You just made my list!

(world’s largest sigh followed by eye rolling so intense it causes vomiting)

Video games are fun, I get it. I practically got an erection on Christmas morning, 1983, when I saw a present under the tree that was the exact size of an Atari 2600. I hadn’t even unwrapped the thing yet and I was already pissing my Yoda jammies from excitement. But I’m sorry, it just seems wrong for the Cub Scouts to award kids for playing video games.

Maybe “wrong” is not the best way to describe it, “lame” is probably more appropriate. Cub Scouts should be all about tying knots, burning stuff in campfires and watching your dad build you a kickass Pinewood Derby car, because let’s face it, he’s more excited about building that car than you are. Say, that reminds me, did you know you can now buy pre-built Pinewood Derby cars that require no effort other than slapping a few stickers on it? Fuck that! Pinewood Derby was all about seeing whose dad was awesome and whose dad was no better than a little girl. Want to know which dads have a sweet set of tools and which dads secretly give handjobs in forest preserves… you need look no further than Pinewood Derby day. Pinewood Derby was a thinly veiled pissing match for the dads and it should stay that way.

Where was I? Oh yeah, video games. Um… I’m bored with that subject, I should have made this post about Pinewood Derby. Fuck everything!

When I heard that melty face Celine Dion spent millions constructing a water park in her back yard for her ONE child, Rene Charles, I immediately knew I had to write about it but I had a hard time finding a justification for hating it so much. Then I decided, fuck it, it’s obscene and wrong, simple as that.

I am not some dirty, tall bike-riding hippie who thinks nobody should be rich. By all means, get rich singing your shit songs, have a big house and a fancy car, but at some point I can’t stomach ridiculous displays of wealth. What fucking 9-year-old needs a private water park? I’m sorry, it’s just kind of sickening when you think about the fact that there are millions of kids who go to sleep hungry every night. Now this is where Celine Dion fans put down their doughnuts (a rare occurrence) and chime in with “Hey jerk, Celine Dion has given X amount to charity.” I don’t care, I will never be on board with shit like this.

Plus, what kind of a monster are you creating when you treat your kid like king of the universe? When I was a kid, all of my toys fit into one toy chest and my childhood didn’t seem to suffer. Somehow I found the strength to face each new day even though a miniature Mercedes with a working DVD player was not parked in my driveway.

I swear to God, if one person says that I am jealous I will hunt you down and I will destroy you with my incredibly potent farts. I wouldn’t mind being rich but I honestly could never live like Celine Dion.

Sorry this one wasn’t very funny. Sometimes I just have to deliver hard-hitting, award winning commentary.

You can’t polish a turd but apparently you can take its picture.

God bless you for thinking some zitty kid at the mall can magically turn your nightmarish face into that of a mid-level 80s porn star. Don’t get me wrong, nothing turns me on like a woman with high hair in an acid washed jacket holding her collar with sausage fingers while giving me that “Do me on top of this cat calendar” look.

I just get so hot when I think about slowly removing your vinyl cropped motorcycle jacket from Walmart, ripping open your velcro fly jeans and making love to you on a pile of Star magazines while your Precious Moments figurines nervously watch the entire sweaty mess. I want to trace the curve (yes, the one curve) of your body with a jumbo Cheeto before placing it in your hungry mouth with my orange fingers. Finally, as we time our orgasms perfectly to verse 11 of “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald” I will pour a two-liter bottle of Mr. Peepers (your favorite generic Dr. Pepper) all over our naked bodies right there on the dirty floor of your trailer.

Gallery of sexy women holding their collars

Fuck me.

Spring is in the air which can only mean one thing… Six Flags will be entering your soul, Freddy Krueger style, while you sleep and filling your mind with nightmarish dancing bald things in tuxedos, all set to a torturous soundtrack of pumping Vengaboys music. Welcome to hell.

Why is Six Flags trying to get me to commit suicide? First they tried to break my spirit with Mr. Six, followed by the yelling mad Asian guy. When I came out of that experiment alive they instructed that dancing penis to talk! I somehow made it through that summer without chopping my own head off but I’m not so sure I can make it to June thanks to the introduction of Mr. Six’s baby(?) “Little Six.” What the fucking fuck is going on?!? I feel like I’m watching an incredibly well-dressed kid with Progeria have a seizure.

And kudos to their ad agency for getting right on that Austin Powers/Mini Me craze (of 1999)! Top notch work.

Take me now lord, I’m begging you!

There are times in life when we must balance comfort with money. Often times one’s financial situation wins this battle and you find a can of Milwaukee’s Best pressed up against your lips. But this is OK sometimes. It is entirely wrong, however, to find a stiff slab of cheap toilet paper pressed up against your butt lips!

There simply is no excuse for choosing toilet paper that feels about as soft as a lemon zester when perfectly good, triple ply quilted toilet paper is sitting right there on the shelf. What is this, Russia? The great thing about being American is that we can smear our feces on toilet paper so luxurious a princess would gladly sleep upon it. Not the feces… she would gladly sleep on the toilet paper!

Pooping is already a horrible experience as far as I’m concerned, so why turn an ugly situation into more of a nightmare? I don’t want to hear about your budget or the environment or blah blah fucking blah. Grow up, buy some real toilet paper and watch your life change, you dirty ass (literally) hippie.

What’s that you ask? Which brand do I allow to touch my sweet bottom? I prefer Charmin Ultra Strong or Charmin Ultra Soft. I mean look at this… you can drag a 3 pound block of shit across your table and it won’t even rip!

How could Tiger Woods cheat on his wife?!? Oh, I’m so mad at him!

Wait I forgot, that’s not why I’m disgusted with Tiger. I literally could not care less about his quest for pussy. That’s his business. But what does concern me is his quest for Nickelback. Yeah that’s right, did you hear that Woods chose a fucking Nickelback concert for his FIRST public social outing? First he offended women around the globe with his propensity for porn poon and apparently now he’s trying to offend people with ears.

I guess at the very least we can all forget about the mistresses and the dirty text messages now because compared to singing along with “Photograph,” cheating on your wife is nothing. I would forgive this guy for murder before I would for going backstage to hang out with those agents of Satan. Imagine how disappointed Tiger must have been when he realized he was backstage at a Nickelback concert, the one place on earth guaranteed to be void of vagina, except of course for those residing in the ripped blue jeans of the band.

Now, on to more important things. Are you aware a bonafide music legend left a comment on yesterday’s post? Every one please say hello to Randy Jones of the Village People and make him feel welcomed. He’s one of us.

I quit.

When you “double down” in the game of blackjack you are essentially doubling your risk with the hopes of doubling your reward.* When you force Kentucky Fried Chicken’s latest crime against humanity, the Double Down sandwich, down your gaping maw you are doubling your toilet’s reward.

Is it possible KFC is playing an elaborate, multimillion dollar prank on the world? Is this one of Andy Samberg’s HILARIOUS Digital Shorts? Even Kentucky Fried Chicken needs to convince themselves this monstrosity is not just a bad dream. The first sentence out of their greasy mouths on the official Double Down page is “The new KFC Double Down sandwich is real!” Even they can’t believe how fucking disgusting people are. I would not be surprised if they started pushing the limits even further just to see what they can get away with. Chicken fat shakes? Napkins made out of chicken skin? Perhaps they can bypass the whole eating thing and just force grease up your ass with a giant hose.

The thing I love about how uneducated we** are about food is that I actually found a few girlie “diet” websites taking about what a great diet sandwich this will be because it doesn’t have bread, A.K.A. carbs. Do I even need to waste my time dissecting this theory? TWO SLABS OF FRIED CHICKEN, TWO STRIPS OF BACON, TWO MELTED SLICES OF CHEESE AND THE “COLONEL’S SAUCE!” I’m going to get into those skinny jeans by June!

I’m exhausted just from looking at the photo of this piece of shit.

*Shut up, I realize this is not technically correct but I’m not writing a Guide to Blackjack here!

** Not me, I’m a genius.

Can someone please tell me who the fuck the “Beauty Gurus” are and why I want to kick them all in the teeth?