Monday, December 31, 2012

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God dammit. I didn't want to talk about it, but I'm fascinated with this unborn child that potentially doesn't exist.

As much as we hate to admit it, this baby represents modern America. With all of the reality TV we watch, gossip mags we read, and garbage that we consume, we as a country earned this baby. A baby so screwed that I have mixed emotions even talking about it. This thing will be the crack-baby of opulence. Addicted to clothing brands my poor-people eyes can't even process, baby food imported from New Zealand, and most of all its name. Everyone is throwing out suspicions of cocky ass gender ambiguous names like "Kanye II" and assorted symbols like: "$" and "}", but I think they're going to mess with all of us and name it something like "Matt" or "Jennifer."

London had the "Royal Wedding" and we're going to have, "What Are They Going To Name This Poor/Rich Bastard." I call this baby poor because there is no fate worse than stumbling on a video of your mother having sex with a man named Ray-J that had his own two-season reality show on VH1. Nothing worse than that. And parents that will routinely forget what your name is because they will stop caring about you in like 3 weeks.

This made me think about the inevitable day that I produce some offspring. What if they find out about WMD? I think my only option is to leave a bag of money in the house and flee the country because if this shit is embarrassing now, imagine what it'll be like in 30 years. Can't have my kids responding to "Wash the dishes" with "Yeah, right....Dub Jeezy. Pfft."

I'm worried for you K-baby, but not really.


Friday, December 28, 2012

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Everyone is going to jump on this guy's back and act like he's some big prude or something. Nah, I feel your plight, bro. I can't say I have been in this situation, but I have gotten into some high stakes pillow fights when I was younger and soft suffocation is probably the worst way to go.

Look at that cleavage. Where does it end? A centimeter down? All the way down at that bottom of your monitor? I don't know and frankly, that scares me. Imagine the hell it must be to find yourself trapped betwixt two never-ending bosoms with no possible way out. I'd have this bitch arraigned too if she tried to pull this shit. Can't even begin to think how this guy escaped either. Based on my calculations, there's like a 75% chance you can end up in Narnia if you make a wrong turn on Quadrant 1, Section 2b of the right boob.

PS. Is it bad that I still don't really have a grasp of what breast size actually means? 38DD just sounds like a Battleship move to me.

PPS. Bro, I still kinda know what you look like:

Thursday, December 20, 2012

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A new year, a new way to shame your kids because you don't have a grasp on society. It's ok, I have a blog and I say shit on it that's occasionally helpful. Plus I was a kid like 20 years ago, so I'm basically tapped into what today's children like. Let Dub lead the way, parents.

Gift Idea 1) Pee and Poo

So many "I'm the shit" and "Shittin' on y'all" jokes to be had with this duo. The pee is clearly the Robin to the poo's Batman, but an unstoppable combo nonetheless. Borderline must-have.

Gift Idea 2) Blippy, aka Fucking Blippy

Took creative control with the name a bit there, but as you can see, this is the perfect toy if you have a bad-ass kid. One of those assholes that doesn't even try to listen. Wrap Blippy's ass up in a box and watch discipline levels soar off the charts.

Gift Idea 3) Gutfish

In the terrible event that you can't afford "Operation." The "Safety School" of gifts.

Gift Idea 4) Stuffed STDs

Exactly why herpes is designed to look like the sun is beyond me. And what's the fuckin' deal with Chlamydia? These mysteries are EXACTLY why this toy is hot bananas right now. Parents can teach with nonsensical characters and make their kids absolutely terrified about having sex. I'm buying 100 for the daughter I don't have yet.

See you Friday, Mayans.

Tuesday, December 18, 2012

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I went home this past weekend to spend time with family and needless to say, my mother lost her mind. There was a whisper of pictures by someone and that flipped a switch in my mom's head. She basically scoured the house top to bottom for like 3 hours and came out with some absurd pictures. Because this blog is super transparent and I'm begging for some "Awww"s in the comments, let's take a look at two of the most ridiculous pics:

Picture #1:

-Whatchu know about a shirt that makes you kinda nauseous and has you thinking you're wearing 3D glasses, but you aren't? I mean come on now. It wasn't even fair to the other kids at the playground when I was out there obstructing people's vision. And those shorts? Can you say American? The game was already a blowout before we got to my long yellow socks.

Picture #2:

-All purple everything (except, strangely, the shoes) - looking like a confused container of grape Juicy Juice. Once you get past how much I channeled the artist formerly known as Prince, please focus your attention on that neon green fanny pack. What does a 4 year old need a fanny pack for you ask? If you have to ask, you weren't as cool as me and you obviously didn't have like 17 Teddy Grahams on your person at all times. Pink sunglasses in case the sun got in my eyes, homie.

PS. I'm just going to assume my mother was on a TON of LSD and Angel Dust during the early 90s and give her a mulligan.

Thursday, December 13, 2012

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Aside from the obvious fact that this duck is the most unfit mother in the animal kingdom, this was the most harrowing event that I have ever witnessed since the end of Bad Boys 2.

I want to know the informed decision that this duck made before trying to splatter herself and her kids on the pavement. Like, did it see the large, fast-moving, death machines barreling forward every second? And if so, was this duck just cocky as (wait for the rhyme scheme) fuck and had this all planned out the entire time. If it's the latter, consider my face covered with egg.

Can we talk about birds for a second? I've been having a HUGE issue with them as of late since I moved into my new apartment in September. Namely geese and the occasional psychopath turkey terrorize the park near my house. Basically the avian Bloods and one psychopathic Crip. You can't make eye contact, walk within 20 feet of them and you damn sure better not freak one of them out or it's over. And by "over" I mean you're in a fight to the fucking death with a goose. I don't want to be put into a situation where I have to snap a goose's neck. I don't. All bets are off if a turkey is involved. Vegas will probably have that fight as a "Pick 'em."

PS. Is it bad that, as a human, I demand a certain level of respect from any and all birds? I think that's reasonable. Like some birds get it. Those little sparrow things get the FUCK out of the way if you're within earshot. They get it.

"Shit my pants moment"

Wednesday, December 12, 2012

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What a rough 365 days for Kris Humpries, huh? Got dumped and is now getting cuckolded on the E! channel nightly. Got kinda beat up by Rajon Rondo and tweeted a picture with scratch marks. Couldn't possibly the 2011-2012 you expected.

And now this, bro:

This small ass ref couldn't even let you get the ball off the palm of your hand before he tried to Mutombo your shit. Dude is just praying for a fresh start so he can stop getting disrespected by every person that can possibly disrespect him.
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First we had SARS and then there was Bird Flu. Then gross ass pigs joined the party and Swine Flu was invented. Now we have reached the next stop on the CDC disaster train that is Being-An-Idiot-And-Burning-Yourself-With-An-Iron Flu. Very tragic. I'm a survivor and currently afflicted, so it brings me great sorrow to present another semi-equally terrible case Iron Flu.

The first sign that you might be getting sick is when you start getting real cocky while ironing. I'm talking no-look, steam filling the room type of antics. When it happened to me, I put my TV remote right next to the iron and reached for it without looking. That resulted in a life-threatening 14th degree burn on my pinky. This guy was in the same situation. Except instead of flipping between Homeland and Sunday Night Football, he confused his cell phone for the iron and scorched off half his face while leaving an undoubtedly hilarious iron imprint. Just know, this could have happened to any of you. Maybe it's a sign to start dry cleaning. Maybe it's time to visit a neurologist to determine if you have a problem distinguishing the weight of an iron and the weight of a cell phone. I don't know. All I do know is that I've listened to "Survivor" by Destiny's Child like 11 times and it hasn't gotten close to being old yet.


Tuesday, December 11, 2012

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I haven't the slightest clue on how to get a read on this thing. Like, what's your deal, little guy? Where'd you get that comically small, tailor-fit coat? Are you friendly? Do you know how ergonomic the Malm Bedroom set is? All very, very important questions that need answering.

First off, that jacket is bananas (intended) and the monkey clearly knows it. You see him leanin':
I know the look all too well. It's the lean you get when you're feeling yourself a little too much. Sidenote: really proud of the stereotypes here - Black guy skeptical and slightly terrified of the uncommon situation and presumably Asian tourist ready to snap a pic at a moment's notice.

Lastly, I love the planting yourself in Ikea move. This monkey wanted to be different. He didn't want to perch on someone's shoulder while they shopped. Abu basically did that already. Nah, this monkey wanted to establish residence in arguably the greatest place in the world to randomly establish residence.

Real talk, if I saw this:
right before I walked through the automatic door, I'd pause, turn right around, get in the car, go to the Red Lobster that's undoubtedly adjacent to Ikea and try to forget what I saw through a haze of Cheddar Bay biscuits.

Monday, December 10, 2012

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So last night I burned my finger while ironing my work clothes. As pure of a disaster as anything could possibly be. While I did wanted to cry, I was completely fine amputating my finger with a butter knife right on the spot. Then as the dust settled, I thought, "I honestly haven't been burned in like 15 years. This is terrifying." And then it made me think about injuries that twentysomethings straight up don't get anymore.

1) Burns
As indicated by that 9th degree burn on my finger, burns are no joke. You can basically see my bone marrow. Frankly it's amazing that I'm able to type right now. But yeah, who gets burned anymore? Assholes that still iron? Check. What else is there? I think the only things that qualify are unruly toaster ovens and tampered-with oven-mitt nightmares. Either way, I can't foresee myself getting a minor burn for the next 20 years.

2) A Regular Cut That Needs A Band-Aid
-Any cut that I get these days is just there. Sure there are a couple uncomfortable showers where you avoid trying to get soap on the spot, but all in all, it's left unattended roughly 100% of the time. You honestly think I OWN Band-Aids? Lolwut? The EXTENT of all injuries I get range from: small paper cut to kinda big paper cut. If I'm not there to get these spreadsheets out of the printer, who will?

3) A Splinter
-If you're getting splinters in 2012, you have a very serious problem. Either you're handling an unruly 2x4 or you're sitting on a sketchy park bench with some sad fabric on your jeans. You should be doing neither of those things. Also, I'm convinced that I still have some splinters in me from like '93. Shits got lodged so far into my blood stream that they just connected with my DNA and what not.

4) Stung By A Bee
Personally, I've never been stung in my life, but I know plenty of idiots that were. Using my guile, wit and just the right amount of bitchassness, I was able to evade bees for the younger portion of my life. Most of my friends weren't as lucky. But nowadays bees just don't exist anymore. Almost unsure if they even existed in the first place. If my calculations are correct, we don't have to fear getting stung by these fictitious creatures until our asshole kids start being idiots.

PS. Takes a lot of guts for a man to post a picture of his finger. I've posted plenty of pictures of my face, but it took the most courage I have ever had to muster to put my finger up. Too wrinkly? Crusty? I don't know and please don't tell me.

Thursday, December 6, 2012

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A question that has plagued me since the day my mother freaked out on me about "leaving the seat up" when I was little. From the moment I replied "But why?" and received "Because I said so" "Because it's considerate" as a response, it has been a life quest of mine to find real answers. I've been skewered for leaving seats up in female dorm rooms for years and never once heard a legitimate reason why. My only real hypothesis is that ladies fall in the toilet if the seat is up, but I'm giving you guys a chance to explain otherwise. Here are the questions that I have had and my logical response:

As 5 year old Dub Jeezy asked, "But why" is it considerate?

-As a woman in 2012, why do you guys need assistance dealing with toilet bowl related matters. Yes, touching the seat is gross, but we have to do it too. It's not a big deal if you have soap at the sink. Nothing on the toilet will give you gangrene. If it's up, you literally just have to put it down and go about your business. Takes like .09 seconds and it's not particularly heavy. There are things that can be called "chivalrous" and this is not one of them. Beyonce didn't write sing "Independent Women" for this.

A) Is the toilet seat itself really that gross? Or..
B) The sight of what's on the lip of the toilet that disgusting?

-It has to be one of these two things right? I've heard the "guys pee everywhere" argument and I get that. Guys for the most part, are disgusting. But even the grossest, most inaccurate guy (that lifts up the seat before urinating) gets it on the lip of the toilet and not the seat thus creating an effective barrier from your hammies and glutes. I've also heard the more far-fetched, but plausible "pubes on the lip of the toilet" argument. Admittedly, that's nasty, but ultimately it's your own fault for associating yourself with someone that sheds pubic hair and/or doesn't manscape correctly. It's a micro issue getting blown out to a macro level.

PS. All bets are off for the guy that doesn't lift the seat before peeing. He's crazy, call the cops.

Do you fall into the toilet if the seat is up?

-The most important question and the overall purpose of this post. Are girls actually falling into toilets out there? I've heard a consensus "yes" that this happens as well as a resounding "no." You know what they say, "where there's smoke, there's fire." Look, I get that you guys never have to look at the seat before going, but give some respect to the infrastructure. Take a glance at it. Make sure a fucking tarantula isn't chillin' on the seat. Honestly, if I have a daughter, I'm telling her a made up story about how a girl didn't look at the toilet before sitting down and she didn't see the 12 pounds of C4 on it and exploded. #ProudFather

I love you guys, but this is WITHOUT A DOUBT the most absurd female social trait that exists. Watch the toilet, you guys.

Tuesday, December 4, 2012

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God dammit, internet. You can't go a day without dropping something ridiculous on all of our retinas, huh? None of you understand what life is like for the 6,703rd ranked internet blogger on the planet. It's not all "pray an awesome Youtube video popped up today" or "check every news website for a stupid story." No rainbows and gumdrops here. Sometimes you see an absurd, yet semi-accurate picture of the original Super Mario Brothers and it's relatability to how relationships develop and you have no choice but to post it.

Well shit, whoever just dropped the proverbial Microsoft Paint mic just spoke the realest stuff ever. Alcohol is the Stockton to every relationship's Malone. Alcohol finds the crease (inhibitions) in the defense (the guy/girl) and allows you to get to the basket (making out or whatever you new-age hoodrats do these days). You'll be hard-pressed to find a relationship out there that was not assisted by alcohol. It doesn't have to be "take someone home" level, but it definitely breaks the ice for both parties and lets them breathe a little bit. Hell, I think I talked about Harry Potter, Pokemon and my ability to burp professionally on my last first date. If neither party had a drink that night, I would have been left at the restaurant and not with that person now because Pikachu, Horcruxes and oral flatulence ain't fly. So I guess, thanks, alcohol? And bigger...thanks, Microsoft Paint oracle?

Most of us wouldn't be where we are in our relationships/even exist without alcohol. Let's not even sugar coat it.

Monday, December 3, 2012

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There are ways to hang out with dolphins:

And ways not to hang out with dolphins:

They're slippery, fun-loving creatures that are strictly down to play and and jump over shit. That's it. They literally have no qualms about anything as long as they eat roughly 300 tiny fish daily and have a beach ball to play with. This girl fucked with one of those things. If you're not popping beach balls or tampering with one of the 300 tiny fish, you're 100% in the clear. Jillian messed up and got dealt with. It's how the world works. You cross the line, you get checked. Just dance the Merengue with it and allow a professional photographer to take like 75 pictures of you so your girlfriend can post them on Facebook and your friends can make fun of you for it like the rest of us.