Wednesday, January 21, 2015

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Lots to discuss here.  Firstly, this "Dilemma" video is doing NUMBERS.  Shit's flabbergasting.  If we're being real with ourselves and push nostalgia aside, this song wasn't even that great.  Catchy as hell? Yup.  Actually a good song?  No.

Bringing nostalgia back for a second, the combination of "Dilemma" and "I Need a Girl Pt. 1" all but confused me forever about women. The early 2000s made me really want a girlfriend while simultaneously making me never want a girlfriend.  A confusing time indeed.  Nelly wanted a chick with a man and a son even though he knew it was a terrible idea and Diddy was just fucking depressed.  I had no idea what to think.  But preteen boners be preteen boners, ya know?

Now to the subject of the picture - Kelly Rowland, what in the shit are you doing?  You accidentally clicked on the Excel icon on your sidekick and you think you're texting Nelly via spreadsheet, you idiot.  Nelly ain't trying to see your bomb-ass Excel macro at 2:45am.  Unless you're playfully drawing ( - )( - ) boobs in these cells, Nelly wasn't going to parse through your regression analysis, ma.

Don't worry.  We can learn from this, fellas.  With all these new fangled dating apps and websites, it's hard to standout.  Well lucky for you, WMD is here with foolproof Microsoft Excel game-spittin' tactics.  

Change the game by sending that chick you met in the club during "MLK Jr. Ladies Get In Free" Weekend an excel document outlining all the ways you're going to change her life for the better in Q1.  No need to thank me.

Monday, January 12, 2015

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This goes out to all of the dudes out there that have had their girl walk into the gym when they were playing basketball.  If this has happened to you, you know exactly where I'm going with this one.

When your girl comes to the gym to watch you play ball:

- you play irrationally hard and completely out of your comfort zone

- you quickly start sweating more than everyone else on the court

- your skills either increase or decrease significantly 

- passing is ABSOLUTELY out of the question

- you will more than likely hurt yourself, but play it off like you're not actually hurt

- you start thinking of cool basketball Youtube videos you watched and inexplicably start trying those moves that you've never practiced

- other people (presumably dudes that are trying to steal your girl) are trying to clown you

- she honestly doesn't give a damn about what you're doing unless you're stinking up the joint

- if you're playing horribly, best believe she is calculating your PER and +/- to determine whether or not it's going to be a lonely night for you

- you're probably not going to play any type of defense because getting crossed is effectively grounds for breaking up

Moral of the story, don't ever play basketball in front of/with/or anywhere near your girl to prevent any of this from happening.  No benefit to having them watch your games.

Tuesday, January 6, 2015

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Gee willikers, man.  When your phone doesn't even have the heart to tell you the highest temperature that it could possibly be outside, it's confirmation that everything is awful and we are all going to die.

You know that feeling when you step outside in the morning and your nostrils freeze together and your eyes start tearing for no reason?  Well, it's here now and we have no one to blame but ourselves.  We all could have left and moved to Florida, Texas, California or Arizona.  But nope, we're dumb.  We keep saying, "Hey, it won't be anywhere near as bad as last year" and trudge along through our lives.  But here we are again.  More specifically, here EYE am again, in the midst of becoming diseased with Seasonal Affective Disorder for, like, the 23rd straight year.

Welp, guess it's time to inexplicably download that Dominos Pizza App.  Full disclosure, I hate Dominos, but this shit's so god damn convenient and times, well, times are certainly hard.

Friday, January 2, 2015

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What happens after this?  Does the game just abruptly end?  Do you quit the game of basketball forever?  

Personally, as a guy that has shot a few bricks in his day, I would blame it on everything but myself.  Blame the ball for being wild over-inflated.  Sue the referee for calling the foul and putting you in that precarious situation.  Immediately fake a very serious, slightly implausible injury that will confuse the audience.  Punch someone in the face to make people forgot that you shot a basketball so poorly that you almost killed somebody.  Who knows, I'm just spit balling here. 

Thursday, January 1, 2015

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Good heavens, Play Doh.  What the hell has gotten into you guys?  Last I checked, you were in the non-toxic clay business.  The boring, smelly, dickless clay business.  It appears things have drastically changed.  You nasty bastards.

I need an audio stream of the product design meeting where they approved the PENIS ICING DISPENSER.  Dudes in suits glossing over penis-related details left and right.  Imagine, as a dad, walking into your daughter's room on Christmas and seeing her squeeze this onto a cake.  The next immediate move would be to buy several grenades and at least 3 AK-47s and kill everything.  You want that holiday blood on your hands, Play Doh?

And you guys had the nerve to put propellers on the base too, giving little boys false hope that their penis will someday allow them to fly.  SMDH.