Chef Daniel Angerer wants you to know he’s cool and the only way he could think to convince you is to milk his wife like a cow and start churning titty milk into boob cheese. Keep your disgusting hooter cheese to yourself, you douche.
The female breast is meant to be soaked with icy water and judged in Mexican bars, not used as an Easy Cheese can. God made boobs so young girls have a way to acquire beads and T-shirts, he never intended them to be used as nacho cheese fountains.
On his blog, Angerer rambles on about some hippie bullshit and wanting to donate his wife’s excess milk to Haiti, but somehow that morphed into sweater cheese. This guy craves attention even more than I do!
It’s bad enough being told to “dream” by some piece of shit hanging on your wall, but when you cheerfully ask me to let God’s love climb inside me and do something blah blah blah at the end of your email, it fills me with a form of rage yet to be described by the English language.
I just want to know why you haven’t shipped my Ninja swords yet, I don’t need your dime store Obi-Wan Kenobi bullshit at the end of your email. When a person is sitting at home waiting for their fucking Ninja swords to arrive so that he might protect himself from rival Ninjas in the neighborhood, do you really think he wants to be told “When you believe in yourself the possibilities are endless?” NO! I WANT MY SWORDS!
Why is it that the more horrible and pathetic your shitty life is the more you believe in crappy inspirational nonsense? Do you think Donald Trump ends his emails with “Faith is daring the soul to go beyond what the eyes can see?” Of course not, and we all know Donald Trump is the most powerful, rich, awesome, charismatic, classy man in the universe. We should be so lucky! You think Donald Trump has to lock himself in the house for two weeks while he waits for his swords to arrive? Are you kidding? That man gets his swords flown to him on a private jet directly from Chinese Ninja training camps.
And PLEASE stop telling me to have a “blessed day.” I don’t want a blessed day, I simply want my swords.
Congratulations, you can scrape two things together, now that’s what I call talent!
Not since the invention of the hacky sack have smelly fuckheads had such a useless form to express themselves. Isn’t it ironic that filthy hippies would choose an object made for cleaning to make “music?”
I guess it makes sense really. Some folksy turd was probably sitting around his shack when something shiny in the corner caught his eye. Having never washed his clothes or body, he stared and poked at it like the apes in 2001: A Space Odyssey when the monolith appears. He probably grabbed his booger-pickin’ spoon from the cluttered floor and threw it at the washboard, thinking it was some sort of a dag-gone space monster or something. Well there must have been something about that horrible clang of metal hitting metal that sounded like music to his dirty hillbilly ears, because the next thing you know, he’s jiving and shucking all over the woods with his jug of xxx moonshine and his new “instrument.”
Now, thanks to this dick, I’m forced to see these assholes every Fat Tuesday on the wacky morning news, jamming with some shitty Zydeco band. You know what? Zydeco, you just made my list too. You suck!
For the first time since I was in high school I have a TV in my bedroom. It is thanks to this TV that I have been exposed to Kelly Ripa and her parade of enthusiastic nonsense!
Regis Philbin is either retarded or the most patient human on the planet. I feel like you could stick that man in a garbage bag filled with mosquitoes and he would keep on smiling and telling stories about having lunch with Charles Nelson Reilly or whatever the hell he talks about.
Kelly Ripa is that horrible kind of woman who thinks, and knows, she is oh so adorable and no matter how fucking annoying she is people fall all over themselves to love her. She could stand up on that desk and explode diarrhea all over Regis while eating a kitten and the audience of sassy hairs would giggle and hoot like a bunch of mindless idiots. The worst thing is that if I ever met Kelly Ripa I would probably fall under her whore spell (3 whore references in 4 days!) like a zombie. I’m trying to convince myself otherwise, but I would probably smile and thank her for blasting shit all over my face too.
Why is Kelly Ripa constantly shooting poop on people?
Lucky you, today you get to hear me complain about two things that suck.
1) The Apple store!
Let me first say that I love Apple products. However, I’m not a blind “fanboy,” rather I love Macs because they FUCKING WORK and as a graphic designer there is no substitute. Unfortunately I have had to spend a lot of time in the Apple store this week due to the cockless anus face who stole my computer. Have you been in an Apple store recently? They are bucking the system by eliminating any form of check out counter. Instead, each hip t-shirt-wearing employee has the ability to complete your purchase right there where they are standing in their skinny jeans. This may look cool, but it means the end of waiting in a orderly line to be served. The only way, literally, to be served in an Apple store is to stand in the middle of the floor with a confused look, like a sad puppy begging for a Snausage. It makes you feel like a whore standing on a street corner trying to out-whore the other whores.
2) Threadless iPhone cases!
If you have any doubt as to why I FUCKING HATE Threadless, please watch this video and it will all be clear. These fucking assholes at Griffin Technology and Threadless are acting like they cured cancer when they accidentally mixed their cure for A.I.D.S. with their cure for multiple sclerosis. Mark McGlon (never has a last name so perfectly described a lumpy tub of crap) practically has tears in his fat eyes as he describes the printing of doodles on plastic iPhone cases as “brilliant.” Brilliant? BRILLIANT?!? And if you ever wanted to see inside the empty mind of a Threadless design winner (and Threadless employee… hmmmmm), please watch douchebag hipster nerd Joe Van Wetering describe the BRILLIANT design process behind his doodles. Please get your gentle voice and Hitler hair out of my dreams and into my car, where I will drive you to a warehouse and force you to makeout with a girl.
OK, tonight is my last night of packing before my official move this Saturday so I’m going to keep this short. Mostly I’m keeping it short because I’m not sure what I’m seeing right now on my TV. Why is fat Steven Seagal running around arresting people for selling crack? Is he a real cop? Was I in a coma for 20 years?
I have watched about 15 minutes of this insanity and I have never felt more confused. In fact, as I write this, officer Seagal is talking “ghetto” to some black kid with a gun but he sounds like my dad trying to imitate Richard Pryor. Awwww baby, ya dig?
I immediately was reminded of the brilliant television pilot for “Lookwell,” created by Conan O’brien and Robert Smigel. In the show, which never made it past the pilot stage, Adam West plays Ty Lookwell, a washed-up actor who once starred in a bad 70s detective show. The problem is he now thinks he’s an actual detective thanks to an honorary crimestopper badge given to him in 1972. Funny, right? Well this crazy plot seems to be the EXACT concept behind “Steven Seagal Lawman” with the only difference being “Lookwell” was a COMEDY!
You seriously should take a 22-minute break and watch this pilot episode of Lookwell, Adam West is a fucking genius in it.
OK, I have decided to just take his week off and I will be back on Monday, so pull up your panties and quit crying like an Oprah fan who just received a free hemorrhoid pillow. It took me approximately 37 tries to spell “hemorrhoid” correctly.
