FUCK! I spent the last 9 months cleansing the brain space that had previously been invaded by “We Like to Party” by the Vengaboys but thanks to a new round of annoying Six Flags commercials it’s right back in there.
I know I already wrote about Six Flags and their mind-numbing commercials that seem to run during EVERY SINGLE commercial break but the gates of hell have opened once again, only this time Mr. Six is actually speaking. It makes me very uncomfortable and I want it to stop as soon as it starts, sort of like an inappropriate hug from a step uncle. On a side note, I just googled “step uncle” to see if it was one word or two and discovered this insanity…
“I have a freind [sic] who is dating her step uncle, they are not related by blood at all, but is it right? because i feel i should advise my freind [sic] on this!”
“Step uncle-step niece relationships are not prohibited under Leviticus 18 in and of itself. As long as, they are of age I don’t see the problem.”
I’m sorry for my lack of focus but what the hell?
OK, what was I talking about? Who cares. I also saw that Mr. Six is on Twitter which reminds me, follow me on Twitter if you want to ruin your day, possibly week.
God, this is the worst site on the internet, why are you still bothering with me?
I made the mistake of accidentally seeing the last 10 minutes of American Idol last night and now I want to hide inside my testicles for the rest of my life. When Adam Lambert and the other douchebag finalist started singing Queen’s “We Are The Champions” I was already booking my flight to L.A. so that I might kick them in their smooth areas. But I was not prepared for what was about to happen next. The stage opened up and there were the surviving members of Queen backing up these turd wads. Yeah, the real fucking god damn QUEEN sharing the stage and taking a backseat to those two motherfuckers! I don’t want to live in a world where Queen has to share a stage with Adam Lambert’s eyeliner. I’m sure as I write this Freddie Mercury’s corpse is zombie walking its way to Brian May’s house looking for answers.
Fuck Threadless and their oh-so-clever bullshit! I hate the cult of Threadless.
If you do not know what Threadless is, take a moment to high-five yourself for being awesome. Threadless is a website where people send in their cutesy little t-shirt designs and an online community of lonely teens and aging hipsters with tiny glasses vote on which crappy doodle gets produced on actual t-shirts. Once these shirts are produced all the Threadless zombies rejoice and cum in their panties because every week they can buy more shirts with precious scribbles on them.
Do I think every Threadless shirt sucks? No, but I do honesty hate 98% of them. Do I think anyone who owns a Threadless shirt sucks? No, but I really can’t stand it when people are obsessed with them.
You know how there are just some things in life you hate but can’t quite explain why? Well this is not one of those things for me, I fucking hate Threadless.
I’m sorry to say that I need to take a break from the list. I honestly feel very bad about it but I have some personal issues to deal with first. I’m just not able to complain about American Idol and poop right now. I don’t know what else to say. I’m sorry.
I hope to be back soon so don’t totally give up on me.
If you know me personally, there is a good chance you know that I hate to poop. You may also know that I can go several days without pooping. Those poop-free days feel like a gift from God. I would imagine it feels not unlike getting a call from the Governor that spares you from the electric chair.
I am not trying to be funny or outrageous with these claims, I honestly hate everything about pooping. People often try to convince me that “pooping feels soooo good” but I will never understand how forcing a tube of warm, smelly feces out of my butthole is supposed to feel good. I feel sad and humiliated while taking a dump. You know the way most dogs look embarrassed when pooping in public? I’m sure I look exactly the same every time I poop.
Pooping at home is bad enough but the panic I feel when I realize I am going to have to shit in a public bathroom is unrivaled. Taking a shit in an airport might be the worst thing to ever happen in my life. NO, pooping on the plane is even worse.
I need to go lie down.
p.s. I love farting! I just wanted to clear that up.
I try to avoid the mall. Not because of some great protest against consumerism or because I think I’m better than mall shoppers, it’s really just that I don’t shop very often.
The last time I visited the mall I made the mistake of walking into a Hollister store, or maybe it was an Abercrombie & Fitch, and thought that I had accidentally walked into a haunted house or possibly that I had a stroke which rendered me blind. Have you been in these stupid pieces of shit? They should hand out fucking night vision goggles at the door because you can’t see a god damn thing! Apparently the easiest way to show that your store is cool(?) is to turn the lights off and watch your confused customers bump into each other like blind mice in a maze. Maybe this is a sign of being “old” but I can’t spend more than zero seconds in one of these dungeons without feeling like I am part of a sadistic experiment.
What’s the appeal of their clothing anyway? Why is everyone so happy to wear a shirt that simply says “Hollister” across the chest? I don’t fucking need to know where you purchased your shitty shirt, I can already guess. Oh, and another thing, not only can you not SEE in these stores, you also can’t BREATHE! I’m not sure if it’s the Axe Effect oozing from every douchebag in the store or if they pump in some mind controlling chemical that turns you into a dcouchebag, but either way you will find yourself crawling in the dark desperately trying to find the door.
You know what I’m talking about right? You go to 7-11 to buy some beef jerky, a 2-liter of Extreme Mountain Dew and the latest issue of Juggs and when the grumpy clerk hands you your change he also hands you 15 receipts, rendering your hands useless. You’ve got the bag of porn in one hand, your open wallet in the other, and now you have to figure out how to hold dollar bills, a bunch of dimes and 40 feet of receipts. The stress builds, because after all this is a convenience store and the fact that you are paralyzed by your inability to handle all this shit at the same time is becoming very inconvenient to the growing line behind you. You panic and your brow begins to sweat. Holy shit, why is this happening to you, WHY? You fall to the floor and cry in the fetal position. Right? At least that’s what I do.
Is it too much to ask for them to hand me my bills first, followed by my coins after the bills are tucked in the wallet and THEN my receipt? Actually, just put the receipt in the bag. Am I alone in my thinking here?
I have always hated American Idol but this season has taken me over the edge. For some reason I keep seeing it every week. Specifically I keep catching this season’s “rocker” Adam Lambert perform, and each time I want to dig my eyes out of my skull and shove them down my ears while smashing my face through the TV. I fucking hate the fuck out of this prancing turd and his eye makeup. I would spend every penny I own (which is like 207 pennies) just to have the chance to kick him in the smooth area where his balls should be.
Music is dead. No, the music industry is dead. Everyone, including supposed indie bands, are so fucking into their look and their image now. Even a band like the Strokes, who pretend to be dirty and disheveled, spend just as much time picking out their outfits as the American Idol douchewads. Fuck everyone, what happened to awesome, ugly, dirty, sweaty bands like the Minutemen or the Replacements?
If this clip of Adam Lambert taking a shit all over Johnny Cash doesn’t make you want to go on a killing spree then you need to kindly punch yourself in your penis and/or vagina.
