIS JUST IN… I love metal detector enthusiasts!

Are you tired of cracking eggs in your mouth and eyes? Are you sick of cracking eggs with a shovel? Do the simplest tasks cause you great anxiety because you are such a fucking moron? Not anymore. Introducing the EZ Cracker egg cracking robot!

I can’t tell you how many times I have tried to crack an egg by chucking it against the wall, only to be disappointed by an omelette filled with dangerous shells. For a brief period in the early 1990s I would crack most of my eggs by running them over with a rented Home Depot truck but even THAT didn’t work. At least it gave me a good excuse to enjoy the many grunge radio stations programmed into the truck’s radio. I would wake up around noon, brush my long hair, tie a flannel shirt around my waist and mosh my way to the driveway for another attempt at making a delicious ham and cheese omelette.

To add insult to injury, I would be forced to listen to Eddie Vedder and Chris Cornell scream “I’m going hungry” while attempting to crack open eggs in my rented pickup. If only the fucking EZ Cracker existed in 1992!

I accidentally ate half of a Pizza Hut pizza last night and it led to a series of events that prevented me from writing anything. BUT, I have been meaning to point you in the direction of some older posts, so I will do that now. Not because the posts are all that great, but certain topics have become magnets for excessively dumb comments. I’m sure most of you regulars don’t both digging back into past comments, but you might enjoy some of the conversations you have been missing.

The crazy comments usually start half way down…

Andy Samberg and his shitty Digital Shorts!

Irish Dancing!

Parkour!

See you Monday.

Hey thanks for inviting me over to stare at your ceiling for 4 hours! What’s that you say, you want to play Guitar Hero? Sure, let me just go ahead and lie on my back on your dirty floor so I can see the TV. Perfect.

You know, just because you see something on MTV’s Cribs doesn’t mean you have to try and recreate it in your Dorito-covered trailer. As a general rule, if you see some dumb rapper do something on Cribs it’s best to do the opposite. Sure, it might seem cool to have an actual panda bear as your butler, but after the money is gone who’s going to feed that thing? God, I would pay so much money to watch a hungry panda chase Lil Wayne around some shitty, beige, Atlanta McMansion. Lil would try to hide behind his pool table only to immediately regret buying the world’s only perfectly clear pool table made from Swarovski crystals. Go get your Wayne on, panda.

Sorry, I got distracted by that fantasy. When did placing your TV at eye level become the exception rather than the rule? Plus, I can think of no better place for your $1,500 TV than over your hot, dirty, smoke-barfing fireplace. I keep my computer in the oven.