You just made my list!

I hate blogging.

Some of you might have noticed a comment I received on my last post about Degree magical motion sensing deodorant from a blogger (and ATTORNEY!!!!!) named Charlene. The purpose of this comment was to inform me that embedding her Youtube video was a violation of copyright. Guess what Perry Mason, you lost another case and your client is going to the electric chair.

Let’s all spend less than 3 seconds to research your claim of copyright infringement and look at Youtube’s terms of service, section 6C…

“You also hereby grant each user of the Service a non-exclusive license to access your Content through the Service, and to use, reproduce, distribute, display and perform such Content as permitted through the functionality of the Service and under these Terms of Service.”

You are as bad at being an attorney as I am at not being awesome.

Let’s also keep in mind that her vague but threatening comment all centers around a video about DEODORANT! She wants to argue about deodorant? Your husband is a lucky man, you seem REAL carefree and fun Charlene!

Oh my dear friends, the story doesn’t end there. I took a little walk over to charlenechronicles.com and what do I see? What the fucking fuck do I see, but a rant… ABOUT ME! In this little rant, Charlene blabbed on and on about copyright violations, which would be fine IF I ACTUALLY VIOLATED HER RIGHTS. Clearly Charlene, the world’s greatest attorney and self-proclaimed social media expert, doesn’t understand the contract she entered into with Youtube.

Now, will she print a retraction and apologize for having the fucking gall to accuse me of stealing her STUPID VIDEO ABOUT DEODORANT? What do you think? I submitted a comment on her blog explaining Youtube’s policy but it has yet to be approved and I’m pretty sure it will not be.

My favorite thing about her asinine post is that she refuses to link to my site because she doesn’t want to “drive traffic” to me. I think you can risk sending your 3 readers a month my way. Based on your impressive average comment count of zero, I think it would be OK.

Let me make something very clear, I am not pretending to be angry in an attempt to be funny or get back at this woman, I am genuinely VERY pissed off. I don’t need some boring, bland, blogging mommy who spends her days shilling for deodorant companies to accuse me of stealing from her and then use me as a topic of discussion on her incredibly interesting blog that normally covers exciting topics like a block-by-block description of her morning jog. At one point she saw a pile of trash on the street! Thrilling Charlene.

I hope Charlene has purchased and cleared the rights for EVERY photo and graphic she has ever used on her blog. If not, that would be a major violation against the copyright owners. I may not be a lawyer, but I once saw a porno about a bunch of lesbian lawyers, so yeah, I pretty much know a thing or two about the law.

Let me tell you something about most of these mommy bloggers… they are liars and they are charlatans. They are snake-oil salesmen and they are shills. They give RAVE reviews of products and encourage you to check them out with an innocent little link. What most people don’t know is, contained within that link is code, code that pays the sweet little mommy a commission when other mommies buy whatever shit the blogger is “loving.” Hard to imagine anything other than a five star review when a possible commission check is looming overhead.

I’m waiting for my apology Charlene. I want the world (a.k.a. your 3 readers) to know how sorry you are for accusing me of stealing from you when the reality is that you, the blogging and social media expert, couldn’t blog your way out of a blog sack. I don’t know exactly what a blog sack is, but I’m pretty sure it’s not that hard to blog out of.

I hope you enjoy the traffic I’m sending you.

Guess what idiots, deodorant is now so smart it knows when you are moving!

You’d think technology as advanced as this would be used by the military or NASA, but instead it’s used to keep your mom’s armpits dry every time she suddenly darts in any direction. What a world we live in!

Next time you see some random woman walking into Hobby Lobby, take a moment to appreciate the advanced number-crunching that’s taking place under her arms. She calmly walks in the store’s entrance like it’s no big deal, but her deodorant is busy calculating speed and velocity. It is at this moment that her magic armpit computer makes some important decisions: should it spring into action and release its sweat-defeating power, or hold tight and see how this whole scenario is going to play out? The Degree decides to wait and see, like a Navy Seal poking his head out of a swamp in the middle of the night.

Suddenly, without warning, Aunt Carol makes a mad dash for the last clearance sale foam pumpkin… alarms and buzzers start going off under her arms like a fucking WWII submarine! The Degree is like “Holy shit, holy shit, it’s really happening! OK we can do this. We trained for this a thousand times. ACTIVATE! ACTIVATE! ACTIVATE!”

I’m curious about one thing though, what happens when you are driving? Does the Degree get confused and start trying to dry you? Shit, what about on the delivery truck? How does the deodorant know when it’s the real thing? I kind of feel bad for the deodorant now, that’s a lot of pressure for a chunk of paste.

Even the Degree spokeswoman can’t believe the shit coming out of her mouth.
(watch at your own risk, you might get sued!)

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.”

Finally Chevy has figured out a way for you to NEVER escape the incessant, meaningless blathering barfed out by all of your “friends” on Facebook. You never said more than two words to these people when you sat next to them in algebra 20 years ago, but thanks to the magic of Facebook, you now have an up-to-the-minute update of every dumb thing their fat kids do and say.

Well, guess what? Your once peaceful drive home from the adult book store is now going to be filled with wacky anecdotes about microwaved Legos and pancakes found under rugs. Good luck getting a boner after that.

I invite you all to take a look at your Facebook “news feed” right now and imagine what it would sound like to have it read to you by your car. For example, if I was driving right now I would learn that “After shopping all afternoon with my kids, it’s safe to say I am NOT a ‘shop till you drop’ kind of person!!! LOL!”

Way to go society!

Hey ladies, do you want a new car? Of course you do. You could work hard, save your money and buy yourself a new car but who has the energy for that bullshit? Why don’t you do it the Mama Gena way and get your husband to buy you a new car. All you have to do is whore it up a little and that new PT Cruiser will be sitting in your driveway before you can say “low self esteem!” Now, when I say act like a whore I’m not talking about simply getting a little kinky in the bedroom, I mean literally be a whore and trade sex for objects, because after all, isn’t that what a healthy relationship is all about. PREACH SISTER GODDESS!

Have you ever seen a mom, perhaps your own, drink a few too many glasses of white wine (with ice) and attempt to skateboard? It inevitably ends with her splayed out on the driveway with her skirt over her head, laughing maniacally while everyone else just stares and feels embarrassed on her behalf. Mama Gena’s pathetic antics are not even CLOSE to being that cool.

For the low low price of $4,750 (you know, that makes a decent down payment on a new car) Mama Gena will help you find your inner vapid bimbo. Oh, it’s worth it, just watch her describe the complex art of “sexy” hand holding in the clip below and you’ll see she really knows her stuff. It’s like watching a virgin describe how to give a blowjob. I should also mention that the virgin is your sister and she’s demonstrating on your dad’s finger.

Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

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!

Because I’m awesome, I’ve been working 14 hour days… everyone wants a piece of my talent. Of course this means you, my flock, suffer. For this, I am sort of sorry.

Blah blah blah, Paula Deen, bacon, butter, mayonnaise, fat, loud, giant head, scary eyes, more butter… You get the point.

If you have ever doubted this woman’s talent, just check out this advanced recipe for English Peas only a pro could come up with.

Fuck off, I’m going to bed.

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.