When the Angels return triumphantly from the fields of Holy Battle, they will probably get drunk that very same night. If you don’t want any Holy trouble, just stay home. Drunk Angels are constantly looking for fights and usually end up vomiting on God’s sandals. I don’t need to tell you how pissed He gets when that happens. Ever see a solar eclipse? That is God in the middle of a rage-blackout right before He goes looking for his whuppin’ stick. Praise be to the Sun and sore-assed Angels.
When someone tells you to “put that in your pipe and smoke it” do you reply with ‘Well I already did that last night…except…except the pipe was your butt and the…thing that…you want me to smoke was your mom…in your butt.’? You really have to work on your comebacks, compadre.
Do crowded malls make you think of how commercialism has completely taken over our culture; falsely implanting thoughts into people’s heads that they must spend money on things they don’t need? Me? I think of Cinnabon with soft serve vanilla on top of a cinnamon bun with M&Ms and Twizzlers on top. Oh, and all of that commercialism shit too.
If Aunt Jemima met Mrs. Butterworth in a steel cage match, who would make me fatter quicker?
If you had to give one of your fingers to science, which one would it be? Don’t say the middle one and then giggle like a 10 year old child, this is science dammit!
If Mr. Jones and Mrs. Robinson met on a busy sidewalk one day, would they point at each other and say “Great Song! Jinx! You owe me a coke! AH-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA!” until Mr. Roboto came along and blasted them to hell with his super laser? Domo origato, Mr. Roboto *traditional Chinese bow*.
How many miles can you run before you realize that the sun isn’t chasing you, it’s just trying to burn you to death slowly? It’s a cruel, cruel summer.
Have you ever lifted your leg as high as you could, and stomped down on an anthill yelling “I am your natural born DOOM come to LIFE!” while laughing as the ants scatter and try to salvage what they can of their little sand hill? Really, what did they ever do to you? Are you jealous because they can lift ten times their weight, and you are winded just from lifting your foot? And not for nothing, FYI, by the way, etc; you look like a horse’s ass in that Viking helmet.
If you could wave a magic wand, clap your hands three times, click your heels together once, jump up in the air, twirl around in a circle, bow to your partner, promenade left, do-si-do and…hey, how did this turn into a square dance?
Have you ever invented a type of punch, and named it? Like Dragon Strike, Thunderclap or Lightening Burst? Well shape up, or you just might be introduced to Flavor Blast; a delicious triple punch to your taste buds! OK, it’s just lemonade, but I think it’s quite tasty.
Dontcha wish your sandwich was roast beef like mine?
I decided today, after many long hours of contemplation, that I am a “torso man”. I love a long torso; at least a 3:1 torso to leg ratio.
Please post your ratios so I know what I’m dealing with here.
My wife has an amazing ratio, which is why I married her of course. No other reason. It’s important, OK? If your ratio is sub-standard, there are many stretching exercises you can do. Work on your ratios.
One of the first questions on my submission form for my summer camp is “What torso:leg ratio are you, and are you planning on lengthening that ratio in the near future”.
Don’t be left out in the dark with a weird head-connected-directly-to-legs body.
I was recently on a family vacation in a scenic location with a touristy town-type area. While walking through this touristy area, I walked past a bar that had an altercation in progress. The owner of the bar was in the process of kicking out a kid that looked at least 4-5 years underage to be drinking anything other than Apple Juice. The conflict rapidly got heated and the last thing I saw was the kid grabbing his balls and exclaiming over and over again:
“I’m from QUEENS! I’m from QUEENS! You don’t know what you dealin’ with! I’m from QUEENS!”
I immediately grabbed my balls and was about to exclaim:
“I’m from JERSEY! Garden State Bitch! I’m from JERSEY! You don’t know what you dealin’ with either! NEW JERSEY TURNPIKE!”
In reality, I was shivering in a garbage can for fear of getting punched in the kidneys. Plus my balls hurt because I was holding them too tight.
Lindsay Lohan got out of jail today.
You can exhale now.
She was in tears for the entire two weeks of her 90-day sentence because the Starbucks barista in her cell didn’t know how to make a Double-Venti Frappa-Whappa. Charles Manson has been crying about the same thing for over thirty years, so this is a common prisoner complaint, I suppose. Plus, the cocaine in her daily celebrity packet was low-grade Colombian instead of the good stuff.
Stay in school, y’all.
I used to play soccer as much as possible (football for anyone outside the U.S.). Lately, I look more like a soccer ball than David Beckham, but I’m starting to get back into shape (the shape of a Beach Ball OH SCHNAP!)
Running is a very uninteresting pastime. Running on a treadmill is the most uninteresting of all activities. Have you heard of this thing? It is a machine, really. A machine that has a big rubber band that
I mean, stop going already! I’m sweating like Moses here! I tried running outside, but the hills! And the weather? Oy Vey!
To mix it up, I tried running on all fours like dogs do, but I quickly found out that dogs are better at it than me. I also freaked the fuck out of my neighbors when I came shuffling past their driveway on all fours and sans-clothing (that’s French for ‘sexy as hell’).
Five Four things I want to accomplish this week (knocked something off the list this morning already):
1. Lengthen torso. 2. Write a letter to my congressman regarding my proposal to have all rain clouds seeded with Skittles. If they can do it in the commercials, they can do it in New Jersey. 3. Assassinate Snooki. Did you know Snooki is making more money per year than all teachers in New Jersey combined? Hurray! If you see your 11 year old daughters sizing up ill-fitting one-piece bathing suits and spray-on tanner, detonate your television with all the explosives you can find. Thank me later. 4. Bedazzle Scrotum. 5. Karate moves in public on my way to see my therapist. Don’t mess with the bull, son; you’ll get the horns.