“To Stockton, Michael Jackson meant more to us then maybe Jesus did to some people. I think they are both about even, they are both icons.”
Well put dumb-ass, now promise me you will never have children or be responsible for anything living, ever. Don’t buy a hamster or even a house plant. Just sit quietly in your La-Z-Boy, eat pizza-flavored Combos and watch “Jon and Kate Plus 8” until you die.
I’ve already discussed idiots who think they see Jesus in their food, but at least their holy discoveries kind of look like Jesus. This tree stump looks suspiciously like a tree stump. Is this an elaborate joke being played on me? I can’t see ANYTHING that resembles ANYTHING in this Stockton, California tree stump. God, I hate these people.
Michael Jackson rant #2
Did you see the news coverage of today’s memorial service at the Staples Center? All the newscasters were speaking in gentle hushed tones about Michael Jackson and his life. Fuck off, these are the same people who lived to tear him down and exploit any strange thing he did. Too late to play nice, assholes. Yes, Jackson was a weird guy but the media’s relentless condemnation of him helped make him that way.
Michael Jackson rant #3
What could have been the most touching and emotional moment during the memorial was ruined by the Jackson family’s never-ending inclination to “perform.” Michael’s daughter Paris attempted to express her love for her father but was quickly schooled by 50 Jacksons about mic technique. The poor kid literally disappeared in a sea of Jackson hands while trying to say a heart-felt goodbye to her dad. They were telling her to “speak up” while taking turns jamming the mic in her little face. It’s hard enough to speak at your father’s funeral, especially when it’s in a fucking stadium, without being told you are doing it wrong. Watch it here
I once ordered an edamame appetizer at one of these pretentious restaurants and when the waitress brought six individual soybeans to our table a single tear fell from my eye, because I realized I just paid $13 for six soybeans. The next time I went to this restaurant I noticed the menu now included “One soybean seasoned with a single tear.” Clearly they had stolen this idea from me.
Take your tiny, pretentious dollhouse-sized food and shove it up your oh-so-hip ass. Do you realize some of these places actually sell scented air. AIR! My grandfather did not storm the beach at Normandy so some turd in a $300 T-shirt could eat one grain of sea salt with a side of almond-scented air. And don’t even get me started on molecular gastronomy. Don’t!
I’m not happy after a meal unless I feel like I might die. I want to feel HEAR my stomach struggling to sort through all the meat and fat I just crammed down my greasy mouth. A meal really isn’t worth eating unless you need to shower immediately afterward.
What the fuck?!? God is on a killing spree and for once in my life I am happy I’m NOT a famous. Assuming God likes to kill celebrities in 3’s, I guess we should be prepared to lose 2 more this week for a total of 6 in about a week! Who knows if he will even stop there, he might clear out all of Hollywood, which would be a disaster for this guy’s career. What did Billy Mays ever do to you, God? What is up your holy ass?
I loved Billy Mays, and I don’t mean that in a mocking way. For as long as I can remember I have been fascinated with pitchmen (not the show, the profession). In college I even video taped my favorite infomercial (carnauba car wax) so I could watch it over and over. Yeah, I was THAT cool in college.
A good pitchman can literally hypnotize you into thinking you are an idiot for not already owning kitchen knives that can cut a car in half. Billy Mays was one of my all-time favorites and I’m sad we will no longer be treated to his trademark “Hi, Billy Mays here…” yelled at a volume loud enough to make your hair move a little. And the beard, fuck, I’m going to miss that beard.
UPDATE: God had a busy weekend but he found time to also kill Fred Travalena.
Geez god, what’s the deal dude? Did someone give you one of those motivational “Successories” posters and did it inspired you to make the “most of your day?” Well hooray for you tough guy, you really seized the day! Oh, and nice work on the anal cancer. It’s not bad enough to give Farrah cancer, you have to make it cancer of the anus? What a dick. Don’t even talk to me right now.
Lest ye forget what a bad-ass Michael Jackson once was, here he is laying it down at an age when you were still crapping your jammies.
And check out this A capella version of “The Love You Save” – INCREDIBLE!
Oh, hi corn, it’s nice to see you again. I haven’t seen you since the BBQ. Did you enjoy your trip through my body?
Remind me again why I even bother eating corn-on-the-cob. I don’t even like the way it tastes that much and I hate the way it gets stuck between my teeth. Then, corn has the audacity, the arrogance, the fucking GALL to just scoot right through me without doing shit. Literally! Ooooh, I get so mad when I see those perfect, little, yellow kernels glaring up at me from the toilet. I can almost see their tiny middle fingers raised high in my direction.
Hey everyone, I just wanted to send out a quick inter-office email to remind you that the big “You Just Made My List” first anniversary party is today in conference room B at 4:00. Don’t be late (I’m looking at you Brad! Remember SALES IN ACTION 2008 – you will never live that down!!!!!! LOL!) Julie and Lisa have been working like crazy people (cuckoo cuckoo) to make this party ON THE CHAIN!!! If you thought the Sales on the Beach Summer Bash was fun, then hold on to your Dockers because this party will rock you!!
PARTY ACTIVITIES INCLUDE:
• Wackiest Neck Tie Contest
• Best Themed Cubicle Contest
• A Performance by Steve and Frank’s “Rubber-band Band”
• Waste Paper Basket-Ball
• NASCAR, or should I say NAS-CHAIR race (hee hee)
Debbie was nice enough to bake her famous cookies (one each please) and our very own Dan “The Man” will be DJ-ing right from his laptop? I don’t know how he figures that stuff out, zoom right over my head!!! LOL!
Running throughout the party will be an awesome (it seriously made me cry, boo hoo) Power Point slide show chronicling our first year! I’m not kidding when I say it’s as good as any documentary I have seen on Fox News, and you know I love my Fox News!!!
AND… If ALL that wasn’t enough, closing out the evening will be a super entertaining performance from… drumroll… drumroll… Counting Crows? (you wish Stacy! ROFL!!!)… drumroll… RAZZMATAZZ!!!!
So don’t be like that guy Ken who got fired last year for missing the Show Me The Money sales picnic! (he was a weirdo anyway)
You really can’t say that you’ve made anything of your life until your likeness appears on someone’s fingernails. You think you’re the shit because your dumb face is on a T-shirt? Bullshit, call me when some chick is walking around with your smiling mug on her disgusting fingernails.
(STOP THE PRESSES – I just saw a commercial for some fat ass dating show on Fox. It’s a fat guy looking for love from a group of fat chicks standing on reinforced bleachers. Mark my words, the world will end by November.)
OK, sorry about that… This is one of those subjects that makes a little barf come up. I am endlessly fascinated by what some people accept as “fashionable.” I mean, there are thousands of women walking around RIGHT NOW with palm trees, dolphins, tigers and flowers painted on their long fingernails. No, these women were not abducted at gunpoint and forced to do such a thing. Nope, these crazies paid for this insanity.
The art is bad enough on its own, but the thing that really gets to me is the length of these nails. It sends a shiver down my spine every time I see a woman struggling to do some simple task with her painted claws. Using a telephone or picking up a coin becomes a day-long event with these idiots.
We get it, your kid is awesome. Your kid is the best at everything and the rest of us should pull to the right when we see you on the road so that you may pass unfettered. We should all bow our heads in shame, and if we are unlucky enough to be in the car with our own worthless children, we should look them right in their stupid eyes and say, “Why can’t you be more like that kid? You really do suck, do you know that? Now get that beef jerky out of your nose before I drive this minivan into the nearest lake.”
And guess what? I also don’t care that your Golden Retriever is smarter than that lady’s honor student. First of all, I doubt that is true, I mean how would you even test such a thing? Sure, your dog is smarter than my dumbass kid, but how can we know for sure that it’s smarter than an honor student at Ben Franklin Elementary? We simply can’t.
