You really can’t say that you’ve made anything of your life until your likeness appears on someone’s fingernails. You think you’re the shit because your dumb face is on a T-shirt? Bullshit, call me when some chick is walking around with your smiling mug on her disgusting fingernails.
(STOP THE PRESSES – I just saw a commercial for some fat ass dating show on Fox. It’s a fat guy looking for love from a group of fat chicks standing on reinforced bleachers. Mark my words, the world will end by November.)
OK, sorry about that… This is one of those subjects that makes a little barf come up. I am endlessly fascinated by what some people accept as “fashionable.” I mean, there are thousands of women walking around RIGHT NOW with palm trees, dolphins, tigers and flowers painted on their long fingernails. No, these women were not abducted at gunpoint and forced to do such a thing. Nope, these crazies paid for this insanity.
The art is bad enough on its own, but the thing that really gets to me is the length of these nails. It sends a shiver down my spine every time I see a woman struggling to do some simple task with her painted claws. Using a telephone or picking up a coin becomes a day-long event with these idiots.
What is wrong with you people? Why are you wearing miniature jeans? Are you a doll? Do you have tiny doll legs?
Unless you are the sound guy for Jeff Foxworthy and it’s 1991 it’s time to retire your jean shorts. In fact, you might be a redneck if you are STILL FUCKING WEARING DENIM SHORTS!
I have complied a list of everything that is better than denim shorts…
Well, aren’t you just king of the fucking jungle? That’s right alligator, Brad owns your bitch ass just like he rules at medium level Guitar Hero and beer pong. That’s right, shut your pussy mouth, gator, Carol is in control now, just like she’s in charge of the motherfucking office lottery tickets every week. HOW YOU LIKE ME NOW?!?
What kind of a pathetic turd do you have to be to take pleasure in fucking around with some poor animal in a misguided attempt to look tough? Are people going to see the photo on your fridge and think it was taken in the wild and you are not the douchebag they secretly always thought you were? I don’t care if it’s an ant or an alligator, if you enjoy tormenting another living creature you are a grade-A piece of shit.
My honest desire is for every jackass who poses for one of these photos to have their heads torn off by these awesome, prehistoric killing machines. I want to see them eaten whole and I want to be there when the gator poops out little scraps of J. Crew and, ironically, Crocs. I want their families to watch as a fed up alligator grabs Daddy by his fat face and drags him underwater leaving only his soiled denim shorts and NASCAR hat behind. Ahhhhh, let me take a moment to daydream about that a little longer…
These clips are like porn to me. Go get ’em gators!
I made the mistake of stopping on Mtv this afternoon while looking for something on TV to nap to. I love to nap to the vapid drone of the television. I just do. Did you know your brain is less active while watching TV than it is when you are sleeping? Well, my brain just about shut off to the point of forgetting to make my heart beat and my lungs breathe after I made the mistake of watching an hour of the new season of the Real World/Road Rules Challenge.
In college (and maybe a little out of college) I used to casually watch The Real World. I didn’t technically enjoy it, but I watched enough to be able to tell you that Jay on the London cast loved mac and cheese and that Colin from the Hawaii cast was totally NOT into Amaya but made the mistake of making out with her, probably because he wanted to fondle her huge boobs, and she totally fell in love with him and wanted to snuggle and baby talk and make him kiss stuffed animals every night in his bunk bed but Colin was like rolling his eyes and feeling totally trapped but didn’t know how to get out of it. However I had to stop watching the Real World when A) I realized I was an adult and B) Mtv starting exclusively casting idiots with explosive rage disorder.*
The only thing worse than the obnoxious alcoholics that kick, scream and casually fuck their way around the overly-colorful Ikea catalog that is the Real World house is the same people coming back even more obnoxious and alcoholic-y year after pathetic year to compete** in the Real World/Road Rules Challenge. These people really have got to be the biggest collection of douchebags mankind has ever known.
In the same way that you are a shitty parent if you let your kids watch Bratz, you are an equally bad parent if you let your kids watch ANYTHING on Mtv. Unless you want your child to grow up thinking life is simply a series of ever-growing drunken, semi-nude tantrums, I suggest you keep their tiny brains far away from Mtv.
*I just made that up but I’m sure it’s real.
**Compete = fighting and fucking each other
Is it just me or does it seem like a porno or a drug deal gone bad could break out at any moment in these places?
You can always spot a McMansion from a mile away thanks to the “grand” entrance they ALL have. I wonder what it must feel like to enter your home through such a fantastic portal. On one hand you must feel big and important because you are living the dream but at the same time you must also feel tiny standing next to your giant plastic pillars. Actually I would imagine the “rich “people who own these monstrosities usually just enter through their two car garage. Yeah you heard right, these titans of industry can park two cars, indoors!
The only good thing about McMansions is that you can be sure most of the douchebags who own them are currently losing their asses in this terrible economy. That’s something to be happy about, right?
I’m guessing if you are the kind of person who is lazy enough to use an automatic shower sprayer you have a bathroom that requires more help than this piece of shit can provide. A push of this magic button is not going to erase the last 10 years of failure as a human being. You are still going to have Flamin Hot Cheeto dust all over your “Everybody Loves Raymond” T-shirt after asking your new high tech shower robot (you will think it’s a robot) to clean that filthy hell hole you call a shower.
Maybe I’m being too harsh but I’m pretty sure I am right about everything, always. GOD DAMN, I’m awesome!
