You just made my list!

Hey, when I asked for a beer I didn’t think you were going pour it so fast that it would shoot out the other side of the glass all over my slacks. I have a very important sales seminar to attend his afternoon and beer-soaked slacks do not make a good first impression.

AHHHHHHH, you just blinded me when you slammed your Extreme Shrimp Blaster into that hot butter! I SEE NOTHING! WHY?!?

And I just got this shirt too. It’s impossible to wash out butter, especially when you’re BLIND, thank you very much Steve! Man, this is the worst lunch ever. Whoa, what just hit me in the face? Was that salad? Did someone just throw a fucking salad into my face? What is wrong with you people?

If only there was a way to combine my love of sandwiches with tennis ball packaging.

From now on when I head to a kickass beach party I’m grabbing a six-pack of Coors Light and a sixer of BBQ chicken sandwiches. I’m also bringing a six-pack of condoms because when the ladies see me pop the top off a fresh sammie they’re going to be like, “I wish that guy eating canned sandwiches over there would get me pregnant,” and I’m going to be like, “You wish,” and then she’s going to be like, “Yeah, that’s what I just said,” and I’ll be like, “That’s what she said,” and she’ll be like, “Wait, I can’t tell if you are kidding or you just can’t understand what I’m saying,” and then I’ll smash the empty Candwich can on my head and be like, “I just ate a canned sandwich so, yeah, I’d say I’m basically the shit. Now let’s do it.” Yet another girl goes home with a little PB&J all over her body. NEXT!

I don’t hate the concept of the Candwich. How could I? Sandwich in a can? Yeah, that’s perfectly normal and awesome. I do, however, take issue with the fact that the Candwich creator, Travis L. Wright, was able to talk a bunch of Utah investors out of $145,000,000 in order to make his dream of canned lunch a reality. Well technically they thought they were investing in real estate and Wright was secretly using their money to cram hoagies into soda cans. The point is, this guy had a dream and found a way to scam people in order to make it a reality. Why don’t I have that kind of resourcefulness?

Oh sure, it’s easy for you to sit there on your high horse and call Travis Wright a thief and a fraud but why don’t you take a bite of this turkey and Swiss before you pass judgment. Here, wash it down with a can of mashed potatoes and gravy.

Apology accepted.

If I wasn’t sort of drunk right now I would put more effort into this and believe me it would be HILARIOUS. Such is life.

Plus, what the fuck could be said about this?

Clap. Clap. Clap. Clap. Clap…

That slow clap is for you, Kleenex, for having the balls to stick your middle finger up Mother Nature’s ass and say right to her face, “Fuck you bitch, you’re not the boss of me!” What’s next Kleenex? Q-tips made out out baby seal fur? HELL YEAH, fuckin’ go fuckin’ for it! BEER! (sorry, I’m still kind of amped from the 4th of July)

I will admit, I kind of hate the “green” movement. Not because of what it stands for, it stands for the RIGHT thing and we should all be more conscious about our impact on the environment, but rather I hate the way it has become the flavor-of-the-month for marketing agencies and an empty gesture made by most people. “Sure, I drive a Hummer but I also changed all the lights around the pool to compact fluorescent bulbs, so I’m doing my part.”

But come on Kleenex, disposable single-use hand towels in your home bathroom? Bravo! That’s like trying to sell “I hate America” T-shirts on September 12th. Although, this is one of the rare times I am wrong because people WILL buy this ridiculous gimmick because we (not me, you) are afraid of EVERYTHING in this country.

Kleenex will have everyone believing porn stars sneak into their bathrooms at night and jerk off all over their towels while their family safely dreams about EPCOT Center and Guitar Hero in their bedrooms. Oh, and those porn stars all have AIDS… and bird flu. Also, the birds had AIDS so they are really covering your towels in human AIDS, bird flu and bird AIDS. So if you are keeping score, that’s two AIDS and one flu. ON YOUR TOWELS!

When I first heard the term “Bros Icing Bros” I thought frat boys were finally giving in to their homosexual fantasies and jerking off all over each other. “Dude, I totally just Iced all over McGillicutty’s face while he was playing Guitar Hero, it was classic bro.”

I have to admit, when I discovered Bros Icing Bros was less about random jizz attacks and more about forced drinking I was still intrigued. In case you have an actual life outside of the internet I will explain the rules of Icing your bros. If your bro manages to put a bottle of Smirnoff Ice in your line of vision you must immediately drop to one knee and chug the entire bottle, no matter where you are or what time of day it is. If you refuse you are to be excommunicated and shunned forever and may never be considered a bro again. HOWEVER, if you present your bro with an Ice they can “Ice block” you by presenting their own bottle of Ice, at which point the original Icer must drop to a knee and drink BOTH Smirnoff Ices.

As a concept I like this little game. Nothing is more satisfying than making your friends miserable. So on the surface, bros icing bros has some merit. HOWEVER, like most things dude-types participate in, the concept is lost in poor execution. Rather than coming up with a creative way to make their friends happen upon an Ice, most of these bros simply excitedly run up to their friends and hand them a Smirnoff Ice with all the coolness of a little giggly girl freaking out at a Twilight premiere.

Come on BROS, butch it up a little! These real versions of Bros Icing Bros might actually be more gay than my original understanding of the game.

Calm down ladies, don’t get your flip-flops all tangled in a bunch.

“Get on your knees bro (giggle giggle)”

Hipsters Icing Hipsters – “I’m going to Ice Baker, I’m going to Ice the fuck out of Baker with a pineapple.” Um, look out Baker, I think you are about to be raped.

You just got Iced. Now, drink it naked while we all watch.

I just got my internet connection back, it’s late and I’m tired so this one will suck.

You know what else sucks? The weather in the Midwest! Take a look at that forecast, that’s what we’ve seen every day this summer. Thanks for another awesome weekend God.

Let me run down the seasons in Chicago for you…

Spring – Spring lasts about 4 minutes in Chicago, A housefly lives longer than our pathetic spring.
Summer – Three months of hot, humid, stormy bullshit peppered with the sound of every rap song ever written playing simultaneously from every car window in the city. Each summer we have a stretch that is so hot our elderly population begins to drop dead and the moon turns orange. Orange!
Fall – Admittedly fall is a nice season but it’s impossible to enjoy because it’s just foreplay for the horrible winter that is about to fuck you.
Winter – Have you ever experienced wind that is so cold it makes you cry? I don’t mean that your eyes simply water, I am talking about actual crying, crying and begging for death. Oh yeah, and it lasts approximately 16 months.

I would estimate that we have about 5 actual nice days each year. How’s a bro supposed to get his Frisbee golf on?

Goodnight, I’m the worst writer in the world. I will try to make next week better but I can’t promise anything.

How the fuck did I ever figure out whether or not my beer was cold before the world’s smartest scientists at Coors figured out how to make the box tell me? Hey box, if you’re so smart why don’t you tell me why my parents got divorced?

I’m wondering if people who drink Coors Light might be mildly retarded because Coors finds it necessary to constantly invent space-age cans, bottles and boxes that attempt to explain the difference between cold and not cold to their customers.

Some of you elitists out there are probably using your East Coast liberal voice to say, “Can’t you just touch the can to see if it’s cold?” Oh yeah? Why don’t you get back on your polo horse Spencer, because the working man ain’t got no time to be touching no bottles and cans all day long. Real men are too busy chopping trees the fuck down and hauling them behind their pick-ups with chains to waste time checking the temperature of every beer they encounter. Even if they WANTED to check the temperature of a Coors Light it would be impossible thanks to their leathery man hands.

Wait, I just realized I have no idea if Coors Light is a “working-class” beer or not. Maybe it’s the kind of beer college guys in puka shell necklaces drink? Perhaps it’s the beer you are most likely to see spewing from the mouth of a 38-year-old woman in the parking lot during her 20th high school reunion as Phil Collins’ “Another Day In Paradise” can quietly be heard from inside the Holiday Inn? I have no clue because I literally don’t think I have ever seen a single person drink a Coors or Coors Light.

Isn’t it funny how, like, women want to, like, shop and get married but guys, like, totally just want to watch sports and drink beer?

Denny’s host: “Good morning, welcome to Denny’s, May I take your coat and top hat?”

You: “Please. We have a reservation for two at 8:30.”

Denny’s host: “Right this way sir.”

Denny’s waitress: “Good morning, would you like to start with the wine list?”

You: “That will not be necessary as we are in a bit of a hurry. The lady would like the chocolate chip pancakes with hash browns and bacon. I would like your Southwestern Sizzlin’ Skillet with white toast. Would you be kind enough to bring us two orange juice beverages as well?”

Denny’s waitress: “But of course sir. Can I start you off with a breakfast appetizer? The chef is offering Pancake Puppies this morning.”

You: “What exactly is a Pancake Puppy?”

Denny’s waitress: “Six deep-fried pancake balls filled with blueberries and white-chocolate chips, served with syrup for your dipping pleasure.”

You: “Well, that sounds like a lovely amuse bouche. We will gladly take two.”

Denny’s waitress: “Very good sir. And will the gentleman and lady be requiring dessert as well?”

You: “Delightful, yes. Please have your chef prepare his special pancake balls but this time served on top a mountain of ice cream and cover them with your finest chocolate sauce.”

Denny’s waitress: “Very good sir.”

I just had the weirdest dream. I was at Denny’s and they actually had appetizers and desserts FOR BREAKFAST! Ha ha ha, wouldn’t that be hilarious… What? Huh? NOOOOOOOO!