Seriously, what the fuck guys? You promised us! It's not a coincidence that radio ignores your music and your music sucks. Really.

We didn't forget that either while you were off making bad solo albums during your hiatus, so don't think sucking up to us by playing Fenway is going to change that. That only makes it worse. It was amazing to see and hear all the Phishheads in Boston planning their big day today though, but I got news for you: that set list you just jacked off over into your Magic Hat? It sucks; and that long rambling walk down nitrous lane remembered out-loud on the T makes you sound flatulent.

I went to a Phish show once, to get drugs. It was at the Meadowlands in New Jersey. I didn't even bother going in because the music creeping into the parking lot was crap, and in the end, so were the drugs. The Dead had much better drugs and that alone puts Phish on the list.

Here's some shit I just made up on deadline. It's a real fresh take that says a lot about the way we are living now in America. Kind of a...uh... human condition through a pop culture lens piece I guess. It's about, I don't know, a new colored hat? Uh...some retro shit that five kids in Allston brought back on a goof? Are people still...what?...buying gas? Fuck it, let's just go with the sexting high school kids gay marrying immigrant sharks angle.

Anyway, the point is that I've provided three examples to back up my invented scam, only one of which I got from asking my buddy to front on it. You can't argue with three. That's just basic J school logic.

Let's get my giant head on cable news right quick so we can get cross platform on this high concept turd and keep running game for a couple cycles. Someone get Contessa Brewer's booker on the blower, I think we've really got something here.

You know what I'd really like for my birthday? A piece of paper defiled with a cartoon duck, a poem written by some MFA flunkie, and my aunt's signature scrawled on the bottom of it.

No matter what the occasion, greeting cards tell your loved ones that you are an unoriginal moron who is a pawn in the greatest ponzi scheme of them all. And the fact that you stood there in some CVS deciding between the "funny" one and the one with glitter (microscopic flecks of glass that cling to everything … definitely also on the list) for a good minute really lets someone know that you care.

No, really. This senseless tree carnage seems to actually tug at a sentimental snag, because I can't seem to throw greeting cards away. They just pile up in drawers.

When the only thing you collect is something you despise, it's on the list.

Ok, so...you're a meaty fruit? Is that even a thing? Cut this bi crap out and pick the team you're sticking with. Sophomore year's over bitch, and I don't see anyone with a boner left at this party, do you?

Meanwhile, you know what's great on nachos? Alien tree vag. On the list.

Thanks for the diarrhea too by the way.

To think of all the time I've wasted in my life scraping this superfluous green goo off of sandwiches. Avocados are the dog shit on the bottom of America's culinary shoe.

The sheer efficiency. The sheer, brutal damned efficiency. It's like an army of worker bees dancing the location of the pollen* back to the hive. With one fluid, shirt doffing motion thousands of dude hammers are dude hammering out their species centric semaphore across vast, muddy outdoor concert fields all summer long.

They say a picture is worth a thousand words, but what do two pierced, sunburned nipples mean?

"I'm thinking of dropping out of community college."


* or whatever, what am I a scientist?

There is one very specific time when it is acceptable to use an umbrella: when it's actually raining. Not misting, not drizzling, not when you get too much Visine in your eye and get confused, but legit your-underwear-and-shoes-will-be-soaked rain.

Once this happy occasion does arise, act like you've got some sense with your umbrella. Perhaps give it a few test openings pre-rain so you don't stand in the middle of the sidewalk wondering how by the hammer of Thor does this dang thing work, while intelligent life tries to exist all around you.

Furthermore, your umbrella does not make you invisible, nor does it render other people who are experiencing the exact same thing immaterial. I understand that umbrellas restrict your vision. So do baseball hats, enormous sunglasses (on the List) and eating a hot dog (also on the list - ed.). Somehow those people retain their ability to walk. With umbrellas users, basic cognizance is reduced to a whimpering, sad, pitiful half-thought when them big rain drops try to ruin your day.

Just get it together. You know who else can manage to walk down the street without bumping into people every five seconds? Blind people. That's right. People who have the biggest excuse of them all. See, they have these sticks they run back and forth over the ground to make sure there is nothing in front of them. Seeing people have them too. They are called your eyes. Use them.

This band is such horseshit and always has been. I knew it when I was 7 and I know it now. The songs all suck, the musicianship is questionable at best and the schtick is neither entertaining nor engaging. I can't even think of anything funny to write about this band, that's how much they suck.

But last night on VH1 Classic I watched a good 30 minutes of their 1998 comeback concert and it was easily the worst 30 minutes of music I've ever seen on TV. Tuneless and soulless. Watching these asswipes go through the motions and pretending it wasn't a set up for another run at being washed up was slightly amusing though. Gene Simmons in his assless chaps and wig takes the douche cake here but watching still-closeted Paul Stanley wiggle his hairy, flabby nipple at some unlucky fans was the end of the line for me. Ooof. Fucking frauds.

I know, I know. Facebook itself is probably on the list and everything, but I don't want to be the crazy dude who wears the tin foil hat and lives in a cave down by the graveyard.

Anyway.

If you receive an invitation to an event and you cannot make it, you don't have to tell me every boring detail of your pathetic life, or brag about why you can't make my shindig. Just don't show up and everyone will get the picture.

Examples of the kinds of things not to explain to me include:

"I'm gonna be out of town!"

"I'll be in the vineyard. Bummer! Let's go out ASAP!"

"Sorry I can't make it! I'll be in Michigan to see my dad's community theatre debut!!!"

Oh hey! We just had really sweaty/drunk/awkward sex! We don't really know each other (well, except Biblically) and I probably wouldn't even like you if you gave me the chance! It was fun and all, I didn't even fake it (because that goes straight on the List) but could you um, get the fuck off me? I'm hot, tired and probably hungry for a sandwich, so you spooning me, or heaven forbid, touching my hair, just makes me think you are:

a. insincere
b. delusional
c. a creepshow
d. on the List

You aren't my boyfriend, my puppy, my kitten or my Snuggie (just goofing, I do not actually own one), so could you just roll over to your side and stay the fuck over there?

GET OFF ME AND GET ON THE LIST.

Dear The List,

I like this restaurant I'm at, but I'd kind of prefer to get purposefully slow service and make everyone else at the table really nervous. What are some ways I can achieve this?
Yours,
Clueless Douches the world over

Thanks for writing! I think a good way to start would be waving your arms around in the air to get the server's attention when they're helping another table. Have you considered snapping your fingers or getting up and walking back into the kitchen to check on your meal after ten minutes? Either one of those should get you started, and everything should follow naturally from there.

Thanks for writing, see you soon!
The List

I wish there was a way of knowing this in advance. I don't want toget invested in this if thats what I'm going to have to come to terms with.

That's really all there is to this entry.

Thanks for coming out. . . let's hear it for the opening bands they were great. We've got t-shirts and cds on sale and don't forget to sign up for our mailing list, it's great to be back here again...We're gonna do a new one, it drops on Myspace in a couple of days. We played it for the first time ever in New York last week, great city can't recommend it highly enough, anyway before we do I wanna introduce the guys in the band...


Anyway you get the point:
This. On a weeknight. In a joint that used to be a BBQ restaurant or whatever. Or anywhere else ever for that matter.

No offense, me, and pretty much everyone else I know.










Still using the word hipster goes right on the list too.

Whoever said "You can't add too much garlic" was way off. You can definitely add too much garlic*. You can even have way WAY too much garlic as you have demonstrated with this bizarre pasta dish you're serving us here in your apartment tonight. This doesn't taste like anything. Nothing you cook tastes like anything because, despite your constant bragging about what a great chef you are, the very concept of cooking seems completely lost on you. Putting some tomatoes and 17 cloves of garlic in a pan and covering it with every single spice in your spice cabinet, including 5 different kinds of hot sauce that don't even remotely complement each other is not cooking. I appreciate the effort, I do, but I seriously would rather just meet you and Wendy's and then we can go get drunk.

*This also applies to ginger. It applies to everything really but garlic and ginger seem to be the most over-applied.

Yeah ass face, I saw the hot new girl. Everyone saw her walk in and said to themselves, "Damn, she's hot." To themselves.

Keep your drooling, haven't-been-laid-in-months, creepy perv banter to yourself. You're staring is making her, and me, uncomfortable. And she knows you're only milling around the copy machine so you can steal a look at her ass, which you will never touch.

Go look at porn. Go home. Just shut up and get away from me.

OMG OMG is this little Bobby?!? How are you today Bobby? This is where M O M M Y W O R K S oh isn't he adorable. SAY HI BOBBY SAY HI BOBBY BOBBY SAY HI!!

I don't like you and your kid looks a little autistic. While he'll never understand or feel human emotion he'll probably love lists of things. This one's for you Bobby.

Me: Minding my own business cleaning my douche water bottle so I can save the earth

Co-Worker I have seen in the halls but don't know: Hey there's nothing like a clean container! You better get a garden hose to hose that thing down! Man I'm so glad it's Friday, whew, am I right? I hope the coffee machine doesn't screw me out of a full cup this morning cause boy, do I need it to get through the day! Did you see that hot girl from finance yesterday? I think she may be preggers...I guess I'll never have a chance now! HA HA! OK Man I'll see you around!

Seriously

On the list

Hey buddy! We all know you have a double chin....you don't need to try and hide it anymore. It's 2009 and not 1995 so why don't you shave that thing off and we'll go get a burger or something.

Sure, you wanna quit but for now you'll settle for being addicted to something that really has no benefit whatsoever, no rush, no numbness, no high. At least you get the satisfaction of having yellow fingers and teeth and wrinkles and lung cancer. These disgusting emphysema straws make you look like a slob or a prostitute, but maybe you can fool people into thinking you're European because Europeans all smoke and they smell bad too.

That death rattle cough you got going there is pretty attractive too, I'll bet you can hack up some pretty impressive grayish phlegm. DEE-LISH. Anyway at least you won't get fat unless you quit..oh wait, of course you will because once you can taste food again you'll start eating like Kobayashi in training because you are clearly weak and devoid of willpower.

Well, you are very brave because you are clearly not affected by hospital stays, machines beeping in the background or breathing through a hole in your neck, so there's that. With any luck you'll get one of those awesome doohickeys that makes you sound like a robot.

HARDY HAR. Guess a day like today blows your little global warming conspiracy myth out of the water. Get it? Because it's like 50 degrees and yet it's May. Therefore, global warming doesn't exist. Get it? Yes, I get it, because that's the point. Global warming is literally about how cold or warm it is on a given day of a given month, you mouthbreather. How 'bout you cut to the inevitable Brokeback Mountain joke (still telling those) that you're about to tell and wrap this little exchange up, shall we?

The way I see it, there are two kinds of Catholics: the ones that go to church and maybe give money to Catholic charities thinking that these charities aren't some sort of mafia front, and the others that picket against gay rights and harass people at abortion clinics and touch kids innapropriately. In any case you are either stupid or criminals or both and you are now on the list.

Sometimes you get invited to parties or whatever and generally speaking that means "hey we'd enjoy seeing you why don't you come over for some drinks and a few chuckles?" Most of the time, unless it's a work party or something, you don't feel like you're up on a pedestal, running bits by people or whatever. If you're a person like me you might even try your best to interact with other people. Not so with blog invites. Sometimes these turn out to be more of a "Show us what you got" situation, ie: "pro gear, pro chops and pro attitude required...oh yeah, you need to bring your PA and have reliable transpo." Such is the case with this blog here. So eat me On the List blog, even though putting you on the list is on the list, you are on the list.

I don't want to hear about your trip. I mean, maybe a little bit, and I'll look at a maximum of ten to fifteen pictures, but thats's really it. I don't care. I'm sorry but I don't. Mostly because you cannot stop mentioning all the places you've been at the slightest provocation. Oh that book was published in Tehran, I went there 4 years ago and it was great. Or, oh that restaurant has great Ethiopian food, when I was in Addis Ababa (had to look that up btw) the food was amazing! Listen, I make 50,000 dollars a year and I have more than that in student loans. I live in the most expensive city on the planet and I have a gene that doesn't allow me to date or be interested in anyone financially responsible. I don't play the lottery (on the list!) and have no inheritance or trust fund waiting for me. I have no hope of going to bazaars in Morocco or to be able to swim with sharks in Belize. I would be happy to go to the Catskills for the weekend. All of your travels are great but really, keep it to a minimum, otherwise you are on the list.

While I probably agree with his politics completely, I can take only so much light-hearted romping through the world of infotainment.

First off, gay marriage jokes are about as funny as that face transplant lady. Why not let them suffer like this rest of us AM I RIGHT?

But apparently, and I still sort of find this hard to believe, there are people out there who actually give a shit about this "issue" still. Has anyone ever met one of these dudes in the flesh?

Granted, I work and live near Cambridge, which is basically a hippie fairy tale land of free range vegetables, organic arm pit hair and distinguished elbow-patched blazers, but I honestly don't think I've ever heard a real person utter the words "I am against gay marriage." I'm beginning to think these people only exist on the tv, like Wolverine and Bill O'Reilly.

I'm not saying Wolverine is against gay marriage, but then again, you can't argue with science.

-- No one, anywhere, ever.

Whoah just kidding ladies I'm sure there's someone out there that will love you for it.

Hi god, we're all set with these. Much like the demon horns, tails and gills that the cavemen and Jesus Christ sported, these no longer serve any purpose unless you're a Cape Verdean coke dealer.

Do I even really have to get into this? What is it with this guy? I know Hollywood only allows one black filmmaker to be successful at any given moment, and clearly Spike Lee gave up trying like, I don't know, right around Miracle at St. Anna, but still. I want answers.

What is his thought process? I would actually like to know. Because quite frankly, dressing up as an overweight, sassy elderly black woman who is prone to sight gags has been done ('sup Martin Lawrence) and he knows this. But somehow, some way, he has managed to build a franchise on this hideous character. Plays. Films. Books. TV shows. Kudos to him for owning the first black studio in American history and for owning all the rights to his projects but too bad all the projects green lighted at said studio make me want to die a little bit and have landed him smack dab in the middle of the list.

You see some truly unbelievable shit going down in the city every day. For example, just the other day I saw a guy actually walk up to a payphone and check the slot for change. Blew my mind. Think about that for a second...

Anyway, do you realize that there are still people walking around out there telling jokes? Like real deal set up and punch line jokes. Hey, did you hear the one about the... type of jokes.

The colossal leap of ego this sort of maneuver takes just boggles the mind. Everyone gather round now, I've decided to begin an impromptu performance. I know you thought you were just standing there enjoying your peace and quiet, but now I must command your attention for a few excruciatingly boring minutes at the end of which you will be required to respond.

The drawn out horror. The long, slow slog. It's like a microcosm of the cruel march of pitiless death while the douche sets things up. You can see the goofy grin forming on his face while he's walking through the steps in his mind. Everyone quiets down, eyes darting around nervously, fidgeting with hands in pockets. It's kind of like reading this post.

Then you've got to do that thing sometimes where you play along cause you can see the guy is dying, so you say shit like "oh...no way..." and "man, really?" I was just standing here a second ago not bothering anyone, and now I've been recruited against my will as the straight man for this bumbling Jay Leno fan? Guh.

Then the punch line, like the sweet release of the eternal grave, at long last comes. And obviously no one is laughing. But since you're not a total villain, you've got to muster up a moderately believable chuckle to help this kid save face. Now you've not only turned me into an audience against my will, you've also made me a phony.

Couldn't you have at least told me a story about your dead mother, or the totally weird dream you had last night? At least then I'd know how to repsond naturally. [jerking off motion].

You can work your entire life and no one is going to call you the worker, you can travel the world and no one is going to call you the traveller, but you tell one boring fucking joke... Guess what? You're a boorish cunt.

You think movies and TV turd the bed these days because no one in Hollywood has any imagination? Wrong, it's because of your goofy little identity group.

Yo Hollywood, I'm a self identifying pissant who can't relate to anyone that doesn't look or act exactly like myself. So what do you say you throw, like, I don't know, a rapper in every movie just in case to cover the urban demo? And what have you got in the line of spunky little kids that can fight aliens and robots and what not? No way kids are gonna be able to deal with an hour and a half of excitement and explosions if they don't have a test-group vetted little shit to project their booger faced imaginations onto.

Same for politics. I'm a mongoloid from some ass crack of a town in the South who is afraid of the gay marriage aids and the a-rab aids and drives a man truck. Think you can dumb that law-talk down a notch or two to appeal to my knuckle dragging demo. Let's keep this operation focused, alright?

Demographics, on the list's pie chart.

As you were.

Look, I am going to preface this by saying yes, I watch HBO's True Blood. And yes, I am a "chick." BUT. That does not make me a hypocrite. And here's why:

I watch True Blood because I like trashy sex and Frank Sobotka from The Wire is on it. I am not ashamed of this. However, chicks who are actually into vampires need to fucking relax. Just admit you have S&M fantasies and want it a little rough and move on. Everybody knows people only read Anne Rice because they are horny. You might as well pick up a Nora Roberts novel. I mean, come on. The vampire thing is so played. You know it's lame if Leslie Nielsen made fun of it in 1995. So quit acting like Robert Pattinson reinvented the wheel. What's next, centaurs?

As a product of the Chicago inner city public schools and the daughter of a woman who has been working in said system for almost 13 years, I know a thing or two about "believing the children are our future." There is something so entitled about Teach For America. Like, when you ask someone, "Hey Monica, do you think you can make it to my Labor Day BBQ?" And she goes, "Oh, I would LOVE to, but, I am going to Teach For America. I move to the 9th Ward next week. How are things at Whole Foods working out for you?" Fucking bitch.

Teaching underprivileged kids in shitty schools for 2 years and then moving on to become a fucking civil rights lawyer does NOT make you special. What this country's public school system suffers from is a lack of young and willing teachers who want to continue being teachers. So when you flounce in with your resume filled with Habitat For Humanity references and the notion that you are really "helping" you are actually just cementing yourself on the list. Because guess what. YOU ARE NOT A REAL TEACHER.

Look at these asshole go-getters. They'd probably sell you out to management and get you fired for a better parking space.

Don't work in an office? Ok, then you're breaking your balls everyday lifting things and your back and knees are going to be broken like an old rusty swingset before you know it.

Oh, you work for yourself? Well good for you. Guess what? You're boss is an asshole.

Work is on the list 4H and 4R.

First of all, you must be under 22 to wear Chuck Taylors. Chuck Taylors do not constitute adult footwear. If you need evidence that they're not made for adults, look no further than the fact that they come in plaid, pink, and with 50 Cent's face plastered all over them. Generally companies trying to reach adult markets avoid decorating their products in this manner.

I know, I know, you really loved the Replacements and the Ramones in high school, and wearing Chucks was part of your identity. Everybody likes lots of things in high school, like drinking Purple Passion, squeezing their zits and masturbating furiously 4 times a day. That doesn't you mean you continue this behavior into your late 30's. Maybe the masturbating.

There are only 3 reasons to wear Chuck Taylors:

1. You have not yet reached the point of maturation.
2. You have never had sex.
3. You are an asshole.

Or you just like being on the list. I guess that makes 4.

Hey there every single person who has ever posted on this site, look at you go hating stuff on the internet (The Internet.) with your jokes and your swear words (Swearing.). Punk rock rebellion (Punk rock.) is it not? Esoteric humor at its finest. Writing open letters to inanimate objects and the like.

Here's something you might not have noticed though, (Noticing things.): Every post on here is justified, at normal sized text, and in the Trebuchet font (Fonts.) How do they get like that? A magical fucking fairy comes in at night and sprinkles formatting juice on them, that's how.

You think your grandfather who busted his hump (Busting Your Hump.) for 50 years in a Nazi killing factory (Nazi jokes.) would approve of your sloppy internet joke making?

Like 99.7% of the world, I could care less about fonts. Really, fonts? People have conventions and websites dedicated to hating "comic sans". Imagine putting any energy into an opinion of a font? Yeah that's what I thought as well, and then I finally saw the font on this blog (I usually just get printed out copies of text entries left on my desk in The List office here). Who designed this? Looks like a version of Comic Sans done by a guy who knows the lyrics to every Her Space Holiday song.

Hey remember that spring break in 87, Cancun... Oh man drank so much Corona, too bad about that one dude who dove head first into a 3 foot pool though, but holyshit that was some good beer. This Bud Light Lime really brings me back. In wintertime I pretend it's summer. In summertime I pretends it's slightly warmer and more sunny. What, a Corona with a lime? Fuck no. I've got a ridiculous appetite for novelty over here!!!

Who the fuck saw this coming? Not me, that's for sure, but overly complex joke sports jerseys? They're simply not on the list.

A rival team's star player's number with an ironic name?
Amazing.
.08 with the name "Drunk"?
Even better.


Do your best sports nation! And sleep well knowing, you're surprisingly *NOT* on the list.

[EDITOR'S NOTE: SORRY, THIS SHIT IS ON THE LIST. BUT CARING ABOUT IT TOO HARD EITHER WAY IS ON THE LIST TOO, SO PROBABLY JUST CALL IT EVEN.]

Yeeeeah, Sully, You fucking faggot, did you catch that game last night? Game 20 of the 4000 game season, am I wrong?!?!?

Sarah and I went to the Cask to watch it in High fucking def. Some homo on Landsdowne looked at her pink Sox cap wrong so I was all, "What the fuck are you looking at?!?!". Ha. I was so wasted.

How about when Big Papi hit that hit in the 9th? Holy shit?!!? There's only 7 months left in the season, but I totally think they can win it all this year.

YANKEES SUCK!!! JETER BLOWS (you know, because he's gay)!!!

Hey man, I'm not one to judge how you waste your money. Lord knows I blow through mine on some truly foolish bullshit (cigs, cable, High Lifes at a local watering hole at 400% mark-up). However, there is a difference here, when I'm doing my thing, I don't bring the very existence of everyone around me to a screeching halt. I'm trying to buy a 5 hour energy shot and an issue of Oui here and I can't get to the register because of you.

Give me a number 6, 3 number 10's, one of those ones with the cake on it, wait, how much is that? Oh no, nevermind then. Finally, this motherfucker is done, I'm thinking. HAHA, done. Now it's time to blast through a few individually selected numbers for mega millions or whatever. Don't forget to pay from a separate pile of money for those.

These fucking people. Dudes/broads painstakingly selecting which fat fried donuts they want in their dozen move quicker than these dirtbags. Got places to be pal, that 2 for 1 Marlboro deal isn't going to smoke itself so please get the fuck out of the way. You may've just blown through all the singles you found in the seats of the El Camino for no return, but look on the bright side... it's still your lucky day. Welcome to the list.

Being an adult.
Saying this to a convenience store clerk.
Not even trying to feign embarrassment or elicit pity (or offering to pay).
Thinking that Cumbies has some transferable, non-time or location based refill policy.

So this guy looked a bit off, but he was alone anddriving a car sans helmet. No van or chaperon involved. Last I checked President Obama hasn't signed the retards can drive too bill into law yet, so I can only assume he was really, really thirsty. Also, jean shorts.

Save an extra $0.17 on a loaf of bread and $15 a year by shopping at Walmart!

It doesn't matter how they get all of their prices to be the lowest in the world, you're going to have BIG SAVINGS!


It doesn't matter that the reason they can offer the lowest prices on most things is because:

1. Most of their Full Time employees are paid under the poverty line and can't afford proper health care for their families, even with the benefits provided.
2. Destroying local/small business and generations of hard work by undercutting all the prices and forcing these businesses to close therefore eliminating all competition. Never mind entire families becoming unemployed with the only option to move away or work at Walmart.
3. Exploit Chinese/Indian etc. workers and force them to work 7 days a week, 16 hour shifts to make the cheap toys and clothes that are the Walmart brand while paying them $0.10 an hour
4. Forcibly preventing their work force the ability to unionize by using scare tactics, firings (being made an example of), spying, intimidation and harassment. Having a union would drastically cut into their profit by actually having to pay a livable wage and provide acceptable benefits for their workforce and take responsibility for their employees welfare and safety.


No, you need to save that $0.30 on a box of cereal or $1 on that DVD. Nice work!


Now you can afford that Hanna Montana themed notebook for your brat kid! What a relief! Because that's what it's all about, Family.

Sure do love some corn on the cob. Salt that sucker right up, roll it in butter and you're good to go. Coincidentally, you know what else is good when you drown it in sodium and fat? Everything ever. Same rules for lobster here. If you like corn on the cob so much, try eating it plain next time, otherwise it, and you, are going right on the list.

I wanted to know just how shitty the traffic was so I reluctantly switched on AM news radio and was subjected to this god damned 1-877-KARS-4-KIDS jingle. Now it's stuck in my head forever. Congrats!, you've won. Now I will always know where I can dump my shitbox when it dies six days after I make my final payment. Come tow it from my yard, put in a new engine, fill all the rust spots with bondo, steam clean the five years of stale beer, dirt, gum, hair and vomit off the floormatsand go drive around sick, poor, orphaned or otherwise downtrodden children, or whatever it is you do with these busted buckets. I don't give a shit what you do with it. Actually I do, drive it over the guy who wrote that shitty jingle.

Also on the list: 1-800-54-GIANT. My windshield broke. Of course I called them. Their sucky song is burned into my brain for eternity.

-- David Wedge

WOAH, HEY THERE!! I just wanted to grab my shit out of my locker and get on with my day but I couldn't help noticing your unusually large pubic mound and pronounced labia majora. PUT THAT SHIT UNDER WRAPS AND HAVE SOME FUCKING SEMBLANCE OF DECORUM. Jesus, if I wanted to look at nipples that look like you slapped a couple of slices of mortadella on your tits I'd hit up Coco Austin's web stream. I think I'll skip dinner, thanks.

I really didn't want to hear about your marriage, job or band anyway, but really, you couldn't just send a quick "Hey man, nice to hear from you. Tell yer mum I said hello"? Not even a peep on my "wall" or "bulletin board"?

Granted I get pissed when anyone ever writes anything on my social networking page for everyone I know to read because nine times out of ten unless it's me replying it's probably not funny.

But you? Come on. It's like you poked me with a stick and then ran back around the corner, and then back to Taunton to eat a never ending bowl of pizza rolls.

Thanks for the pictures of your spaghetti covered baby though, those were hilarious! Tell yer mum I said hello if you get this message.

"What do you got there buddy, some sort of looking problem? Taking in the view on the observation deck are you? What are you, uh, on a stakeout there? Gathering intel, is it? Neighborhood watch patrol? What do you do for work my friend, night watchman? What is this, the acclaimed graphic novel by eccentric comic book creator Alan Moore or the film of the same name The Watchmen?"

[realizes he's sitting under the tv at the bar.]

"..."

We don't want to be here anymore than you do, but one of our buddy's douchey old timey friends who we don't know insisted we bring him here for his bachelor party, so if it's ok with you we're just gonna sit here and drink our $25 Bud Lights in piece.

Oh, and the constant lap dance sales pitch is really pretty depressing by the way. Are we in a titty bar, or did we accidentally wander into a production of Death of a Salesman? Willy fucking Loman with implants over here.