Tuesday, August 25, 2015

Question? No! This is an alert, asshole!

Just letting you know that after many non-stop years of bloggery, I'll be taking a short break. Not long, just a week.


I'll be back writing about boobs and poop in seven days, so don't get your boobs in a poop.


Short Answer: You can keep asking me questions if you like. If you're sad and pathetic. If you can't find something else to do for a week. Losers.


Note: If I don't have any fans left when I return, I'll understand.

Question: I can't taste paprika! Is that a thing?

I think I know where you're coming from on this one.


First, let me instruct. There are many kinds of paprika - which is just a powder made from chili peppers - ranging in heat, sweetness and smokiness. To the layman, there are two popular varieties of paprika, commonly known as the Spanish and the Hungarian. Spanish paprika is often smoked, even called 'smoked paprika', and the Hungarian not so much. This is why some people, in my esteem, have wonderful paprika experiences and others do not, hence this idea that you think you can't taste it.


Example. I use smoked Spanish paprika in every fucking thing ever, because it's awesome. But Hungarian paprika is the one you might see on a devilled egg or the top of a potato salad, and in those states, it's not so easy to identify. But if you make, say, proper goulash, and put a shit ton in and let it cook for a while, you'll get the flavor.


This kind of gives Hungarian paprika a bad rap, though, and unfairly because it's widely considered the superior product. It just kinda depends on how deep you want to go. But if you're just going on what's available at your local supermarket, you're in a very shallow pool, and you might get some un-tasty stuff.


My suggestion would be to go to a speciality food's store and get a couple of better versions of each, and try those out. It will undoubtedly change your perspective.


Short Answer: 'Plain' paprika, or paprika that doesn't specify, is most often low-grade Hungarian paprika that's possibly been mixed with a lesser spice, taking away some of that bright, red pepper flavor. If you want to be sure you're getting something good, Spanish paprika is split into three categories and Hungarian into eight. If you see a tin that specifies the heatness and/or sweetness, you're probably getting a less generic product and will have better results.

Monday, August 24, 2015

Question: How do you know when the props are ready?

Maybe I've just learned to trust the prop master at this point. When the curtain goes up, I just assume that everything is in place.


I just realized that the way I'm answering this question is so generic, that you could replace any word with props and my answer still holds, because 'the curtain going up' is such a clichéd metaphor.


"How do you know when the waffles are ready?"


Maybe I've just learned to trust the waffle master at this point. Et cetera.


I guess it doesn't really hold up. Got to write waffle master, though.


Now what?


Short Answer: I had a prop master once that liked to give me back scratches. I think she wanted to scratch the underside of my penis with her tongue, but I'd only recently developed a taste for monogamy. Oh, Timing, how you hate blow jobs.

Sunday, August 23, 2015

Question: Who wrote the book of love?

Sherpas.


You think they don't have love in the mountains? What's wrong with you. You're the one who's cold.


Short Answer: I do like song title questions, I just I don't care much for this song. Thanks, The Monotones. You really fucked up.

Saturday, August 22, 2015

Question: Do you like clichés?

Is a horse blue?


I don't know any clichés.


I was going to stop there, but now that I think about it, I must like clichés. In writing - or specifically the rules of good writing style - you're not supposed to use them. Yet when you're in the flow of writing prose they have a tendency to come out. You're supposed to stomp them and create something better and more interesting.


I've gotten better about not using them over the years, but being forced on the spot to come up with something better is not always easy. The issue is that as a writer, you often want to be direct and clear to get your characters and story across as effectively as possible. The idea of not using clichés - phrases that are popular from overuse and therefore quite easy to understand - can seem counterintuitive.


Take simple ones like 'falling in line' or 'raising the bar'. You would get the meaning of those things, and yet I have to stop and think of something else, like 'they all followed his example' or 'that was going to change the expectations of the other competitors'. It's better writing, but it's not fun writing. And it's not any clearer.


Short Answer: Still, I must adhere to style guidelines if I'm ever to break the crystalline roof that separates me from my ultimate goal.


*Note: Here's a good spot for this. I often speak of style with people when they ask me about writing, and they nod like they understand, though they usually do not. Writing style is a specific thing that has nothing to do with style of any other sort. It's a bunch of rules to follow to make you better, not whether or not you like to use the word 'flagellator' a lot or that you're into gerunds. (In other words, it's not the equivalent of an interesting hat, it's more like: Don't use adverbs, asshole.)

Friday, August 21, 2015

Question: How much money does a person need?

If this question was asked by someone I know, you suck.


I hate money. This is not a joke. I'm disgusted by our entire society's pursuit of it.


And yet, to pretend you don't need it for carnivals and caviar would not only be ignoring subtle and effective alliteration, it would be condemning yourself to a life of cock-sucking for crack cocaine.


For those that don't need crack, you probably still need shelter and food. What a bother. You need enough money for both. That's pretty much it. If you want to live in a bubble without internet, phone, television, Netflix and hookers.


The funny thing about money is that you'll live to your means. I know from experience that when there's a little more money coming in, you do a few more things, eat out a few more times a month, feel okay about going to the dentist. This doesn't change your life in any drastic way.


I think we need a little less than we think we need. Often, a slow build toward monetary success can leave the simplicity of life behind, can cloud your idea of what you need compared to what you want. Hard to go back from that.


I've often wondered about the old celebrity asking to have certain M&M colors removed from the bowl adage. This would be ridiculous for a normal human. And yet if you'd gradually improved your life to that point, it might not seem so weird to ask someone to 'get rid of the brown ones'. (Who wants chocolate colored M&Ms? That's dumb.) It also might not seem weird, because you're waited on hand and foot on a regular basis, to then throw a giant tantrum when you see that brown one. Let me say it this way: once you can afford to pay someone to clean your house, cleaning your house starts to seem pretty disgusting. Money, privilege and ease alters us, and though you may sit back and say "I'll never throw a tantrum about M&Ms!" you could be wrong. You can't know how you'd act in that situation.


But I think it's safe to say that we can draw the line there. M&M tantrum equals more money than a person needs.


Short Answer: I need enough to be happy. That means a small amount of security, to alleviate stressful thoughts. About stupid shit like money, mainly.

Thursday, August 20, 2015

Question: the panel reads twice

Did someone stumble into my question form?


And why is there no other question that explains this? How high/drunk do you have to be to not realize you just sent a sentence fragment through space and time?


Also, this is a little terrifying. What if it is the whole message? What the fuck does it mean? Is this a threat? Was I foolish to think the panel would only read once? Who reads anything twice?


If I die in the next week or so, someone look into this. This is what got me.


Short Answer: Backing away from my blog, slowly.

Wednesday, August 19, 2015

Question: My wife says I've let myself go. What can I do to make it up to her?

First of all, your wife's a bit of a jerk. Who actually tells someone that? Doesn't she know to institute a devious regiment of turning you down for sex, not looking at you and minor insults that slowly build to outward disdain, resentment and disrespect?


If she's already telling you that you're basically a fat piece of shit, there's not a whole lot of ways to make it up to her, other than smoothing her transition to cheating on you with not a fat piece of shit by plugging your eyes and ears with chicken drumsticks.


I've noticed that in relationships, when one person lets himself/herself go, the other often accompanies or follows suit. So in a way, when you started shovelling lard into your gullet and you looked over at you wife and she was still preening a stick of broccoli with her thin teeth, you kinda fucked up. For it to get so out of hand that she feels the right to say that you've let yourself go means that their is now an insurmountable discrepancy in your weights.


Hopefully she fell in love with you for reasons other than your glistening abs. I'd try to emphasize that you're still smart, funny and great at telling stories to her orgasming snatch. (That felt like too much. A rare feeling for me.)


Win her back the way you won her in the first place.


Short Answer: Or start telling her she's been looking like a bit of a pudding lately, and see if you can lower her self-esteem to the point that she accepts your looks and hog once more.

Tuesday, August 18, 2015

Question: Was Jesus an alien?

I'll go ahead and assume you mean in the intergalactic sense, not like, was he without papers.


I don't think so. They would've beamed him out before the crucifixion, no? Plus, you gotta take into account that our hands and feet aren't all that bad for staking, but for an alien, that could be his junk.


Maybe you don't 'gotta' take that into account, but that would be extra funny. "Jesus is alien. Hands are genitals. Crucifixion somehow worse!"


Short Answer: His ideas weren't so radical that I feel he has to be from the stars. If he'd preached turning humans to gulack or something, then I'd be suspicious. "Wouldn't your life be better if you gave yourself over to the cosmic lords of eternity and let me turn your physical form to gulack? Wouldn't it? Gulack?"

Monday, August 17, 2015

Question: Do you like to dance?

Yes.


When I was young I danced a lot. Now, I dance for fun.


Just got totally caught up in trying to make a joke about my life, utilizing the plot of both Flashdance and Footloose. Then I got Saturday Night Fever stuck in there and lost my way.


It's alright. I'm not really Kevin Bacon, lady's man, looking for the fight of his life.


I dance funny for my own/other people's amusement, but you won't find me at Club De La Salsa. I also don't like meringue on my pie, either, if that means anything to ya.


I will also dance if I've won something. Technically it's gloating, but I think everyone has a good time.


Short Answer: Doesn't everyone like to dance? Isn't it just fear of embarrassment that keeps us from boogie-oogie-oogie-ing?



Sunday, August 16, 2015

Question: Is there such a thing as too much wine? I had a bottle tonight (to myself) and I'm thinking the answer is an emphatic 'no' but thought I'd check in with you just in cases. (Yup, cases was intentional. I'm ridonk good with the English when super drunky).

You can never have too much of anything in one sitting, unless you die from it. Too much in relation to things like wine, drugs and evil are to be measured on a much grander scale. Like, did you have a bottle of wine every day this week? Do you do many heroins per month?


You get the idea.


Drinking is really fucking stupid if you do it excessively for no good reason. If you drank a bottle of wine because that's what you wanted to do, so be it. But if you drank it because you're sad or because you were bored, that's the same as eating a whole cake. You've given up on life, and it's time to make some changes.


Short Answer: Measure your drinking problem just in cases.

Saturday, August 15, 2015

Question: How do doophus so do?

Sir, get down from that ledge. Oh, you're just standing on a mound of cocaine? Carry on.


Is this supposed to be doofus? Is this supposed to be Dr. Seuss?


Wait, wait, is this supposed to be...wait for it...Dr. Doofus!!!


I would read/watch/masturbate to/orally pleasure something called Dr. Doofus.


Short Answer: No one knows how do doophus so do. Not even me.

Friday, August 14, 2015

Question: How much do you love the idea of Trump winning the Republican presidential nomination?

I don't love that at all, because it indicates a level of stupidity that was heretofore incomprehensible.


It's funny that he's involved. It's even a little funny that he's leading. It won't be funny if he is given the right by an electorate to do anything at all important.


In one way, it will show how far the Republicans and their base have fallen, but don't we know that already? Do we really need that fresh-hell Popple up there to prove that Republicans have kept their voters in the dark, used questionable tactics to alter elections and sat in the laps of the rich and the religious?


Despite the fact that I have little respect for the modern false democracy, this sideshow would debase us all.


Short Answer: Trump's candidacy is a ridiculous joke, and I still have some faith in the American people. Should I? Ohhhh! Who gotta answer questions now, bitch!

Thursday, August 13, 2015

Question: You know that itch you just can't scratch?

I'm very flexible, so the answer is no, I don't. I can, however, theorize what it must be like.


Here goes.


I'm a fat piece of shit who eats too many Fudgee-Os and now I can't reach the slab of rolled dough between my tiny crowded anus and my hefty sack/vag lips.


Sound about right?


I'd suggest you do some crunches but you might shit on the floor.


Short Answer: Metaphorically, I despise not being able to scratch an itch. I want to deal with my problems immediately before they bloom and grow life-ruining fruit. That's why 'the silent treatment' is my least favorite invention of mankind.

Wednesday, August 12, 2015

Question: Why are the nights so long?

I'd like to think this is what Bob Seger was thinking about right before he wrote Night Moves.


I'm not sure about this question. Where I am right now it's the middle of summer, so the nights are short. You might be somewhere else, I suppose, but how long day/short day works is dumb and boring.


So are the nights long because you're alone? Is it that you ain't got much to lose with autumn closing in? No, shit, that's Night Moves again.


I've addressed how to deal with loneliness a million times on this blog, from get a dog to steal a person, so I'm not getting into it again. Have you tried the Nyquil that's just for sleeping?


One thing you can do to make your nights feel less long is watch a movie marathon. Pick a theme, like, "Movies Featuring a Bat, a Man, or a Batman" and watch those movies.


So we've covered drugging to keep your eyes closed and watching to keep your eyes open. That's pretty much it.


Short Answer: Maybe the nights are long because you're in one of those places that has no day! You might be in Alaska! Leave Alaska!

Tuesday, August 11, 2015

Question: What do you think that ancient D20 was used for?

For A&D?


Yea, I know that joke doesn't make sense. I stand by it.


FTNITK (I'm not going to explain what this means, this time. Figure it out.), they found an-old D20. A D20, for those not in the know (dammit), is what we in the modern world call a twenty-sided dice, used most commonly in Dungeons and Dragons in combination with your THACO. (I'm not going to explain what this means.)


All jokes about ancient Egyptians playing D&D aside, I found a few other things about this amusing. It's apparently from somewhere between 30 BC and 300 BC in the Ptolemaic era. So it is almost A.D.! Also, it's made from serpentine, which I thought was just the pattern you run in when you don't want to get shot.


The dice is covered in what looks like greek symbols (insert frat joke here) so I guess they'll role it to see whether this next bailout will work (insert fart joke here).


Short Answer: I guess all cultures need randomization.

Monday, August 10, 2015

Question: Can you explain the phrase "Well I never!"?

Usually used to indicate some level of surprise or indignation, specifically in the face of accusation, this phrase may be a shortened version of something along the lines of, 'Well, I never heard such a crazy fucking thing in my whole miserable fucking life.'


Things I Never Did


Well, I never did have sex with that goat despite the fact that my horse did in fact have an erect penis three times the size of my erect penis.


Well, I never did write a joke that included two different farm animals and a lost bet, until now that is.


Well, I never have gotten so subversive so quickly in a blog past that I fear I'll lose many of my handsome readers.


Well, I never have lied about people being handsome.


Well, I never was immune to forgetting the format of my own setup, like turning 'I never did' to 'I never have' to 'I never was'.


Well, I never did bail before.


Short Answer: Bail.

Sunday, August 9, 2015

Question: Mushy peas?

This isn't a thing in North America. There may be some British folk who've brought it here, but it's not something I've ever come across. And never with fish and chips. Not that I have a problem with it. (Where I come from we put chicken stuffing and gravy on our fries. No joke.)


On the east coast we do have a few interesting pea things of British origin, mainly pease pudding, which uses split yellow peas. You put them in a cheesecloth, hang them in a pot of boiling something, and they settle into a nice hard brick.


I've had mushy peas once, though I can't recall where. It obviously wasn't a memorable experience. I'm a huge lover of pea soup, so it's in my wheelhouse. Though the addition of a shit load of ham and ham juice might be the key factor there.


Not much to say about this. Stuff looks green as hell, which in most vegetables is a good thing. For me, mushy peas look so green - especially next to the muted tones of beige and brown in the fish and chips - that I fear they may have at some point become irradiated.


Short Answer: I've never spoken to a British human about this. I have no idea if it's beloved, or just considered to be that gross, green gack that they put on your plate as filler. It could be as coleslaw is to BBQ, or as pink ginger is to sushi. I'm in the dark.


Note: Apologies if this was in reference to a sex act, rather than the food. And yes, I'd give her the mushy peas.



Saturday, August 8, 2015

Question: What dog do you have in the fight?

I'm not sleeping. I'm awake. I'm doing my blog. To music that you can't hear.


Da-deeeeee, dum-dee-daa-daaaaaa.


By the way, the music is in my head, in case you thought I was listening to aloud music. I wasn't. I'm not. I'm tired.


Doop, doop, doop, dooooooo, daddle-dee, daddle dooo


More like what Mog do I have in the fight.


John Candy, bitch!


Wait, what fight? Is this a punafor? Is punafor a something? No, there's no pun. This is just an idiom with a question mark on the end. You know something, pal? You're an idiom with a question mark on the end. And so's your whore mother.


It was International Beer Day today. I had some.


Short Answer: Shoopy-doop deeeee! I've got a big old dog in this fight. If by dog you mean my penis and balls, and by fight you mean a half-eaten krispy creme donut...mothafuckaaaaa

Friday, August 7, 2015

Question: I'm having trouble finding 'the one'. Any tips?

Firstly, you need to talk to Morpheus.


Secondly, the 'any tips' part made me think of Robert Downey Jr. in Tropic Thunder. Good.


Seems to me like shotgun blast is the preferred method for losers...I mean single people these days. You got apps that swipe and clubs that serve drinks and lawn bowling. Get out there, get your courage on and be yourself.


And really do be yourself, please. No point being someone else, attracting the wrong person and getting many shades of bondaged to death. You'll be happier in the long run if you attract people that actually like you for being you, gross toenails and all.


Love, companionship and even friendship are risk/reward scenarios. You have to be vulnerable to build the sort of trust that is required to be happy with other humans. So be afraid, just don't let it stop you. All of the people you admire face their fears, one way or another.


Short Answer: It might be because you're super weird or fucking crazy. In these specific cases, don't be yourself. Get help from a doctor and learn to eat less cat feces.

Thursday, August 6, 2015

Wednesday, August 5, 2015

Question: Stephen Hawking tells you the world will end unless you bone either Neil Degrasse Tyson or Bill Nye. (It's some necessary time-chain-of-events-thing. Trust.) Who do you pick?

Sadly, this is easy.


I don't like Neil Degrasse Tyson. He's the clear choice as the more knowledgeable and respected scientist, but I've always had a slight problem with his manner. On Bill Maher, for example, he comes across as a bit pompous once in a while. Sometimes he even reminds me of the Republicans that come on and act like they're above it all. I know Mr. Tyson is actually right when he gives people shit about not believing in science, but it doesn't translate to likeability. If he was mean and funny, that might be great, but he's not funny. He's a massive nerd.


Bill Nye doesn't do it for me in any capacity. I never watched his show, but the few times I have seen him speak (like on Bill Maher) he seems to be a normal dude who cares about the world. I get frustration from him, but not arrogance.


Therefore I'd bone Bill Nye.


Short Answer: My only concern would be that with Tyson's big, black ass, it might be easier to pretend he's a woman, whereas with Nye I'm definitely fucking an old dude.

Tuesday, August 4, 2015

Question: What is it like in your head?

Well, that's a very difficult question to answer. Or would be for normal people without a kickass blog. (You know, there was a time when I thought writing a blog was lame. Good thing I changed that for the entire world.)


I think disparate might be the best word here. Everyone likes to think they're different. People believe their personal musical tastes are varied, they like to think they have original ideas, they convince themselves that their opinions are valid despite any evidence to the contrary. They say things like, "I'm a pretty good judge of character" and "To be honest" and "That offends me" and "Where's the beef?"


(I just wrote two paragraphs and erased them, something I never do, because I decided this question gave me free rein to talk about what it's like in my head. Those paragraphs were like a child writing an essay about the formal structure of essays.)


I'm going to try again. I'm going to stop being funny. (Yes, 'where's the beef?' was funny.) I'm going to actually try to explain how my brain works.


I process a lot of information. Everyone does, and yet I've always felt a little different than most. Now I'm not saying I'm an expert in processing said information. I just notice a lot coming in, from many angles at all times. Like the way someone describes being a psychic in the movies, but just with the regular senses. I live in a world of impatience because of this. I often know what's about to happen, and have to wait for it to unfold, and it annoys me. If I go into the world and talk with regular humans, I see their motivations too quickly, I know what they're trying to say, often even the words they're about to use.


I see many sides of every situation. Often this gives me empathy, but an equal amount of frustration is likely right there as well.


(Ugh, I feel like I'm losing this thread again. I wish I could give better examples. Here's one. Road rage. I rarely get mad at someone doing something in their car that's wrong, because I think, "This might be the worst thing that person has ever done in a car. This might be the worst day they ever had." And yet, after driving for a while, I get angry at cars and people in general, because of all the stupid little behaviours I've been compensating for.)


There are a lot of boobs in my head. Is that a better answer?


There are a lot of words in my head. I have very rarely in my life avoided a question (hence this blog). When someone asks me something, I may preface to explain I'm no expert, but I'll still use all the information I've absorbed to give my version of an educated opinion.


Confidence may be the issue, here. The thing that makes me believe I'm singular. I can doubt myself as well as the next cat, but for the most part everything I do, say, think and feel is coated with a layer of confidence. That I'm allowed to do it, qualified to say it, special enough to think it, and genuine enough to feel it. I believe that I am a person of value who speaks things that carry weight. I believe I have the right to be happy with myself.


Perhaps none of that sounds ground-breaking, but in my experience, people are not that confident. And that insecurity leads to strange behaviours. I smell those behaviours a mile away, predict the next course of action, and stand disappointed as I watch it all unfold.


Therefore, my head is a mass of ideas. They are not original in the sense that people think of originality. They are an amalgam of all the information I've ever processed. I can come up with an idea every quickly. I'm quick to make a judgement, even quicker to make a joke. My head is a lightning storm of possible responses to the most minor of stimuli, and I choose with great speed. Because of this, I'm often transparent from the outside. I don't take the time to control my face. My expression consistently gives away the truth of my emotions, and because of that I have great power to lighten or darken a room. I have to be careful of this and it makes my life infinitely more difficult, because I have no desire to make people sad.


I've mentioned before that I write this blog very quickly. Some of the funniest things you've read here have come out of thin air, delivered to me in such a way that a more foolish man might believe in the muses. Instant, instinctive things. This blog would not be what it is if I took the time to edit myself, the time to think things through. Because of that, I fear that I'll be misunderstood, and yet that fear does not impede me. It's just a constant companion.


Short Answer: My head is well-equipped to make people laugh, to entertain. I'm trying to point it in the right direction and remove the blinders.


Note: You probably wanted an answer like: "It's an all male garage orgy with gummy bear penises." Sorry to disappoint.



Monday, August 3, 2015

Question: What color should bowls be?

I read this like a British man at the turn of the century asking his butler an incomprehensible question.


What color should, Bowlsby? Tell me, my good man, before I die of incontinence!


I guess, ideally, bowls would be the color of the food that you're eating. Is that dumb? Should they just be white? I like blue. Why am I writing this blog?


Bowlsby! Get in here! Bowlsby, why am I writing this blog?


Bowlsby: Yes, well...


Speak up, Bowlsby! I don't pay you to ignore my demands!


Bowlsby: Sir, I believe you write this blog because of a sexual deficiency.


Go on.


Bowlsby: Something about the fact that your wiener, though spritely in nature, has never been of a satisfactory size.


Yes...


Bowlsby: This has made you act out in various ways, one of which is trying to impress people on the mechanical typewriter.


You're fired Bowlsby.


Bowlsby: Yes, sir. Am I still your lover?


Short Answer: Bowlsby!!!



Sunday, August 2, 2015

Question: I hear you don't like Jurassic World?

I did not like it. I thought it sucked giant dinosaur balls.
(Spoilers ahead.)


Jurassic World was boring and predictable with meager amounts of heavy-handed characterization. Then they have the balls to deliver the B-movie monster beats like they'd been making a crappier movie all along. Don't try to be good, don't pretend that you're an A-list movie when your script is pathetic and your characters are stereotypes.


The fact that a movie this bad (three separate times the walkie-talkies don't work so people conveniently can't communicate) is making this much money is a more worrisome trend than the fact that when I went to see Ant-Man at the theatres, there was only one non-3D showing a day.


Jurassic World's connection to Jurassic Park doesn't help either. Every time they give a nod to the predecessor, it reminds you how much better that movie was.


By the end, when our alpha male is so alpha that he out-alphas the fucking dinosaur, I was already so fucking out that I barely possessed the remaining will-to-live to manage a chuckle. Oh, and high heels for the entire movie?


I feel bad for Chris Pratt and Bryce Dallas Howard, here. They aren't bad. And they're trying ever so hard to be good. You just can't be good with characters that shitty. Take off your high-heels, dumbass.


Oh, and if the kids can fix a fucking car, you have to mention that before the very minute it comes up. It has to be in their back story. Here's the formula you employed: Character faces challenge. Character has exact knowledge how to overcome said challenge. That shit is awful.


I could go on for a while, but as with most movies that suck this bad, I have no desire - after my initial rant - to go over how many things are shitty. (For example - What did the dinosaur just do? Oh, it's part 'fill-in-the-blank' animal, so it can do that. I was waiting for the dinosaur to start singing a show tune, and then for the wasted Jake Johnson to say, "It must be part Barbara Streisand." That would've been better.)


Short Answer: This movie is not good, and I'm surprised and confused that it's trashing so many box office records. Next time you complain about a movie being bad, you can look back to this experience. If people support sub-par plots, characters and ideas (the place from the first one is open, now) you're going to get more shit in the theatres.


Note: One more thing. Why did they only have one bazooka, and why did the guy miss so terribly? And then, what the fuck killed the raptor that was staring down Chris Pratt. Like a fucking missile comes out of nowhere (all the dudes have already been shown getting claw-raped - which by the way, Why the fuck did they stick around once the raptors turned on them? - so who shot the fucking missile?) Ughhghgg.

Saturday, August 1, 2015

Question: It's both National Mustard Day and National Girlfriend day (on Saturday).

My instinct is that somehow it should then be National Girl Turd Day, but the spelling doesn't quite work out.


That's disappointing.


I do like the idea that my girlfriend will have no choice but spread something on my wiener.


Because there's no question or question mark on this, I can now do whatever the fuck I want.


Things That Should Have Days


10) Get Your Own Head Made Into A Chia Pet Day
9) The Jew-Fro Olympics
8) National Eat A Live Bee Day
7) Blowjob and a Blowjob From Your Sister Day
6) Second Christmas
5) Sabbath Bloody Sabbath Day
4) Get Your Own Genitals Made Into a Bobble Head Day
3) Nudity For Social Status (this could be a weekend thing)
2) International Convince America to Get Rid of Guns Day
1) Foods That Are Made of Other Foods Day (like pizza burgers, or burger pizzas)


Short Answer: My wife doesn't like National Girlfriend Day as much as I do. She didn't like National Sister Wives Day either at first, but now it's either anal or laundry, so...you know.