You just made my list!

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.

What the hell is on this sandwich you just gave me? Is that mayo? You just fucked up bro… big time! Now stand back while I kill this sandwich with my gun that shoots Miracle Whip bottles!

Guess what hipsters, the Hells Angels are here to take your precious Miracle Whip out of your tiny hands and fucking stick ’em on the back of our motorcycles while we crisscross the country committing crimes and fucking shit up! That’s right, dude on the moped, just a few months ago you would have been considered hip and eccentric enough to eat Miracle Whip but not anymore you fucking dork, the bikers have reclaimed Miracle Whip.

Oh, and another thing bitch, we don’t have time to say “Miracle Whip” so hence forth this shit is gonna be fucking called “MW” and if you have a problem with it take it up with the complaint department (pointing to my crotch).

Holy shit, there’s nothing I love more than getting jacked on Jack Daniels and MW and punching some old lady in the fucking face. One time this fucking pig pulled me over on my way to Sturgis and was like “Hey you, your plates are expired.” I was like “My plates are expired? MY PLATES ARE EXPIRED?!?” and I threw a handful of MW in his pig face and was like “Now whose plates are expired motherfucker?”

One night me and my old lady stole an El Camino, robbed a liquor store, did a shitload of coke, got MW tattoos and banged in the porta-toilet at a Lynyrd Skynyrd concert. Is that REAL enough for you, mayonnaise? That’s what I thought.

LET’S RIDE!

If you are like me, you have often wondered what to do if attacked by cowboy boots filled with meat!

Even though the current sword fighting fad is mostly driven by hipsters who have grown bored of their fixed gear bikes and mustaches, one can no longer leave the house unprepared. Just yesterday I was challenged to a sword fight on my way to the post office and, like a fool, I was standing there without any weapon other than my messenger bag which I was forced to throw at the swordsman like an old lady throwing her purse! I immediately came home and web surfed the world wide web for “best swords stab slice crush awesome dungeon overweight” and found this. Perfect!

The world is ending… wait for it… NOW!

Why can’t douchebags drink beer from a normal bottle? They just aren’t happy unless they are drinking their watery piss out of a plastic bottle, a metal bottle, a wide-mouth bottle, a bottle shaped like a bowling pin,* or a bottle shaped like Mike Ditka’s cock.

If only there was a way to suck down this shitty beer slightly faster. Introducing the “Vortex” bottle from the makers of your favorite diaper juice, Miller Lite. Apparently this NASA-designed bottle creates an internal tornado of beer blah blah blah that speeds up your drinking schedule, allowing for more rounds of Golden Tee and moderately gay horseplay with your bros. Seems like maybe they are admitting their “beer” tastes like water sitting in an old tire and the best way to get though the experience of drinking it is to get it over with quick, just like when your mom used to ram a spoonful of cough syrup down your throat.

You are probably wondering if this new technology actually works. Well, you are in luck! In the following clip, four of the smartest scientists on Earth gather to test the Vortex at the world famous Horseshoe Lounge labs in Geneva Switzerland. It might be difficult to follow everything they are saying but don’t feel bad, they are processing thought at an elevated level that you and I could never comprehend. These people are as smart as computers! It happens off camera but I think I recognize the voice of Korean Physicist Kim Ung-yong declaring, “The Vortex bottle is full of shit.”

*The Budweiser bowling pin bottle is actually the greatest thing to happen to beer. Too bad it was filled with Budweiser.

You want to know what keeps me up at night? (See above)

When did this shit start? Not only are they all wearing matching pants, but they all have matching genitalia crammed into those matching Walmart jeans because no man who allows this to happen has a penis.

I guess if your goal is to make everyone think your entire family works at the same electronics store this is a good idea, otherwise knock it off. Put your foot down, Steve, and say, “Gosh dang it Brenda, I told you ten times, I’m wearing my jean jacket embossed with the Coca-Cola logo and my favorite jean shorts and I really don’t give a hoot what you and the kids wear! I’m me. I’m STEVE! Steve likes his jean jackets with corduroy sleeves and Steve likes his jorts. If you need me I will be in the basement playing with Steve’s, I mean my, trains.” (Door slams… framed “Footprints in the Sand” falls to the floor and shatters like so many of Steve’s dreams.)

Steve doesn’t need this shit, not now, not like this, Brenda.

You can’t polish a turd but apparently you can take its picture.

God bless you for thinking some zitty kid at the mall can magically turn your nightmarish face into that of a mid-level 80s porn star. Don’t get me wrong, nothing turns me on like a woman with high hair in an acid washed jacket holding her collar with sausage fingers while giving me that “Do me on top of this cat calendar” look.

I just get so hot when I think about slowly removing your vinyl cropped motorcycle jacket from Walmart, ripping open your velcro fly jeans and making love to you on a pile of Star magazines while your Precious Moments figurines nervously watch the entire sweaty mess. I want to trace the curve (yes, the one curve) of your body with a jumbo Cheeto before placing it in your hungry mouth with my orange fingers. Finally, as we time our orgasms perfectly to verse 11 of “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald” I will pour a two-liter bottle of Mr. Peepers (your favorite generic Dr. Pepper) all over our naked bodies right there on the dirty floor of your trailer.

Gallery of sexy women holding their collars

I quit.

When you “double down” in the game of blackjack you are essentially doubling your risk with the hopes of doubling your reward.* When you force Kentucky Fried Chicken’s latest crime against humanity, the Double Down sandwich, down your gaping maw you are doubling your toilet’s reward.

Is it possible KFC is playing an elaborate, multimillion dollar prank on the world? Is this one of Andy Samberg’s HILARIOUS Digital Shorts? Even Kentucky Fried Chicken needs to convince themselves this monstrosity is not just a bad dream. The first sentence out of their greasy mouths on the official Double Down page is “The new KFC Double Down sandwich is real!” Even they can’t believe how fucking disgusting people are. I would not be surprised if they started pushing the limits even further just to see what they can get away with. Chicken fat shakes? Napkins made out of chicken skin? Perhaps they can bypass the whole eating thing and just force grease up your ass with a giant hose.

The thing I love about how uneducated we** are about food is that I actually found a few girlie “diet” websites taking about what a great diet sandwich this will be because it doesn’t have bread, A.K.A. carbs. Do I even need to waste my time dissecting this theory? TWO SLABS OF FRIED CHICKEN, TWO STRIPS OF BACON, TWO MELTED SLICES OF CHEESE AND THE “COLONEL’S SAUCE!” I’m going to get into those skinny jeans by June!

I’m exhausted just from looking at the photo of this piece of shit.

*Shut up, I realize this is not technically correct but I’m not writing a Guide to Blackjack here!

** Not me, I’m a genius.

What is it about highly decorative facial hair that hypnotizes douchebags like a moth to a flame?

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.”

In both cases everyone loses.