Jun 16 2010
Lady Gaga!
I've avoided talking about this bore for as long as possible but I just can't take it anymore.
Can we please agree to stop pretending this empty bag is "interesting" and "provocative?" And for the love of GOD, what will it take to stop saying every new female "artist" is the "next Madonna?" I'm sorry but Madonna was tolerable at best so being the next Madonna is like being the next Bud Light.
Yeah, you heard me, Madonna really wasn't that great. Compared to Lady Gaga, however, Madonna was fucking Johann Sebastian Bach. Compared to Madonna, Lady Gaga is simply Sebastian Bach.*
You can't polish a turd but apparently if you put that same turd in a costume made out of tampons it's suddenly pushing artistic boundaries. Here's an idea, work on the music first and once that's perfected dress up like cereal boxes all day long. Actually no, forget that, I'm officially declaring no more costumes for anyone. It's been done and it's been done better... David Bowie, Kiss, Devo, David Byrne, The Village People, GWAR, The Ramones, Elton John, The Residents, Marilyn Manson, etc.
So there you have it, I have spoken, it is written and I'm sure within a matter of days Lady Gaga's career will be over. (please don't wake me from this dream)
*Was that a good joke, I honestly can't tell anymore.
Thank you.
Thank you for reminding me to not run you over while you cross the street. I was seconds away from slamming my foot down on the gas pedal and running your cranky ass over when, out of nowhere, BAM you put that hand in my face, commanding me to think twice about the murder I was about to commit. I especially appreciated that you also gave me the stink-eye the entire time you walked from curb to curb as if to say, "I know you wanted to run me over but I forbid it. FORBID IT!"
People are the worst.
Did you realize you have been wasting your time with toilet paper for over 100 years you big fucking moron? Finally some genius came to his senses and realized there is a much better way to clean our shitty buttholes!
It's so simple... just keep your poo stick near the toilet. After you explode a load of crap into the bowl, simply take a wad of toilet paper and insert it into your poo stick, reach behind your back, locate your shit-covered bunghole, jam the stick up there and pull it back up behind you with extra care so as not to smear shit all over your back and hair. Almost done... next just carefully stand up and turn around without letting your poopie ass touch anything and eject the soiled paper into the bowl. Just a few more steps... sit back down, grab another handful of toilet paper and DELICATELY insert it into your poo stick because it will now be covered in feces. Reach back behind you without letting your shit-covered poo stick touch ANYTHING on the way down and jam it back up into that brown mess. Stand, eject and repeat as needed. Once your barking spider is finally clean you are going to want to flush the toilet and clean off any feces that you may have accidentally smeared on your back, legs, hands, hair, clothes, towels and/or walls. All you have to do next is wash your crap-encrusted poo stick in the bath tub and put it back near the toilet. Simply clean your bath tub with bleach and that's it. SIMPLE! As promised, your dignity is intact.
It really is the modern solution. I mean using toilet paper these days is about as smart as still using AOL for your email!
The Comfort Wipe poo stick is for anyone who poops... uptight blonde MILFs, uncles with bad shoulders, old ladies with mysterious accents and even big guys. That's right, I said big guys! There are many disadvantages to being a big guy but one of the countless advantages is that you have the opportunity to be so fat that you need to wipe your big wet butthole with a stick. Lucky!
You know Comfort Wipe is going to work, I mean look at that perfectly clean white butthole right in their logo!
Veronica Robinson can try and wrap this madness up in her cute little Harry Potter accent, but this insanity is straight up Deliverance banjo-picking-butt-fucking territory!
Mrs. Robinson (hmmmm, interesting) believes her children should decide on their own at what age to stop sucking milk out of her body. Really? I guess that's because children make such good decisions on their own. Most of my brilliant decisions around the age of 8 involved setting things on fire or falling off things. If you want to put it in food terms, my 8-year-old brain would happily tell my 8-year-old mouth to eat an entire box of Cap'n Crunch until my gums were bleeding.
This nut actually says, with a straight face, that her children can't breastfeed forever because eventually they have to go to college and/or get married. I have news for you, marriage is not in your daughter's futures and judging from the pictures they like to draw of your tits the best they can hope for is a life in fetish porn.
I think her daughter sums it up best when she says she would "rather have lots of breast milk than a million melons." I think her other daughter sums it up even better when she says, "Mmmmm...grunt...swallow."
What the fucking fuck?
I'm going to keep this short for exactly 2 reasons.
1) I got home late after dinner and drinks at the latest trendy hipster whiskey tavern (more on that later).
2) My neighbors are going apeshit because we won the Stanley Cup and there's a good chance our apartment will burn to the ground by morning.
3) There's only so much to say about these assholes.
4) It's late, I'm tired and I hate blogs.
Sooooooooo anyway. Tonight was my second trip to the latest hipster hangout in Chicago. It's more saloon than "bar" and the amount of waxed handlebar mustaches and suspenders holding up tiny pants is staggering. Apparently now it's cool to look 90s... 1890s. Just ask loyal reader of this amazing website, Erica, about the 
Take me now lord, I'm ready.
You know what sucked? The first Karate Kid movie! Yeah that's right, the original Karate Kid with Ralph Macchio, Mr. Miyagi and everyone's favorite blond bad boy Johnny Lawrence was a steaming pile of shit. You only liked it because you were 10 years old and fell asleep nightly to the fantasy of kicking the ass of that older kid who ripped your parachute pants and took your 
Finally, a way to end that nightmare known as walking.
Remember when this shit was first introduced to the world? It was supposed to "revolutionize" EVERYTHING and soon we would all be trading in our Adidas for robot feet. All they revolutionized was the ability of mall cops to become even more round... round and fast, like boulders. Thank God Segways cost approximately 50 million dollars because I don't want to imagine what this country would look like if we found a way to be even less active.
A Segway makes a 
Douchebags.
You know what the world needs? The world needs another shitty splattery painty-paint painting of Jimi Hendrix. If only it could be painted in five minutes by a prancing nerd with a wacky "rock and roll" attitude... an attitude that says "I wore SHORTS to the U2 concert!" Oh, and can all of this please take place at the Motorola "May The Sales Force Be With You" conference in ballroom C at the Phoenix Radisson? Thank you.
Speed painting is to art what Sammy Hagar is to Van Halen. Speed painting is the Guy Fieri of the art world! In fact, you know who I bet LOVES speed painting? I promise you Guy Fieri has a splashy speed painting of himself in that crazy rock and roll house of his.
Bob Seger + theater nerds + Jay Leno = the nightmares I will have on my deathbed.
Damn, that Credit Union Lending Direct party was OFF THE CHAIN! I guarantee he had the image outlined in pencil before he started "painting."
Finally my love of shitty performance painting collides head-on with my love of church! Jesus Christ.
