You just made my list!

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!)

Do you have an important funeral to attend but you just don’t feel like getting all dressed up in blue jeans for it? Have you been invited to a wedding and think it’s unfair that you can’t just wear your pajamas? I mean what’s more important than YOUR comfort, right? For years women have suffered the inhumane torture of wearing jeans in public. What, is everyone supposed to be the Queen of England?

Introducing Pajama Jeans, you lazy piece of shit! Now you can wear your PJs to your mother’s funeral and all the other dopes in attendance will think you have dressed up in jeans. Joke’s on them, it’s our little secret.

Pajama Jeans provide the best of both worlds… the laziness of wearing jeans every day, and the laziness of wearing your pajamas in public! Our patented stretchy material works for all shapes and sizes, so cramming your fat ass in there for a trip to Walmart will be a snap. The special interior “Dormi Soft” material is as soft as a baby’s face. It’s like rubbing your sweaty vagina against a cute baby’s face, what could be better?!?

You can wear your pretend jeans with sandals, bare feet, Crocs, or if you have an important court date for your recent D.U.I. you can even wear them with flip-flops.

But wait, there’s more! You can even work out in your magical fake jeans. I’m just kidding, we all now there’s no need for you to work out, it’s McDonalds’ fault you are fat. You should fucking sue!

Order now and we will throw in a free T-shirt that you will most likely use to wipe Slurpee spills off your belly.

Finally, Americans have a way to dress casually! Order your Pajama Jeans NOW!!

What, you expect me to write on Christmas eve? I don’t get a day off to celebrate the day before the fake birthday of a guy who may, or may not, have actually existed?

Here, you want a post? I hate people who trample other people for Holiday sales at various shit-filled stores. Can you imagine taking your final breath on the floor of a Walmart while hundreds of fat-asses in sweatpants callously walk across your dying body so they can get a fucking Xbox for their shitty, meth-addicted, Juggalo children at a 20% discount?

Now I’m in a bad mood. Christmas is canceled!

You squeeze. You smash. You stomp. You use a hammer, but still you can’t manage the simple task of applying toothpaste to your brush!

There has got to be a less-reasonable way!

Your pathetic dumb ass is in luck. Introducing Touch-N-Brush, the magic toothpaste machine that does all the work while you do nothing more complicated than sticking something into something. It’s so easy even an idiot like you can get the hang of it after only 30 or 40 tries.

Thanks to your new toothpaste robot, you will never have to clean the bathroom again! Sticky bathroom sinks are a thing of the past, unless you have a teenage son, because I promise you that kid is jerking off in that sink at least twice a week. Probably the kitchen sink too. What is wrong with that kid?

Did your husband throw you down the stairs for walking in front of the TV during Monday Night Football? No problem pretty lady, you can still use Touch-N-Brush with only one arm. One fucking arm! Can you fucking believe that shit?

Are your kids also too stupid to operate toothpaste? Fuck ’em, who cares about those little shits. If it wasn’t for them you would probably be the world’s most awesome and cool and most richest rock star. Those kids stole your dream, Steve, so let their little mouths bleed.

“But what if I accidentally put rat poison in my Touch-N-Brush, will the dang thing kill me and my family?” Yes, yes it will.

Let me tell you something pal, if you say one negative thing about SkyMall I will hunt you down and I will cast a spell upon you with my Harry Potter® magic wand! SkyMall fucking RULES!

I hate flying. I’m not afraid to fly but I hate everything about the process. I hate getting up early. I hate airports. I hate huge crowds of cranky people dressed in their finest sweatsuits. But mostly I hate how cramped, uncomfortable and boring sitting on an airplane is. There is only ONE thing that I look forward to… the SkyMall catalog.

I’m not kidding, slowly soaking up every page is one of life’s purest joys. Forget your shitty wedding and the birth of your dumb kids, SkyMall trumps them all.

There is an art to reading SkyMall and when done properly it can easily provide two or more hours of entertainment. Only an amateur asshole would start flipping through the glorious pages of SkyMall while still sitting on the runway. Idiots. A connoisseur knows to wait until about 30 minutes into the flight, right about the time you begin to level off. Believe me, I know how hard it is to fight the temptation to sneak a peek before takeoff but you MUST fight it!

After about 30 minutes you are free to begin your journey through the greatest products known to man. I like to spend about five minutes just staring at the cover. This is like the foreplay or the romance, if you will. I think about how excited the inventor of the Floating Bar must have been when he learned he was that month’s cover product. Chills.

On the flight to my destination I like to spend most of my time concentrating on the photos, this way I can enjoy all of the product descriptions on my way back. This technique should give you about an hour of bliss on each flight. Smart.

I sit there and imagine how good my life would be if I just had some unsightly pipe to cover with a plastic rock or some snow to rake. Damn it, these people are so lucky! I wonder how I make it through the day without my own Indiana Jones leather bullwhip and why I have never thought to use a propane torch to kill weeds. I fantasize about the looks on my dumb friend’s faces when they are startled by my awesome garden statue and the girth of my incredible noodle. They are going to be so jealous, I hate them. But nothing makes me happier than this (you still have time to buy me one for Christmas).

You are probably wondering what the Holy Grail of SkyMall aficionados might be. I will tell you but I might get a little emotional in the process. Ahab had Moby Dick, Don Quixote had windmills but my white whale has yet to show itself in my presence. The day I get on a plane for my return flight and discover a new issue of SkyMall, not yet available on my previous flight, waiting for me in the seat pocket… I’m sorry but thinking about it right now has me in tears. That day will be the best day of my life.

OK, if you are a female you might as well tune out right now because I think this might be a boys-only kind of rant. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe this is a me-only kind of rant. Who cares, I just suffered through an hour and a half of Project Runway and I’m cranky thanks to an accidental nap. I fucking hate naps.

Look, shut up for a second, all I’m trying to say is that when I was a kid I would stare at the toy section of the Sears catalog until my eyes would bleed and every year they would feature a mini pool table. I would stare at it and imagine myself setting up an entire room of mini pool tables in my basement, turning it into a dark and smoky mini billiards hall with mini Asian men gambling in the corner and mini blues musician types shooting pool and drinking Scotch while a mini George Thorogood bad-to-the-boned his way around the room. How could it not be great?

Well guess what, it was all a lie! If you want to see a child’s dreams die just watch them play miniature pool for the first time. Fuck you Sears!

Nobody cares. Why are you even reading this?

New Star Wars characters released! Soon every child and adult nerd will be collecting the new Robert and Mike action figures from the latest installment in the George Lucas franchise, Star Wars: Let’s Golf This Weekend.

That would be a better explanation of this insanity but sadly these things exist on our planet.

As you all know, since the Iraq and Afghanistan wars began, the burka craze appears to be unstoppable! Seems like EVERYONE owns at least a couple burkas. Moms are wearing them to Walmart and kids in the ghetto are shooting each other over them. I don’t need to remind you that the runaway hit last Christmas was the Snuggie Burka!

Even THAT would be a better explanation.

In reality, these are to protect your precious face and hair (?) from the sun. How about this… if you are that sensitive to the sun you just have to stay inside. Maybe it’s selfish, but when I’m bench-pressing sexy babes on the beach for a crowd of onlookers I don’t need to see you and your sun helmet in my peripheral vision. To be honest, it’s dangerous for me and the girl I’m bench-pressing. I don’t have time for your distracting headgear, not now, not ever.

(This is the part where Jeff leaves a comment like “You know actually, these are for burn victims who need extra protection from the sun” and ruins everyone’s fun. Thanks Jeff.)

If only there was a way to combine my love of sandwiches with tennis ball packaging.

From now on when I head to a kickass beach party I’m grabbing a six-pack of Coors Light and a sixer of BBQ chicken sandwiches. I’m also bringing a six-pack of condoms because when the ladies see me pop the top off a fresh sammie they’re going to be like, “I wish that guy eating canned sandwiches over there would get me pregnant,” and I’m going to be like, “You wish,” and then she’s going to be like, “Yeah, that’s what I just said,” and I’ll be like, “That’s what she said,” and she’ll be like, “Wait, I can’t tell if you are kidding or you just can’t understand what I’m saying,” and then I’ll smash the empty Candwich can on my head and be like, “I just ate a canned sandwich so, yeah, I’d say I’m basically the shit. Now let’s do it.” Yet another girl goes home with a little PB&J all over her body. NEXT!

I don’t hate the concept of the Candwich. How could I? Sandwich in a can? Yeah, that’s perfectly normal and awesome. I do, however, take issue with the fact that the Candwich creator, Travis L. Wright, was able to talk a bunch of Utah investors out of $145,000,000 in order to make his dream of canned lunch a reality. Well technically they thought they were investing in real estate and Wright was secretly using their money to cram hoagies into soda cans. The point is, this guy had a dream and found a way to scam people in order to make it a reality. Why don’t I have that kind of resourcefulness?

Oh sure, it’s easy for you to sit there on your high horse and call Travis Wright a thief and a fraud but why don’t you take a bite of this turkey and Swiss before you pass judgment. Here, wash it down with a can of mashed potatoes and gravy.

Apology accepted.