Say Hello To My Leetle Subordinate...

By Unknown on 3:06 AM

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Unless you’ve been locked in an INS holding cell for the past several months, you know that illegal immigration is a hot topic. Whenever the issue comes up, it’s only a matter of time before some douchecanoe regurgitates the following snippet of horseshit: "Illegal Immigrants only want the jobs Americans won’t do."

No matter where you stand on illegal immigration, you should find this insulting. It suggests that the transients who have traveled thousands of miles have no greater ambition than to mimic the monkey-servants from Conquest of the Planet of the Apes. Listen... these are real people with skills. Sure, pulling out isn't usually one of them, but I digress....

Given that we live in a country where people are employed to keep guys hard between takes on porno sets, I think it’s safe to say that there aren’t many jobs that Americans won’t do. It’s just that they aren’t desperate enough to do them for three bucks an hour and a can of Goya Guava Nectar.

That being said, I did some homework and found out that there are actually a few jobs that Americans refuse to do and so they are now usually manned by Chico, Pedro, Juanita & Rosa. If you are here illegally, feel free to take these jobs without fear of recourse from "Whitey"; no questions asked.

As a public service for our friends without papers, following are the jobs shunned by Americans that are up for grabs, along with my personal commentary about said career option. You're welcome, my lovely vatos.

May Day Protester

Outside of a few college freshmen and most college professors, Americans don’t give a flying fuck about May 1st. After all, nobody likes a communist. Besides, it’s a lot more fun to get drunk and barbeque on Labor Day than it is to march around like an asshole on May Day.

Because of this lack of interest, evil and vile leftist groups are trying to import their May Day protesters from south of the border, and it seems to be working. Somehow they were able to convince illegals that attending a giant May Day rally was the best way to gain amnesty. After all, nothing says “I’m a patriotic American” like attending a giant commie rally and demanding “justice”. Most illegals seem to enjoy this job, and truth be told, it irks me more than just a smidge. Listen here, amigos... Castrating a rapist is justice. Gassing a murderer is justice. Clubbing a baby seal is justice. Hiroshima was justice. Coming into a country illegally and enjoying the jobs that honest hardworking Americans hate? Well that’s NOT justice. It's just fucking rude.

Clearly, I’m kidding (except for the ‘Hiroshima’ part, and the ‘rude’ part, and the ‘everything I‘ve said so far’ part). Seriously, though... if you really want the May Day protestor job, it’s all yours, homes.

Flavored Ice Vendor

Flavored ice? What the fuck? I scream, you scream, we all scream for ICE CREAM, motherfuckers. If Rocky Road and Pistachio were being served out of that rolling aluminum box o' bacteria, you'd be buying it from Mike, not Miguelito. But this is only water. Frozen. Then splashed with dye (no flavor necessary) and served in a paper oil funnel. Miguelito it is, cabrones!

And seriously... that cart? I know gas prices are high, but it’s 2010, vato! Get a truck. I’d imagine a full-fledged flavored ice truck is expensive, but I see illegals riding around in the back of pickups all the time. At the very least, you should put the cart on the truckbed, don a Sombrero and crank up the mariachi music. It probably doesn’t meet OSHA standards, but you’re already illegal, so who gives a shit?

Roman Catholic Priest

It’s no secret that the Roman Catholic Church is having a hard time finding Americans who are interested in joining the priesthood. I think the whole ass-raping of stellar amounts of altar boys may have a little to do with it.  Well, that and the fact that God is imaginary. But I'm not proof positive, so don't quote me on that. Eh, fuck it... quote me - it's the ass raping/God's imaginary thing.

Enter the immigrants. The third world is ripe with superstition AND pedophilia, which makes it the perfect place to recruit for the priesthood.

Imagine yourself as some poor unfortunate soul sitting in a third world shanty town fighting with stray dogs for a half-eaten McGriddle®. Life is bad. Then one day some dude in a big hat shows up offering you food, magical powers, and a trip to America in exchange for leaving your shithole of a country. Did I mention you’d also get all the wine-flavored blood you can drink? Who in their right mind wouldn’t take that offer?

So welcome to America, Father Villareal, or what ever your name is. Eat all you want, just don’t touch the kids.

Fucking The Ugly People (aka the immigrant fuck ethic)

Truth be told, there is one simple reason that immigrants have always and will always be needed in this country: they are willing to do the butterfaces that Americans won’t do.

My great-grandfather left the old country one-hundred years ago on a raft made entirely of shamrock stems and his own B.O. When he arrived in America he had no formal education, no trade, and he’d eaten nothing but raw potatos since his twelfth birthday. But what he lacked in intelligence, skills, and hygiene, he more than made up for with his willingness to sex up ugly girls. Not long after he was processed at Ellis Island he married an American girl named ‘Pig Faced’ Mary Stanley (he didn’t speak English so the name didn’t bother him).

As it turned out, his new father-in-law Nathaniel Stanley, a wealthy industrialist, was so happy that his hideous daughter had found a husband that he gladly welcomed my great-grandfather into the family, going as far as to have a local boy buried alive for making fun of his new Irish son-in-law’s ginger kid appearance. From that day forward my great-grandfather was considered as American as -apple pie, and everyone lived happily ever after (except for my great-grandmother, who was beaten nightly by her drunken immigrant husband).

This same fuck ethic can be found in our latest batch of immigrants. Just last week I saw a Latino busboy leaving his restaurant for the day. Waiting outside was a girl who looked like a cross between Philip Seymour Hoffman and Courtney Love. Unlike native-born Americans who take their normal looking women for granted, this immigrant boy saw through her disgusting appearance and was grateful for what he had: an easy lay and a possible Green Card.

While the willingness of the illegal immigrants to do our most unwanted jobs is important, their willingness to do our most unwanted people is their greatest contribution to our society. So the next time you and your xenophobic friends decide to start rounding up illegals, ask yourselves this question: Who is going to do all the fatties?

Well, that’s it, kiddos. As always, when you are done trashing the article & proving that the concept of sarcasm is lost on you, why not sweetly tell me if there are any jobs I left off the list.

Savage Beasts...

By Unknown on 4:26 PM

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Baby seals are heartless killers... You can see it in their stone-cold black eyes. If they could scoot their little plump bodies close enough to you, there is no doubt in my mind that they would rip your lungs out and eat them in a split second. I admit...  I don’t quite remember all of the exact circumstances around previous baby seal attacks on humans, but I’m sure there are many. If we didn’t protect ourselves from these admitted predators, there is no doubt in my mind that today’s taste for fish will surely turn into tomorrow’s desire for human flesh. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to let one of those demented and vile creatures use my ear for a chew toy.

Thankfully, we have brave warriors out there on the ice fighting the battle to keep us protected. I am proud of the hard-working men who ensure our safety. They risk their own lives to maintain a civilized society void of savage attacks by cretins and creatures that have simply evolved as cold, calculating killing machines.

But, like the US military soldiers battling in Iraq, there are other hot spots full of tyranny that we need to eradicate as well. After these brave paladins control the dangerous, savage seal population, they should turn their attention and sharp axes towards other potential dangers...

Like butterflies. These devilish insects transfer pollen like a whore transfers disease. Any creature evil enough to carry spores from one entity to another needs to be controlled. We must wipe out any of these multicolored carriers of carnage at once.

And panda bears. The mask is a sure sign of evil. Like a robber in the night, these fur balls of fear hide in the mountains of China sharpening long bamboo skewers and preparing for what will undoubtedly become a savage attack on man. No one is safe... Did we not learn anything from our little tête-à-tête with the Viet Kong?

And meerkats. These burrowing little underground death machines are organized and have a complex military that includes centuries standing guard, intricate warning signals, and a plan. Hakuna Matata, my ass! We'd better smash their demonic little skulls before they team up with our domestic squirrels and all hell breaks loose. Stop them before the nuts they gather for winter are your own!

And after our fearless, club weilding heroes wipe out the seal pups, pandas, and every last smirking dolphin, we should focus on those creatures that live among us and have already infiltrated our trust and our homes.

I for one, will be watching my dog verrrrry closely...

The Most Suave World Leader?...

By Unknown on 3:23 PM

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I was watching our esteemed leader, President Obama doing some public speaking/press conferencing on YouTube the other night. After seeing the smooth way he handled the bottomfeeding media scum, I was left with just ONE question - Is Obama the Most Suave Prez of All Time? The answer is: not yet. But I'm thinking he might take that title by the end of his first term at the very latest.

So, kids, who IS the pimpingest prez of all time? It's a pretty tough one to call... so I've scoured the history books to bring you the most deviant bunch of Presidents to ever serve at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.

Some of the facts are based on facts. Some additional facts are based on hard evidence that I either misheard or whole heartedly fabricated. The names are real. The presidents and their mistress slutbags are real. Some of the other stuff is too... Doesn't matter... I'll see you in hell.

1. John "F Anything That Moves" Kennedy -AKA- Jack "Can't Get Enough of the Grassy Knoll" Kennedy

Arguably our nation's premiere Gigilo in Chief, Kennedy was notorious for his womanizing. He was even rumored to have banged Marilyn Monroe, which is more than you can say for Zachary Taylor.

2. William "Goin South" Clinton
Once describing himself as "The Only Black American president", given his poor upbringing in rural Arkansas. I whole heartedly agree that he is indeed a black man, but only because he seems hell bent on chasing fat white chicks. Clinton was the mack daddy of presidents. Not only tagging broads during both terms but also while he was governor of Arkansas. He even married a lesbian... His indiscretion with Monica Lewinsky will no doubt be his undying legacy. The name Monica Lewinsky is so hewn into the American lexicon that as I write this, Microsoft Word not only didn't offer to spell check her last name, it referred to it as a verb.

3. Lyndon "EL-BJ" Johnson

Following in the footsteps of John F Kenney this southern democrat and former "Dixiecrat" wasn't as brash with his dangerous liaisons with Alice Glass. Alice Glass was born in Lott, Texas, and attended Texas Christian University. (I think MOST adulterating Co-eds always come from Christian Universities). She met LBJ prior to his presidency and rumors abound that their affair lasted well into his term and a half in office. In fact during a botched attempt at phone sex, LBJ instead of dialing Ms. Glass instead dialed his secretary of state Robert McNamara who, without question, mistakenly deployed 20,000 more troops to Vietnam and 1 in the stink.

4. Thomas "Ride Sally Ride" Jefferson

There's no nice way to put this... Jefferson banged slaves. He banged'em by the hundreds. He banged'em like the boat to Liberia was leaving tomorrow.
Though he spoke openly against miscegenation (the amalgamation of whites with blacks) during the day, at night, when the lights were out, he was all about the booty. And it didn't matter what color booty. He held these truths to be self evident. That pussy is pussy and he got his share of trim.

One woman in particular, Sally Hemming, is said to have bore six children from Jefferson while serving with him at Monticello after his wife passed away. This left many historians to theorize that the real reason Abraham Lincoln later penned the Emancipation in Proclamation in 1863 was because half of those enslaved were somehow related to Jefferson.

5. Dwight "D-Money's on The Dresser, Bitch" Eisenhower

Ike, Ike Ike. Didn't you learn anything from Jefferson? Don't fuck the help! Kay Summersby served as Eisenhower's personal chauffeur during WWII, during which time, Ike made several attempts to park it in her ass. Unfortunately, according to Summersby's 1976 autobiography, they were never able to fully commit to the act because Eisenhower could not get it all the way up. Ouch! If you're going to be a dog, Ike, at least make sure to bring the bone!

6. Franklin "Sell-A-Ho" Roosevelt

Not even getting struck down with paralysis could stop FDR from getting his. He kept banging his mistress, Lucy Page Mercer Rutherfurd, even after he was wheelchair-bound! Now that's determination to the art of being a scumbag! His wife Eleanor became so upset over the affair that she became anorexic. This gained her some points in Franklin's eyes because she was now skinnier; however she was still unattractive and old. No sale. It is a well known fact that Lucy Page Mercer was at FDR's deathbed with him when he died, possibly fellating him.

7. George H.W. "Gonna Tax That Ass" Bush

In fairness, Bush Senior should probably be exempt from criticism for practicing adultery, based solely on the appearance of Barbara. If your wife looks like the ghost of George Washington, you should be able to do whatever you want to avoid getting into bed with her.

His side piece of choice was Jennifer Fitzgerald, who worked for Bush "in a variety of positions". They got their swerve on pretty consistently over the years while Fitzgerald served as his "close personal advisor". Eventually, Big Barb got wise to the shenanigans and insisted that he assign her to an overseas position that would put her well out of fucking range. Bush made her the U.S. diplomat to the United Kingdom, which forced him to travel across the Atlantic to get some non-withered strange.

8. Millard "Fills More Women" Fillmore

Never elected to office he was named president following the death of Zachary Taylor. He was the last president to serve as a member of the Whig party--a party based on supporting the supremacy of Congress over the Executive Branch and favoring a program of modernization and economic development. In addition, they liked to wear white powdered wigs and white line cravats when they "got it on". Millard was no exception. He is said to have not only had the largest genitalia of any US president, which he referred to as the Secretary of Fuck, but he also had the larges number of elicit affairs. Somewhere near 150 total. In fact, when Franklin Pierce ran against him, his slogan was "Pierce for President. Fillmore fucks everybody" Though it was no "Tip-a-Canoe and Tyler too," Pierce was ultimately successful.

9. Warren "G-I Meant To Pull Out" Harding

Historians have long debated over whether Harding was a shittier President or Husband, but no one has ever argued that he didn't suck at both. Harding first put his mac on a shorty named Carrie Fulton Phillips. When he ditched her, The Republican National Committee kept her quiet about the affair by sending her and her family to Europe and giving them 50,000 bones, which, by today's standards is something like 11 billion dollars.

But Warren G was not done regulating that ass yet. At the age of 55 he started banging his neighbor's 21-year-old daughter, Nan Britton. Britton later gave birth to their illegitimate love child, Elizabeth. Harding promised to support the child but then punked out on the responsibility by dying a couple of years later. The ultimate pimp move!

10. James "A Good Time" Garfield

Only in office a total of 4 months when he was wounded by an assassin's bullet, Garfield wasted no time in getting his. On a trip to New York City, "James to the G" (as he was known to the ladies) met up with Lucia Calhoun. The two of them began an affair that continued after their tryst in New York via letters for many years. Written correspondence in 1880 was the modern day equivalent of a hand job.


James "President Boy Toy" Buchanan

Buchanan earns my coveted top spot based solely on the fact that he was by far our cock-hungriest President. The only unmarried Pres in our nation's history, it is generally accepted that Buchanan was a homosexual. What would lead historians to believe this? Just subtle indications, like the fact that he shared an apartment and bed with another dude for 16 years! William R. King (who went on to become America's 16th Vice President, as soon as he got done blowing ten dudes) was Buchanan's roommate and life partner. Andrew Jackson referred to the couple as "Aunt Fancy and Miss Nancy" (no lie).

So, just based on the sheer audacity it took to simultaneously be a a Flamer and The President of The United States of America in the mid 1800's Buchanan gets my "Pimpingest Prez of All Time" rating.

Don't Be Irridiculous...
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There are several words and phrases that have been chewing at my sanity for as long as I can remember. Rather than suffer in silence alone, I have decided to share them with you, dear reader... not because I'm trying to change the world, but because misery loves company.

While reading the following examples of said words and phrases, ask yourself if they truly make sense.  If you answer "no", you're one smart cookie - and you are invited to boycott each and every one of them with me.

*Spoiler Alert: If you answer "yes", you're an idiot. Okay - let's begin, shall we? 

"Fuck the shit out of her"
Here is a common bar phrase uttered by Mr. Alpha Male to his pack while out on the town... He sees a hot girl and tells his boys he'd like to "fuck the shit out of her". Really? You want to perform coitus at such a vigorous rate as to cause the female to defecate? If I were you, Mr. Alpha Male, I think I'd rather "fuck the shit up inside her so that she never craps again." After all, a girl that puts out and never craps is totally the marrying type. Yeah. THINK about it... 

If you don't know what it means, don't use this word in a sentence... PLEASE?? I heard a woman say, "That driver was going so fast! He was literally flying down the road." No he wasn't. He doesn't have wings and he was not soaring above the road, gliding through the air.

How many times does a person need to say "I was literally scared to death" before someone replies with "Impossible, asshole, unless you were dead when you just said that..."  ???? 

Here's the proper use of "literally": You literally don't have a clue about how to use the word "literally". I'd like to beat the shit out of every person who uses the word "literally" when they are speaking figuratively... literally beat the shit right out of them, I tell ya. And hey - if I BEAT the shit out of 'em, some cretin can't FUCK the shit out of 'em.

"Who gives a crap?"
Has anyone ever given you a crap? I've received a crappy gift, a crappy haircut and crappy advice, but no one has ever given an actual crap to ME. Clearly, people don't give handfuls of crap out as freely as some people say they do. 

C'mon, really? This one's just irridiculous. 

"Balls out/Balls To The Wall"
This phrase seemingly indicates a point in time when someone is making an extra special effort to get a task completed. Personally, if I had balls, I'd prefer to go "balls covered." In fact, if you are performing something so risky that it calls for a "balls out" type of effort, it would be best if you protected the nuts by keeping them safely tucked in your jeans instead of smashing them into random walls... No? 

"At the end of the day"
It seems that things only get settled "at the end of the day", especially for those involved somehow in sales or marketing.  Why has "first thing in the morning" been cut out of our lives? Are things automatically summed up at midnight? The next time someone says, "Well, at the end of the day, it's all about client relations",  I encourage you to respond with, "What's it all about at the beginning and in the middle of the day, douchebag? Client relations can eatabagadix for breakfast & lunch, I guess."

(Note: also see such worthless sales/marketing rhetoric as "it is what it is" and "when all is said and done".) 

"Taking candy from a baby"
Even if you have the parenting skills of John Phillips, you know babies don't eat candy. Wouldn't it be more accurate to say "as easy as taking dignity from a crack whore" or "as easy as taking the ass-virginity of an altar boy"?

TH! TH! TH!!! Put your tongue against your top teeth & blow out. Hear that sound?? Now say "BURR" before you do that & "DAY" afterwards. Voila!! You just said birTHday. Same sort of reasoning applies to "muhvvuh".  Your moTHer will be so proud of you when you get this one down pat.

Remember, kids... practice makes perfect. Begin your training today!

I'm Onto You, M. Noir Douchebag...

By Unknown on 4:02 PM

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While cleaning out my basement and going through some old magazines, I came across what may very well be the most reprehensible piece of douchebaggery ever produced – M. Night Shyamalan’s American Express “My Life, My Card” ad.

Now, for those of you unfamiliar with the “My Life, My Card” ads, they feature a black and white picture of some celebrity (Tiger Woods, Ellen DeGeneres, Martin Scorsese) and show the celebrities’ handwritten answers to a bunch of questions like, “Fondest Memory,” “Wildest Dream,” and “Perfect Day.” I guess it’s supposed to give the reader a “window” into the lives of these people and let us know that those fabulous lives include heavy usage of the American Express card.

Putting aside the idiotic and insulting nature of these ads (like I’m gonna want to buy shit with the American Express card just because that’s the card Ellen uses to buy her strap-ons), the pretentious douchery of M. Night Shyamalan’s answers simply demand recognition.

Here's a recap:

Name: M. Night Shyamalan

Okay, first things first. That’s not your fucking name. Your real name is Manoj Nelliattu Shyamalan.

While I understand your wanting to change your name for use in Hollywood, choosing “M. Night Shyamalan” (just typing it makes me feel like less of a human) violates the two time-honored goals of Hollywood name changes – (1) making it easier for the semi-literate American public to be able to identify you and (2) concealing the shame of your non-WASP ethnicity.

I could understand if you’d gone with, say, Monty Shepard or Michael N. Shanley, but M. Night Shyamalan? That’s a bitch to pronounce and it it does nothing to cover up the fact that your ancestors didn’t come over on the Mayflower, so what the fuck?

And don’t get me started on that pretentioius first initial-middle name-last name thing. Why don’t you, C. Everett Koop, and C. Thomas Howell go jerk each other off in front of J. Edgar Hoover’s grave?

Fondest Memory: Kissing my wife in the rain

This answer is offensive on multiple levels:

First of all, the only thing worse than married people publicly and un-ironically expressing their love for each other is artsy married people artsily expressing their love for each other (in ways that force me to envision M. Night Shyamalan making out with someone).

Secondly, this answer sets the hypocritical, pseudo-artistic douchebag tone that pervades the entire ad. You’re trying to let everyone know that despite your fabulous cinematic success, you stay grounded, you keep it REAL, and you focus on the things that really matter in life, like loving your wife. And you don’t just say, “I love you, Sugar Boobs,” like most guys. You do it with the delicate artistry of a true auteur who remembers sensual moments like a rain-soaked kiss.

Well I got news for you, cock breath – true auteurs don’t do credit card ads. And exploiting your wife’s personal romantic memories to make yourself seem more authentic in an AmEx ad won’t make you the poster child for authentic family values. (As a result, that job will continue to be held by Shawn Kemp). 

Soundtrack: My daughter playing Chopin

Your douche-osity goes to new heights with this one, M. Noir.

First off, people who make their kids play classical music are child abusers. No kid likes classical music. Even the daughters of pretentious douchebags like you prefer Hilary Duff to Chopin. That poor girl probably has to hide in her closet to listen to Britney’s Greatest Hits while her father tells his chardonnay-sipping guests about the sonata in D-minor that his little girl just mastered.

And once again you’re trying to look like a guy who wants to deflect attention away from himself, but in reality you just want to let everyone know that your little prodigy can play Chopin. You’re just so punchable. 

Retreat: Our farm

Listen up, Nighty – the 380 million people in your native India who earn less than $2 a day trying to coax rice out of the desiccated soil of the Punjab – those people are farmers. You’re a guy who gets paid millions of dollars to keep making the same movie over and over again. You don’t have a farm. You have an estate on what used to be a farm. Instead of grazing livestock, you have little girls running around playing Chopin. And when it starts raining, you don’t celebrate the fact that your subsistence crops are receiving badly needed nourishment, you run outside and kiss your fucking wife. Again.

Wildest Dream: Living in the South of France and writing a novel

The South of France? Really? You might as well have just said, “Living in Generic Artsy-ville, a place that everyone who reads this credit card ad will instantly recognize as a place where fabulously talented artists go when they get tired of working in integtrity-compromising media like film and want to explore the bounds of their boundless artistic talent.”

I’m so on to you. 

Proudest Moment: When I see my children overcome fear

Wow. I would’ve thought that a guy who writes and directs big successful movies would have said something like, “Being nominated for an Oscar,” but damnit, Manoj, you are just so genuine and down-to-earth! Makes me want to drive down to Pennsylvania and treat you to a proud afternoon of watching your kids overcoming their fear of being forced to play Russian roulette - how’s that sound? 

Perfect day: Walking with my family in the woods

Okay, okay, you love your fucking family. We fucking get it, you queef. 

First job: Promotional video for a law firm.

Did they sue you when the video you gave them turned out to be a photo collage of your wife and kids? 

Indulgence: Basketball

Seriously, there are about seven non-wheelchair bound people in the United States who I can beat at basketball and I’m pretty sure that you’re one of them. So just stop with the, “Hey, I’m a regular guy who shoots hoops” shtick. You’re not fooling anyone. 

Favorite movie: The Godfather

Now you’re really starting to piss me off. “Godfather” used to be one of my all-time favorite movies. But now my enjoyment Duvall collapsing as he says “They shot Sonny on the causeway” will be forever tainted by the knowledge that somewhere, on a “farm” in Pennsylvania, M. Night Shama-lama-ding-dong might be enjoying that same scene (on a screen that makes my TV look like an iPod). 

Inspiration: The three black-haired angels that live in my house

Your obsession with your own family is now officially scarier than any of your movies. I’ll lay even money that one of those black-haired angels has a restraining order against you within the next ten years. 

My Life: Is about finding time to dream.

Finding time? Dude, people who work real jobs have to find time to dream. You’ve got all fucking day. Or is all that hay baling and crop harvesting on the farm taking up all your precious dream time? Do ol’ Kimmie a favor and kill yourself. 

My Card: Is American Express.

And that’s why I’m taking a scissors to mine right now. Die, douchebag.

Thank you, Rob Sanford

Live By The Sword, Die By The Axe Body Spray...

By Unknown on 8:18 PM

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When you kick the bucket, it will be the very last thing you ever do on this planet, and your cause of death will be what people remember for a long time after you're gone. That is why your final exit can be such an embarrassment if you do it the wrong way.

In an effort to help you avoid "going out like bitch", here's a list of the most humiliating ways to croak; steer clear of these when you're ready to depart:

Getting crushed by poorly-mounted plasma TV over your bed
Ceilings above beds are for mirrors, not TVs. Duh.

Drowning in a teaspoon of water
"A baby can drown in a teaspoon of water." I am certain you have heard this little bit of home-spun wisdom countless times. But can you imagine being that baby? A teaspoon of water!? How embarrassing. That's such a small of amount of water. Just roll over, stupid baby.

Getting your picture taken with a tiger
Unless you killed it with your bare hands, why? You want a photo of you with a tiger so bad, I have Photoshop- call me. I'll put you in a picture with two tigers and Gary Busey riding a fucking unicorn—whatever you want. I can even airbrush out your deep-set eyes and drool, retard.

Old Age
Get out there and do something. How humiliating is it to have spent 70+ years on this planet and not have done anything exciting enough to kill you.

Cutting yourself while shaving...your balls
There are two things that should never come near your naked balls, guys... a baby and a twin blade disposable.

Re-enacting a stunt from "Jackass"
I don't care what anyone says, and I am probably going to hell for it, but the video of the kid trying to jump the car like he saw on "Jackass" is fucking hysterical. Now, before you judge me, the truth is I don't particularly enjoy watching people get injured. I don't own any Faces of Death videos, and I get a little queasy when I see people getting hurt on shows like "Scarred". But seeing that idiot kid cartwheel through the air after getting hit by the car, followed immediately by the people behind the camera gasping as if this was some totally unforeseeable turn of events, gives me fits of laughter.

Like Vincent Vega from Pulp Fiction
Bottom line - it's embarrassing to die on the toilet, but getting shot with your own gun is just added shame.

As a Suicide Bomber
Thinking you'll get props from Allah after driving your exploding car into a mall, only to learn the horrible truth that you'll be forced to choose between being boiled in molten lead for all of eternity or watching Short Circuit 2 five times.

Like Goose in Top Gun
There are only 40 worse ways to go out than snapping your neck while ejecting during a training exercise so Tom Cruise can overact his way through the last forty minutes of a movie.

Bleeding out following an adult circumcision
Just let that foreskin flap, homie. You can always tell chicks to look at what you've got under the hood.

Drowning during your Born-Again Baptism
Boy, going to all the trouble of alienating all your old friends for Jesus is hard enough, but not even having the opportunity to enjoy years of self-righteous condescension is just a kick in the box.  

Severing a major artery while trying to open a can of tuna fish
After stinking up the entire break room with the reek of that nasty-ass cat food, maybe you deserve this fate.

Like Vic Morrow
Getting your head cut off by a helicopter while acting in a shitty movie. Actually, three people died—two of them were six-year old siblings. But we all learned a lesson about racism, didn't we? 

Getting eaten by a shark
If you've been eaten by a shark and you're anyone other than a survivor of a shipwreck a la the USS Indianapolis—where was your fucking head? As far as preventable deaths go, this is right at the top. It's not like sharks go wading ashore to attack sun-burned white people at the beach. Human beings were not put on this Earth for the purpose of swimming around in the Pacific within range of primordial beasts with giant teeth. They're there. We're here. Why not
keep it like that?   

Chaffing yourself to death with one-ply toilet paper
There certain products in which price should not be an object. Shit tickets are not one of them. The USSR crumbled for a lack of two-ply, you know.

Slipping on a banana peel
Who are you? Magilla Gorilla?Who dies because of slipping on a banana peel? You dumbass. Was it an Acme Banana Peel? Did Wile E. Coyote put it there? Elmer Fudd? Did a piano fall on you afterwards?

I'm not talking about those guys who fish for sword fish in the middle of the ice-cold ocean or the guys from "Deadliest Catch". Those guys are MACHINES. I
am talking about recreational fishing. I read a story about a guy in Europe a few years ago who had hooked some big ole fish while sitting on the beach somewhere. He refused to let the beast go and it dragged him out into knee deep water. His last words before being pulled under and drowned by an animal without arms, legs, any discernible weapons, and a big hook in it's mouth: "I got 'em now!" The fish was never found. How humiliating.

From Athlete's Foot
I've seen the commercials, and if those flames caught your pants on fire, you could die. That would be terrible. I'm surprised it hasn't happened before.  

Failing to seek medical attention after four-hour erection
And why are you taking Viagra anyway? The day a man stops getting constant erections ought to be a day for celebration.

Like William Rehnquist
Telling your friend that she should go ahead and retire because you can make it through the next year, then dying anyway. Whoops.

Getting bludgeoned by your children
It says something about your parenting skills when one, or both, of your kids takes a ball peen hammer to your skull. And yes, it's your fault if it happens.

Being crushed in your multi-million dollar house in a mudslide
You're not the impoverished victims of the Haiti disaster. You're just some rich ass-wipe who built a house in a stupid place. I don't want to see your fucking sad face on TV asking for help if you happen to survive either. Buy a house on
solid ground, you fucking megalomaniac.

Like Cheng...or was it Eng??
Dying of fear because your Siamese twin brother just died and you're attached
to his corpse . Jee-zus. This would really, really, really, really, really suck. Oh,
and it's okay to call them Siamese, because Cheng and Eng were Siamese, you
over-sensitive bitches.

Strangling on the finish line tape at the end of a marathon
Does anyone feel dirty after chuckling at the Gatorade commercial where the dude is wobbling and falling at the end of a triathlon like those sows with Mad Cow Disease? Me either. That shit is hilarious.

Like Roy Horn
What exactly do you expect when you try to make an enormous wild animal wear a Luftwaffe helmet and ride a bicycle? Just because you have absolutely no shame or pride doesn't mean that cat doesn't have any self-respect.

A tragic Bowflex accident
The most embarrassing thing about it is that you actually own a Bowflex. Seriously, who shells out two thousand dollars for fake exercise equipment? Lift a fucking weight.  

While climbing Mt. Everest
This is all risk and no reward. It was cool the first time someone did it, and ever since it has been a total waste of time. I mean you can take fucking helicopter to the top if you want to see it so bad... and if you don't make it, you died doing something that Sherpas do as their job. Really impressive, you rock climbing asswipe.

Looking down the barrel of a gun to see if it's loaded
Which is pretty equivalent to getting hit by a car because you weren't looking as you crossed the street.

Getting your head cut off by a Hall of Fame running back
Becomes even more embarrassing when everybody and their mom knows he's
guilty and he walks anyway. And when Howard Stern makes jokes about it for
the next decade.

Axe Body Spray Poisoning
You can spray all the glorified deodorant on yourself as you want, but it isn't going to get you laid. You are an idiot, and you are broke. You know how I know? Because men with jobs wear cologne.

Whichever way Jay Leno dies
If any single event can stop or at least slow down the degeneration of American society, it would be Jay Leno's removal from the mortal coil. His jokes would be funnier attached to his tombstone, too.

And I have a surprise, kids... Because I know most of you are already totally off balance, I wanted to even things out by mentioning what, in my opinion, are the most uber awesome ways to bite the dust:

~ Of wounds sustained in a triumphant battle with a dragon.

~ Leaping into an exploding volcano.

~ Purposely crashing your spaceship into the sun.

~ Riding a nuclear bomb out the belly of a B-52.

~ Getting sucked into a super black hole.

~ Catching a lightening bolt in your hands to save a baby.

~ Choking on Gus Hansen's pe.... um... never mind that one.

We've Come A Long Way, Baby...

By Unknown on 7:35 AM

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Ladies, we should be so proud of ourselves... We are strong, independent and successful. We hold positions of power, run Fortune 500 companies and best of all, we have one night a week at local dive bars dedicated specifically to us. We get free well liquor and cheap beer, which we drink from little plastic cups for several glorious hours. Looks like we've finally made it!

I thought we would forever go unappreciated in the eyes of men – centuries of being oppressed, holed up in the house only permitted to cook, clean and churn out babies. But all is not lost. Ladies Night is the thanks and gratitude we’ve been searching for all these years. Forget equal pay and opportunities, the comfort of not being sexually harassed at work, or being praised for our minds, not out bodies. Cheap liquor and watered-down beer is enough to set our minds at ease and make up for all the demeaning behavior we’ve had to endure.

I have never felt more appreciated and honored than stepping foot into a dingy bar, slipping on a paper wristband and waiting 45 minutes for my first complimentary beverage. I am so grateful for the free booze, you can be sure I’ll sleep with any guy that comes my way. And when I have enough liquid thanks coursing through my blood, I’ve even been known to celebrate this feminine victory with another fellow honoree by taking off my shirt, making out with her and dancing on the bar. There’s no better way to display my new-found female dominance than by towering over my male subordinates while performing a spontaneous and seductive dance. I am woman, watch me chug.

With swelling pride, I gladly attend these celebratory nights. For the first time, I know there are no ulterior motives to these events. We women are in the spotlight. And to all those men who come to our night (and there are so many of you, sometimes even out numbering us), I want to thank you for recognizing our worth. I can see the sparkle in your eyes and read the zeal in your faces – reflections of your appreciation. Even offering to chauffeur me home after the open bar; it shows that you aren’t afraid to take up the less appealing position of caregiver, a position that in the past has only been ours. That alone is enough to make me forgive and forget the centuries of being made to feel inferior. Now we’re finally equals.

Sugar and Spice and Everything Your Mother Has Nightmares About...

By Unknown on 9:59 AM

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Last time, we took a look at the scary dating prospects facing single women. Lest we forget, dating is a two-way street. Guys are faced with a similiarly dysfunctional crop of potential partners, some of whom are no more than tit-laden cock holsters and others that could induce impotence with a mere glance. Let's meet the ladies...

Age 36, Elementary School Teacher

You are bound to meet at least one teacher in the dating arena; they are beginning to outnumber illegal immigrants. It may be tempting to play out your dirty fantasy involving a hot teacher you had in high school, but resist the urge. This girl is probably willing to take it up the tailpipe and she’ll pretend to like everything you enjoy, like football or imported beer. But she’s just trying to lull you into submission. She’ll wear down your guard with crotchless panties and chocolate-flavored Anal-Ease, but once you’ve seen her naked, the casual dating phase is over. Her biological clock is pounding, she’s going Corky-Thatcher about turning 40 soon, and she’ll try to condense a three-year relationship into six months. After your third date, you’ve got tampons in your bathroom and holes in your condoms. Everything revolves around kids and her fairytale wedding. There’s no changing her mind, so don’t even bother. She won’t rest until there are five little snot-factories crying non-stop and shitting themselves like they breathe Ex-Lax. And you’ll be paying for them. You think she can afford to support her litter of brats on a teacher’s salary? Unless you’ve had a vasectomy or are an illegal immigrant in need of a green card, don’t risk a date with this one.

Jenn (yes, with two n’s)
Age 28, Hairdresser/Esthetician/Part-Time Student

One look at this girl and you’d be embarrassed to stand up in front of your grandmother. She’s drop-dead gorgeous, on the cutting edge of semi-slutty fashion, and—since it’s her job—is probably as well-groomed pubicly speaking, as the green at Pebble Beach. Nevermind the fact that she’s on her fourth community college in three years (pursuing her teaching degree, ironically) or that she can quote lines from Legally Blonde. Nope, you overlook all the obvious warning signs as Sergeant Schlong orders his 3rd Sperm Battalion to march north and occupy your brain, forcing Commander Commonsense to surrender.

It’s not until you’re spending your weekends watching marathons of "Gossip Girls" in her studio apartment with her Golden Retriever, Puddles, that you realize you’re dating a completely vapid and totally useless collection of molecules, held together by low-rise jeans, hair dye, and 7 coats of mascara. By then, it’s too late. You’re doomed to spend your days discussing how she had to de-fur a fat Greek woman at work, or which sunless tanning product gives her the “most natural” orange hue. Enjoy that, Chief. Your best bet is to learn how to ejaculate from forehead stimulation, become one of her clients, and wear two pairs of boxers when you go for a haircut. You may think this is tantamount to prostitution, but you’re wrong. Hookers charge extra for a shampooing.

Age 23, Administrative Assistant

This recent graduate sports an impressive resume and a spectacular rack. Her librarian-like glasses are the stuff of fantasy and your dirty mind runs wild at the thought of banging her in her office’s conference room. You love the fact that she enjoys drinking as much as you do and still has that college frat-party mentality. She has a hot roommate and you’re pretty sure that they’ve shared intimate moments of sweet love during their frequent blackout-level binge drinking. You have wild sex at least twice a day and she usually passes out without any post-sex small talk. Everything seems fantastic. You’re happier than a pedophile at Chucky Cheese. However, when you discover her MySpace profile and see that she has 1893 friends (and by “friends”, I mean shirtless guys flexing) who leave comments like, “Hey hun, luv the new pix. When u gonna come up again? That night wuz awesome” you realize the ugly truth. Your girlfriend is a complete whore. She’s had more semen on her than a fleet of aircraft carriers. In college, she was voted “Most Likely to be Gang-Banged Publicly”—an award that she still has in sorority scrapbook. Continue to date her and you’ll inevitably find out that the star of your little brother's favorite amateur porn video,  "XXX_Sexy_hot_webcam_amateur_college_drunk_teen_sorority_slut_bangs_guy_in_bathroom.mpeg” is actually her. And she's the one who gave your brother his copy.

Age 27, Marketing Associate

At first, she’s the Mercedes-Benz of single women. Sophisticated and sexy, she has class dripping out her ass. You’re actually a little intimidated by how focused and organized she seems to be. It’s probably that intimidation that makes her so attractive that you become immediately infatuated, even overlooking her full cheeks and thighs—a definite sign that she may pork up once she becomes “comfortable” in a relationship. Against your better judgment—and aside from your friends’ photoshopped images of her head on Ricki Lake’s body—you actively pursue a full-blown relationship. You poor, stupid fuck. Unlike Jay-Z, you now have 99 problems and the bitch IS one.

I feel bad for you, Son. You forgot to ask the one question every girl asks a potential mate, but every guy seems to overlook: you never asked about her last relationship. If you had, you would have discovered that her fiancé just broke off the engagement and moved to Hotlanta to pursue his dream of starting a record label. Under her cool and composed exterior, this caterpillar will emerge from her cocoon as a shark with a gun for a mouth. She’s so mad at men that she can’t even look at her father, but she has to prove to herself that she’s still the stuff of wet dreams. She won’t be ready for a relationship for at least a year, and you’re way too early on the rebound to reap any of the “re-discovering promiscuous sex phase” benefits. Too bad her little excursion into ego restoration comes at the expense of your pride.

I hope you can write off all those expensive dinners as “business expenses.”

A Few Bad Men...
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Watch any of MTV’s craptacular shitcoms and you’ll see that it’s no wonder so many single women constantly complain there are no good men left. One gander at the boner-toting, Crisco-haired losers on "The Jersey Shore" is enough to send any sane woman screaming towards the waiting arms of Ellen and her army of G.I. Joe lesbians. Considering the alternatives, you can hardly blame them. But for those who decide take a dip in the urine-filled dating pool, meet a few of America’s most eligible (and typical) bachelors, all of whom are more than willing to pay for dinner if it comes with a ticket to third base...

Bachelor #1
Brent, 28 years old
Strategic Investment Management Assistance Associate

Ladies, don’t be fooled by the long, seemingly important job title or the fact that he works at one of those big-name investment companies. He’s really just a sniveling turd, who sucks off his six managers and does all of the bullshit busy-work for the real breadwinners at the firm. Because of this, he’ll take any opportunity in his personal life to exert authority and push around people he feels are less important. He’s the type of guy that will call you a filthy whore in bed, slap you in the face with his cock and finish in your eye. He’d probably secretly film it too, jerking off to it a few times before putting it on the internet for all his buddies to see (Thanks, dude. But more flattering lighting next time, mkay?). And that business degree from Yale that he’ll mention seven times isn’t working out as planned. As soon as his parents kick him out of the guesthouse, he won’t be able to afford the Nacho Station at 7-11, let alone a romantic dinner. Steer clear of this guy. If he shows up on your blind date, fake menstrual cramps and tell him you have four kids. Then go home, change the batteries in your vibrator and thank Christ that you didn’t let him dry-hump you in his Acura.

Bachelor #2
Slade, 27 years old
Retail Manager/Bartender/Model/Actor

No matter what advice you’re given, you’re going to continue dating this guy as long as he’s interested. Because you’re stupid and horny. Just like him. His Abercrombie appearance renders everything else temporarily unimportant. You view his four jobs as a sign of motivation, even though his “acting” experience consists of pretending to be straight for the past 27 years. He’ll take more time to get ready than you and his lack of female friends will always have you wondering if he ever rode the Meatpole Express to Starfishville. You’ll probably have sex with him a few times before realizing that you’re tired of talking about moisturizer, tanning, and hair removal with someone that doesn’t have a vagina. And his lack of any body hair makes you feel like you’re fucking an infant dolphin. Three months later, you’re still single, more disenchanted and slightly less of a virgin. Do yourself a favor and pass on this guy, despite the temptation. Instead, strap a dildo onto a mannequin and go nuts. You’ll get the same effect without the headaches or obsessive requests to shave his back.

Bachelor #3
J.T., 35 years old
Construction/Snow Removal

It’s easy to fall prey to this hard-working, blue-collar, red-blooded regular Joe. With all the metrosexuals prancing around, his permanent five o’clock shadow, calloused hands and wardrobe devoid of pink shirts are all welcome changes. He’s totally different from your ex-boyfriend, and his huge arms and shoulders remind you of a quarterback from the rival high school’s football team. And they should. Because he was. And he hasn’t changed at all. Run hard and run fast. There’s a reason you stopped giving him handjobs in his parent’s station wagon. You weren’t amused when he farted the chorus of “Paradise City” back then, and it hasn’t gotten any funnier or better-smelling now. He still thinks a fun Friday night consists of picking up a case of Bud (or MGD if it’s payday), playing video games, getting in fights at the pool hall and then banging you for a few minutes before passing out mid-thrust. Date this guy and you risk ending up on an episode of "Cops". The only way out is to act like a bitch at dinner. Talk about money constantly, text message your girlfriends, order the most expensive item on the menu, and when the check comes, slide it to him right away. When you go home, turn on "Cheaters", pour Wild Turkey on yourself, and pass out with a hot dog inside you. What? Doesn’t sound like fun? Then you made the right decision passing on Captain Flannel.

Bachelor #4
Chris (a.k.a. C-Smooth), 24 years old

When a guy refers to himself by his nickname (which sounds like it’s better suited for a rapper), carries his own pool cue, and has sneakers that are whiter than a Klan rally, there’s a good chance he’ll spend much of the night trying to get you into his souped-up, import car with more Chinese lettering than a carton of Wonton soup. He may try to con you with promises of a “dope system, B” or some “bomb-ass trees,” but don’t fall for it. The reason he’s not trying to take you home is because “home” is an apartment he shares with a cousin or homeboy in a seedy section of town, close to the local community college where he’s only a sophomore. If you can tolerate the conversation about his ill-fated rap career or his plans to start his own production company when he graduates, you deserve everything that’s coming to you. In fact, you should probably just take C-Smooth’s bong and smash yourself in the head with it until you’ve forgotten everything you’ve learned in every English class you’ve ever attended. Then you can head straight for the mall and pick up a second job, because you’ll need more money to afford all the silver chains and throw-back jerseys that are required to keep MC GrammarCheck from sticking his “mic” in everything with teased bangs and dark lip liner.

So there you have it: a condensed look at every single guy in America. You know what? You’re probably right. There AREN’T any good guys out there. You should probably go get drunk off Apple-tinis and make out with your best friend while her husband films it. And then plays it every Sunday at halftime. There may not be a lot of good guys left, but there are a lot of jerkoffs that are taken. Take comfort in that.

You're welcome.

Lick THIS, United States Post Office!

By Unknown on 11:53 AM

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Can you think of anything that requires the use of bodily fluids to function? Sure, there's Blondgirl McGlittertits, a hybrid human who runs on cocaine and semen, but I'm talking about something we use every day that needs liquid produced by our bodies to work.

Why, in a time when we can see the textured glisten of a fresh turd in digital clarity while a tranny greedily gulps it down; and watch an entire season of "Perfect Strangers" in a single sitting, are we still using saliva to adhere a stamp to an envelope?

You don't have to pick your nose and rub it all over your tax returns (and believe me, it doesn't make the IRS want to audit you any less). You don't take a dump on your license renewal form. The United States Post Office is the only government agency that relies on spit to function.

Sure, you can get those fancy new sticker stamps, but only if you buy stamps by the gross. And I don't know anyone so in love with their prison pen pal to go through that many stamps. For most of us, it's buy a stamp at the post office for the one thing we're there to mail. Then you put your coins in the machine and pull out a lickable document that will get your minimum credit card payment to Omaha by Thursday.

Envelopes aren't getting off the hook either. They've got to have a lick to work, and that's just medieval. Some envelope companies have come out with the peel-off adhesive areas. Genius. Why is this still the exception and not the rule?????

Pick out a greeting card, any of them: "Sorry I Touched You There, Nephew,"
"Congratulations On Your Retirement - Religious," "Happy Birthday, Butcher," it doesn't matter, chances are, your good intentions will be accompanied by an envelope you slobbered all over......

Moisture-activated adhesive was invented in 367 B.C. by the Chinese. Granted, the adhesive was saliva itself. Still, it should have been replaced by a superior invention centuries ago. Or, if it's so perfect, why not use it everywhere. Instead of Post-it notes, walls should be finished with lickable adhesive. Then we could lick the wall and slap a normal piece of paper up there to remind ourselves to throw out our Post-it notes.

Decades ago, when people took the time and effort to dream up a slick future scenario for a novel or film, information delivery was window dressing. "Of course licking stamps and envelopes will be obsolete by 1984", writers assumed. Even in crappy 60s sci-fi, in which robots looked like water heaters, mail was delivered via a system of "futuristic" vacuum tubes. The banks caught on, while the USPS is still relying on us for a tonguing. It's just stupid.

Sure, bodily fluids comes in handy for many personal uses that may never have been intended – spit works for spot grooming, shoe shining, light torture (a la the saliva yo-yo) and urine is good for extinguishing small fires, arctic calligraphy and hot sex - but the parcel industry needs our secretions??? I submit no - it does not.

When are we going to wake up and scream, "I'm done frenching my mail!"

Only then will we, as a society, be able to go about our bill paying, credit card applying, thank you note sending lives with a shred of dignity. Take a stand.

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