Thursday, April 29, 2010

Being Offended by Mom Jokes


I love my mom. I love her because she is great. I love her because she did wonderful things for me and in general is a wonderful person to everyone else.

But I’ve been in a car, in a mall, in line at a grocery store, at the beach... and not all moms are created equal. Moms have cut me off, cut me in line, blown smoke in my face, dug through their purse for a pen for too long, answered their cell phone in a movie theater and any number of other things on the List. They’re equally as annoying as the rest of the personnel of this planet and the fact that they pushed a few brats out doesn't change that. Loving your own mom is one thing, but being universally offended by any wrongdoing to someone else’s mom is another.

Moms are the focus this week for two reasons: Mother’s Day is fast approaching, and the big story in sports news is how the GM of the Miami Dolphins decided to ask Dez Bryant, potential player and future employee if his family life makes him somehow ineligible to earn 40 million guaranteed dollars over the next few years. He basically asked the dude whether or not his mother is a whore. Woops.


Do I defend the “Is your mother a prostitute?” question posed to Bryant on the eve of the NFL draft?
No. But do I scoff at it like I would if the Dolphins took the ball up the field for 6 against the linebacker-less Patriots? Hell no. That gridiron offense gets my blood boiling more than a “your mother is so fat…” joke.

This kid's mom has been in and out of prison, and could, as tough as this may be for anyone in the world to hear, be a giant pain in the ass to a potential employer. This isn’t a white collar job. This is a job where a player's baggage is likely to be the number one influence on his potential performance. All of these athletes are beyond world class athletically, they have to be judged and nitpicked in a way that we aren’t used to.

Nobody has ever asked me if my mom was a prostitute at a job interview because nobody has ever offered me 40 million dollars before. If they were going to offer me that I wouldn’t care if they asked me if my mom was a dude. A dude named Hitler. My answer would be no. She isn’t and never has been. Not that I know of.

That was easy, right? Am I offended the Dolphins asked? Who cares if I am? If I don’t like the question, I don’t have to work for you. If Dez doesn’t like the question, then don’t work for the Dolphins.

The notion that men who follow sports are outraged beyond belief at this question is absolutely hilarious. Hilarious. Think about the last time you genuinely did something good for your own mom, then ask yourself if you really have the right to be mad that someone else’s mom was wronged. We don’t respect women, pretty much ever, so why start now?

We treat women like crap all the time. Tiger Woods merchandise had a phenomenal selling week during the Masters. Ben Roethlisberger jerseys will be in the top ten again at some point before his time in this league is through. The Dolphins GM asked if this kid's mom was a prostitute, and I personally think it is stupid, but the reality is I see moms on the street every day, they aren't exactly a rare species of endangered magic butterflies. I don’t live my life acting as if they are irreproachably precious every other day of the year, so why start pretending now.

I wonder what Bryant's answer was to the question was anyway?

Wednesday, April 28, 2010

All Adults Are Pedophiles


Dear moms, if you're that worried that every childless adult you encounter in the world wants to have sex with your children, then why don't you just stay the fuck home and leave the scary world to the adults? Thanks!

Everyone knows the only thing people do with their cell phones is take weird sex pictures. When moms saw a man lurking around San Francisco's Mountain Lake Park apparently taking cell phone pics of their kids, they leaped into action.

Here's the email that was passed among parents' lists earlier this month, warning of the man in the PT Cruiser: Please help spread the word to people you know in this neighborhood. I have seen this man 2 times at the lower playground at MLP. He does NOT have children and pretends like he does and is there to do pull ups. He takes pictures of the kids with his phone. He drives a silver PT cruiser and wears sunglasses. He takes pictures of BOTH boys and girls. He looks for kids that don't have care givers near by. I have not confronted him, but take Scout and stand next to him. He gets nervous and puts his phone away and eventually leaves. I personally believe that given the chance he might engage the kids and who knows what could happen.... Gawker

You know what? Just in case let's sign this guy up for a life time of state sanctioned harassment on account of his coincidental proximity to children. After all, he should have known better than to exist.

Oh, and just saying, this woman named her child Scout.

Monday, April 26, 2010

Always Having to Point Out the Fat, Tall, Ugly, Skinny, Weird-Looking or Otherwise Outrageously Comical Person in the Room


Good eye, shooter. I caught this amazing scene of human spectacle playing itself out myself, only I didn't bring it up as quickly on account of not being as handsome and regular as you. If you keep looking a little closer I'm pretty sure there's an obvious, unfunny cunt running around here somewhere too. Point at that guy.

It Is What It Is


No it isn't.

Saturday, April 24, 2010

Tossing the Old Ball Around With the Little Fella

With apologies to sex and literally every movie or band I've ever gone to see, this has to be the bottom of the barrel in terms of expectation of joy to actual enjoyment payoff doesn't it? You ever see a kid throw a ball? Totally retarded.

Still, in my imagination it's always a wholesome bonding moment where I get to rub off on the young fella a little bit (-a Catholic priest) but in actuality it's more like bending over every few minutes and being disappointed. (-your mom). Basically what you're setting yourself up for here is picking up toys that kids are tossing in the dirt over and over again. If I wanted to do that I'd have one of my own and spend literally every second of every day doing that for the next ten years.

Cracker Jihad


Sometimes it's pretty hard to apportion one's proper percentage of guuuh between the freedom loving Americans who believe in magic superman wot hates abortions and fags, and their browner-hued counterparts that do the exact same shit in slightly different (and foreign) ways. But when in doubt I'll pretty much always lean toward the less bomb-y option when applicable.

This latest outburst of trivial camel shit has finally gotten my attention though. If it's come down to this, a war against wholesome, buttery and salted wheat snack crackers, then consider me enlisted.

Earlier today Revolution Muslim, the Islamic group that posted a veiled threat against South Park this week, called us "Darwinist faggots who are as despicable as the rest, walking around eating your Triscuits." (Gawker)

Listen, you turds can hate me for my freedoms as much as you want. I hate myself for my freedoms actually. (That's called liberal guilt, which is also on the List.) But do not -- I repeat do not -- come for my fucking Triscuits. You are entering a world of pain. For men who live soulless, vacuous lives without sacristy, some things are actually sacred. Many of them just so happen to be efficient vehicles for delivering cheese to our faces. Also, by the way you guys...Triscuits and hummus? Come on, there's our common ground right there. Wait, savage heathen others eat hummus right? I better consult the Bible. Someone get Hillary on the blower, I think I just sorted out her next diplomatic agenda.

But, no matter what happens, at least all cultures can come together to agree on this one thing: Wheat Thins fucking blow.

Thursday, April 22, 2010

That Volcano Thing



It's been about five minutes since I've heard anyone talk about how this volcano in Iceland is fucking up airplanes or whatever, and you know what? it's been a pretty good five minutes. But just in case you forgot, here is this thing that happened. Like over a week ago. This thing that somehow made it impossible for planes flying tens of thousands of feet in the air all over the world to stop functioning because of, what? Dust in the sky? I think I may have been overestimating the state of modern aeronautics this whole time. I didn't realize planes were such pussies.

For real though, how bad can this shit be? It's not like the center of the earth literally exploded millions upon millions of gallons of liquid fire ash into the atmosphere. That only happens in the movies and in liberals' science books.



Hey, you want to know two funny things about Iceland? The way they spell things and Bjork. Consonants all over the place! Js where you might not expect them! Those two classics never get old. Kind of like me in a way. I just have good genes I guess.


images from here

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

Everything You've Ever Thought About Anything


I went through like five different jokes I wanted to write for this one before giving up. If there's any words you can think of that could possibly make this photo any better, then congratulations, you just won this website. I'll leave the keys in the box on my way out. I'll be back around to pick up my mail and security deposit in a week or two.

Saturday, April 17, 2010

Pulling Out the Acousty in a Public Place


Everyone enjoy their weekend? How about that weather on Saturday, am I right? Spring time in the city. The air, the sweet smell of budding trees, the one-up-man-ship of the sluttiness in our precious college students' dress code. Just the kind of afternoon that makes being alive tolerable.

At least I felt that way until lo and behold! someone else in my neighborhood thought, 'You know what today would be perfect for? Spreading around some more
me.'

There's your kid here, just relaxing, sipping an iced coffee, soaking up the sun and flipping through the NY Times when some prick rolls into the square with his acoustic and begins to shit all over everyone's ears, face and eyes for the next 30-40 minutes. I lasted about 4 myself.

Here's the deal, people who play music: play for the friends that you can guilt into going to your show and the dudes in the other bands. And make sure there is beer available. But bringing the music directly to the people, just fuck right off with that shit. Ever notice at your shows that you know every person in the room? There's a reason for that, no other person in the world wants to hear it. If only Jim Belushi were around today to take care of this.

LUKE - JUST WRITE THIS. YOU GET THE IDEANNHHH.

can't finish
- the entire US soccer team's forwards

Friday, April 16, 2010

Caring about Celebrities



This morning my girlfriend told me that she heard from her co-worker that Tiger Woods is having an affair with Sandra Bullock's ex-boyfriend. This monumental development in the lives of two people I've never met upset me so much that I...attempted to carry on with my daily routine.

So, I strapped on my shoes, checked my hungover hair in the mirror, and walked to my local coffee shop to flirt with the young birds with tattoos whose names I'll never remember. I mean, I walked to my local coffee shop to procure my favorite brand of orange mango pineapple juice.

While standing in line, an individual who claimed to know me (I'm inclined to trust him as knew my name), informed me that Kobe Bryant and Beyonce had just stolen a helicopter and were attempting to kill all the dragons in Colorado.

That came as a surprise.

I mean, if I were a dragon I'd certainly live some place more exciting than Colorado.

"None of my business", I thought as I tapped my foot nervously and prayed that the vegan in front of me would hurry up and decide which tasteless muffin she wanted to pretend to enjoy.

Apparently, all of this shit IS my business. The fact that I don't know who the girl from Lost (never seen it) is dating makes me a social leper. Not subscribing to People and US magazine is on par with being a pedophile, as it renders one incapable of blending in with the masses.

Perhaps (almost certainly) I'm a bad person, but I have a hard time keeping up with the ins and outs of the lives of my closest friends. I certainly don't have the patience to listen to a probably well-meaning idiot parrot the latest headline about some famous jerk's latest non-crisis.

Thursday, April 15, 2010

Checking this guy's ID for cigarettes


Why yes, I do have an extra thirty seconds of my life to waste on nothing. Thanks for asking.

If there's any possible universe where this old fucker right here is under 18 years old, someone book me a one way trip on a steam-powered bicycle to space, because I'm on my way. Actually, fuck that. Can you imagine how depressing that world must be with recent high school graduates who look like wrinkled, gay, Amish linebackers who gun butts all day on the sidewalk outside Newbury Comics?

Back in this world, I don't know what kind of elaborate sting operations the feds are running to trap the Watertown, MA package stores into selling dukes to minors, but I have a feeling this thing goes a lot deeper than any of us expected. I feel a little nervous just talking about it. If you guys don't hear from me for the next few days it's probably safe to assume they got to me. Or that I'm sick of writing for this stupid joke blog. Maybe both!

Monday, April 12, 2010

That's what SHE said


Ho ho! You really got me there, Baron Von Easyjokes! Kind of a low degree of difficulty maneuver though innit? You see where I come from in Elitist Internet Land, we have this bit where people write something and then we put those words in a different context by attaching an attribution tag below. For example:

"That's what she said!"
- a dude in cargo shorts who's seen The Hangover five times

On a related note I'm a little torn on The Hangover. I kind of want to give it an F+, but it somehow achieved the minimum number of laughs necessary for a passing grade. Like this blog in a way. Plus it was way too long and just downright painful at times. [ahem] If you know what I mean.

Thursday, April 8, 2010

Mailing a Check

My college buddies are all getting together this summer for a bachelor weekend. No one is getting married this year [looks around nervously], but fuck it, right? We're gonna make it like a thing. These married types can't leave the house without punching in the passcode on their wives' security system every fifteen minutes so it has to be an event. It's like I went to college with Desmond from Lost.

So it's gonna be a blast, because these things always are. Drinking shitty beer all day like we're 19 years old again, playing poker, wiffle ball, sleeping in a ball of laundry on the floor because some other asshole called dibs on one of the two beds in the house six months early, rehashing decade old grievances with drunken emotional wrecks whose balls you've seen more times than your own. That's just the first night.

But I digress. The thing is I have to mail a check to my one buddy who put the deposit down on the house we're renting. I've been meaning to do it for like two weeks, but I just can't muster the energy. Have you mailed anything recently? Do you have any idea how much work this shit entails? First I've got to reach over into that drawer right there, then look for my check book. Then I've got to find a pen. Guuuuh. Now I'm exhausted. What am I Hercules? Has some spiteful deity scorned me? Where is the fucking pen? After all that I've got to write on the check, then rip it out of the thing without destroying it, which happens 3 times out of 5. Then I've got to find a stamp. Who the hell has stamps just sitting around the house? Where do you keep them, next to the cistern and the butter churner? Someone fucking kill me now, I can't go on. Of course that's before we even get to writing the address on the envelope thing, which, have you tried writing anything lately? With your hands and a pen? Twelve letters in I've got carpal tunnel syndrome. Fuck it, I'm just gonna drive out to whatever suburb my man lives in and slide the cash under his door and slink away into the shadows before anyone sees me. Like I used to do in college.

Water Parks? Hot Sauce? I dunno dude, do I have to do everything around here?


Nothing to add today. Oh wait a minute, remember water parks? Those were pretty fucking weird right? Standing in a giant line leading up a winding staircase in your bathing suit freezing your ass off so you could take a 20 second ride on a tube lubricated with kid piss? Sounds fun. Bee tee dubs where do I get a hot dog around here? Oh right, everywhere. I can even eat a hot dog while floating down a lazy river with an old-timey South theme, just like Huck Finn or whatever. Tom Sawyer? Some pussy like that.

My hypothetical kids aren't going near one of these disease and pervert ridden cesspools. Unless they whine about it for like five seconds, in which case pack up the station wagon ma, cause I'll do anything to switch these donkey-braying brats to mute.

The Summer!

Side note: that's not a picture of an abandoned water park up there, it's the results of my colonoscopy. Been hitting the Frank's sauce a little too hard lately.

Friday, April 2, 2010

The Ocean (Part 2)

You thought we were kidding about the evils of the ocean thing below right? First we got those ominous warnings from the McDonalds wall fish, then we found out monsters are trolling the ocean floor just waiting for your kids to dip their tasty pink toes into the water. And now?

It has begun.

Kapow: The tables are turned as Jodi Barnes takes a direct hit in the face

(Wait, rivers count as the ocean too right? Someone look into that for me, ok? Thanks in advance.)

Sort of conflicted on who I want to win this fight though. On the one hand, these fish, what with their flying and face-slapping and sandwich guilting are getting a little uppity. On the other hand, shooting leaping fish with a bow and arrow off a boat with buildings in your firing line. Tough call. When in doubt, go with the animals, right? Their instincts usually prove more reliable.

Speaking of extreme aerial bowfishing...actually let's never speak about this again. I just don't see the appeal...

Oh, um. Never mind. Forget what I said. These fish have got it coming.


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