Thursday, April 30, 2015

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I'm inches away from buying a selfie-stick.  Once again, I have succumbed to societal pressures, but, most importantly, I feel like I'm denying the world my flame emoji level selfies.  I have facial expressions to make and "likes" to acquire on Instagram.

With that said, you just have to own it.  Once you cross the line into "no one's trying to take a picture with me, but none of them matter anyway because my mama told me I'm handsome" territory, there's no point in hiding it with an old, dead looking white mannequin hand.  A selfie stick is more or less a statement that you're going at life alone, with no one to account for but yourself.  No need to create a false reality where you're carting around a dead person to validate yourself on social media.

Thursday, April 23, 2015

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It was all supposed to be all fun and games.  I was supposed to download this silly Chinese app, toss my picture in there, and have a few lighthearted and good-natured laughs.  As you can imagine, that didn't happen.

Yeah, sure.  Whatever you say, language I don't understand.  Usher me into an abyss of self-consciousness and facial-image issues with your whimsical aura of sunlight and vegetation with no sense of remorse.

Let me upload some pictures and see how realistic this can get.  I mean, what are the odds that these things can even capture my face and likeness, right?

Oh sweet Jesus no.  What flimsy-wristed, nut-hugger jean-wearing creature have I created?  How swaggerless is this cat?  Like, I might get beat up by association with this dude.  Let's try again...

Apparently the side profile view does not change my apparel.  This is bad.  This is very bad.  On the bright side, my teeth are so white they believe that #AllLivesMatter.  One more try...

FUCK.  If this creation could talk, it would beg for me to kill it.  I know it's an avatar I just created 5 minutes ago, but this dude just wants to die.  Came into the world, saw it's existence, and wanted nothing to do with life anymore.  

Initially, I blamed the app.  Like, why is this overseas-based web application trying to play me like this?  But then I realized that the key problem was the variable aka the person taking the picture aka me.  I'm the problem.  Guess I have to flee the country, change faces, and reappear to try this shit again at a later date like Nic Cage in 'Face Off' ™.  

The app portraying me without a penis all three times hurts the most.

Monday, April 13, 2015

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The second I found out that we had black people emojis, I tried to alert as many people as possible. Also, it finally allowed me to recognize Obama's presidency as an actual "thing."  So you can imagine my shock, sadness, and confusion when everyone responded back to me with "huh?" and "what?"

To my dismay, we did not, in fact, make it.  Contrarily, it revealed that Apple kind of thinks of black people as white aliens.  Not jumping to conclusions, just pointing out facts.  Similar to Jelly Belly jelly bean mathematics, according to the iPhone emoji system, a black emoji with a dark caesar haircut = one white dude with a regular cut + an alien.  

Ipso facto, Steve Jobs always thought black people were just white aliens.  Dude was truly a visionary.  Probably explains that extra muscle in our legs, y'all.  Glad we cleared all that up.

Wednesday, April 8, 2015

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We all knew it would happen eventually, but British swans are tired of the shit.  They're sick of it. Officially fed up with the gondolas, the gawking tourists, and people tossing wack ass bread in the water.  So guess what?  They snapped.  They absolutely lost it.  Look at that picture up top - that photographer is dead.  Just got nubbed to death by the toothless death-machine that is the swan.

"Stop looking at me, bitch. I hate you, your family, and everyone on this boat.  I hope a meteor falls from the sky and literally hits only this boat. I'd kill you all if I had my gun on me."

"Think I'm above 'credit card' swiping the gooch?  Because I'm not. Tell your old bag wife to keep her eyes facing front before she gets dealt with, homie. TELL HER!"

Friday, April 3, 2015

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Ho hum, the sun came out, the day ends in "y", and a dude died in a sex toy related accident with a scarecrow.  Typical day tbh.

Look, Argentinian dude, I'm not going to say that I get it, because I don't.  This shit is weird and depraved as all hell.  But I do understand that dudes need to switch things up in their daily life.  If I eat burritos Monday and Tuesday, I don't want a burrito on Wednesday.  If you have regular inanimate object sex Monday and Tuesday, you don't want that on Wednesday.  You want to change it up.  I got pizza on Wednesday, you strapped a strap-on to a scarecrow on Wednesday and died.

Different animal, same beast.  

Thursday, April 2, 2015

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Listen, there are plenty of jokes to be made about driving skills in "certain regions" and stereotypes about dog treatment in "certain regions," but let's just be happy that this dog survived what looks to be a pretty terrible ordeal.  And, according to media reports, the dog and the owner appear to have patched things up/are best friends.  Like, "Yeah bro, you hit the shit out of me with your car and had me trapped in your death machine for roughly 250 miles, but you tossed a piece of bacon on the ground last night, so I guess we're cool now."  

Real talk, we all know this dog hates this fucking dude's guts and is plotting a way to kill him in his sleep on a daily basis, but for now, this is a feel-good story.