You know how at the age of 10 we would all fill in Mad Libs with witty and intelligent responses like “farty” and “boobs” and “bloody tampon?” Well, we were all infinitely funnier than Lisa Lampanelli and her lazy insult “comedy.”
In fact, constructing a Lisa Lampanelli “joke” is not unlike filling out a Mad Lib. You simply need to follow this boring formula…
“You sir, in the front row, what are you a fuckin’ [racist ethnic term]? Is that [derogatory term for a woman] your date? You’re a lucky lady, I want to bang your [racist ethnic term] boyfriend because after we [overly shocking sexual activity] he will [commit a stereotypical ethnic crime]. Oh sorry, you don’t like it, I hope you get [fatal medical condition].”
Fans of this hack will argue that I’m “overly sensitive” and “too politically correct” but the truth is I gravitate to offensive fringe comedians and it’s not easy to offend or shock me. Shocking is great as long it’s FUNNY! In fact the only thing shocking about Lisa Lampanelli is how utterly unfunny she is. She has got to be one of the least clever comedians in the history of comedy.
I would sit through 100 Carrot Top shows before I would endure even five minutes of this tedious bore. I would rather spend a night in Las Vegas with Guy Fieri declaring everything he sees is “money” than allow even one more farty joke from that bloody tampon to enter my boobs.
Much like its cousins, the line beard and the soul patch, the overly trimmed beard makes me feel uneasy. There’s just something about them that says “I have secrets. I have a secret box in a secret room where I keep my secret things. Keep the fuck away from my secret box in my secret room!”
If you are planning a beard-watching vacation anytime soon might I suggest our southern states if you want to check “The Kenny Rogers” off your beard list. A good place to start is near a church or a store that sells jorts. But really, your best bet is to attend any Blue Collar Comedy Tour event. Your beardless head will spin from all the neatly trimmed beards and goatees within reach. Fight the urge to pet these magnificent creatures however! They may seem soft and cuddly but don’t forget about the box of secrets!
A couple weeks ago I attended the ultra-hip Pitchfork Music Festival. When I walked in the front gate, I thought I had possibly just passed through some sort of Michael J. Fox time portal to 1986. I was thinking, “Shit, have the past 25 years been a dream? Am I still in high school? Am I a virgin again?” Luckily I was still in 2010 and it was simply thousands of unoriginal, uninspired ironic hipsters walking around looking like extras on a John Hughes movie.
There are too many details to write about when it comes to these hipster turds, so I will focus on two unfortunate fashion trends that I thought I would never have to suffer through again.
Two-tone Ray Ban sunglasses!
Life’s a beach, right guys? These glasses were dumb in the 80s and they are even dumber now. If memory serves me, this style of sunglasses was never actually cool in the 80s. They were usually cheap promo items with some company name stamped on the side, like “Newport” cigarettes or “Pert Plus” shampoo. Maybe that’s why they are cool now because they are anti-cool? I can’t tell anymore. All I know is that your funny, ironic sunglasses suck and you smell like Pert Plus.
Girls with giant glasses!
This is a new trend in female hipsterdom that is concerning to me, I call them “Mary Gross Girls.” With this phenomenon we see frumpy girls working their hardest to take their frumpiness to new heights in an attempt to make us think their frumpiness is totally on purpose. “I’m actually super sexy under these culotte shorts that accentuate my incredibly smooth mom-ish FUPA. This mess is all on purpose!” Oh yeah, and they wear giant mathlete glasses, blah blah blah.
Hipsters are boring, just like this post.
People, we have lived in the dark long enough. It is time for us to rise up, cast off our blinders and ask the difficult questions. What the fuck is the difference between the Cajun restaurant and the Asian restaurant at your local mall food court?
Are we really so gullible that a simple name change can influence our taste buds so easily? Stop by “Wok and Roll” and order the glazed chicken with rice and tell me it’s any different the bourbon chicken with rice at “Ben Yay’s Cajun Shack.” The wool is firmly over our eyes and that wool is soaked in glazed meat! They are serving the exact same menu, WAKE UP YOU IDIOTS!
And while you’re at it Casian restaurant workers, can you please stop forcing glazed meat on a toothpick in my face while I walk by on my way to “The Great Potato Catastrophe?” I don’t want your ethnically ambiguous mystery meat jabbed into my eyes if it’s OK with you.
Sorry guys. I know last week was lame so I had a full week of good stuff to rant about but I have to attend to a family matter for a couple days so I will hopefully be back and complaining Tuesday morning.
I’m not going to lie, I’ve had a few beers. I’ve had a few beers with the person who edits this piece of shit website so please excuse any typos. It’s a lose-lose situation.
I spend a lot of time talking about things I DON’T like so maybe it’s time to salute something I love. I have also spent many an hour ranting about my hatred for the hipster bike craze but I think it’s time to talk about the ONE good thing about bicycles… BIKE CLEAVAGE!
Cleavage is one of God’s greatest creations. It says “Hey look, I’m the side of boobs!” Cleavage promises a better tomorrow. I’m not sure if most of the bike-riding girls out there realize just how much cleavage they are exposing during their bike rides and I’m hoping they never find out. Guys, bros, dudes, let’s keep this little secret on the down low. Don’t blow a good thing!
I love you boobs and I love the glorious, soft canyon of cleavage you create while riding around on a bike.
“Help, my husband is having a heart attack!”
“Don’t worry ma’am, I’m a mixologist.”
“Wait, huh? How is that going to help?”
“I told you, I’m a M-I-X-O-L-O-G-I-S-T.”
“What the? Is there a doctor in the house? Please hurry!”
“What part of OLOGIST don’t you understand?”
“All of it.”
Don’t get me wrong, I like a good bartender who knows his or her shit and can whip up some old school cocktails, but can we stop with this “mixologist” nonsense? If your main source of income comes in the form of tips you are not allowed to be an “ologist” of any sort. Your job description can include “tender” or “keep” but let’s stop pretending you work at NASA.
Be proud to be a bartender! You are among greats like Tom Cruise, Moe, the slutty whores of Coyote Ugly and Tammy. Stop in and see Tammy!
New Star Wars characters released! Soon every child and adult nerd will be collecting the new Robert and Mike action figures from the latest installment in the George Lucas franchise, Star Wars: Let’s Golf This Weekend.
That would be a better explanation of this insanity but sadly these things exist on our planet.
As you all know, since the Iraq and Afghanistan wars began, the burka craze appears to be unstoppable! Seems like EVERYONE owns at least a couple burkas. Moms are wearing them to Walmart and kids in the ghetto are shooting each other over them. I don’t need to remind you that the runaway hit last Christmas was the Snuggie Burka!
Even THAT would be a better explanation.
In reality, these are to protect your precious face and hair (?) from the sun. How about this… if you are that sensitive to the sun you just have to stay inside. Maybe it’s selfish, but when I’m bench-pressing sexy babes on the beach for a crowd of onlookers I don’t need to see you and your sun helmet in my peripheral vision. To be honest, it’s dangerous for me and the girl I’m bench-pressing. I don’t have time for your distracting headgear, not now, not ever.
(This is the part where Jeff leaves a comment like “You know actually, these are for burn victims who need extra protection from the sun” and ruins everyone’s fun. Thanks Jeff.)