You just made my list!

“Blah blah blah. Yap yap yap…”

“Is he talking to us? Is he a crazy person talking to a mailbox or is he a high-powered attorney?”

What’s that? You lost both of your arms in a farming accident? Great, you may use a bluetooth earpiece. You might still look a little douchey, but realistically people will mostly be staring at your stumps and will not even notice that dumb thing in your ear. It’s up to you.

For the rest of you two-armed humans, I implore you to stop walking around like some pathetic cross between the Pillsbury Doughboy and the Terminator. This is where you say in the fucking annoying voice of yours,”Shut up jerk, in my town it’s illegal to drive while talking on a cell phone unless it’s hands-free.” (Have you ever heard a recording of your voice? It sounds like a cat in a meat grinder.) Listen you pussy, break the law like a real man and quit cryin’ bout it.

I guess I don’t really care if you want to look like a tool walking around with that shit in your ear but stop looking at me and talking to your imaginary friend. I’m old and it confuses me! In my day, when someone looked in your direction while speaking it meant a conversation was being initiated or possibly a wise drifter was going to teach you a life lesson. Nowadays, apparently it’s OK to broker real estate deals 4 inches from my face and somehow I’m supposed to be the asshole for thinking you were talking to me.

I hate everything.

Why am I the last person on Earth who can do anything that requires the skill set of the average kindergarten student? How is it that I manage to close and seal a sandwich baggie without the aid of color-coded plastic OR special sounds gently encouraging me and reminding me that I’m doing it right?

The latest sandwich bag technology, “Smart Zip,” comes to us from the genius bag scientists at Ziploc. That’s right idiot, your baggie now comes with sound! As you run your greasy unemployed fingers across your bag of weed it says things like, “You can do it! Good for you, you’re closing the baggie. Don’t give up now, you can do it! Almost there… YAY you did it, high five!” Before you know it, you’ve actually closed a Ziploc bag all by yourself! Next on the agenda, tying your shoes.

Imagine the hellish life of the poor assholes who work in the windowless labs at Ziploc, desperately trying to invent new bag “technology” so they don’t get fired and have their Sea-Doo personal watercrafts taken away. Those Dave Matthews tickets aren’t going to pay for themselves!

“How was your day honey?”

“NOT NOW Carol, I just need a drink. Who the hell drank all the T.G.I. Friday’s Mudslides? Damn it Carol I just made those last freakin’ night. I’ll be in the garage sitting on the Sea-Doo.”

Just when you thought the “singing bass” phenomenon of 1998 that swept its way through every trailer park in America had finally gone away.

Recently I received a Bed Bath & Beyond catalog in the mail proudly selling this HILARIOUS singing fish and the ad read “From the hit McDonald’s Commercial.” I can already hear Michael Ian Black’s snarky comments about this “hit commercial” on I Love The 2010s.

But why go all the way to Bed Bath & Beyond when you can pick this gem up at the local drug store during your weekly visit for Slim Jims, diarrhea medicine and cigarettes?

Please explain to me why a fish would be irate that someone stole his fish sandwich. Why the fuck is a fish eating a fish sandwich in the first place? Or is the Filet-O-Fish he is lamenting over actually one of his family members who could not escape McDonald’s fishing boats? Is this actually a tragic song sung by a grieving fish fighting to retrieve the corpse of his dead mother? Is the real tragedy that this poor fish is desperately appealing to any shred of humanity left in our souls to help with his quest to give his mother a proper burial but all we do is laugh and sing along like a bunch of masturbating monkeys? And most importantly, what could this “bonus track” possibly be? AND most importantly-er, why do I ever leave the house?

At least this fish lip-syncs better those Celtic Thunder dick heads.

Are you tired of cracking eggs in your mouth and eyes? Are you sick of cracking eggs with a shovel? Do the simplest tasks cause you great anxiety because you are such a fucking moron? Not anymore. Introducing the EZ Cracker egg cracking robot!

I can’t tell you how many times I have tried to crack an egg by chucking it against the wall, only to be disappointed by an omelette filled with dangerous shells. For a brief period in the early 1990s I would crack most of my eggs by running them over with a rented Home Depot truck but even THAT didn’t work. At least it gave me a good excuse to enjoy the many grunge radio stations programmed into the truck’s radio. I would wake up around noon, brush my long hair, tie a flannel shirt around my waist and mosh my way to the driveway for another attempt at making a delicious ham and cheese omelette.

To add insult to injury, I would be forced to listen to Eddie Vedder and Chris Cornell scream “I’m going hungry” while attempting to crack open eggs in my rented pickup. If only the fucking EZ Cracker existed in 1992!

Hey thanks for inviting me over to stare at your ceiling for 4 hours! What’s that you say, you want to play Guitar Hero? Sure, let me just go ahead and lie on my back on your dirty floor so I can see the TV. Perfect.

You know, just because you see something on MTV’s Cribs doesn’t mean you have to try and recreate it in your Dorito-covered trailer. As a general rule, if you see some dumb rapper do something on Cribs it’s best to do the opposite. Sure, it might seem cool to have an actual panda bear as your butler, but after the money is gone who’s going to feed that thing? God, I would pay so much money to watch a hungry panda chase Lil Wayne around some shitty, beige, Atlanta McMansion. Lil would try to hide behind his pool table only to immediately regret buying the world’s only perfectly clear pool table made from Swarovski crystals. Go get your Wayne on, panda.

Sorry, I got distracted by that fantasy. When did placing your TV at eye level become the exception rather than the rule? Plus, I can think of no better place for your $1,500 TV than over your hot, dirty, smoke-barfing fireplace. I keep my computer in the oven.

Oh IKEA, I hate you, I love you.

Like most people on the planet, within a week of moving to my new place I found myself making the pilgrimage to the blue and yellow monolith. I check my pride at the door, get on my belly and suck that IKEA teat like a hungry piglet. I’m pretty sure I know exactly what a crack whore feels like when she’s “working.” (That’s two posts in a row that mention whores, if you are keeping score. More whores in 2010!)

I feel equal parts shame and excitement as I walk through those doors and the sweet smell of cinnamon rolls and particle board wraps around my body like the ghosts in Poltergeist. Shopping at IKEA is like telling the world, “I’m poor, I’m lazy, I like ümlaüts and I want my stüff to look like your stüff.” I spend most of my time convincing myself that, “It looks OK, right? It’s kind of cool looking, right? It doesn’t look too IKEA, right?”

I would love to sit here on my throne and criticize all my fellow IKEA shoppers as middle-of-the-road, boring, predictable, suburban, wannabe hipsters but how can I when I’m walking around filling my cart with Flürgens, Gråbenfüks and Lüäöküöås just like they are. I want to feel superior, but as I type this from my IKEA Vika Grevsata desk it’s not that easy. I used to be cool. I used to be in a band.

But don’t think the pain ends when you get home with your pile of vaguely stylish products. Oh no silly pants, that’s when you get to decipher Swedish hieroglyphics and spend the next 7 hours assembling your crappy bookcases.

Is it würth it?

Lucky you, today you get to hear me complain about two things that suck.

1) The Apple store!

Let me first say that I love Apple products. However, I’m not a blind “fanboy,” rather I love Macs because they FUCKING WORK and as a graphic designer there is no substitute. Unfortunately I have had to spend a lot of time in the Apple store this week due to the cockless anus face who stole my computer. Have you been in an Apple store recently? They are bucking the system by eliminating any form of check out counter. Instead, each hip t-shirt-wearing employee has the ability to complete your purchase right there where they are standing in their skinny jeans. This may look cool, but it means the end of waiting in a orderly line to be served. The only way, literally, to be served in an Apple store is to stand in the middle of the floor with a confused look, like a sad puppy begging for a Snausage. It makes you feel like a whore standing on a street corner trying to out-whore the other whores.

2) Threadless iPhone cases!

If you have any doubt as to why I FUCKING HATE Threadless, please watch this video and it will all be clear. These fucking assholes at Griffin Technology and Threadless are acting like they cured cancer when they accidentally mixed their cure for A.I.D.S. with their cure for multiple sclerosis. Mark McGlon (never has a last name so perfectly described a lumpy tub of crap) practically has tears in his fat eyes as he describes the printing of doodles on plastic iPhone cases as “brilliant.” Brilliant? BRILLIANT?!? And if you ever wanted to see inside the empty mind of a Threadless design winner (and Threadless employee… hmmmmm), please watch douchebag hipster nerd Joe Van Wetering describe the BRILLIANT design process behind his doodles. Please get your gentle voice and Hitler hair out of my dreams and into my car, where I will drive you to a warehouse and force you to makeout with a girl.

On any given day I can be found employing some of the most powerful modern technology to do important things like look up who directed Meatballs 4 or find nude photos of Beverly D’Angelo. My friends and I zoom essential text messages like, “This hallway smells like farts” up into space, where some billion-dollar satellite that took decades to design safely delivers our fart-filled messages back to earth in literally seconds. I’m sure that was the dream of the geniuses who invented the microchip, the computer, the satellite, the cell phone, etc.

The iPhone is mostly to blame for my daily shedding of precious IQ points. If you ever make the mistake of pondering anything out loud, no matter how insignificant, in front of an iPhone owner, you can expect to have that question answered in a matter of seconds. What’s that you say? What was the name of the movie where Tom Cruise’s ex-wife gets her boobs massaged for an hour and a half? Let me check that for you… bleep bleep blorp beep bop boing… The answer is Mimi Rogers in Full Body Massage. Actually, that’s a bad example because any self-respecting straight man should know the answer to that. I should have said… What is Mimi Rogers bra size? (checking my iPhone) The Answer is 38D. Thanks technology!