Tuesday, May 31, 2016

Question: Blanket Fort or Tree Fort?

Let's do a proper comparison. (Just tried to put a 'k' at the beginning of that word, to try to start a thing, but autocorrect killed it and I'm too lazy to go type it again.)


Bugs: Way more bugs in a Tree Fort. Blanket Fort takes this one.
Climbing: Way more climbing in a Tree Fort. Blanket Fort takes this one.
I'm Afraid of Heights: Blanket Fort
Coziness: Unless you set a risky fire in your tree, a Tree Fort will never be as cozy. Blanket Fort.
Access to Fridge and Television: Blanket Fort.
Time to Construct: Tree Fort - weeks if you ever finish. Maybe even months or years. Blanket Fort - eleven to twenty-three minutes. Blanket Fort.
Feeling Like a Kid: You could definitely feel like a kid in a tree house in theory, but as an adult, the inconveniences makes it feel more like camping somewhere where you have to make a perilous descent just to wizzle. Blanket Forts make you feel like a goofy bastard immediately. Blanket Fort. (You could wizzle off the side of the Tree Fort, which would be fun, but you couldn't drop a twosy this way. It wouldn't be proper.)
Nookie: You're likely to get some in either arena, but more likely where there's a proper roof, door, pillows and blankets. Blanket Fort.
Woodiness?: Just trying to come up with something that the Tree Fort can win for consolation, but man, in my living room there's a wooden coffee table, wooden TV stand, I think maybe even the house is made out of wood. Let's call it a draw.


Short Answer: For lifting your childlike spirit in a fast and convenient manner, Blanket Fort is the clear choice.

Monday, May 30, 2016

Question: No AKA today?

You impatient motherfuckers.


I think I've been consistently inconsistent in terms of when I post over the last few months, from late nights to early afternoons, so I'm not sure where this is coming from. Maybe it was just a question for the sake of writing a question.


Hard to spin this one into anything other than answering whether or not there's going to be a post today. Which is funny, because just addressing the question means there is one. So, based on the principle that I answer every question that gets asked of me, the answer to this question, on whatever day I'd answered it, would always have been, "Yes. There is a post today." Though that would've been unnecessary, because the answer to this question is the post.


With me?


This morning I slept in and then made a poop, not knowing I was on the clock. Had I known, I would have changed my behaviour not one iota.


I'm glad you came to your computer and thought, "Where the fuck is AKA? What the fuck am I doing with my life if I don't have this? Where else on the internet can I possibly go for this level of entertainment? My life is in shambles without you!" Scary accurate, right?


If you're ever scared, just go read one of my other near-2000 posts. Trust me, you don't remember them all. I don't, and I wrote every fucking one of them.


Short Answer: By the way, it's 11:34 my time. This doesn't seem exceptionally late to me. Don't I average somewhere between 9 and 10:30? You people are animals.


Note: In May of this year, my average post time has been 11:13 AM. Yea, that's right. I did the math! (To be fair, I have been posting later on average as of late. I hurt my groin and haven't been playing hockey, so my sleep schedule got more stay up/wake up late-y.)

Sunday, May 29, 2016

Question: Sunday freeday.

I have a few questions.


Why is everyone so fragile? I find that I can't be as honest as I want to be with the people around me for fear they'll break. Why can't we all be stronger and less afraid? Why aren't we all able to speak our minds, be ourselves, without fear that someone will be offended and attempt to hurt us in return?


I want to be myself. I want to be honest, communicate clearly and resolve issues. Instead, I pull back, afraid to hurt someone or inconvenience them. This is becoming more and more prevalent in my life. And when someone does something inappropriate to me, I don't call them on it. I let it happen, which creates a negative pattern, even allowing bad habits to form.


When did I lose my nerve? Have I become so sensitive? How did this happen?


It's like a new world is being formed around me. Where once I was the upfront, honest person who never let resentments form, now I feel myself sliding into the pit of second-guessing, into the dark depths of doubt. At first, I took this upon myself, claiming I was being a bigger man by letting some issues go. But the issues fester. The sensitivity of others is growing like a boil on my flesh. I'm afraid it will break and spread its evil.


I get that we're all afraid. I see that most everyone is so concerned with themselves that they don't see what's going on in other people. I don't know where I rank on the scale, but I often find myself seeing the bad behaviour of others, understanding their motivations, and being disgusted. I see it in myself as well, but when it's my own behaviour I address it. I accept it, I admit it and I try to do better. I'm not sure other people are the same. I know some are. I hope many more are. I'm beginning to get the feeling that most are not.


I've always believed that honesty is the key to happiness. I tried for a long time to set an example of truthfulness in everything I do. I'm finding more and more that not saying what should be said is a form of lying. Holding back truths, be they real or emotional, is a minefield of misinterpretation, a trap that leads to hurt where none need exist.


Practising what I preach has become difficult. I let things slide all the time and bear the emotional brunt. I fear for my relationships because of this. I fear for my own well-being. I feel a desire to avoid the world and all its terrors. I know I can be honest with myself. At least in that relationship, there is no lack of clarity, no ability to misguide.


Short Answer: I think at this point, if I was completely honest with everyone around me, they'd turn to ash and be blown away by the wind of my passing.



Saturday, May 28, 2016

Question: Holiday that shouldn't be a holiday?

Fucking all of them?


Don't get me wrong (like up the tooter). I don't mean people shouldn't have holidays. I think people should have all the holidays. Four, five, eight weeks, all the weeks, all the time.


But as for having a reason to take a holiday, they're all total bullshit. Jesus wasn't born on Christmas. St. Valentine didn't give a fuck if he got laid or not. No one kisses Irishmen ever. You get what I'm saying.


Think of it this way, just taking the above examples. If every religion got a born-on date holiday and every Saint got a day and every Nationality got a day, there'd be a holiday every fucking day. So it's all as arbitrary as who got to the port-o-potty first. That doesn't make sense, you might say. Well, peeing and pooping right next to pee and poop doesn't make much sense either.


Short Answer: People should work less, period. But holidays are more fun when they're specific. Christmas and Easter and shit are great because we know what we do: get presents and eat fucking chocolate. That's why you think all the fake, made-up hashtaggy holidays like InternationalLoveYourNeighborDay are stupid. But you're not taking into account the awesome ones like SendaNudeDay and NakedGardeningDay and SteakandaBlowjobDay. All that shit should be mandatory.

Friday, May 27, 2016

Question: Lately I've been feeling tired. Could you give me some recommendations on how to get some spunk back in my life?

You mean pep not semen, I assume. Plenty of ways to get semen back in your life.


I guess the first recommendation would be to sleep more. Though if you needed to go to the internet to know that more sleep equals less tired, you probably have a larger problem with the way your brain works. I can't help you with that because you most likely see only shapes and colors.


Fatigue is a fat, fuckin' bitch, and almost isn't funny at all, unlike a real life fat, fuckin' bitch like Roseanne. Not sleeping enough affects everything. You're cognitive skills as well as your genital function, two of the most important things to being a happy person. In fact, I'd say understanding the world around you though an alert template, knocking the fuggin' booty, and getting lots of sleep are the three most important things in life. Maybe a fourth would be drinking plenty of fluids. Fifth would be laughing. Sixth would be hitting that ass again, or hitting your own ass, I guess. Just making sure your ass has been hit on a regular basis.


If none of these things work, go to the doctor and fuck him.


Short Answer: Seriously, don't struggle through life being tired. See a medical professional and get drugs. I suggest the ones that make you not give a fuuucuucckkkckk...

Thursday, May 26, 2016

Question: When I need your wife to move, I just say: "Go, Dog, Go."

Seuuussssss! You motherfucker!


Don't you have anything better to do? You're dead! Beyond the grave! Six feet under! Is heaven so boring that you need to prod me on my earthly blog like some loser? Why can't you enjoy your halo and your wings and your all-day brunch?


Oh. Oh wait. Is it...could it be...are you in Hell?


Ba-haa-hahaa-haaa! Fuck you, Dr. Seuss!


That's what it is. That's why you only pop your head up every few months. It's probably the only break you're getting from having live piranhas feast on your nutsack. I'm flattered that on re-growing days you take the time to come at me, but you'd be better served sitting in a tub of ice or something. Priorities, Seuss. Like the way I prioritise banging you daughter over washing my genitals. She's filthy anyway. What's she gonna care?


Short Answer: Never occurred to you, Faithful Reader, that you can have eggs benedict for supper in heaven? God's starting to sound pretty sweet, right?

Wednesday, May 25, 2016

Question: Who put the bomp in the bomp, bomp, bomp?

Whoever you are who periodically asks me these song title questions, keep it up. I dig it.


Cool little song by Barry Mann from 1961, asking who did all that weird doo-wop stuff back in the day and why.


I'm just going to skip right to the joke.


I put the ram in the rama lama ding your mom.


Big exhale. Feeling better. Couldn't focus. Had to get it out.


Now that I have, I don't really care to continue. I've had my fun.


Short Answer: If you sing the joke line, you have to jam 'your' and 'mom' together kinda quickly, which for me is what makes it so funny.

Tuesday, May 24, 2016

Question: Why don't you put a wiener in me?

I don't know why I thought of this immediately, but it feels a little bit like you're co-opting my use - and spelling - of the word wiener. Not all that many people use the word wiener, and fewer spell it this way. That's based on research I did just now in my head, for those who disagree.


Of all the times I've written the word wiener on this blog, I've probably been referring to an actual wiener - like the one you'd put in a hot dog bun - 0 to 1 percent of the time. So I'll just go ahead and assume this question is asking me to perform an act of penetration with my penis.


Unless of course you are using the word wiener in a derogatory sense, basically calling me a wiener and therefore the most likely candidate to be able to fill your womb with a baby wiener. If that's the case, I'd be willing to give it a try. I don't think I've ever had sex with the intention of impregnating someone, so it might be a laugh-riot. Am I supposed to touch your hair more? Less spitting?


The reason that I probably won't get to put a wiener in you, no matter what the exact meaning, is that my wife likes it when I keep my wiener to myself. She's not even much of a fan of having it near her, so good luck.


Short Answer: Proximity, or lack thereof.

Monday, May 23, 2016

Question: How about Rory Kinnear?

Rory Kinnear is an English actor and playwright who has most notably appeared in the more recent James Bond movies as 'British sounding helper guy' (Bill Tanner) and far more notably as Frankenstein's monster in the television show Penny Dreadful.


He's good. Royal Shakespeare dudes are always good.


Beyond that, there isn't much to say. Never had tea with the guy. Could be a total douche. Could be an awesome dude. He's the best thing in Penny Dreadful, I think, which is impressive because that show's full of good things.


How about Rory Calhoun, am I right?


Short Answer: When Lita Baron sued for divorce, she claimed that Rory Calhoun had 79 adulterous relationships! That dude got it wet!

Note: Just watched the most recent episode of Penny Dreadful. Almost positive it's the reason this question was asked, because Rory fucking killed it from front to back. Worthy of attention. Made me cry multiple times. 



Sunday, May 22, 2016

Question: Isn't it poetry time, you little bitch?

Gonna be honest. Saved this one for a few days until I was in the mood.


By the way, you are the bitch. You're a big bitch!




Holding onto whoring trends
like cattle calls, the grazing ends
like saddled wights, the hazing sends
the addled into warring bends


And while the cast is triggered cold
as heaving breaths record the bold
as weaving threads abhor the sold
the seething mast is jiggered old


Together we can make the day
if winds stay down, the settled clay
if hearts fray sound, the mottled stay
the mind aloft forsakes what may


Short Answer: War is Hindsight

Saturday, May 21, 2016

Question: Dude, where's your question today?

Yep. This is late. So late that people probably won't even see it. I guess it's an opportunity to be really racy.


I bet I could suck a dick. I just think I could handle it. Might not be my preferred activity, but I'm no wimp. I'd suck the hell out of that dick if I had to. I ain't no pussy!


Had the worst day. Paid too much to park and walk, too much to get into a place, too much for some food, too much for a lumberjack show. That's the thing about sucking a dick; you can probably get access to one for free. Better than the day I had.


I was going to take a day off work, but I feel so shitty about my day, that I figure I need to salvage something. So I'm doing this post. Turned out to be a bi-curious rant, and yet I feel better. Life's funny.


Short Answer: My timing is terrible. I had a lot of traffic going from the last two posts, which I've now totally murdered by not posting this morning. Why is everyone so fickle? I've been doing this for years but if I take a day off, I get boned. I took a week off last year and everyone but my mom stopped reading. (Just kidding. My mom doesn't read my blog. She doesn't like me enough. I don't get it. What's she going to read about her little boy that could possible be...right, right. Never mind.)

Friday, May 20, 2016

Question: Lots of people are accused of being Nazis these days. The left calls the right Nazis and the right calls the left Nazis... it's so confusing, are we all Nazis? If not... who are the real Nazis?

I won't be giving real Nazis any press, so that addresses your last question.


I just read something the other day, a tweet, where someone compared Justin Trudeau to Hitler by saying that Hitler never physically assaulted anyone the way Trudeau did in the el-boob incident.


In one way, I like that people are throwing stupid words at each other. It kills the power of those terms to do so. But not terms like Nazi and Hitler. Those words have historical connotations that we're supposed to learn from, and aren't supposed to be softened by idiotic use.


I could write for hours about how overly sensitive everybody seems to be, and more specifically, how everything has become political. Anything that ever happens is an opportunity to accuse the right or the left of being evil. A-ha! See! We told you! Hitler would never hurt anyone that way! Oh, he did what to how many million people? Who cares! Context is for smart people!


To answer another of your questions, we are not all Nazis. Just like one thing isn't really something else...On Steroids! These are just overused hyperbolic terms, nothing more, when used in this sort of (what's that word again?) context.


Now to reach to the heart of your question, we are all a bunch of dick bags looking for a way to feel superior to others, often for poor reasons like bumping our own self-esteem or making our tribe seem somehow better than another. This behaviour is as disgusting and slimy as it seems, make no mistake.


Another example. Blake Lively, the film actress and more importantly mother of Ryan Reynolds' super baby, was accused of appropriating black culture the other day because she quoted a line from 'Baby Got Back'. Wait, not even quoted, put it up with an Instagram photo.


This is the world we live in. Not only do people make a hobby of blowing things out of proportion, they mangle the ability of uneducated folks to see through to the real issue. It's pretty much a boy who cried wolf scenario. If you freak out about a white girl thinking she has a big butt, then what happens when you freak out about something worthy of people's attention?


At this point, we're all such bitches about everything that nothing matters. Everything's a scandal and the sky is falling every day. So who the fuck knows what's important?


Short Answer: Nazis did a lot worse than just being 'tough' on issues. They didn't just take away rights and freedoms. They took lives. There's probably some better, more accurate terminology we could use for when someone makes a joke you don't like, or has a different opinion, or is a fan of something, or is walking innocently down the street.

Thursday, May 19, 2016

Question: What's the worst band of all time?

I'm going to pretend this isn't easy by being conversational for a bit.


Obviously the worst band of all time is a band you've never heard of. It's three or four little shits in a basement or a garage, not knowing how to play their instruments and doing it all for the wrong reasons. They're co-opting culture and creating nothing, and they sound a little like a sheep with chronic neck pain.


So, as I am often forced to do on blog, I will interpret this question for the masses. In this case, you want me to say the name of a band you've heard of. If I say that the band next door to me is the worst ever, and I tell you their name is 'Donkey Dick' you'll be all like, 'Who's that?' or 'Nice name.'


The worst band of all time is Blink 182. Now if you're a fan, feel free to take a moment to be terribly offended before realizing that you're a huge piece of crap.


Lots of bands have had 'catchy' and nothing else, but these guys really take the shit-cake. Is that supposed to be punk music? There are some motherfuckers who roll in their graves when they hear the term 'pop-punk', so don't pull that oxymoronic ace from your badly designed tattoo-sleeve in response. This is music meant to sell music, with no soul, content or impact.


Don't get me wrong. Some things are for fun. If you listen to this band - or any - and you have fun while doing it, more power to you. Spread that love. But by all the criteria that one such as I must use to assess the merit of a thing - based on questions that include the assumption of critical analysis to justify concepts as lofty as 'good' and/or 'bad' - then I must hold to certain standards and say that a conversation applauding the value of Blink 182 is the social equivalent of a wet fart in a formal gown. That's, to be clear, a terribly off-putting noise followed by the spread of fecal stains on an expensive fabric.


Somehow, their music manages to co-opt popularity itself. It's a flavor, an ad, a concept. It is not melody, rhythm and soul. It is vacuous and it sounds about as challenging, important or subversive as the speech given by the guy representing the Academy at the Academy Awards.


Short Answer: Again, like what you want. I never make fun of people for liking something. But if you're rolling over into the land of quality, of bests and worsts, then you have to be able to back up your argument. That's why Blink 182 is the worst band ever. How the fuck do you explain that they're good? And if you're asinine enough to try, just know that somewhere, every member of Rush is politely trying not to laugh at you.

Wednesday, May 18, 2016

Question: Do you ever get tired of answering questions?

Answered this one before:


http://askkeithanything.blogspot.ca/2014/12/question-arent-you-tired-of-questions.html


Do you know that I once called ejaculation a 'fist dump'?


Short Answer: I've also answered the question 'What's the most Robocop you've ever been?' The short answer was: 'Dead or alive, I'm coming with me.' This is my life. You get that, right?

Tuesday, May 17, 2016

Question: Can you tell us a joke?

What the fuck am I doing every day?


I guess you mean like, a joke joke. Like knock knock and shit.


Gimme a damn second to make one up you salivating monstrosities...


Okay.


Why was the swimmer going in circles?


Because of his stroke.


Short Answer: 'I am the man who will fight for your honor. I'll be the hero that you've been dreamin' of...'

Monday, May 16, 2016

Question: Who made a stinky?

As an adult, I believe I have every right to shit in my pants and then deny it when I'm caught.


"But it smells like shit," you might say.


Not my problem.


Short Answer: Your wife is a stinky.

Sunday, May 15, 2016

Question: If you were the bridge-guarding troll, what riddle would you pose to aspiring bridge-crossers?

"I'm furry and round and I can make people."


Short Answer: A testicle. You may pass. Just kidding, those bones look grind-able and I need bread. (cudgel attack)

Saturday, May 14, 2016

Question: Do you ever wonder about your sexuality?

There was a time when I was confused about where I like to put my willy. The cure for this was to insert willy fucking everywhere. Now I'm not confused at all, just perpetually chafed.


Luckily, we live in a time when we can be rather open about what we're into. There was a time when being confused about your sexuality meant conform or death sentence. At least conformity is broader now, and death sentences have been reduced to hate-speech.


Long way to go, still, but we're moving forward.


I think I only wonder about my sexuality when I have to decide if I want to eat pizza and then have sex, or have sex and then eat pizza. That's a tough one. I might be pie-sexual.


Short Answer: Nailed it.

Friday, May 13, 2016

Question: Can you tell me a little bit about good sex?

I can tell you a little bit. No, wait, I can tell you a good-sized chunk about sex. Uggh. I just failed at that joke because I referred to my wang as a 'good-sized chunk'. That's how you describe how much foreign material is in your stool.


Let's start over. Good sex is what happens when I blow a load and no one hits me. That's a better joke.


Good sex, I suppose, can be many things. A lengthy romp in the sac with nowhere else to be and all kinds of fun stuff. But personally, I think good sex is when both people have an orgasm. For some, this is a common occurrence. For others, it is not.


If you can't figure out how to finish yourself or your partner off, there are other places you should go for advice. I recommend 'useyourstupidmouthyoustupididiot.org'.


If you're in the orgasm no problem line, then I guess good sex is when you have a simultaneous orgasm, so that you're both yelling at god, pounding your feet and high-fiving at about the same time. This is achieved in my experience by these factors:


A female partner that comes easily when she senses that you're about to.


That's it. I'm a dude, so making me come is as hard as making me cry at one of those videos of someone being reunited with their dog. It's much more of a challenge to line up the timing of the lady-finish. It can be difficult; not all dudes can hold on until the right moment, and not all of us are lucky enough to have a wife who responds so quickly to their impending shazamining.


Sadly, I'm one of the lucky ones, so I don't have a lot left to say other than this: Who gives a shit? Do lots of stuff and don't be a selfish fucker, and you'll both be happy in the end. (If in the end made you think of in the butt, I like you.)


Short Answer: Put the stiff parts near the wet parts.

Thursday, May 12, 2016

Question: I'm here to take you to task. Recently, you've dodged poetry requests, top ten requests and barely showed up for a Jusin Bieber question. Get off your ass and entertain us, will you?

Let me explain what it's like for me to do this every day.


I just read that George Zimmerman tried to sell the gun he used to kill Trayvon Martin on an auction site. Then I read someone defending his right to do this by citing how many old guns must have killed people.


This is the sort of thing that affects my mood. Sure, my bad for logging into Facebook first, but it's my routine as of now. Maybe it shouldn't be.


Between off-putting shit like that, and whatever Trump did, and all the other horrible things, like the fact that the Surales Mounds are most likely worm poop (that one's actually funny), sometimes by the time this blog comes around, I'm already exhausted.


Is it possible to hate the world? I swear, nothing shrinks my sense of enthusiasm for no-holds barred humour like the rampant political correctness and thin skin movements that are dominating media, social included. Every moment spent listening to people's opinion is quickly becoming a moment wasted, as they expose their pathetic motivations through typical, self-serving reactions. It doesn't make you a good person to condemn another. There's more to goodness than that.


As for your specific complaints, the Justin Bieber answer was funny and popular, so eat a dick. I wasn't in the mood to write a poem off the top of my head that day, so eat a dick. And sometimes top ten lists can take a really long time, and sometimes I'd rather be masturbating with the two toaster strudels I prepared specifically for that purpose, and they're getting cold on the kitchen counter.


If you're not entertained by the fact that asking me a question doesn't turn me into a helper monkey, obeying all instructions and wiping your ass, then you might want to be entertained elsewhere.


Short Answer: I can't get off my ass to entertain you. I do all of this from my ass. So there!

Wednesday, May 11, 2016

Question: What are the best things you've ever put in your mouth?

Clever girl.


Best Things I've Ever Put in My Mouth
(as opposed to things shoved in my mouth against my will)


10) Your mother's puss. It's super fuckin' salty, but I likes it.
9) Dr. Seuss's daughter's puss. Tastes like justice. Justice pudding.
8) My wife's puss. Tastes like rainbows, or whatever won't get me smacked in the mouth.
7) Just realized that having my wife's puss as low as eight is probably going to get me a smack in the mouth anyway. So I guess I'll try to belay that by saying my wife's butt is number seven. That should take care of it.
6) Pizza from Bufala.
5) That lady's penis in Thailand. It's not my fault that I like the taste of surprise.
4) Bubblicious Gum, Grape. That's self-explanatory. It's the smelliest gum.
3) Homemade dumplings. Freshly steamed. This is also about your mom. Boo-yag.
2) That time me and my friend Mark made bbg hamburgers with nacho chips in them and piled them high with every known topping. That time tasted good in my mouth.
1) Pepsi-Cola


Short Answer: As a fan of food and a maker of food, I could write an entire list of the best food I've ever eaten. But for a question like this, it wouldn't be fair. Some of these other answers supplied an amount of emotional satisfaction beyond the culinary world. The satisfaction, for example, of doing many terrible sex-stuffs to your mom's heinous areas.

Tuesday, May 10, 2016

Question: I've noticed you don't say much on Twitter anymore. What's up with that?

The Law of Diminishing Returns?


Yea, I've been a bit lazy about that as of late.


This whole social media thing is a bit difficult for me. I don't put much effort into spreading awareness about myself, and yet I'm mainly on Facebook and Twitter because of 'business'.


It's almost like if I try really hard to make my blog successful, and it doesn't work, then I'm a failure. But as long as I'm casual about its circulation, I can feel good about however it's doing.


Also, I have a conundrum. The career I pursue is that of a serious writer. On here, I'm clearly a humorist. I take all the privileges of a humorist, feeling that I can make fun of anything I want, so long as I make fun of everything without bias. But as a writer of fiction wanting to build a career, some of the jokes I make on this blog could be considered bad for business. Not because my intent isn't clear to anyone with a brain. I'm trying to make people laugh; it's not rocket surgery. But because we live in the Age of Offense, where those with the thinnest skin also erect the quickest soap boxes.


It sickens me to think that someone could take a joke of mine and claim that I'm some sort of bad person, and that it would in turn upset my writing career. I hope I never have to choose between these two sides, and yet I'm hesitant already, with only a modicum of success, to link the two worlds together. I'll put a poem on here once in a while, but that's about it.


I hope talking candidly about these things on occasion will help, though it could be just a trick to keep my fears at bay.


Short Answer: Sometimes I don't say things on Twitter because I imagine some asshole digging it up later, and making a mountain out of a stupid, innocent attempt at humor. On good days, my balls are large and I don't give a fuck. But the longer I spend dedicating the bulk of my time to fiction and poetry, the more this pulses in the back of my head. Hopefully I'll never be successful enough in either field for it to matter!


*Note: I'll try to do better. I still link my blog on Twitter every day. It's just frustrating. Despite being harsh, I don't make a racist joke, or a rape joke, or whatever is offensive tomorrow all that often, and yet I believe nothing's off the table if it helps us all laugh at how fucked up the world is. The problem is that what's safe to joke about today, is someone else's crusade tomorrow. So in a way, to me, everything's safe and at the same time everything's an inappropriate joke that's been told too soon. Not differentiating is the key to moving forward, and I'm working on it. Trying to be brave, despite the moronically inclined. See? That sounded PC. I'm learning!



Sunday, May 8, 2016

Question: I think it's been a while since you've written us a poem.

Call this a prose poem if you like, or just accept that I ignored this question because I have something else I want to talk about.


I just took a poop, and when I turned and looked at it, I involuntarily cried, "Woooaahhhh!" like I was trying to stop a horse from taking me over the lip of a canyon.


Short Answer: So. Much. Poop.

Saturday, May 7, 2016

Question: When you do short answers, are you just being lazy?

Who(m?)ever asked this question is a fucking cack. Are you talking about answers that are short, or the 'short answer' part of every single answer I ever give? How the fuck am I supposed to know what you mean? You have failed, sir! You have failed us all!


I guess I can safely assume, based on the fact that I always do a 'short answer' and it isn't necessarily short, that this question is referring to answers like yesterday's, where I wrote very little.


Yes. When I write short answers like yesterday's answer, I am just being lazy. Are you happy, Sherlock? You got to the heart of the matter, Henley? You found the...old stuff, Murder She Wrote?


I try to be funny, too. Sometimes I just read the question and a short, funny answer pops into my head. Sometimes I go with that. It's not a crime, so take your junior sleuthing elsewhere, Encyclopedia Brown!


Short Answer: If the question instead was referring to this segment, the answer is no. I often think harder about the short answer than I do about the question. Whether I'm trying to summarize, hit another joke, or actually deliver a shorter answer, it's far more challenging. Like pee-pee Jenga. Good luck wining without an erection, this situation and no other!

Thursday, May 5, 2016

Question: I need a name for my band. Any suggestions?

Hmmm.


I don't want to waste all my good band names on some shmuck. And if you're not a schmuck, surely some other schmuck will steal my ideas.


Puts me in a tough position.


I'll try to come up with some second-tier names. That should keep you confused and entertained.


Band Names:


Mustard Hat
Huzzah!
My Ankle Hurts
The Pony Boys
Tears in Rears
All the King's Men
Taco Tuesday
Pennywhistle
Data Traveller
The Comic Book Movies
Orko
Accolade
The I Love Yous
Town Criers
The Ear Plugs
Weevil Eater
Al Camino
Dennis and the Lost Shawls
Shelving
Me, Myself and the Drummer
Duck, Duck, Abuse
Foolscap
The Moon Rocks
Global Shawarming
3 Pieces of Pie
For Days
Twelve Dwarves
Going Boing
The Bookmarks
Habeas Corpse
The Also Rans
Ted Theodore Logan Solo Project
You're Gimbels


Short Answer: The Short Answers



Wednesday, May 4, 2016

Question: Why are you in the tub in that pic?

I'd like to pretend a couple of things.


First, that there are a whole series of pictures of me in the tub. There are tasteful ones, funny ones, and full dongers. But that's not the case.


Second, I wish there had been some master plan, that I'd designed that pic like it was for a book jacket, and I got the exact amount of bubbles and moroseness.


The truth, however, is that the shot is a candid. I was just doing my thing, making a sweet fucking bubble hat, and my wife (or girlfriend?) walked in and took the picture. Feels like it sums me up pretty good.


Short Answer: I remember thinking, back when I started this blog, that it would be funny to imagine that you were getting advice from someone who's currently sitting in the tub. That's how chill and knowledgeable the character is. He can answer you without having to break his relaxation, or get up to 'insert generic search engine' something. He just knows, and gives sage advice while soaking his tired, angry scrotum.

Tuesday, May 3, 2016

Question: Just heard about that football player getting in trouble for taking his wiener out. Don't you do that all the time?

Fucking sigh. I just read this story as well.


A high school kid showed his penis in a yearbook photo, and now he's being charged with 69 counts of indecent exposure (not a joke) and could have to register as a sex offender.


I can't believe it's left up to the me of this world to explain that a 19 year old kid taking his dick out of his pants for a stupid yearbook photo doesn't make him a sex offender. It was a prank, a dare, a joke. A bad decision? Sure. Judge him on decisions on all you want. But a court of law? For a kid being a kid? Ridiculous.


Also, it's not the yearbook staff's fault. I read a few responses to this situation and everyone had their heart and mind in the right place, understanding it was ridiculous to throw the book at this kid, but I also saw a recurring theme, and that was to cast a little blame at the people who should've stopped the picture from getting to print. That's dumb. Don't blame the yearbook editor for not seeing some guy's dick. It's the wiener-exposer's fault, one hundred percent.


Too bad common sense left the coup. This is over before it begins. Kid's already embarrassed and scared. Now's the time to let it go. Relief floods in, he knows to never do that shit again, and he can move on as a smarter person.


As for me, I don't take my wiener out all the time. I have my wiener out a lot, but that's different. I wouldn't just spring it on someone in public because I'd be afraid of getting arrested. People can't take a joke that doesn't involve the sunlight reaching one or two of my balls, how can I trust they'll laugh at my actual dick?


Short Answer: I really opened the door there for some tiny wiener jokes, didn't I? Have your fun, you monsters!

Monday, May 2, 2016

Question: What are the best parts of a hot dog?

I have no idea if this is supposed to be a funny question or not, but I like it a great deal. There's something about this that wreaks of somebody laughing at their laptop as they write it, getting a joke that only they're in on.


From what I can recall, hotdogs are pretty much made up of two parts. The bun and the wiener. Obviously, one can't exists without the other, not without being called something other than 'hot dog' so I don't think that's what this question is asking. I mean, the answer can't be 'bread is the best part'. That's dumb.


So I'm thinking there's something inside the hotdog that should be addressed. Like chicken lips or pork anus or beef nads. Hard to say which is the best, though, because they come together so perfectly to make a tasty, solid tube.


I'm going to go a little outside the bun, and talk about the experience of hot dog eating. You see, I really like to eat raw hot dogs. It's been a thing of mine since I was little. Apparently some can make you sick, and I don't care; that's how much I dig it. When I cook hotdogs, I like to put all kinds of shit on them, including onions and cheese. Sometimes I fry my hotdogs with bacon wrapped around them. But still, the raw dog is my favorite.


Raw dog. Ha.


Short Answer: Does a hot dog count as a sandwich? How do you like questions?!?

Sunday, May 1, 2016

Question: Would you rather be homeless for a year or in jail for a year?

I ran out of questions, so I just went to a random question generator.


The first one asked was 'Do you like to cook or get take out?' I thought, "This is fucking dumb" so I clicked the do it again button. That's where the homeless thing came from. Think I'll do a few.


Do you like to cook or get take out? This question is fucking stupid. I love to cook, but I also love to do nothing. So there you have it.


Would you rather be homeless for a year or in jail for a year? C'mon, seriously? In jail you get a bed, shelter, meals and all the sex you can handle. I'd much rather get drilled in the rump by a sexy biker than a rangy racoon.


Are you smarter than your parents? If you answer this question with anything other than a resounding 'Fuck Yeah!' then you've got serious self-esteem problems.


Are you a spender or a saver? This question is a cunt because it assumes money is part of your equation. Here's an equation: Me=Mc Go Fuck Yourself. That's also my rap name. Yeah, the entire thing.


What is your dream job? If I go by my most vivid dreams, it's fucking tonnes of broads and getting paid in dirty, real-life sheets. (Ugh. I just misspelled fucking in that sentence and my computer lost its mind because it's not allowed to know the word fucking, and then it couldn't figure out that all I'd done with the word broads was get the vowels backward.)


What is your favorite candy? Ass. I'm out.


Short Answer: What would you want your last words to be? This really came up when I clicked one last time. How appropriate. Last words? How about, "But I didn't order the poison-tipped arrow. And another thing, the service here is..."