What’s worse than taking a nap? Not taking a nap! At least that’s how it feels at the time. And therein lies the dilemma, the catch-22, the reason I KNOW there is no God!
I hate naps. I HATE NAPS! I hate naps and yet I can’t stop myself from falling under their spell. It’s like naps are a super hot naked girl with every possible STD coursing through her perfect body and I’m the guy who says, “Well, I don’t have a condom but… maybe just a little oral, anal and vaginal sex. Possibly some needle sharing. What the heck, I’ll go ahead and drink some blood while I’m at it.”
I’m powerless when faced with the cozy, couchy siren song of naps. I think to myself, “This time it will be better. This time I won’t wake up wanting to murder my own family.” But no, I have never woken from a nap feeling anything other than miserable… miserable, confused, hot, cranky, angry, bewildered, sweaty, demoralized and filled with regret. I wake with my heart pounding and dullness that can only be described as abhorrent.
Oh, and look out world when I start my nap in daylight and awake to total darkness.
I would rather spend an entire day with Guy Fieri listening to Zoot Suit Riot than take a nap.
From as far back as 2008, the entertainment world has been clamoring to find a talent impressive and worthy enough to appear side-by-side with the always impressive Guy Fieri. Well, I don’t know how they did it or what kind of crazy backroom deals went down but they finally found a personality to rival the great Fieri. I am speaking, of course, of the Aflac duck.
Not since Lennon & McCartney, Scorsese & De Niro, Bert & Ernie or Zack Morris & A.C. Slater has the world seen such magical chemistry explode all over its face from an on-screen duo. Imagine if David Lee Roth and Jesus Christ formed a band… Yeah, it’s THAT good.
I have to admit, I never thought I would ever see anyone match the staggering charisma of Sir Guy Fieri but that duck manages to somehow hold his own and, dare I say it, he even manages to out-act Fieri in a few scenes. I know, I know, it’s sacrilege to suggest anyone’s talent could equal Fieri’s but please understand, I’m not saying Guy Fieri wasn’t brilliant in this commercial, I merely have to give credit to the duck for a truly brave performance.
Hey Guy, Billy Idol called and he wanted to let you know the Stray Cats called and they want their bowling shirts back.
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].”
Genius!
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.
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.
I’m taking a day off, but these childhood photos of Guy Fieri (Real name Guy Ramsay Ferry) should get you through the day. You can already see the seeds of douchiness beginning to grow. I just can’t believe he’s not a natural blond!
I want to take a time machine back just so I can fill his hat with that mustard, Bad News Bears style. Original Bad News Bears style, not that piece of shit remake!
Walking around with a soul patch or a god-awful chin beard is like announcing to the world “I grew a pussy on my face because that’s the only way I will ever get near one.”
While the soul patch and chin beard are equally horrifying, they tend to attach themselves to an entirely different group of tools. Your average chin beard can usually be found sprouting from the unwashed face of most species of white trash, including suburban metal heads, guys who work as bouncers at suburban metal clubs, guys who weld metal by day and play in metal bands by night and guys who pretend to be UFC fighters while listening to metal in their bedrooms. If you really want to take your chin pubes to the next pathetic level just ask your little sister or your mom to dye and/or braid your little face forest (see Alice in Chains, Korn, Anthrax, et al.)
The soul patch is more elusive and difficult to nail down. Tiny lip pussies can be found on middle class beach hippies, jazzbos, ultimate frisbee enthusiasts and old white guys in blues bands. It’s a regular United Nations of douchery. The chin beard sends a “I’m not playing by your rules” message but a soul patch meekly whispers “I’m playing by most of your rules.”
I hate to admit this, but I feel it is my duty to be honest. I finally saw the new Guy Fieri game show “Minute to Win It” and I kind of liked it. Not only did I like the show, but I thought Guy was actually a good host. Should I kill myself?
I tuned in so I could write about how much I hated it, and the next thing I know, I was totally on the edge of my seat watching this lady balance plastic cups. Then, out of nowhere, I find myself LAUGHING at some of Guy Fieri’s jokes! Am I in a coma experiencing some twisted dream or is it because this is April fools’ day? I’m thinking it’s the latter you big dumb idiot. Of course I still fucking hate that dime store, rockabilly nut sack.
Obviously I went out for my birthday. Obviously I am too tired now to write, but you will be happy to know that a good 30 minutes of my dinner was spent discussing the various reasons why Guy Fieri should be dead and Corey Haim should be alive. Sorry I’m being lame and skipping a day but I think this will help you get over it, you cry baby.
