You just made my list!

What’s wrong Rush, afraid of a little rain? What’s the deal Geddy, didn’t want the moist air to wreck your beautiful hair? Pussholes!

Thanks for making me drive through Chicago rush (hey!) hour traffic, park, take a shuttle filled with inconceivable body odor, stand outside in the rain for an hour and buy (and drink) an $11 Bud Light just so you can cancel the concert. I drank a God Damn Bud Light for you fucking hosers!

Then you have the unbelievable nerve, the unmitigated gall, to reschedule the concert on 9/11. Take off, eh! It’s official, Rush hates America.

Oh, and you owe my friend an umbrella to replace the one the cock-licking cock-ass venue security confiscated.

And once again, fuck you Chicago weather!

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.

When I heard that melty face Celine Dion spent millions constructing a water park in her back yard for her ONE child, Rene Charles, I immediately knew I had to write about it but I had a hard time finding a justification for hating it so much. Then I decided, fuck it, it’s obscene and wrong, simple as that.

I am not some dirty, tall bike-riding hippie who thinks nobody should be rich. By all means, get rich singing your shit songs, have a big house and a fancy car, but at some point I can’t stomach ridiculous displays of wealth. What fucking 9-year-old needs a private water park? I’m sorry, it’s just kind of sickening when you think about the fact that there are millions of kids who go to sleep hungry every night. Now this is where Celine Dion fans put down their doughnuts (a rare occurrence) and chime in with “Hey jerk, Celine Dion has given X amount to charity.” I don’t care, I will never be on board with shit like this.

Plus, what kind of a monster are you creating when you treat your kid like king of the universe? When I was a kid, all of my toys fit into one toy chest and my childhood didn’t seem to suffer. Somehow I found the strength to face each new day even though a miniature Mercedes with a working DVD player was not parked in my driveway.

I swear to God, if one person says that I am jealous I will hunt you down and I will destroy you with my incredibly potent farts. I wouldn’t mind being rich but I honestly could never live like Celine Dion.

Sorry this one wasn’t very funny. Sometimes I just have to deliver hard-hitting, award winning commentary.

How could Tiger Woods cheat on his wife?!? Oh, I’m so mad at him!

Wait I forgot, that’s not why I’m disgusted with Tiger. I literally could not care less about his quest for pussy. That’s his business. But what does concern me is his quest for Nickelback. Yeah that’s right, did you hear that Woods chose a fucking Nickelback concert for his FIRST public social outing? First he offended women around the globe with his propensity for porn poon and apparently now he’s trying to offend people with ears.

I guess at the very least we can all forget about the mistresses and the dirty text messages now because compared to singing along with “Photograph,” cheating on your wife is nothing. I would forgive this guy for murder before I would for going backstage to hang out with those agents of Satan. Imagine how disappointed Tiger must have been when he realized he was backstage at a Nickelback concert, the one place on earth guaranteed to be void of vagina, except of course for those residing in the ripped blue jeans of the band.

Now, on to more important things. Are you aware a bonafide music legend left a comment on yesterday’s post? Every one please say hello to Randy Jones of the Village People and make him feel welcomed. He’s one of us.

You can have my eye-liner when you pry it from my cold, incredibly soft dead hand!

Howdy. Let’s get one thing straight right now partner… I love gay people, I have many gay friends and this has nothing to do with homophobia, but come on guys, let’s butch it up a bit.

How can I take you seriously when you are singing about beer and horses if the cowboy from the Village People makes you look like Isaac Mizrahi? It’s not even about looking “gay,” I guess it’s really more about looking like women while trying to act like tough cowboys. I want my country singers to exist solely on a diet of whiskey, pills, beer, beef jerky and cigarettes. I want a stinky cloud of body odor and hooker’s crotch to linger in the air when they walk out of a room and I want to feel like less of a man for even standing in their presence.

It seems strange that your average southern male country fan would kick the ass of any gay man but then turns around and worships these overly-groomed fancy lads who look they they just stepped out of a 1991 gay porno. Although, let me give HUGE props to Rascal Flatts for actually having the balls to write a song in favor of being who you really are, gay or straight. The song sucks donkey balls but it’s very cool that a hit country band with plenty to lose would have the guts to do such a thing.

So come on dudes, man up or Johnny Cash’s zombie corpse will rise up and kick you in your freshly waxed balls.

You hear that sound? That’s the sound of me sawing my own ears off with a steak knife.

Apparently the douchebags from Jersey Shore are programming the music in my gym now. I already despise working out but the constant assault of drum machines, auto-tuned vocals and the explanation of one’s monetary worth has taken my hatred of the gym to a new level. Look, I just want to blast my triceps in peace, if I wanted to see a bunch of guys holding their dicks I would go into the locker room. By the way, why do the guys with the worst bodies spend the most time walking around nude in the locker room?

Maybe I’m getting old (and whiter) but I literally can’t comprehend that this is considered music. And congrats on fitting every rap video stereotype, with the exception of jizzing Champagne on some fat asses, into this 4:57 torture video. Can someone buy these rappers a fucking tripod, I’m tired of watching them rap at me from the perspective of an ant.

I sound like Wilford Brimley and I think I like it.

How to “churn the butter”

Step one – Be white.

Step two – Drink two beers (preferably light beer).

Step three – Place upper teeth over bottom lip.

Step four – Think it’s 1989.

Step five – Extend arms from body and move them in circles (preferably not in rhythm to the shitty music playing at your lame office party).

Step six – Look around office party proudly, for you are now the funniest guy in Mergers and Acquisitions.

Step seven – Poop out what little dignity you have left and give up on life*

*If you are male, now is a good time to get adjusted to the new vagina in your Dockers.

These kids think churning butter is funny. These kids are wrong.

If you were like me, you’d be more awesome. You would also have no idea who the fuck this creepy little twerp is. That is until now, the moment when I proudly ruin your life.

I can’t stomach children who act like adults and I especially can’t stand kids who act like the kind of adults you would like to hit in the balls with a shovel. More often than not, “performer” kids end up fulfilling this role. While most kids are setting crap on fire and punching each other in a kickass Kung-Fu fashion, these horrifying turds are jazz-handsing their way to a life of Bedazzled vests and cats named “Lady Precious.” I’m not talking about the normal brand of show choir nerd, I’m talking about weirdos like this Anthony Gargiula who try to eye-fuck you while singing “Sexual Healing” at Six Flags. I just want to eat this fried dough in peace, so please stop making love to my ears and go check your Underoos for poopies.

Good luck making it through these clips without digging your eyes out and jamming them into your ears.