Thursday, May 7, 2009
Don't watch unless it's 4am and you've been up all night watching sportscenter re-runs. This is probably the closest I've ever come to feeling the effects of acid. Headphones are essential. Just stare into as if it were a "Magic Eye."
"This is more music for druggies. The Beatles should be ashamed to put out this album. I saw Paul Mcartney live last year and he was better than this album, and the other Beatles weren’t even there. But the stage show was boring, there where no pyrotecnics or girls. When I saw Motley Crew during there Dr. Feelgood tour they at least had Fireballs and dancing girls. Plus Mick Mars destroys George Harryson on guitar!"
Here's a favorite from some clown. Here two of my favorite things from this post of theirs.
A. Of all things they misspell, The Beatles is not one of them
B. The Beatles suck because they lack fireballs.
Therefore, Beatles plus picture to the right = Motley Crue quality show
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
I'm starting to think that his intention was to write for "Curb Your Enthusiasm." Basically it's a less tripped out version of Family Guy, Peter is now Larry David and Brian is a brown hound looking thing.
I'm thinking about nominating this guy as clown of the year. Didn't I see that guy as the dad in American Pie and countless other shitty movies?
Watch this and remember, that some douchebag friend of this guy thought this was actually really cool and deserving of a video. On the other hand, this friend I speak of may have video taped this performance as proof to why three years later he has gone postal.
And if you don't believe me, read the damn reviews at the bottom. And sadly, this incredible shirt to the right pales in comparison to the one I'm talking about.
...because any dude that wears capri pants deserves this. Someone wipe this guy out of the gene pool.
...and that's about it. Because let's face it, sometimes you just need to see a monkey riding a minibike.
As discussed in Bathroom Behavior Part I, using the restroom as a napping locale not only gives me the chance to catch a quick snooze at work, but also provides me access to fellow employee's indiscriminate private practices. This has afforded me the opportunity to evaluate a question many men undoubtedly have asked: Do I need to wash my hands after taking a leak?
If I'm alone, the answer is obviously "No." The answer to "do I need to wash" is always no. If my hands get so dirty touching my junk that they need to be disinfected, then I should probably be more worried about cleaning those areas. So I guess the question is - Should I wash my hands when coworkers/superiors are around? Do they care? If they wash their hands, then they probably think its wierd if I don't. But then again, maybe they're thinking the same thing as I am, and we both end up performing the obligatory hand-wash just to appease the other. And that's a goddamn travesty I will not stand for.In napping, I've been able to witness my fellow men taking, what they thought to be, solitary tinkles. Unfortunately, even though there's no one else around (or so they think) over half wash their hands. "Well I just lightly handled my penis, so I better wash my hands so they don't get infected by the colonies of bacteria and mold being cultured on it." Idiots. If anything, there should be a little, crotch high sink for us to cleanse our weiners in after touching them with our filthy hands. At any rate, as most of the un-ashamedly flatulent clowns I work with do not share this enlightened view, I am forced me to wash my hands whenever I'm in the presence of another bathroom-goer.
At any rate, the point is any of those things would be better than you coming out of retirement ... AGAIN ... to play for the fucking Minnesota Vikings. Didn't you see how fans in a real sport town acted when you sucked? They HATE losing. They HATE watching their quarterback throw up Sputnik-esque passes only to have them intercepted. They REALLY HATE losing their last four of five to miss the playoffs after stating 8-3.
Now I actually hate bashing Favre. I loved the Gunslinger of Green Bay who never missed games, had ten pro-bowl appearances, three MVPs, and a Super Bowl ring. But the fact remains that Favre is no longer that player. The more he plays, the more clear that becomes. Why tarnish an immaculate Hall of Fame career with all these twilight shenanigans? Only one answer. You must be a clown.
Napping. I nap on the toilet at least once a day. Initially, I did this with my pants down because it felt weird to sit on a toilet with pants on, but I've gotten used to it and it's way more comfortable. Although, this only applies when using the spacious handicapped stall (which also sports the wheelchair assistance bar for arm-resting), which does not allow outsiders to view my feet. In the normal stall, its gotta be pants around ankles to waylay any suspicion...although usually I'll leave the boxers up for warmth. At any rate, bathroom napping is a great choice, and usually makes my day more interesting.
The first interesting situation that arises, is related to the unfortunate need to pull down my pants when I'm not actually moving my bowels. Not getting "caught" napping. This becomes an issue when my 15 min are up (that's when my computer screen will go into screen saver mode), and there's someone in the next stall. Clearly I can't just get up and walk out. Maybe I give my fellow occupants more credit for awareness than they deserve, but if I thought I was taking a dump alone, then suddenly I hear someone just walk out of the other stall - no wipe or flush - I'd be like "What the fuck?"
So my first course of action is to wait them out. Depending on how long the've been at it, this is more feasible. And it beats the hell out of the other option: faking finishing up a shit. First, there's the fidling around with the toilet paper roll to feign several wipes. The gratuitous empty-bowl flush I find particularly wasteful. But the worst part, by far, is the pretend hand-wash. I don't like to wash my hands unless absolutely necessary (As I'll make clear in Pt. II), so acting out the whole process for someone else's benefit is a real pain in the ass. And yes, there is enough of a gap in the stall doors that you can see someone as they walk by, so if I can be spotted after making it seem like I'm exiting after a poo, then regretably etiquette dictates I need to give the impression that I'm washing my hands. At any rate, running the water for a bit, jiggling the paper towel dispenser handle, and rustling the paper does a fair enough deception as far as I can tell. You can see why I'd prefer not to go through all this, just to get a quick doze.
Another entertaining benefit of napping is that I get to hear my bosses and other middle-aged businessmen play the porcelain trombone. It's best when I can identify the composer by his shoes, because then I can put a face to the sounds of struggle, relief, and rectal destruction coming from the other stall. I would never have imagined that successful, middle-aged men had such serious gastrointestinal troubles. These guys make the fart machine noises nobody really thinks exist au naturale. Machine gun diarrhea, triple flutter blasts, squeakers...if you've imagined it, I've heard it. I also didn't realize people actually moaned and grunted (except to entertain your buddies). These are grown men - professionals. Better yet is the dramatic sigh in relief after a splashdown. Literally sighing. "Plop!..uuuooohhhh." Really? Of course, they might not be as candid if they knew I was trying to nap next door.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
This little piggy went home,
This little piggy had roast beef,
This little piggy had none,
And this little piggy went "weee" "weee" "weee"
All the way to this great game about swine flu.
Monday, May 4, 2009
From the line "My feelings for Grizzlies is a little bit different from most people" you know you've tuned into something good. There is no doubt that this will be a pretty interesting TV show. Nothing says good TV like putting your loved ones in danger by MAKING AN 800-lb GRIZZLY BEAR AS YOUR BEST MAN AT YOUR WEDDING.
Not to be mean or anything (put it will totally be taken that way), his wife is a little Alien looking. I guess you must be from a different planet to want to wed a guy who's only choice for a best man in his wedding is a 800lb man eater (man-mauler perhaps).
That's right, bring it on you sonofa bitch!
"I didn't have to worry about any wedding crashers! Ha Ha Ha Ha" Oh, no you didn't. Probably because no one was at your wedding.
"...he gets to be an ambassador to his wild cousins..." Yea, because 800lb hairy man mauling beasts who roll around, take huge dumps and talk about how they want to tear their trainer's throat out really care about a fellow Grizzly being on television.