Because magic romance zombies in goth makeup and three hundred year old assless chaps were so on point before the kids got into them? Did mean old Michael Bay touch you in the nostalgic private pee pee area with his Transformers movie too? Is nothing sacred if our silly childhood monsters can't be kept out of the hands of actual children?

Complaining about something like this is like being upset that Jon Gosselin and Kevin Federline ruined Ed Hardy t-shirts for you. Being into something that brown before it gets big is exactly as goofy as being into after the fact. Maybe worse.

Oh word, you were ridiculous a few months before millions of other people were ridiculous in the same way? That's funny that you say that, because I was just thinking you seemed like a boring cunt with shitty taste.

Then again it's probably my bad for putting myself in a position to actually read websites where people complain about the state of vampires and cartoon toy movies all the time, so let's just go ahead and put me back on the List for a five minute penalty and call this one even.

image.

Sarah Palin's upcoming book is called "Going Rogue: An American Story." If you don't recall, that was how McCain campaign insiders referred to her when she decided she was striking out on her own. That disastrous move helped seal the campaign's failure shortly after she was nominated. Hey, I've got an idea let's name my book after my gigantic failure. Luke's is going to be "Getting A Creative Writing Masters: My Life in the Service Industry."

Not for nothing, but at the end of the day, I'm just saying you sound like a gaping cunt when you use this expression. Unfunny jerkoff much? This shit is as funny as a curried fetus.

Anyone know the origin of this wilted groaner anyway? Some website where they pretend animals are people per chance? (tee hee!) "Friends" maybe? Got to be at least that old, right? But somehow I doubt even the nineties-damaged recesses of Chandler Bing's stroke-ridden brain would settle for this cliched turd. [Note to god: can we rig something up so that any time some reality tv fan with a TMZ screen name trots this old chestnut out for a spin that a rubber chicken on a string drops from the sky and a sad trombone sounds a wet failure blast in their face? Thanks, I owe you one. Oh right, another one.]

There are more efficient ways to let the people you're talking to know that you don't have anything funny or constructive to add to the conversation you know. Shutting the fuck up, for example.

Yeah, I know this is kind of a repeat of the "Cheap Toilet Paper" post from back in the day, but I feel this issue must be addressed. Also, this picture, while only like tangentially related to something else that might itself be tangentially related to recycled toilet paper, must not be kept under wraps. The picture itself should be on the list for any number of reasons that I don't think need to be enumerated here.
I guess I should expect to get this kind of filth when I do a Google image search for "sore ass." Even without the tiger, this is kind of goofy and weird and creepy ... but with the tiger? Pure insane genius.

So anyway, I love environmentalism. It really revs my engine. But I feel a line in the sand must be drawn when it comes to recycled toilet paper. Sure, sure, we're cutting down valued trees to make the wonderful little slices of heaven that we regularly soil with our own excrement. This is bad. But, the alternative would be to have everyone walking kind of funny and just generally being in a pissy mood because their asshole has been torn up by scratchy, rough recycled tissue. From a cost-benefit standpoint, would we be hurting the environment more by cutting down trees, or by losing any number of great new programs and technologies because the people who would normally be thinking them up are being driven to distraction by the chafed factory of pain that now exists where their anus once was? I mean, we might as well just all turn into snowmen who are being cheerfully ass-raped by other snowmen while smug man-tigers with raging hard-ons sit perched on our torsos, am I right?

So to those armies of tree-hugging toilet paper Nazis that may or may not exist only in my head, I say only this: From. My. Cold. Dead. Hands.

Glenn Beck. Chairman of the list, amiwrong? Complete farce; lying sack of shit; getting dumb people riled up by pretending to believe that Obammer is a nazicommiefascist from Kenya. All of which is beyond list-worthy. That aside, I, or anyone else with the slightest shred of brain-power, knows all of this. Constantly smashing me in the face with Glenn Beck knowledge/outrage complete with You Tube clips via your Facebook is a bit much. We're friends, remember?

Part of the reason we are friends is that we hold some things to be self-evident: Brady is the best QB ever, we both want to pork Scarlet Johanson, Glen Beck is a phony fraud dipshit asshole who would literally say anything if it made him money. I don't blast your news feed with "The Patriots are going 19-0*" every day, do I?

Ok, poor example, but anyway, yes I know Glen Beck is outrageously dumb. Let's just leave it at that. Maybe talk over each other about it the next time we get together for a few jars of working man's ale. Sweet?






*Belicheat, dude.

Hehe. Thanks for the diagnosis, Dr. Cliche. That's got to be exactly what it is. Another case closed.

Does anyone know a single person with one of these imaginary, old-timey doctors who watch over you throughout your life like Santa Clause?

How did I miss out on this quaint practice? I've been to my share of doctors over the years, and if there's a single one out there in the world that could pick my busted face out of a police lineup -- including the one I went to last week -- never mind one that is going to guide me gently, but firmly, through the thick and thin of life's shitty health maze like some benevolent, be-stethoscoped papa, then I'm a horse's prick.

Where do these Republican townhall assholes go to get their flu shots or boner exams or whatever, a Normal Rockwell painting? The deep recesses of my senile grandmother's childhood? Sesame Street? They get their milk delivered on the front stoop every morning too? The entire premise of this argument is fake, and it's on the List, and it's racist. Yeah, that last bit is a stretch, but since we're all making shit up now in order to win at politickin' I'm gonna run with it.

Woah! IKEA is on the list? Groundbreaking I know. But having just toughed out a morning there yesterday... this place... just... wow.

I felt like Theseus trying to navigate my way through the labyrinth, but instead of a minotaur, it was just dudes with goatees and Peterbilt Truck t-shirts trying to thwart me at every turn. I feel for the makers and marketers of athletic pants now. On the one hand their goal of providing athletic clothing for the masses has been perversely fulfilled, and yet it's still been stripped of anything resembling dignity. Like most of the people here the second they walk through the door.

What else? Baby strollers, kids screaming and women who shouldn't be dating a dud like that guy all trying to overpower my senses at once in a bid to keep me confused enough to drop $149 on that dark brown shelving thing that every person I know owns.

On the plus side, my bird found some metal magazine holder things so we can hang onto all our old issues of the New Yorker. Overall, a good use of 3 hours, if you ask me.

Just like a bbq with the gang, but instead of your nice grassy backyard you've got miles of steaming asphalt or ten feet of snow and an idyllic back drop of pick up trucks farting out exhaust. And instead of the familiar camaraderie of your tight bros you've got thousands of the worst people on earth streaming by in a drunken flood of port-a-potty and beer fumes. Looks like they just liberated some concentration camp for sausage and mustache aficionados. Best part? You only had to sit in fourteen hours of traffic for the privilege.

Seriously though, my boy Matty (good kid) makes the best chili you've ever had out of this stove he hooked up to the back of his Grand Cherokee. And we usually rig up the flatscreen and set up some folding chairs and just grill and drink all day. It's just like being at the game. Better even cause you can just piss wherever.

Are these guys from California? Just not sure. If only they would give us a clue.

Let me get this one sorted... A thirty-something married couple with jobs looking for a loan for a home is a little too much of a risk for you to part with any of your ill-gotten usury blood money, but a seventeen year old flip-cup enthusiast with an earnest little boner and tickets for Jack Johnson next week seems like a good bet for that 150k? This kid has no idea about how much money that is.

I wish someone had told me what a colossal waste of money I was getting myself into. Sure I had a few laughs tossing around the old frisbee on the quad at the over-priced north east private school I went to with people from all over the (different parts of Connecticut and Long Island) world, but somehow I think I could have done the exact same thing for like $12 a month at the public university. A hundred thousand plus dollars might as well be a hundred thousand fairies and unicorns, because that's exactly how real it seems at the time. A hundred thousand dollars seems just as tangible as the second coming of Jesus fucking Christ, which makes sense, because that's gonna happen long before I ever pull myself out of this debtor's prison. Thanks for mowing the lawns real nice outside the science lab every other day though. I guess I'll always have that.

This really doesn't have anything to with the actual concept of local food, which my hippie spies tell me is supposed to be good for the environment. Alright bro, If you say so. That book talk sounds a little fruity to me though. Then again I'm no PhD in Environmental Science. (My doctorate, if you must know, was actually in Handsome Karate.)

Anyway, maybe it's just because I spent so many years being in (yikes) and writing about (even worse) local bands that the term has been spoiled for me. Makes me think instead of being some nutritional, ecologically responsible lunch alternative it's like a cucumber that's trying really, really hard to get me to come see it fart through Joy Division rip offs on a Monday night at the Elk's Lodge before I put it in my salad. How am I supposed to take this food seriously until it's gotten in the van and hit the road?

I spend all day slaving over a hot fire of righteous indignation and this is how you freeloaders repay me? By not commenting that much? Do you think these jokes write themselves? Of course not, I had to steal most of them from other, funnier blogs with my own two hands. And also my eyes I guess. And brain. That's three total body parts I had to get involved. A little appreciation would be nice. Think of it like signing the guest book at a wake if it makes you feel better. A wake for the very concept of humor.

I read the stat logs (oof on me, throw that on the List right quick). I know how many of you there are out there. Look, here's a dude on here just now from Raleigh, North Carolina who spent 5 mins 25 secs reading the List. Wilkes Barre, Pennsylvania, represent! Woh, wait a minute. I just realized why I recognize that town. It's where I send my check to Sallie Mae every other month or so give or take a month or two. What sort of special bureaucratic hell have you guys get set up down there? Any chance you could, I don't know, disappear off the face of the earth? Would consider that a total solid. Thanks in advance!

Let's see... going down the list from today's readers here... Tallahassee! Um, none taken on that last Florida post. Thanks for stopping in! We love Florida, for real. Except for every square inch of it we've been through. And also the other places we hear about in the news.

What else? London, United Kingdom (Learn how to tip you cheap pricks. Sorry, cheap cunts.); Stockport, United Kingdom; Alameda, California; Santa Cruz, New Mexico (I thought that place was just a made up state for the movies and for elections to get racists fired up at the polls, no?); Redmond, Washington; Wellington, New Zealand; Mannheim, Baden-wurttemberg, Germany (Love you miserable ill-humored stone-faced bitches over there, but you're going on the List really fucking soon jsyk); Royal Oak, Michigan (are there any jokes about Michigan? What's the point really, right? Be like making fun of sand or, like, a piece of bread? A sandy piece of bread? Do they even have sand there? Someone should probably look into this); Village Of Nagog Woods, Massachusetts... Los...

Wait a second. Village of Nagog Woods? That's the fakest sounding town name I've ever heard in my life. What sort of happy little people frolic up yonder? Have you human like dwellings? How faired this moon's crop good neighbor?

Actually, never mind cause I just found an entry from Stockton-on-tees, United Kingdom. Is that an ancient fiefdom or a white NBA point guard themed t-shirt company? Calling bullshit on that town right now. Nice try though.

Anyway, aside from a snooze-inducing geography lesson, the point here is that we all need to come together and share the special thing we have in common: we hate each other. If there's one thing that people from around the world can agree on it's that everyone else sucks. But, you know, in different ways.




On a related note, a suspiciously high number of people find their way to the List by doing a Google search for prison+rape+jokes. Um...

Fucking Land of the Lost down there innit, only with way more Waffle Houses. You ever actually been outside the tourist areas (which are bad enough) in this strip mall apocalypse? Place is infested with bugs the size of your face and... Fuck it, we're not gonna come up with anything that sums it up better than this headline below, so let's just leave it at that.

Florida woman bags 11-foot alligator with a crossbow

Right on man, this is just like that scene from Goodfellas where they do that single tracking shot through the back of the kitchen, except instead of being brutal, inbred Sicilian mouth douches who've terrorized some poor schmuck into subservience we're two dudes in untucked striped shirts who just saved upwards of five bucks on a cover charge. Nice to meet you though Gregg.

I'll probably just head inside now and chat up Cristina on the bar. She mixes a great Stoli Vanilla and Diet. Not sure yet but I think she's kind of into me. Might just lurk by the bar for six hours till I get to the bottom of that one. Anyway, thanks for the hook up, bro.

What's in a name, aside from complete narcissism of course? Oh Bryce did the cutest thing today? Is that so? What did he do? Tell you you're a fucking asshole for naming him Bryce instead of something normal like Bob or Steve or Jimmy? You ever meet a dude named Jimmy who wasn't a solid dude? Come on! But ole Bryce up there or Madison or Beckett or Jackson or whatever the fuck, that's got douchey slapped all over it. Why? Because by the time they get to college, their friends are going to have enough conventional knowledge to wonder why his parents were such narcissistic assholes to name him Bryce.

Also, without going through the entire list of shitty names: Dylan, Hendrix, Bright Eyes or any other name based on who you listed under influences on your Myspace page when you were 25 are all dumb too. Double oof if you named it after an athlete.

Anyway, nonetaken little Hamilton.

I was just thinking about that Kanye West awards show thing, because apparently I'm an empty vessel capable and willing to let even the most irrelevant pop culture nonsense take over my half-functioning brain for hours at a time (aka an American). So I started to get angry. Not because Kanye West is a monumentally self-important douche of the highest order, the very personification of the List, one that makes our boy the wolf up there drool in anticipation for the day he can close his ravenous maw upon this guy's entitled illiterate face. No not because of that. That's like being mad at the sun for shining, or at a new mother for expecting the entire world to revolve around her brat kids.

The people really deserving of scorn here are the ones who've decided to revoke their Kanye West fanhood because he acted like a dick on the teevee. How is this even remotely relevant to the quality of his music (occasionally decent, at best, by the way)? What kind of make pretend land do these people live in?

On a related note, what do you think the general personality disposition of the guy who built the chair you're sitting in right now is, because that's exactly as meaningful as any musician's. How about the Chinese slave baby that stitched your jeans? Probably not too much fun at parties I'm guessing. Hard to talk to. Sort of grumpy all the time.

Nah man, don't even finish that one. This next place across the street we're gonna check out is the spot. We'll grab another one there then hit up a couple cabs and head to this one other place across town. Probably swing back through here after that to finish off the night though.

Brady drops back...

looks to Moss, who is doubled... looking right... looking... throws it and it's CAUGHT BY WELKER in the endzone. TOUCHDOWN!!!!

Great scenario there, right? Our kid Brady smashing one down the line to the white wonder Wes Welker, hero to every Boston racist from here to the moon? Sounds good right? Then how come half of my boys just yelled out FUCK! when that happened? Oh right, they're little Dungeons and Dragons fantasy league thing. Nothing like ruining watching your home team's game by "hoping that they win but you know, mostly with Faulk doing the scoring because I'm playing the Donkey Punches this week and he's got Brady and Welker."

Look I think it's cute that you're pretending to play with your little team of superstars, being a big boy coach like Belichick or whatever but just leave that shit behind when we get together to watch the game. And for the record, no it does not make every game interesting. Arizona vs. Detroit is still going to suck regardless of how it effects The Brokeback Mountaineers vs. The Blumpkins game in week 3 of your fucking gay fake sport.

When it comes to expressions of genuine human emotion and spontaneous fun we here at the List usually approach that shit like we do when one of our friends catches on fire: we smother it in a blanket and throw water on it until everyone stops screaming. (Happens more than you'd think.) So don't get this one twisted. We're not saying you have to wax your chest and start spending Monday nights gyrating tits-out on a platform in the VIP lounge. And we're not saying you need to turn into some Mediterranean hip-shifter with a nervous mustache and an ass-pocket full of roofies, because people who like to dance too much are just as bad as people who never dance at all.

All we're saying is this: JUST GO DANCE WITH HER FOR FUCK'S SAKE! That's all she wants. Just go move your goofy hips for like ten minutes to some putrid Beyonce remix and call it a day. It's gonna pay dividends, trust me.

You do tons of shit you don't want to do all the time, (get up in the morning to face the fresh daily horrors of the hopeless void anew; not punch every single person you deal with square in the horn) so why is this one such a stumbling block for the bromandos of the world? Patrick Swayze danced. He danced like a mother fucker. Danced hard and long.

Are you better than Patrick Swayze, sir?

You are not.

Besides, no one is looking at you, and no one is judging you. No one, believe it or not, gives a shit about what you're doing at this very moment at the wedding, or club, or party or what have you. Except for one person: your girlfriend or wife. She notices you not dancing with her. She notices hard.

And more importantly, every time you stand there on the sidelines like a bent corn husk in pleated khakis fiddling with a Bud Light bottle, some turd (sorry, mierda) from Spain gets one well choreographed step closer to eating your woman's pussy. And he'll do it too. We all will.

There is a family party in a few weeks for my oxy contin addicted 19 year old nephew's graduation from electrician school. Should be fucking great.

We are all so proud of this kid who has ruined my sister's life for the past five years. Highlights include totaling her car with the car they bought for him, going in and out of expensive rehab centers, flunking out of high school, barely graduating from electrician school or whatever, confusing and most likely totally fucking up his younger sisters, shaming the family by becoming an electrician, having a slutty white trash girlfriend, and generally costing millions of dollars. Congrats on graduating though!

I can't wait to celebrate this kid's amazing accomplishments while trying to find one vegetarian item (already on the List) I can eat after traveling out of my way on a bus (on the List) for five or six hours then listen to my Republican (List) relatives bash Obama (List) all day before my return trip. The nephew though, his future looks bright.

Tomorrow marks an important date in the official part of my summer, for I am going "down the Cape." For those not in the know, the Cape is a beach-type stretch of land, somewhere near Florida and Jamaica Plain. Like Jamaica Plain, it is only easily accessible by rocket ship or helicopter. However, in today's economic climate, I've access to neither. So I hope my '97 Toyota will be up for the challenge. Luckily, that will give the lady and I a few solid hours to argue about the temperature in the car as well as discuss which of our friends we are better than. But all is not lost, after the 12-13 hour drive, we will find ourselves in a magical, amazing place. Sure, the poor townies who stick it out on the cape all fucking year will treat us like shit, but come on, these are people that ride the bus and hit up Joe Kennedy for help with the heating bill. Not likely to run into any of them in our little bubble, are we? Anyway, enjoy the last week of summer dickheads.

How do I put this lightly? Fuck it. You need to lower your standards, and stat. Because let’s face it, you’re not alone because men are intimidated by you, nor have you been single for the past seven years because you think on a higher plane than most people. Nope, if you can’t find someone who will fuck you sober, and more than once, it’s likely because a sizeable portion of the opposite sex is repulsed by you.

This could be for any number of reasons (back fat, that sniffling thing you do, your 8 cats, the fact that your apartment smells like you have 8 cats, that knack for making everyone around you feel uncomfortable, your Champion sweatshirt collection, etc.). So this but I have high standards charade needs to come to a close immediately, because it’s truly painful for the rest of us to stand by and bear witness to this sad, sad delusion.

Yes, it's ok to shoot for the stars, but when that little fantasy inevitably collapses you might want to take a look a few rungs lower down on the ladder if you know what I mean. Lowering your standards is just a natural part of life. In fact it's the very definition of life. Thomas Jefferson said that. Look it up.

So what's that extra seat in the middle there for? Honoring all your dead homies that couldn't be here to see the 4:15 showing of Transformers 2?

I know the worst possible thing in the world for dudes like you is to be accidentally mistaken for a homosexual, but that empty, gaping seat is having the opposite effect. It's like the two of you are out on a triple date with the ghost of goatse. The tension is palpable here, dudes, and this shit is queer as a brown cucumber. Rubbing elbows with a dude while watching a movie is a lot like accidentally rubbing boners in a three way: the only thing gay about it is acting like it's a big deal.

What's this thing that people still do where they come up to a greet a group they know and shake everyone's hand but the woman's? I know like ten thousand years ago Moses discovered the first menstruating broad and decided women had black magic in their vaginas, but I'm pretty sure they've debunked that idea everywhere but in the Middle East and Walmart parking lots by this point. (Although I've got a few tests I still need to run.)

Go ahead and shake the woman's hand. It's ok there Lennie, you're not gonna accidentally snap her little bird bones. She's not gonna trick you into marrying her somehow over the span of a handshake. (That takes like a year and a half at least.) If you're really that worried about it just go ahead and pray extra hard tonight in bed right after god finishes watching your masturbate.

I suppose you're right honey, it is only like 87 degrees in here. True, I don't think any of us could have predicted you were going to end up being cold today when we left the house and you were getting dressed. Maybe I could, I don't know, shave every last follicle of hair off my body next time before we go out? Might help regulate the fever level body temperature I've got going. Although I think it could turn the deluge of sweat cascading off my body into more of an issue in terms of soaking through my shirt. Take off my shirt? Sure, I suppose removing layers makes more sense than putting them on here.

It's ok though I promise I'll roll up the window in the car on the way home too. Oh look, I've got a sweater here in the back seat. You want to put it on? Right. Doesn't match I guess. No worries. Probably just gonna need to stop off at the hospital for a quick blood transfusion before we get to that ice cream shop near the beach you wanted to check out.

Listen, the first few seasons were great, but we get it dude, you really don't like people and everything is annoying. How many different ways do you think you need to spell that out for us before we get the idea?

Shit. Wait a minute.