Friday, December 30, 2011

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^shout out to the third Google image result for the search "bro palace empire". Exactly how I pictured it.

Clearly this is a backhanded insult meant to attack the “bro” (aka young adult that hasn’t realized they’re out of college yet) lifestyle. But anytime you refer to anything related to me with the words “palace” or “empire”, I get all tingly inside and think I’m more legit than I am. Every time I go home now I feel like fucking Mufasa touching down on his kingdom. Looking at my kitchen like the Serengeti and my bathroom like the elephant graveyard that I tell my hypothetical lion child never to go to.

Personally, I’ve always connected the term “bro” to frat superstars, but that word has taken on a bit of a transformation over the year. The second half of this 2011 brought about the creation of “bruh”, the blacker, potentially more meaningful version of the word. No matter how you look at it these days, “bro/bruh” means your partner in crime, whether it be: chillin’, drinkin’, schemin’, video gamin’, fightin’, or anything else fun. As much as I hate the overuse of the word and the connotations that surround it, I support it whole heartedly.

Yes we have beer cans, whiskey, condiments, expired milk, a spatula, and clearly old 85% fat-free angus beef in our fridge. Sure our bathrooms have started to develop hazardous, impossible to clean film. Maybe our rooms aren’t filled with ironic framed pictures, plants, or matching bed dresses. But you know what? It’s who we are and to be happy, you have to own who you are.

I don’t know how to grocery shop, interior decorate, or use anything in the bathroom besides Scrubbing Bubbles, so there’s no point trying to learn now. #IMSINGLE #LADIES?
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What everyone’s thinking:
“Man, open bar from 10pm to 3am? I might not make it through this weekend.” Blah, blah, blah, shut up Dub. Stop acting like you’re the only one that’s going to be excessively drinking on New Year’s Eve. Also, PLEASE stop bringing up 2 years ago when you threw up on yourself, slept on the floor of Penn Station, and potentially cried. It’s getting repetitive and frankly, you’re not that cool. I blacked out too bro, you don’t see me writing 500 words about it. What you do last year? Oh you hung out with your now ex-girlfriend and sipped champagne while watching Dick Clark/Ryan Seacrest’s Rockin’ New Years Eve on NBC. Real cool man. Sick blog though.

In my defense, 5 hours of open bar is fucking excessive. These better be the most watered down drinks imaginable or people are going to literally drop like flies. I have a propensity (25 cent word) to get a little overzealous during open bars. I have a full belief that they are a scam where they promise unlimited drinks, but with only one bartender for 400 people, it’s going to be impossible to get drinks. That’s why I pregame open bars. In the unexpected event that it’s a legitimately run organization, I tend to black out real early and offend everyone. And listen, 2 years ago was a problem. Can’t really get your swerve on, or buy a train ticket for that matter with a distinct throw-up stain on your suit jacket and mangled tie. Last year wasn’t a terrible time. Girlfriend NYEs are the mid-range jumpers of celebrations. It’s frowned upon, not fancy, but in the end you’re getting buckets. Really unsure if that made sense, but it did to me.

Let’s talk the Midnight Scramble. 11:53pm has rolled around and people are getting painfully desperate. Eyes peering around like a hawk, people sizing up prey, and wondering if that 5 minutes of conversation at 10:12 warrants a dance-floor makeout when the ball drops. No one wants to be on the outside looking in at that point so you have to make moves. My recommendation, have reasonable conversation with a cute girl early in the night when apps are served to establish yourself as a non-threatening, dapper-as-fuck, knight in shining armor. 11:57 rolls by and she’ll find you because you knocked her smitten ass off her feet over an hour ago.

Just kidding, I truly have no idea what I’m talking about. The only “plays” on my Madden playcall screen are: “Hail Mary” Hail Mary” “Hail Mary.”

Thursday, December 29, 2011

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If you gave me a choice between a bag filled with $100 grand and this diamond encrusted toilet, you best believe I'm taking the toilet like 13 out of 100 times.

If this blog has some sort of direction (which I'm pretty sure it doesn't), it's following the pursuit of being as illogically baller as possible. There's no item that exists right now more illogical than a diamond encrusted toilet worth more than a luxury sedan. You can't even begin to understand how excited I'd be to use the bathroom with the light off because my iced out toilet is blinding my pee stream. The aura that surrounds you after you tell someone, "Umm, can you use the other bathroom? That one has a diamond toilet in it" must be truly special.

I tried to incorporate the Chappelle quote, "It makes your dookie twinkle" into this blog, but I just couldn't. I'm so upset that I didn't pull it off.

Wednesday, December 28, 2011

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We're automatically taking Leonardo out of the discussion because my man was the ultimate cheat code. Rockin' TWO metal swords while two of his brothers are using wood-based weapons like herbs. Splinter probably should have delegated one of those swords to someone else. Then again, I'm no sensei, so what do I know?
A lot of people look at Donatello and think he has a terrible weapon. Like he's going into battle with a branch that fell off a tree. Nuh uh. I'm fully positive he's rocking some bamboo-redwood concoction that may or may not be harder than metal. Plus he can hit people from like 10 feet away without fear of getting punched in the face. Lastly, he can deal non-lethal blows unlike Leonardo who simply has no choice but to slice people to death. No one likes blood on their shell.
Michelangelo doesn't have the best weapon, but they certainly aren't the worst. For some reason, when I see nun-chucks they give off the impression that they hurt really badly. Like they'd leave a serious bump on your head if you got womped with them. Can't be rolling to the bars with a cartoon sized lump on my dome. Respect Mike.
I don't know about you, but all I see are giant forks. Just outlandish cutlery with red fabric wrapped around them. My friend mentioned, "how come no one bled after Raphael stabbed them?" I never thought of that, but it's true. Not only does he have to attack people strictly at close range, but you're telling me that when he does attack, the biggest injury he can inflict is a cracked rib with a blunt dagger? I think this answers the question. You're not getting selected in "Ninja Turtle III: Turtles in Time" too often when you're making things happen with forks.
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Hear that sound? That's me sprinting down the street spitting aggressive game at every chick I see in hopes that one is dumb enough to Japanese McDonald's marry me.

Talk about gamechanger huh? You're telling me I can marry a woman, crush a double quarter-pounder, and crack some of the finest orange Hi-C bubbly all in the same place? It's almost too good to be true. AND you're telling me my wife can rock a not at all ridiculous red or white balloon gown too:

Start the proceedings and consider me engaged to a woman to be named later. Also consider my savings account empty, because I'm putting in my full payment today. Can't let such an amazing opportunity pass me by.

If I can somehow rock Grimace cuff links, I'm motherfucking getting married tomorrow. Japan is like 13 steps ahead of us in everything. First Playstations, now Happy Meal marriage.

Thanks MA-K.
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Call me an asshole, but I'm not the biggest fan of seeing 8 week old fetuses when I crack on the old Creepbook. I'm on there trying to get a full dose of strangely personal status updates, Mobile Upload mirror pics, and the occasional relationship status change. Not only are Facebook "I'm having a baby" albums wildly inappropriate, they're also gross as hell.

"Here's little _____ still covered in after-birth with Daddy"--these pictures and captions happen FAR too often. It pains me that I live in a world where right under some girl's "Bahamas Vacation" album there is a picture of a soft skulled newborn. I get it, having a baby is a wonderful time in a person's life, but there is a most definitely a time and a place. Namely not my Newsfeed. Give it a couple weeks, clean it up, put on some cute clothes, and maybe get it a stuffed animal. No need to give us closeups of the Midwife and your OBGYN, we don't give a fuck. We care about results. I need more Newsfeed pop-ups like this:

Little Dub J looking ambiguously gendered as a motherfucker. Definitely cute, but you definitely have no idea if I'm a dude or a chick. See everyone? Instead of turning away and throwing up because you're pretty sure someone "tagged" placenta in the picture, you can get all warm and fuzzy looking at fat baby me laying on what appears to be a cloud.

No more newborns on Facebook everyone, thanks.

Tuesday, December 27, 2011

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^this is the most unprofessional, unoriginal, uninspiring candy bar wrapper I've ever seen in my entire life.

What do I have against Almond Joy?! I honestly thought this was a joke after I berated the idea of an almond based candy on my Twitter (@WMsDiary). You heard correctly..almond based. I didn't know almonds still existed. Thought they all just picked a day and decided to stop growing. One of my coworkers asked if I wanted one this afternoon and I legitimately said, "They still make those?" with the most genuinely puzzled expression on my face. No one understood my confusion and I ended up looking like an asshole.

So where do I begin? For starters, that wrapper sucks. It's the most default design I've ever seen. No one took initiative and everyone wanted to get out at 5:00pm the day that shit was designed. Next, almonds. Almonds are the worst thing to ever be ingested by the human population. Throwing melted chocolate on top doesn't solve any problems. An ugly person in a mask is still an ugly person. I can't tell you how many "mixed nuts" packages were utterly ruined by the inclusion of like 3 unnecessary almonds. Everyone's content with some peanuts, cashews, walnuts, and even tough ass pistachios. Throw an almond in there and you might as well throw-up in the container. Even if I got smashed in the head with a crowbar and thought it was a good idea to purchase an Almond Joy, I'm pretty sure convenience stores don't even sell these anymore. I think you have to order them from the warehouse or some shit, which in itself is absolutely ridiculous. Shout out to my 70+ year old readers that are reading this with a scowl and an Almond Joy in hand. Have fun casually choking every 2 minutes because the molars can't quite crush almonds that well.

The real question should have been: "If presented with these two options, which do you take: 25 King-Size Almond Joy bars or a cyanide pill" That would have been a three word answer, "Cyanide pill please."

PS. I can fuck with coconut
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I was pretty upset when I first watched this, but I was LIVID when Eddy Curry made an appearance. I'm as much of an NBA player as Eddy Curry is.

Shane Battier. What the fuck are you doing bro? You're like 36 with a wife, some kids and a Duke education. There is absolutely no reason to dress like a frat bro with the double-rainbow collar pop. The days of roofie-ing freshmen is over when you have a 401k and a legitimate pension plan. I think the theme of this video was indirectly, "Think Of What People Hate The Most And Dress Like It." Lets run through this lineup: Mario Chalmers in the hipster shades trying to look esteemed even though he's from Alaska. Dexter Pittman is clearly a fake person. Eddy Curry is clearly 3 fake people in one real person. Mike Miller is one more strange hairstyle away from the Neighborhood Watch list. And the other assholes are irrelevant.

If the Miami Heat weren't the real-life version of the MonStars from Space Jam, I'd hate them so much right now. Sweaters, hipster glasses, denim jackets, and absolutely NO basketball screenshots/highlights was not on the syllabus for "Pregame Intros 101."
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In a word, Christmas break was fantastic. Spent it with some of the best people in the world and was shitfaced like 65% of the time. In what frazzled memory I have of the events, here are the 2 highlights that particularly stood out:

Drank Johnnie Walker Blue Label-
Straight up no reason for me to be drinking that. One second, I was chillin' at the table drunkenly writing lyrics for a soon-to-be awful rap song and the next I was taking shots of some of the finest scotch available. And there was cocktail shrimp littered all over the place for some reason. Here's the picture for proof:

Shit wasn't real life.

Check out this Motherfucker!-

Got this for Christmas and I still don't understand it. Thought it was a stress ball, but it's clearly not. It's just a goopy, gloppy mess of slime and that Gak shit they had on Nickelodeon. Still, I played with it literally all day. The added effect of the rats poking out from everywhere was even more gross. Other gifts might have been more flashy and some might be more useful, but it's not everyday you feel like a simple piece of goopy replica cheese can end your employment.

Hope all of your Christmas/Hanukkah/few days off was awesome, WMD is back with a mediocre vengeance.

Friday, December 23, 2011

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Is this the end of Facebook Friday? It might be the end of Facebook Friday. Responses are dwindling, people are tired of briefly scouring the internet for me, and there's no fear like having zero comments on a desperation Facebook status.

1) Dude sings "Ninjas in Paris" on train

My man Leon from "Curb Your Enthusiasm" is definitely doing some serious viral marketing for the super secret next season. Larry David is always up to some serious tricks. Just kidding, this guy is just an aggressive crackhead that displayed a B- knowledge of 'Watch The Throne' lyrics on what appeared to be an empty subway. Swag on playa. Thanks VB

2) New Years Eve Kinda Sucks
New Years Eve reminds me of a very talented basketball player that consistently underperforms in the 4th quarter of games. You pay tons of money to party at an advanced level. People are dressed nicer, drinking more drinks, and smelling a little bit more like expensive cologne. All in all a nice time. Then 11:59 pm rolls by and that NYE kiss scramble begins. That girl you talked to a few hours ago was kinda into you, but then again there's that girl you made eyes with for the last 10 minutes. Your buddy looks to also be going for her, so what move do you make? Too much to think about, too stressful. Thanks EJ

3) Wine-Tasting
A sign that I think I'm growing up. Out of all the outlandish tasks that I want to do at some point, I think I put wine-tasting at the top of the list. I just want to break bread with people in suits, talk about grape growth rates, and swirl some motherfucking glasses. Maybe stick a pinky out or two, I don't know. Basically I'm trying not to be a jackass whenever I'm out on a date in the future and order a bottle of wine. I don't know when to sniff, swirl, or how much to pour. Then my date thinks I'm trying to get her blacked out. Even though, Wine Country is in no way prepared for me, I think I'll give it a go. Thanks BC

RIP Facebook Friday.
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So big even, the New York Post had to put horrifying expressions on their faces and dress the starting quarterbacks of the respective teams in fucking Puritan pirate costumes.

What I do appreciate is the fact that they made Eli noticeably fatter than Mark. Equally creepy faces and premise, but the fat suit really takes the cake in who this newspaper wants to favor. Onto the game though, I'm kinda prepared for the biggest shitshow since that game where the Eagles tied the Bengals because Donovan McNabb forgot the rules of OT. Eli calling run plays on his own 25 with 2 minutes left in overtime. Eli fumbling the snap and Jets recovering. Mark takes 3 knees running out the clock. The two QBs dap each other up in the middle of the field because they technically didn't lose the game for their respective teams. You think I'm joking...

..but there is like a 35% chance this can happen.

Thursday, December 22, 2011

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We also be drunk. But that doesn't mean this is a half-assed attempt to create a Podcast. We are certainly taking this seriously and bringing the funny to your ears. My overall goal is to make WMD an attack of the senses. You read the blogs, listen to the podcasts, feel me creeping behind you on the dance floor, smell my not so pungent B.O., and taste the idea of victory. Seriously though, you shouldn't be tasting anything.

So let's talk about this picture. My main homie Mack is going to be taking the podcast plunge with me. If you remember he's the guy frolicking seaside playing guitar in the "Home" video. If you enjoyed that, you'll enjoy him frolicking all over the funny on the podcast. Plus he's obviously an alcoholic holding that Jack Daniels. Ya boy Dub J is sipping a polite Coke Zero...kidding, I'm drunk as well. Podcast #1 is coming this week. Get motherfucking amped and tell your friends.

For reference check WMD daily and if you like my boy Mack's music get weird with Stereo Drive-By. See you guys soon from a podcast perspective.
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Packing shit is certainly not my forte. It's a flustering experience that no one is really prepared for. Guys find their favorite t-shirt, some basketball shorts, and flip-flops and they're good for a 7 day, 6 night vacation in the Cayman Islands. Girls go home for the weekend and they pack 12 bricks, 50 shirts/blouses/tanks, 11 jeans, and 5 purses just in case the weather gets tricky. We're all idiots no matter what gender.

Underwear. I CANNOT get my feet set when I'm dealing with underwear. Society wants me to pack 12 pairs of underwear if I'm gone for 12 days, but let's be real with ourselves fellas. As long as you're not a disgusting individual playing sports all day, you don't really need a new pair everyday. I'm not especially gross or anything, but there are just some days I wake up and know I'm not changing underwear. No one's fault, just circumstantial. I weigh a few things: 1) Did I play intense sports or go to the gym? 2)How many bathroom trips? 3) How clean were the underwear prior to wearing them?

If I had a lazy day chillin on the couch where I didn't eat any Mexican or Indian/other alarming food and am wearing freshly clean underwear, it just doesn't make sense economically for me to change undies. If I'm on vacation, forget about it. Call me gross, but I'm just being real with you guys.

I've reached the point in my life where I bring 2-4 pairs less underwear than is socially acceptable because I know myself better than any of you know yourselves.
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If you were one of the millions wondering where the Pied Piper of R&B has been hiding, fret no more. My man Robert has been hard at work crafting another 3 hours of closet searching, midget evading, AIDS having madness.

I, like many of you watched the first 5 parts of Trapped in the Closet with utter shock and amazement. Mainly a "why the fuck did I enjoy that so much" mindset, but it definitely put asses in the seats. In my opinion five was enough. It had all the elements of a great story: a cast you empathized with, a dude hiding in a closet with a beretta, a gay plot twist, and pure suspense. Each turn was twistier than the last and it all culminated with the final kaboom. Then I heard 17 more were created that involved dwarfs and the overall concept of AIDS. Probably the most overlooked cry for help DVD box-set this past decade.

So Kells, how about you call Jay-Z (let's assume he deleted your number), leave a voicemail BEGGING to try another "Best of Both Worlds" album because the other two weren't that bad, and try to grasp the magic that you had on "I Believe I Can Fly." Impossible is nothing.
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Sorry for the clearly not well-thought-out late night post. I've been working and traveling all day and the last thing I wanted to do was post a picture of Paula Abdul strutting her still kinda hot crazy ass around with a Pepsi-can purse.

Let's be completely feasible here, what can you fit in there aside from some coins, like 5 chap sticks, and..a can of Pepsi. Paula, if you got a bedazzled Pepsi purse exclusively to store Pepsi, you need to kill yourself. Not that you do, but just in case. And call me crazy, but I honestly don't know what "The X-Factor" is. American Idol 2? I like the logo because it doesn't remind me of X-Men at all. That said, keep strutting that confusingly hot ass around Paula.

Tuesday, December 20, 2011

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Shout out to all the Jewish readers and enjoy the start of Hanukkah.

Buy someone the Torah on a Kindle/Nook, spin some Dreidels, and make sure to be safe when lighting the Menorah.
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The mall is a strange dynamic around Christmas time. A lot of panicked men between the ages of 18-55 are making rushed and questionable decisions because the deadline is closing in. Toss in boy wonder over here and I guarantee things get kicked up a notch.

Yesterday, my roommates and I took a trip to the mall to get the jump on Christmas shopping. Went into a sports store, did a U-turn and came out. Poked our heads into a toy store that seemed to exclusively sell only Mahjongg and like 30 different versions of Monopoly. Then we went to Taco Bell to collect ourselves and figure shit out. After some Grilled Stuffed Burritos and strange Mexican Pizza orders, we got back out there. Our renewed sense of confidence and vigor quickly turned into fear and panic. I found myself lost between Abercrombie & Fitch and Victoria's Secret, trying to avoid smelling anything like A&F while not sneaking too many creepy stares at the Angels on display. What came out of the night was a mish-mash of hurried confusion and missed opportunity. Typical male trip to the mall.

Throw in this cocky motherfucker Preston Leatherman and you best believe it'll be anarchy out there. One spin move pirouette in my grill and there's a 100% chance I'm taking an errant swing. Not because I dislike the dance moves (because he's honestly killing it for the duration of this video), but because of the principle. You don't go near a wounded animal trapped in the corner like you don't spirit finger a confused and disgruntled dude trying to decide if a gift card is better than a DVD.

PS. Never been more jealous of anyone in my life.
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You see that piece of shit wrap job up there? Multiply it by 1000, think of one of your most painful memories and you have yourself a run-of-the-mill Dub J wrap job.

Here's a quick little personal aside that I shouldn't say on a blog, but may explain why I'm not exactly the most gifted wrapper. When I was home for Thanksgiving break, I was looking through some old boxes because my Mom moved them out of the closet while she was cleaning. After snooping for a few minutes I found my "Life Proficiency" test that they give little kids before they go to kindergarten. Two enormous red flags popped up. 1) Issues in social situations and 2) Inability to understand spacial relationships. Props to Mom for staying mum on the fact that I was kind of retarded.

"Issues in social situations" can be explained based on the fact that I was an only child and better explained based on the fact that I have a blog that displays a very concerning God complex. Red flag #1 was to be expected, but #2 was very alarming. I have distinct memories of having absolutely NO idea how to deal with that "Put the Correct Shape In the Correct Hole" game (there's a sex joke in there somewhere). Literally just rammed the square peg into the circle hole until the game broke or I started crying. Obviously things improved, but I guess the one remainder is the fact that my brain can't comprehend wrapping a fucking gift. Even on layup wrap jobs like a DVD or a Playstation game, I end up using like 26 feet of wrapping paper and a football field worth of tape. Don't even get me started on wrapping clothes--that shit's like trying to squeeze water. Scissors also play a crucial role in causing me to suffer at least one minor injury a year too. Bloody blobs of gifts that overall fuck up the decor of the tree is NOT a good look.

Maybe I'll be a bag guy this year? Do people hate bags? People have to hate bags...fuck.

Monday, December 19, 2011

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If you're not having nightmares tonight exclusively featuring a porcupine that sounds like a disgruntled "WALL-E", then you're not on my level.

What in the good name of anything was this video trying to accomplish? I would have bet the farm that this thing was a robot dressed in a porcupine suit based on the sole fact that it sounded like a VHS on fast-forward. And let's not beat around the bush, dude really pussy-footed around that cookie. We as viewers came to see your scary ass devour a cookie, not talk our ears off. On the real, what the fuck do you have to say? How is your day so interesting that you are spouting off for the entirety of a 39 second video? Anytime I'm on the phone with one of my parents, my end of the conversation lasts less than 30 seconds. Let them know I'm not sick, I ate today, and I'm still single--basic guidelines to a parent-child conversation. No reason for a porcupine to fill us all with fear for pointless dribble.

Thoroughly apologize for ruining all of your evenings.
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This tsunami cloud reminds me of me in a dimly lit bar. Just clutching a mixed drink, teetering on blackout, and standing behind a pillar of some sort. Except instead of offering to buy a girl a drink, it's about to destroy this city.

 If you're lurking, you have to be a little more discrete. You can't sit next to a city literally looking like a monster about to eat it. Maybe lay back, camouflage a little bit. You don't see me Harlem-shaking in bar basements wearing yellow Adidas track suits. Draws too much attention and gives off a creeper vibe. My move is to post up, make mysterious eye-contact that leaves the gazer wanting more, and smoothly go in for the kill. So in tsunami terms, I guess that means you should find a forest to hang under. Maybe a low-rise mountain. I'm not trying to give you advice here, but when a guy with a .084% success rate speaks, you listen. 

Safe to say Birmingham, Alabama is gone right?
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Usually the "internet gangstas" don't get to me, but good lord I'm borderline crying right now. The email subject line simply read, "Your Name Sucks" and said everything that's in the title. No signature.

Honestly I thought Dub Jeezy was as close to genius as a moniker could get. If I went real-life initials, I'd be known as "WJ." Whatta herb. Might as well dunk me in the toilet and give me a swirly. Stuff me in an internet locker somewhere. I decided to be hip and come up with some outrageous/blacktastic partially copyright infringing name. Some people will say, "You kinda stole that from Young Jeezy." I kinda did, so what? If Jeezy wants some, send an email to (But don't though)

On a completely serious note, I read this email, looked over my shoulder like 5 times and considered going to the bathroom. Dust storm hit the office. It's like I stubbed my toe on the internet.

Friday, December 16, 2011

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Got a little tense today. Put up the status and didn’t think anyone was going to comment. Reminded me of inviting people to a party and no one showing up. I’m was just sitting in my figurative party hat waiting by the door praying someone knocked. Good thing some comments started to roll in though. Almost offed myself. Facebook Friday everyone:

1) The Most Important Cats of 2011

Shout out to Shironek, “the most relaxed cat in the world.” I’ve been striving to win the human version of this title since 1987, but things haven’t fallen into place. 2011 may be my year when the judges see how little I’ve done to impact society. Thanks MD

2) Kids Suspended For Tebowing
I’m going to side with the school here in an unexpected twist straight out of a Nancy Drew novel. Part of me thinks some of these asshole youths decided to make a mockery of my man Timmy Teebs and Tebowed wrong. You need a perfect 90 degree angle on your kneel, your head nestled in a praying to something stance, and a genuine accomplishment. If these kids got 100s on their spelling test, Tebow away, but don’t do it if you don’t have a reason. Thanks JR.

3) According to some Evolutionary Shit, all of Santa’s Reindeer are Supposedly Females
I think this was an effort by the Coalition of Women to make fun of men by saying we’re lazy and poor with directionality. All I see are the guy reindeer sitting on the sideline and the chick reindeer doing some fat old man’s bidding. I’m not saying this is reflective of the “get me a sandwich” mentality of today’s society, but it definitely is. Thanks ER,

4) Hungary Outlaws Being Homeless as of 15 Days Ago
The obvious question that comes to mind is: what happens if you’re homeless on December 2nd? Do you “disappear?” Get disintegrated by some invisible, unexplained monster like that terrible movie I keep seeing advertised called “The Darkest Hour”? They can’t just take you to jail, because that’s essentially giving the homeless a home. And Hungary doesn’t seem down to help out people in need at all. How about we cool it with Darfur for a sec and investigate what’s happening to Hungary’s homeless for the past 2 weeks. Thanks BB.

5) Worse Roommate Violation: Dropping Toilet Paper in Toilet or Not Cleaning Anything In the Kitchen

For starters, I’m an awful, awful roommate. Deplorable. I’m cocky, annoying, selfish, and most of all unclean. If I see my roommates cleaning, I literally leave the house and walk around until I think they’re done. Then come back and take credit like I was somewhere in the shadows taking out our kitchen’s trash. Pretty sure none of them like me. With that said, dropping TP in the toilet might be the worst thing you can do. You have to fish it out of dirty toilet water that you most likely did your business in and you have to live with the shame of destroying perfectly good Charmin. If you’re one of those assholes that puts it back and hopes it dries off all crinkly and shit, you deserve to be shot. No trial or jury. One shot to the face. Nothing worse than a cover-up TP drop. Thanks KCon.

Got this one up late today. Sorry, had to do “real” work. Insane how that actually happens sometimes. Thanks and have a swell weekend everyone. Follow me on Twitter @WMsDiary. I’ll be blacked out 90% of it and putting up some alarmingly hilarious tweets.

Thursday, December 15, 2011

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Tim Tebow. Literally just fucking up for 92% of the game and playing perfect-God comparison'd football for the last 8%. I love that style. Controversially effective. Here are everyday real life Tebow situations:

At Work:
Get to work late. Struggle to turn on your computer and when you do, forget your password 3 straight times so your system locks. Go to the bathroom like 9 times. Spend 20 minutes each trip napping/dumping. Eat Indian for lunch. Come unprepared to two meetings. Develop a complex algorithm to increase company profits by 400%, repair a marriage, and make 4 girls fall in love with you. TEBOWED.

Meeting A Girl:
Stumble all of your words. Buy her a drink that she hates. Receive a smack in the face. Dance terribly and be the only person that wasn't taught How to Dougie. Get blacked out and borderline get thrown out of the bar for being too drunk. Pull out the black card you keep stored in the back of your wallet and tell the girl you were just kidding and you already know her favorite drink. Spin her a few times rhythmically to "Give me Everything" and proceed to make out. TEBOWED.

Buy 14 packs of Scooby-Doo fruit snacks and Sunny-D from the grocery store. Go home and realize that you forgot to buy any ingredients to make salmon over rice pilaf. Get pissed that all you had to buy was salmon and rice pilaf and you got fruit snacks. Turn on the oven, realize that you have a perfectly good souffle in there that you made while you were drunk the night before, invite your girlfriend over, eat some souffle, and make some love. TEBOWED.

Get home. Go to the gym. Make some dinner. Scramble onto the internet and check the big three websites: AOL,, and Newser. See nothing. Read G-chats throughout the day for casual questions that you lead people to ask. Create a "Friends ask Dub" blog because people like that. Mention something realistic and relate-able that people will enjoy. Blast that shit on Facebook and Twitter. Get 8 funnies, 2 informationals, and have a girl you've never met at the bar tell you, "I love your blog!" TEBOWED.

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Finally no more porn related questions because that was starting to get awkward. Kidding, that was an awesome post to write. Felt liberated as hell to turn this into "WMD: After Dark." (Quietly want to start that site by the way).

Why isn't Mariah hot anymore? One of the more plaguing questions to affect my life. I'm just sad every time I hear "All I Want For Christmas Is You" knowing full well that she's bloated and getting impregnated by Nick Cannon. Not the future I envisioned. That said, it's Christmas time and you guys want to know what I'm trying to acquire. Well you're going to be completely disappointed because it's kind of weird.

Giant douchebag golf umbrella. That's what I want. Preferably Jets:
Yeah, I'm officially an old person. No need for video games. I get NBA 2K and NCAA when they come out. I have a nice TV, a solid computer, and a King size bed. Honestly what else do I need? I've broken 20 umbrellas on my morning commute when gusts of wind decimate them into thousands of pieces. Let's say every umbrella is $10. 10 x 20=200. Factor in Massachusetts tax and that shit's like a million dollars. I'd be a legitimate millionaire if I had my umbrella game tight. That's why I'm cutting out the middle-man (me) and waiting for Christmas time to launch an all out assault on anyone who cares about me. I NEED a douchebag/asshole umbrella to ensure dryness, pride, and potential millionaire status. NEED it.

Good luck wrapping that shit. Pay me a zillion dollars to do that and I'd end up cutting my wrist with the scissors before effectively completing that job.
// //

^this pic is gross

Elephant in the room: these look like pubes. Someone had to say it and that makes an already disgusting picture 10x worse.

It's safe to say the King of Pop is having the weirdest post-death of all time. Despite the news coverage, I have NO idea who Conrad Murray actually is. I kinda have an idea, but I also kinda don't. Once I realized I'd never see "This Is It" live in concert, things went dark. When the lights came on, some fucking casino bought MJ's (pubes) hair and stuck it inside a roulette ball. I played roulette shitfaced while I was in Vegas and didn't care one bit about the roulette balls. Just betting black continuously because I'm black and racist when it comes to roulette. The point is, I didn't give two fucks what the roulette ball was composed of when it kept landing in the red 8 times out of 8. When you're down a quick 500, you are NOT considering how some dude chiseled/melted a roulette ball at Caesars.

Gotta say, Mike is made of money. My man might be worth a billion dollars dead. How much does Dub Jeezy's hair go for in today's market? Like -$4? A tootsie roll pop? The main motivation for the entire existence of "A Working Man's Diary" is to make my hair worth more than $20. Sad? Maybe. Goal orientated? Definitely, but not really.

Wednesday, December 14, 2011

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A surefire way to get yourself in some hot water is to put up a billboard of the Virgin Mary reading a pregnancy test with a shocked expression on her face. Probably the most misguided advertisement of all time. What happened to putting a worried teen on the billboard and writing the D.A.R.E symbol? Or "This is your brain on Pregnant"? That always worked for me. Crack an egg in a pan, let it sizzle, call it my brain, and I'm shitting myself scared and will never do anything bad again. Ad people man. Can I get a job atop the industry to make this shit right? Just call me Dub J, Director of Common Sense and Motherfucking Respectability.

Hope no one takes offense to this.
// //

Eh, I was fooled. I'll admit it. Went in with the standard, "who's this kinda hot bulimic bitch" approach and continued reading the article. Felt a little weird, but then realized that everyone in the 80s had this experience with Prince and The Revolution.

Micki Free was certainly not a fuckin' girl, but like 1 out of every 8 dudes thought he was:

Just got to chalk up a smooth, "My bad" and walk away with my head held high.
// //

Hey Mom, I know how much you love low-risk, high-reward Christmas gifts, so I said why not splurge for the Passenger Seat Office. Why get you something risky and off the wall like a necklace when I can get you the safest, most practical gift on the market today?

Believe me, I know how much you like to multi-task in the car. Sometimes you change the radio station, sometimes you're illegally on the phone, and sometimes you're doing both. Being the best son in the world, I got you something that lets you do all of that and more. Need to change that Excel document while making a U-Turn into oncoming traffic? Done. Want to upload some Facebook pics of me doing funny shit during thanksgiving while merging into the next lane? Done again. I know you're probably going to ask, "Did he get me the printer with the non-skid Auto Exec. power inverter?" Obviously I did. How are you going to do all of your work when shit is skidding everywhere while you're on cruise control? This ain't Bush league mother, I mean business when I get you gifts. Remember a few years back when I got you a waffle-maker even though you already had one? That was an awesome experience and it brought joy to may face to see your excitement. I know you didn't forget that oven mitt with my baby picture on it. Definitely know you're using that. So add the Passenger Seat office to my list of awesome gifts. You're welcome.

PS. Completely kidding this thing is a god damn DEATH TRAP. Necklace is currently in the mail mom.

Tuesday, December 13, 2011

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What's wrong with a couple of guys hanging out? Nothing like watching a game, making jokes, and 'nesting' with your boy. Wait, nesting?

So Pedro (why?) and Buddy spent a lot of time together, what's the big deal? Nothing wrong with bro'ing out penguin style. Sure things got a little intimate, but I'm sure they were all like, "Yo, let's nest together tonight man. No homo" and it was all good. Unfortunately like every great male friendship, women entered the fray and they stopped giving a fuck about each other. Can't knock that.

Zoologists called them "gay" penguins because all they did was chill with each other. Guess you can call Dub J gay too because I hang out and eat nachos with my boys when it's unexpectedly "Ugly Night" at the bar. Put these guys in a situation where there are dimepiece penguins running amok and I guarantee they'll be mating and courting broads left and right. Sure Pedro's "striking out left and right", but God dammit you can't help but love his spirit. Reminds me of me out there, fighting the good fight with a short memory for rejection. These two frat star penguins were just waiting for the right scenario to spread their comically small unusable wings.

PS. I don't know why, but I felt kind of gross writing that entire thing.
// //

^My safe search is permanently off and I just didn't have many appropriate choices for the picture.

(It goes without saying, things are about to get dark. Mothers/Good people stop reading now because we're taking a journey into the depths.)

Ah, porn. A topic that hasn't been touched on the blog and a topic I kind of avoid because like I said, things get dark. But fuck it. Let's go. Fellas, we all know EXACTLY what this question is asking. We casually ask it to ourselves every night before we..umm..engage. That said, we have to look into this from the perspective of the respective women: the pornstar and the live webcam girl.

My perspective as a female pornstar:

I don't give a FUCK what people think about me because I'm rich and have a shark tank in my heavily mirrored bedroom. Sure, my parents stopped talking to me after "Naughty Bookworms 22", but who needs parents when you've got sharks. My love life isn't too glamorous, but that's ideal. All I want is sex is anyway. I don't care if the guy just throws me a towel and walks away, I'm adored by all my fans. My Twitter followers tell me I'm hot all day, so that's cool and my Facebook Fan page profile pic has 11,130 likes. People respect me! I swear they do! I won an AVN for best Interracial scene so that means I'm progressive. Why doesn't my Mother answer any of my calls? And why does Fleshlight keep calling me?!

My perspective as a live webcam girl:

Man, today was tough at the law firm. I just want to plop down, open some Ben & Jerry's and watch some network television. ::After showering and slipping into a nightie I open up my laptop:: I guess I'll call Cathy and see how things are going in the chat room. Whoa, there are 13 people in the room! I'm signing on. Oh god, it says I'm in the bottom right corner of Pornhub. I hope I'm not bothering whoever is surfing. Aw, who am I kidding, they X'ed me out a long time ago. "Hey guys, you want to see more? Just click private." God, this spiel never works. I hope my coworkers aren't watching this. Scratch that, NO one is paying attention to me right now. Pretty sure I can say and do whatever I want right now. Wait a second. Someone named "DubJeezy" just signed in and paid for the premium package. Oh my god, what do I do? He's asking me to get a bag of marshmallows, a picture of Nick Cannon, and the game Jenga. Shit, things are about to get weird.

Andddd scene. Whoa. Don't think I'll ever be the same after that. Got a little gay and certainly got creepy. Oh well, no regrets. After much ado, my answer is: pornstar. Them bitches have like a 40 year shelf life and that's if you're lucky. Webcam girls can make like $100 a month and live to fight another day working their 9-5 desk job. Sure SexyLisaXOXO is depressed, a little lonely, but in the end she's in better shape than Jenna Haze is in 30 years.
// //

Guess I was wrong about that dude running from the bear. Maybe he should have just let himself get caught and let the most unexpected, illest game of patty-cake commence.

Now that we got the petty jokes out of the way, how scary was that shit? If bears are giving out flimsy waves to random tourists, what can we keep sacred anymore? He was supposed to burst through that plastic 1.5 foot fence and wage war all over that safari van. Then break the camera on the ground after screaming "Worldstar, Worldstar!" into the camera. Never thought I'd be disappointed in a Grizzly bear, but damn, I'm kind of depressed. Literally everything I believe in is falling apart around me. Bears aren't scary, santa isn't real, and girls DON'T like you if you write a blog. My world's upside down and inside out right now.

"Eat some fucking tourist, yell out HAYYYY" (Ne-Yo voice) (Bad joke)

Monday, December 12, 2011

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The spicy bitch in this e-card is speaking the realest of real talk and I can't help but respect her two-dimensional ass. People are exclaiming WAY too much these days.

Today I got a text message from a friend of mine that said, "Hope your vacation was fun!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Lies. No human alive ever hoped anything was 30 exclamation points worth of fun. Seriously, if cave men could text back in the day and a meteor was falling from the sky, I still don't think that "Oh SHIT we all gon' die" text should have more than 4, maybe 5 exclamation points after it. People have too much power. Too much to the point that they're making a mockery of punctuation. We were given these tools to express ourselves, but like Spiderman's uncle said, "With great power, comes great responsibility." Sometimes it's the overzealous emailer, stressing how bad their day is with "OMG this day sucksss!!!!!" Other times it's an unreasonable Gchat that's literally just "!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" and you're at a loss at how to respond.

From the moment we learn that the SHIFT key combined with "1" key creates "!" we are at a crossroads. Some people take the conservative route and only use them in work emails and Facebook Happy Birthday messages. Others use them for pure annoying evil. We only do it at work because the technologically handicapped older generation can't understand emotion unless you show it through symbols and we do it on Facebook because we want you to write on our walls when it's our birthday. Don't choose the wrong side.

150 character texts where 135 of the characters are exclamation points? Throw your phone in the toilet.
// //

This is a video of my toilet.

Yesterday morning, I flushed my toilet. And then, my toilet flushed again. And again. And again.

“Stop flushing,” I said to my toilet. But it didn’t listen. It just sat there flushing.

I jiggled the handle. I twisted some knobs. I jumped up and down and stamped my feet. But my toilet just kept flushing.

My toilet is sealed in such a way that you can’t access any of the pipes, and maintenance for my apartment building is closed on weekends. So my little toilet continued in this manner, flushing every 12 seconds, from 10 am yesterday until approximately 4 pm today. That’s 30 hours of nonstop flushing, or, for anyone who’s counting, 9,000 consecutive flushes. Look at my little toilet go!

Yesterday was a Sunday. I was hungover and football was on, so naturally I didn’t leave my apartment. Didn’t even consider it, really. This has become somewhat of a tradition lately. I enjoy it more than I should.

I left for work at 8 am this morning, so that means I was present for 22 consecutive hours after the flushing commenced, or, if you’re keeping track, 6,600 total flushes.

A lot of things ran through my mind as I listened to my little toilet flushing away. Most of them not very good things. It’s hard to stay optimistic when every sentence and every thought you have is punctuated by a big “FLOOOOOOSSHHHHHH.”

I thought about the holidays coming up, and I thought, “I have so many friends and family members that love and care about me.”


I met a girl I liked last week. She seemed to like me too. I thought, “Maybe I’ll ask her out on a date this week.”


I thought about my job and all of the things going on in my life, and I thought, “I have a bright and promising future ahead of me.”


You see what I’m getting at. Watch that video while you’re doing absolutely anything and it’ll make sense.

Then, I thought of the absurd amount of water I was wasting (approximately 14,400 gallons). I thought of this not because of environmental concerns, but because I feared it may raise my bill at the end of the month (still kinda worried about this btw).

Then, I went to pee, and as I was peeing, I thought that the bright spot of the situation was that I didn’t have to push the handle down to flush after I pee. Then, I realized that not needing to push the handle down after I pee’d was probably the highlight of my day.



Hope you all enjoyed your weekend!
// //
^I Spy a comically small broom and stacks of beer balls in the back right of this picture. Did I mention, I'm single?

Was the death of the bubble coat, the most abrupt and unrecognized fashion death of our generation? Like a flash, they were eliminated as a legitimate cold-weather clothing option for what seemed like no reason. No idea what happened. I was checking in the closet for a dufflebag and saw mine balled up in the corner looking absolutely pathetic. By all accounts, it's my warmest coat, but I simply can't wear it out of fear of looking like an out of touch herb. I'm going to do a service to the once respected jacket and give it a proper obituary.


My gray and black North Face bubble was a great coat. It was warm, fluffed to all hell with goose feathers, and gave me a false sense of safety. Numerous times I asked people to punch me while I wore it and pretended to not feel pain when the hits actually really hurt. Many people took the liberty to call me variations of the "Michelin Man" and "That Marshmallow Dude from Ghostbusters" when I wore it. I felt fortunate because, let's be honest those were terrible jokes that made anyone who said them sound like an idiot. I'll miss struggling to wash/dry my coat due to a gross lack of cleaning instructions. I'll even miss your unexpectedly weak and flimsy hood that did very little against the weather you were built to protect against. Sometimes your pockets could hold the world, like Baggin' Saggin' Barry and sometimes, they couldn't hold my cell phone. Your unpredictability will be missed, your warmth was unquestioned, and despite what society wants me to do, I'll occasionally wear you when I go to take out the trash. RIP.

Friday, December 9, 2011

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I'm a pretty narcissistic dude. You can probably tell from the fact that I have my own blog where I talk about myself in literally every post. Thousands of little Dub Jeezy anecdotes, childhood memories, and general "I'm awesome"-ness. Some would say it hovers on the edge of douchebaggery and to those of you that think that, I can't disagree. Today though, I am a humbled man. A man that recognizes he's the least talented roommate in a house full of five people.

See that video up there with the tall dude galavanting up and down the eastern seaboard with a guitar? One of my roommates. The song itself features another one of my roommates on the bass and long lost co-blogger Craw on the drums (may he RIP). You know how many times I had to yell, "Guys stop playing music so I can blog"? Embarrassing. You don't need silence to blog. I'm just a hater to the fullest. Then there's my other non-musical roommate who's just that prototypical default dude that's killing it. Has a protagonist look to him and an overall sound moral compass. What are the odds that I'd literally be the least talented person in a 5 man house? Well fuck you guys, because I'm the best at sitting on my computer in very little clothing and scouring the internet for nonsense/borderline offensive material. Got 'em.

NOTE: If you live in the Boston area and are interested in good causes my roommates' band "Stereo Drive-By" is performing a benefit show at Copperfield's Bar near Fenway on Saturday, December 10. If you hate great causes and good music, you're probably some shriveled green dude in Santa clothes. Grinch reference.
// //

Two weeks and the wheels on this misguided bus haven't fallen off yet. Frankly I'm impressed. That said, let's get on with it:

1) Douchebag Investment Manager Snaps On A Girl That Didn't Call Him Back After A Date:
At first I felt for the guy because we've all had a girl deny us in a salty manner. I'm still at a loss to why girls give you numbers at the bar, but won't respond to your text a couple of days later. Then this dude dropped the, "That's real money. That's not monopoly money" line and he lost me. I feel like it's a rite of passage for any investments asshole to reference a comparison between real money and monopoly money at least once in their working career. Thanks MD.

Thank GOD the justice system wasn't this on-point when I was six. I was a bonafide rapist. Going up to chicks and just kissing whoever I pleased when the teacher wasn't looking. Teacher started writing on the chalkboard, I snuck one in. She cried, I denied. Looking back on it, that explains a TON. Thanks Tino

3) Skip Bayless Sucks:

Actually, dude's pretty jacked. If he fights like he argues (reckless, over the top, and wrong), he literally may rip me limb from limb and eat my face off. On a sidenote, my man Stephen A. Smith got a little too ghetto on TV the other day. Thanks CG

4) An American Juggalo 23 Minute Mini-Movie: Thanks Tino. If anyone wants to take the afternoon off to watch this, they'll probably get fired.
(Ever since Eminem called them "Faggy 2 Dope" and "Silent Gay", and had a track on the Marshall Mather's LP dedicated to both of them felating each other, I stopped taking the whole "Juggalo" thing seriously).

5) Kris Humphries Baking Cookies on Good Morning America:
My man Kris basically climbed the face of life's mountain and promptly fell off the other side. Like 2 minutes ago dude was yucking it up with Scott and playing Halo with Rob. Now dude is popping in some Pillsbury Toaster Strudles into the toaster. Also, I'm pretty sure he's not on any NBA roster at the moment. Damn. Thanks JT.

Just another case of a video games altering reality. Happens all the time for the chiseled gamer. Can't knock these guys one bit. Last night, I was watching the college football awards and thought my digital QB in NCAA Football '12 would sweep the offensive player awards. All you got to do is splash your face with some cold water and trudge forward like nothing happened. Thanks BL.

This wine has these curators by the balls. Taunting them, daring anyone to come up and attempt to see what's inside. I'd be scared too if pent up 600 year old grape smell was waiting to smack me in the face. Hell, I'm terrified if there's a rogue Bud Light hanging out in the bag of the fridge. You don't know wrath until you've had an 11 month old, half-frozen Bud-Light. Thanks CG.

8) Couple Of Chicks Looking To Cuff Up Some Dudes for The Holidays via Craigslist:
I'm so on board with this, it's crazy. Everyone wants someone for the months of December-March (excluding Christmas and Valentine's Day). It's cold as fuck, there's ton's of TV on demand, and hot chocolate made by someone else is 1000x better than hot chocolate you make. Tino coming in hot on Facebook Friday.

9) The Motherfucking Hawaii Chair:
If you're down for throwing up twice a day, being unable to complete basic tasks, and getting fired, the Hawaii Chair is right for you! I damn near wanted to dedicate an entire blog to this thing, because it has to be one of the worst inventions ever created. The song was awful, the chair is vomit inducing, and the bit extras throughout the video looked terrified to be on it. Sometimes the stars align and a perfect Youtube video is born. Big thanks MM.

10) Chargers Kicker Nick Novak Just Pissing On The Sideline Before A Kick:
I tried that once in football and peed all over myself, my gloves, somehow my helmet, and like 4 teammates. I'm thoroughly impressed. Thanks RP.

Thanks everyone!

Thursday, December 8, 2011

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Orange? I get that everyone's trying to avoid the words "impending apocalypse", but can we have a vote at least. I'm not trying to spend my last year of living on a peaceful, non-fire/four horsemen filled Earth squinting at the color of the year. Orange is bright as fuck.

Don't get me wrong, I'm cool with the idea of orange. Orange juice is always a good time, chicks in orange dresses get me riled up, and my favorite Ninja Turtle was Michelangelo. I'm not a hater, I just also see some flaws in the color . Like the "Orange Alert" on the Homeland Security Advisory board. What are you trying to tell me? I'm supposed to be really scared, but not too scared. I can go outside, but I can't go anywhere when I'm outside. It's just such a middle-ground spot of awfulness. It's basically the hook-up buddy of colors. Sure you enjoy hooking up, but someone's going to catch feelings and by the 4th hook-up everyone is fucking confused and in tears.

I'm not going to go through pre-apocalypse 2012 crying whilst confused. I'm trying to quit my job in like September, loot thousands upon thousands of stores, have roughly 75 "It's the End of the World" theme parties and greet the 4 Horsemen with my camera phone out for some legit Mobile Uploads. Can't achieve any of that if we have Mr. Face just smiling at us every morning.
// //

A Youtube video comes around every once and awhile that will leave you perplexed and terrified at the same time. This is that video. It's a gargantuan half shrimp, half mantis solving one of the most intellectually trying games in minutes. With just it's tentacles and antennae.

Of course there are going to be the people that come out and say, "Dub you're an idiot, this is clearly fake", but there are also people that have to be intrigued by this. What a treat it would be to find out that deep sea mollusks are capable of complex thought and a respectable knowledge of algorithm. My mom gave me a Rubik's cube when I was like 6 and the moment I realized it didn't give me candy I was so upset. Legit went up to her and essentially asked, "What the fuck?" the best possible way a 6 year old can. Now that's because I was a dumb kid. I'm sure there were kids that enjoyed them and grew up to become not blog writers. To each their own. But this kind of makes you feel bad if you were good at the Rubik's cubes huh? That thing you bragged about for years is being bested by a run of the mill demon shrimp in minutes. Yikes nerds. Yikes.

I'm banking on the 0.005% chance that this is real and preparing for a very, very dark mantis-shrimp-demon filled future. I've said it once, I've said it a million times, you have to worry about mollusks that can solve algorithms.
// //

^0:23 is when things get realer than real

One of the main perks of being a blogger (and black) is that I am rarely in situations where I have to run from a fucking BEAR. Chillin' in my boxers literally 100% of the time I'm not at work, declining any and all invitation to go camping, and researching phone apps to monitor the migration patterns of bears. I'm just doing my part to make sure this never happens.

While I'm a fast dude, there's no way a rogue root isn't going to pop up and trip the shit out me. No way. Roots get their paychecks because they trip dudes running from bears. So what's the deal with the guy rocking a first-person view camera on his forehead? Didn't give off the pornstar/whatever activity requires a first person helmet cam vibe. In the event that this bear didn't chase him, this would literally be the worst video on Youtube. Grainy footage of your jog through Yellowstone on a Tuesday afternoon might be the most un-entertaining thing of all time.

Did my man really juke that bear?
// //

“There's something wrong in this country when gays can serve openly in the military.”

Come on, Rick. You’re running for president, here. At least try to lock up the offensive statements til you’re in office, much less include them as part of your campaign.

I’m no politician, but something tells me ads like this ain’t gonna fly too well anywhere outside of the Texas state boundaries.

Not that he was really gonna pull down any of the democratic vote anyway. But if he had any hope of locking up the gay republican vote, it just went right out the window.

There have to be gay republicans out there somewhere…right?

I usually steer clear of politics, but this is just a gimmie. If Byahhh! can derail a presidential campaign, surely this and his recent memory lapse can too.

On the flip side, kudos for giving me a layup of a post, Big Rick. Looks like I’ll be clocking out early.

Now the question is, what do I do with the rest of my night? Too bad the football game tonight is downright unwatchable. I’m starting to feel Dub J’s Staycation pain, and I’ve only been bored for like 12 minutes. Might be about time to slug some NyQuil and call it even.

Wednesday, December 7, 2011

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Just a bunch of dudes presumably listening to a speaker, sitting with their sex doll girlfriends. Nothing to see here.

It's not like every dude pictured looks EXACTLY like the type of dude that would own a sex doll or something. Everyone needs to stop being so judgmental and over analyzing the fact each of these dolls is intricately dressed in tops, bottoms, and shoes. Haters, that's what you all are. Spouting out unfounded statements like, "At least 3 of these dudes have been or will be a serial killer." Come on now, that's hurtful. I even heard someone suggest that the people in the picture might not be listening to anyone, because what person in their right mind would lecture a bunch of dudes sitting next to sex dolls. I ask each of you to look yourself in the mirror and ask yourself, "Am I normal?"

We've all taken pictures that we're not proud of, so how about you back off and let these completely normal people get back to whatever they're doing.

Kidding. These people are fucccckkked. (Thanks BS)
// //

Hey guys! I haven't killed myself yet. And I'm only in the mild stages of hoarding. All in all, I have to call it a success thus far. The only alarming thing is the fact that I keep asking myself these 3 very alarming questions everyday:

Question 1: What is an errand?

I wake up, get my bearings, read everything on, and sit there kind of confused for awhile. When my head clears I go through the list of things I need to do and quickly realize I don't have shit to do. Not one. I'm borderline creating errands for myself. Squeezing out way more body wash than normal, egregiously pouring out alarming amounts of milk into cereal, and straight up going to the post office for no reason. So really..what is a fucking errand?

Question 2: What day is it? (Multiple times)

Kind of self-explanatory, but whenever I'm off for more than 2 consecutive days I become oblivious to date and time. Throw a broken phone into the mix and I'm essentially Amish. I tweeted, "Absolutely no idea what day it is" not as a joke, but a cry for help. Damn near had to wait for one of my roommates to get home before I found out it was Wednesday. Is it Wednesday?

Question 3: When was the last time I've eaten?

I'm either malnourished or over-nourished. I have no way of knowing and my body damn sure isn't giving me any indication what's going on. Today I ate some Trix (because that's the only cereal anyone should be eating on Staycation), went to the gym, came back and made eggs, bacon, and toast. Didn't realize I ate Trix this morning til about 20 minutes ago. Also ate a burger 20 minutes ago. I'm in trouble.

That said, I'm having an awesome time spiraling into dementia and I give this Staycation a B+.
// //

is a little worse than..

As a black guy, I find the gold-teeth, bandana-wearing, uzi and 40oz wielding character in the middle of the Ghettopoly board hilarious . Can't really be that offended by misguided ignorance. Nazi-Monopoly on the other hand, is fucking horrible.

So many different unrecognizable, yet clearly offensive symbols on the Nazi board. This game isn't even trying to be Monopoly. Pretty sure there aren't any properties on the board, just hateful symbols. At least Ghettopoly threw a few crackhouses and liquor stores into the mix. Basically what I'm trying to say, is that solid efforts weren't made to keep the integrity of the game alive through all the hate. All I see are Swastikas, Black&White lightning bolts and a skeleton Hitler scaring the shit out of everyone. I don't believe I'm saying this, but maybe Nazi-Monopoly should have taken a page out of Ghettopoly's book. Be so over the top that people are overwhelmed with how many things there are to be offended by, but still maintain the feeling of being offended.

WHAT is the currency for either of these games? Scratch that, don't answer that one.