So, why haven’t I been writing lately? Turns out, when you move to Hawaii, you have to sell everything you own first. And, it turns out, selling everything you own is a fucking pain in the ass that takes up every free minute of your life.
I mention this so that I can fully illustrate my disgust with today’s topic. It takes something insanely stupid to get me motivated enough to hop back on the computer, and today I found it at a Red Robin restaurant.
Has it really come to this? Are Americans actually so lazy that they can’t be bothered to raise their heads to watch TV? Do we need TVs in the floor? You wouldn’t want to miss a single second of Maury Povich while waiting to cram a Fiesta Southwestern Ranch Bacon Spicy Beef Jerky Slim Jim Burger with extra bacon crumble and a side of bacon juice down your fucking throat. Who’s the real father of the baby? I don’t know but there’s a good chance he’s in back “cooking” my “food.”
We deserve to have our economy collapse. We deserve Donald Trump as our President. We deserve Jersey Shore and the Kardashians. We are pathetic. It’s over.
There’s no part of this video that is funny or worth joking around about. If you think this cunt is a GIANT CUNT then turn it into something positive and text REDCROSS to 90999 to make a $10 donation to help the earthquake & tsunami victims in Japan.
By the way, here’s what it was like to be in the middle of that little “tsunami thing.”
Do you have an important funeral to attend but you just don’t feel like getting all dressed up in blue jeans for it? Have you been invited to a wedding and think it’s unfair that you can’t just wear your pajamas? I mean what’s more important than YOUR comfort, right? For years women have suffered the inhumane torture of wearing jeans in public. What, is everyone supposed to be the Queen of England?
Introducing Pajama Jeans, you lazy piece of shit! Now you can wear your PJs to your mother’s funeral and all the other dopes in attendance will think you have dressed up in jeans. Joke’s on them, it’s our little secret.
Pajama Jeans provide the best of both worlds… the laziness of wearing jeans every day, and the laziness of wearing your pajamas in public! Our patented stretchy material works for all shapes and sizes, so cramming your fat ass in there for a trip to Walmart will be a snap. The special interior “Dormi Soft” material is as soft as a baby’s face. It’s like rubbing your sweaty vagina against a cute baby’s face, what could be better?!?
You can wear your pretend jeans with sandals, bare feet, Crocs, or if you have an important court date for your recent D.U.I. you can even wear them with flip-flops.
But wait, there’s more! You can even work out in your magical fake jeans. I’m just kidding, we all now there’s no need for you to work out, it’s McDonalds’ fault you are fat. You should fucking sue!
Order now and we will throw in a free T-shirt that you will most likely use to wipe Slurpee spills off your belly.
Finally, Americans have a way to dress casually! Order your Pajama Jeans NOW!!
I think I’m going to be sick.
At least these douchebags kept their shirts on. Does it really make a difference?
All I can do is stare at the screen and wonder what the hell I could possibly say about this.
I honestly think we may have peaked as a civilization. Maybe it’s because I watched an episode of “Wife Swap” for the first time tonight or maybe it’s simply because Taco Bell is jamming Flamin Hot Fritos into burritos, but I’m starting to feel like the human race has reached the top of the roller coaster and it’s time to all put our hands in the air and enjoy the rapid decent into hell.
Can we be trusted with the enormous task of keeping society running smoothly when Fritos are being shoved up the ass of an already heinous “burrito?” I’m not even against the practice of putting chips on things, in fact I like a good PB&J filled with pretzels, but this activity should be reserved for the end user. There is just something so grim about buying a food product already stuffed with Fritos. It’s unfortunate.
Oh, but there is some good news though. The Beefy Crunch Burrito comes with “reduced fat sour cream.” Why bother?
What, you expect me to write on Christmas eve? I don’t get a day off to celebrate the day before the fake birthday of a guy who may, or may not, have actually existed?
Here, you want a post? I hate people who trample other people for Holiday sales at various shit-filled stores. Can you imagine taking your final breath on the floor of a Walmart while hundreds of fat-asses in sweatpants callously walk across your dying body so they can get a fucking Xbox for their shitty, meth-addicted, Juggalo children at a 20% discount?
Now I’m in a bad mood. Christmas is canceled!
If you are one of the tragic gentlemen who choose this horrifying fashion accessory but do not know what vibe you are giving off, consider this… while searching for photos of men wearing choker necklaces I was only able to find photos of shirtless man-boys. I shouldn’t have to say anything else, but I will.
Lest ye think I am calling you and your little leather noodle gay, think again, I am calling you douchey. Even the most fabulous gay cage dancer could not pull this look off.
It is curious that every photo I found to illustrate my point ended up being so homoerotic because I normally associate these chokers with suburban IT guys who suffer from premature balding. They troubleshoot your Microsoft Office issues by day and play in Puddle of Mudd cover bands by night. They drink Miller Vortex and they have strong opinions about Battlestar Galactica.
Either that or they are super gay, I can’t tell the difference anymore.
If you have to declare a sad little space in your basement as your “man” space, are you really much of a man? Do you even deserve a cave? How about this… the whole house is my God damn cave, deal with it Carol!
I know you had high hopes when you bought the poker table and the neon Miller Lite sign but I’m willing to bet you have never used that table for anything other than folding shirts. You hung your guitars on the wall dreaming of late night jam sessions with drunken bros but sadly most of your pals are simply too tired at the end of the day to come hang out in your dank basement and play Counting Crows songs. Your Xbox and Playstation sit under a layer of dust, your bar stays un-stocked and the fulfillment of your dreams remains hollow, just like the life-sized Stormtrooper costume that stands in the corner with a Jimmy Buffett hat on its head… watching you… judging you… feeling sorry for you. WHAT DID YOU EVER DO THAT’S SO GREAT WITH YOUR LIFE, STORMTOOPER?!? Fuck you Stormtooper!
Carol, will you play Guitar Hero with me? Carol?