You just made my list!

There’s no part of this video that is funny or worth joking around about. If you think this cunt is a GIANT CUNT then turn it into something positive and text REDCROSS to 90999 to make a $10 donation to help the earthquake & tsunami victims in Japan.

By the way, here’s what it was like to be in the middle of that little “tsunami thing.”

The owners of this dog might like to believe their dog is saying “I love you” but, in reality, this poor dog is saying “Please stop saying those words to me, I don’t know what they mean, I just want to watch a little TV on this romantic four post bed before I go take a shit in the living room. I hate yoooooooooooooooouuuuuuuuuu!”

You know how I know dogs can’t say I love you? Because you never see videos of Mexican dogs saying “Te Amo” or Chinese dogs saying “我愛你.” Apparently dogs can only express love in English. More evidence that AMERICA RULES! Yeah, that’s right, America is the only country that speaks English!

Why don’t these genius talking dogs ever proclaim anything other than their unconditional love for their jackass owners? You never see a cute Youtube clip of some dog saying “Let’s go for a walk” or “Toss me that tennis ball” or “I honestly believe Lee Harvey Oswald did, in fact, act aloooooone!”

I’m sure all you world wide web “surfers” have been asking yourself where the gosh heck I have been. First of all, watch your language. Secondly, there is no second part, I’ve just been blowing it off.

Since June 30th, 2008 I have written pretty much 5 days a week for a total of 633 posts. There have been 527,068 visitors to youjustmademylist and in the 10,936 comments left on this site so far, I have been accused of living in my mom’s basement approximately 800 times. I have spoken with, and completely blown off (for some dumb reason), a reputable literary agent who wanted to see some treatments for a book and I will most likely be murdered by a Juggalo within the next 3-4 months (if they weren’t too fucking lazy to get their fat piece of shit asses off the couch).

So what does all that mean? It probably means I’m awesome but I’m not sure.

Am I quitting this blog? I don’t know. I don’t think so but to be honest, it’s hard to find the time lately. I’m so fucking talented at my job that I’ve been working 12-14 hour days. Plus, I’m moving to Hawaii at the end of the summer (my mom is moving her basement there, I have no choice) and it is not a simple move. It basically involves me completely dismantling my life and selling almost everything I own.

Blah blah blah, this is starting to sound like a “real” blog where people share their feelings. Sorry.

SO… I think I will be back very soon but I’m not entirely sure anyone cares. I was sure the world would end when I stopped writing but, much to my disappointment, Guy Fieri and Creed still have a planet to walk around on.

Sincerely,
Listy (The most awesome person in the world)

Remember those kids in high school who would randomly wear their clothes backwards one day as some sort of sad protest against prom or something? They were the kind of nerds who didn’t try to disappear into the background but would instead call jocks “homo erectus” right to their face about two seconds prior to being tied up with their own 25 foot Dr. Who scarf and stuffed into a book bag. These are the same people who are now charging you $500 to eat menus and inhale walnut air. The nerds have won.

Sorry, I know this makes me an “old man” who “hates fun” but I find molecular gastronomy to be insufferable and fucking annoying. I honestly think I would rather *GULP* go to dinner at Guy Fieri’s house than have some asshole sell me a frozen raisin that was aged for two weeks in a room with a stereo playing nothing but Belle and Sebastian.

Fuck you and your stupid edible menu. Oh my GOD, I relate to nothing!

Come on, really? I mean… what? I don’t need this shit, not today, not ever. Why?

Oh thanks beautiful angel for letting me eat your sauce-soaked hair!

There’s only one thing horrible enough to wake me from my recent lazy holiday writing schedule. Angel hair pasta is the pussy of all pastas. I don’t mean that as a compliment, as in, angel hair pasta is awesome like female sexy parts. No, I mean angel hair pasta is the nerd of the pasta world.  Spaghetti is James Brown* and angel hair pasta is the Spin Doctors.**

I think I would rather eat actual hair than ever put another lifeless, slippery tangle of angel hair nonsense in my pretty mouth. Plus, angel hair pasta is always slimy and over-cooked because it’s so fucking thin it’s practically already cooked just from being near a boiling pot of water. It’s like when a little kid pukes just from seeing a roller coaster whiz by. At least in that scenario the people on the roller coaster are having fun, with angel hair pasta everybody loses.

*This could either be the young James Brown or the old drugged out, bat-shit crazy James Brown.

**Pick any era of the Spin Doctors you want.

They sang…

They laughed…

They played…

Hey, these dapper dudes seem pretty fun. Who doesn’t love a good joke and a quick ride on some children’s playground equipment? Who are these festive people and where did they get those cute boots?

…And murdered millions!

WHAT? I – did – not – see – that – coming!

Jeeze, Time Life, you had me reaching for my credit card there for a second. Coming off Christmas day, where I watched “A Christmas Story” for approximately six hours in a row, I guess I’m in a 1940s kind of mood, so when I saw the happy old-timey footage and heard the lovely children’s chorus, I felt all warm and cozy inside.

Well I’ll tell you what, mister, I was not ready for the twist ending and I will NOT be buying the DVD! Although, it is free shipping…

Hey building, thanks for making me look like a dick every time I try to go into you. Here’s an idea, you’ve got two doors, keep them BOTH fucking unlocked! You’re an asshole, building.

What is the point of this little game of cat and mouse? Are you trying to appeal to the gambler in all of us? Should a bolt of adrenaline rush through my body as I approach your precious doors, not knowing if I will be allowed to enter the promised land or be left tugging an immovable door like some big dumb idiot? Perhaps if you actually rewarded me with money when I am lucky enough to choose the correct door I would be more excited about your dumb little game of chance. It’s like you are the older kid sitting on my chest, beating me with my own hands while saying “Stop hitting yourself, why are you hitting yourself?”

Stop fucking with me, building, I just want to go see my dentist without looking like a jerkwad.