• Gary Coleman makes a perfect mini-me for Richard Pryor.
  • I read a quote that says rather than curse the dark, one should light a candle. Useless! Here’s some practical advice you can use in the bathroom: Rather than curse the odor, light a match.
  • The more I watch my 401-k, the more I think my best retirement plan may be to die early.
  • Here’s a warning that should be on the package of sunflower seeds: “Warning. Consuming this product may cause sharp debris in stool.”


Diarrhea of the keyboard

The first step toward insanity is giving a damn.

I often wonder why family members insist on being present during a pregnant lady’s ultrasound exam. They want to witness the “miracle of life in the womb” or some shit. “Oh my God. Look at that tiny little baby. It’s a miracle.” I think family members should wait outside in the lobby. After all, were they present when the child was conceived? “Look under the sheets. Look at the way his ball sack ricochets off her ass cheeks. Look at him pile drive that shaved bush. Isn’t it a miracle?”

It’s true what they say, “The truth shall set you free.” And it’s a good thing, too. You’re going to need freedom to flee from all the enemies you’ve made telling the truth.

“Wealth” is a relative term. Consider: Thirty years ago the richest people in the world didn’t have cable TV, the Internet, or The Clapper. What the hell good was money?

Recently China sent two of its astronauts around the earth in a space orbit. On behalf of America, I’d like to welcome China to 1958.

My favorite thing to wish on bad drivers is for them to “wrap it around a telephone pole.” I don’t know why. I want every dipshit on the road to collide with a telephone pole. The telephone pole seems to me to exact the greatest justice.

We’re always encouraging kids to read. At every school is a campaign asking kids to “read more.” Have we considered that the best-selling books are ones that instruct you how to talk with the dead, how to lose weight eating nothing but steak, how to coax a man to love you by imposing silly, arbitrary rules on the entire gender, and John Grishom novels. Maybe reading is overrated.

I’m amazed at the devastating litigation borne from silicone breast implants back in the 1980s. I won’t comment on the merits of the class-action lawsuits. I’ll only say that vanity sometimes comes at a price. Imagine if men tried to sue if suddenly penis implants made by Dow Chemical started causing cancer and other health ailments. Of course that would never happen because all of us men are so well endowed. But hypothetically, would the jury feel sorry for these guys?

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury. My client had a penis implant back in 2001. After a particularly wild night at the Jug Shack, it broke. Since then he suffers from fibromyalgia. Plus it burns when he urinates. Admittedly, that could be a case of the clap, but we feel Dow Chemical had a hand in it either way, which is why my client deserves 5.2 million dollars.”

The jury would probably think, “What’s the matter, pencil dick? You had an elective surgery to become a tripod and now there are some complications? Tough.”

I’ve always been lazy. But now that I’m getting older I realize that I only have two things pulling me off the couch: fried chicken and pussy.

Let me get this straight. Credit card companies can advertise lifestyles filled with romance, adventure, parasailing, travel, 5-star hotels, fine dining, jet skis and jewelry -- with no consequences to your financial security -- yet McDonald’s can’t offer to “supersize” your #3 combo without being sued for billions? All right.

I’m not saying the guys at my neighborhood gas station are unfriendly, but recently they posted a sign over the “self-service” notice that reads, “Pump your own fuckin’ gas, maggot.”

In 40 years, we’ve gone from “Ask not what your country can do for you…” to “I have a right to free healthcare, a college education, a government-sponsored pension plan, and reruns of Friends on cable 6 times per day.”

Those obsessed with fairness should remember that if an asteroid fell from the sky and killed all of us equally, it would by definition be “fair.”

I think those guys who deliberately park so that they take up 2 parking spaces (so nobody dings their pimped-out Hyundai) should have to pay double for vehicle registration tags. Oh yeah, and we should castrate them, too.

I don’t believe the world is overpopulated, but I do believe that it would be a better place if we exterminated the right 78% of people.

One of the silliest things teenagers do is identify themselves by the kind of music they like. They’ll ask each other things like, “Are you a metal-head? Are you goth? Are you into country?” We don’t do that when we’re younger. I never asked my 3rd grade classmates “Hey, what kind of cartoons do you watch?” “Oh, I don’t like to label myself. I used to get into Woody Woodpecker. Then I tried some Casper, but I found that whole scene passé and derivative. Superfriends is so politically incorrect with their patriarchal social structure. Right now I’m into Scooby Doo. Very progressive.” Pretentious spoiled brats, these teens. The only music they should be talking about is the choir music they hear in church -- after they do their homework and finish their household chores.

I never understood the popularity of boxer shorts underwear. The purpose of underwear is to keep your junk in one general locale. I need snugness down there! For God’s sake, I wear scrubs to work. I wore a pair of boxers once and felt like a great dane at a stud auction. I know tighty-whities are the new Underoos and everybody ridicules you for wearing them. So compromise and wear boxer-briefs. All the fashion sense of boxers with the utility of briefs. And by “utility” I mean holding your junk in one place when you ambulate.

Here’s a little-known fact: You know those tinted headlights? Those are the nighttime equivalent of rainbow bumperstickers. Yeah, it’s how queers identify one another at night. Fast and the Furious gayboy fuckers.

I watched my first episode of Nip Tuck last night. Strange thing. There’s no guy named “Tucker” on the show and there’s no Japanese guy, either. Go figure.

The business world puts a high premium on employees who welcome change, which means having employees eager to develop brand new ways to fuck things up.

You know what would be cool. A hurricane whose eye passes over a BB factory. That would be one deadly hurricane.

If somebody says “no,” they mean “no.” If somebody says “absolutely not,” they mean “yes.”


Three more vignettes

Got pics?

I don't understand why we put missing children's pictures on the back of milk cartons. The only people still drinking milk are kids!

I guess some adults still drink milk. It's perfect with dessert, after all. Still, we should remove all the missing kids' pictures and replace them with pictures of misbehaving children. Much more useful.

Have you seen this kid? His name is Tommy. He's 5'1" and 80 pounds. He's not missing, but he can be a real pain in the ass -- ever since he didn't get a PS-2 for his birthday. Some blame it on ADD, but really, he's just a brat. IF you see him, run like hell and lock your kids inside.

Bowtie Baffoonery

Somebody needs to tell TV lawyers and politicians that bowties are for little boys. Before the age of 10 or so, bowties are cute. After the age of 40, they're a sign of senility -- unless, of course, you're a 40+ clown, in which case it’s work attire. Although many clown companies allow traditional neckties on casual Fridays.

Why don't these bowtie guys accessorize? Work that little bowtie. How about a pair of red suspenders and a lollipop? Wouldn't a lollipop tie things together? One of those big, round swirl pops.

And they could skip to and fro. Maybe wear one of those beanie caps with a propeller. And skip.

Too bad there aren't more accidental strangulation deaths from bowties. The most useful thing about a bowtie is its potential to strangle its owner. Too bad that usually doesn't happen.

Let's just go back to the necktie. And not those 80s, thin, Duran Duran ties. I mean the 1973, wide-body, Brady Bunch ties. Those are cool.

Super Duper Heros

I read that a comic book (The Green Lantern, I think) has featured its first HIV-positive character. This is the first character in the history of comic books to have the disease.

It's about damn time! Did they expect us to believe that all these men prancing around in tights never contracted a little something in the Gothum Bath House?

Comic book heroes make the Back Street Boys look butch. I haven't seen more tightly wrapped packages since Xmas '82. And Batman #389 give new meaning to the term "Battle of the Bulge."

I wonder if now that one of the characters has HIV, we'll start seeing other super heros develop AIDS as well. You know how they are. If one has it...


Leonardo Da Vinci's genius

Perhaps the most famous sketch in the world is Da Vinci's Vitruvian Man. I'm sure you've seen it. It's that naked guy inside the circle.

Scholars agree The Vitruvian Man celebrates the genius of Leonardo Da Vinci -- his mastery of anatomy, depiction of the Divine Proportion, the canon of the human form.

I look at that same sketch and think, "Put some freakin' pants on, weirdo."

This guy's "master-piece" is front and center, and the look on his face is like "so check out the package." No humility at all on him. I’ve seen great danes make more of an effort to hide their junk. Peewee Herman was looking at VM and said “Damn, dude. Tuck that shit under for a while.”

If I were posing for an artist, I wouldn't stand naked, legs akimbo, with my junk on display for all of posterity to see. Although I'd give a whole new meaning to the term "Divine Proportion."

They really let it all hang out in the Renaissance Period. Have you been to The Louvre? It's like a naked bomb exploded in there. Nothing but oil genitalia and boobs. Everybody on the walls looks like they're headed to an Abercrombie photo shoot.

Girls Gone Wild -- the Renaissance Period!

With all those naked people running around, you think a couple of those fellas' sundials would be pointing north. The entire European population must have been drunk or gay.

If I were an art critic, I'd write about things like this professionally. But I'm under court order not to “engage in artwork involving nude models or the depiction of human nudity of any kind” ever since the sculpting “incident.”

Stupid model couldn't take a joke.



  • Some guys are hung like a horse. I’m hung like a steer.
  • Gastric bypass: the chastity belt of the culinary world.
  • There are two reasons I’m glad I’m alive today: I don’t have to wind my watch and I don’t have to get up to change the channel. It’s important to be grateful for the little things.
  • Why do we pay the phone company? We don’t need them anymore. The wires are already in place. Screw those guys.
  • Ethics question: You get married. You have a wonderful marriage. Thirty years later, she dies. You remarry. You share 10 wonderful years with your second wife. She dies. And then you die sometime later. Do you get to have a three-way in Heaven?
  • When a woman gets angry, she’s “empowered.” When a man gets angry, he’s “abusive.”
  • Of all the fast food places, I love Subway the most. But not because the food is any better. I like it because I feel like royalty. I march up to the food bar, fold my arms across my chest and declare: “I’m hungry, my royal subject. Make me a sandwich without delay.” Then I scrutinize the employee’s work. “Not too much oil, you greasy dago bastard.” Some employees discourage my use of racial epithets, but I promptly remind them that I’m the customer. “Your green visor is your mark of servitude, and you shall address me as Lord. Now make my 12-inch roast beef with haste, you Hoagie Minion.” Then I demand a free cookie for my inconvenience.
  • You know what Hell is for a liberal? Non-stop, 24 hour shifts as a Wal-Mart employee with lunch breaks at McDonald’s.
  • If I were a kid, I’d put a bumper sticker on my bicycle fender that reads, “My parents have a vicarious obsession with my making the Honor Roll.”
  • If your job is causing thoughts of suicide, embezzlement, grand larceny, substance abuse, criminal damage, arson, homicide, felony assault, helplessness, financial ruin, inferiority, fraud, or pissing in the coffee maker, you’re taking it too seriously.
  • I’m going to found a mutual fund that buys and sells goods on eBay. And a hedge fund that speculates on hotdog cart vendors. Mail your 401-k money to me.


Laughing gas, dentistry and air traffic control

Everybody knows how stressful being an air traffic controller is. Here’s proof. I just read that air traffic controllers and dentists have the highest rates of suicide. I can understand air traffic controllers. But dentists?

This is an alarming statistic. Air traffic controlling and dentistry are last two professions in the world that should employ suicidal people! How long do you think it will take some air traffic controller to figure out that a cool way to kill oneself is by navigating a 737 into the tower he's working in?

“Attention Delta Flight 502: make your heading 274 and maintain an altitude of 30 feet. And 502, don't mind the radar blip straight ahead. It’s not the tower. It’s just some interference. And speaking of interference, do you ever feel that your mother's interference with your childhood has forever sucked the joy out of your life?”

I don't know why dentists are so depressed. What’s a bad day for a dentist? Did all the patients eat Milk Duds and Oreos before their appointments?

Don’t get me wrong about dentists. I’m sure their jobs suck sometimes. Retrieving popcorn kernels from underneath gum lines all day isn't fun, but it can't be all that bad when you consider you have unfettered access to laughing gas. That’s right. Dentists have all the nitrous oxide you could want. No calories, no hang-overs, doesn’t show in a urine test. Talk about a perfect drug! That happy nose isn’t just for the patients, you know. I always offer my dentist a hit when I'm getting work done just to be considerate. I don't want an uptight dentist doing my root canal. And I certainly don't want a depressed person with a tray full of sharp instruments around me while I'm unable to articulate consoling words because of the gauze in my mouth. If I were a suicidal dentist, I’d strap that happy nose around my face and turn the dial to “whiney brat.”

Dentistry and air traffic control both sound like good gigs to me. So why all the suicide? You don't see burger flippers dipping their heads in the fryers or janitors drowning themselves in the bucket. I don't mean to disparage these or other menial labor jobs. They are necessary and even noble. But these poor fucks have to be more suicidal than dentists!


In the newd today

I read in the news that about 100 people stripped naked and rode a roller coaster together.

It's not enough these naked people are making political protests. Now they have to soil roller coaster seats with ass. Remember the good ole days when people stripped naked in public to fornicate?

Anyway, the last place in the world I want to be naked is on a roller coaster. First, the G-forces are going to pull unsecured appendages beyond comfortable dimensions. The ride operators would have to amend that "keep arms and legs inside the ride at all times" caution to include gonads.

But more important, my dong is going to shrink to the size of a cocktail wiener during that first initial drop. That's scary shit.

And every once in a while a roller coaster makes an emergency stop. Sometimes it takes hours to rescue the passengers. How would you like you and your genitals on display for an entire theme park -- and the blazing sun? Sometimes you're stuck upside down! Ass-end up. And most of today’s coasters are suspension rides. That means sun-burned ass.

Call me a prude. But you should leave your clothes on for the roller coaster -- and take them off for the bumper cars.


A philosophical bent

  • If it satisfies you, it’s a virtue. If it leaves you wanting more, it’s an indulgence. If it eclipses all other wants, it’s a vice.
  • If we were to deem weeds desirable, they would wither and die without delay.
  • Humor is the essence of creativity. Objectivity is the foundation of intelligence. Dependence is the root of indignity. Unitelligibility is the cause of hatred.
  • How can I hate bars and love booze at the same time?


How many fingernails am I holding up?

Have you seen those guys who let one of their fingernails grow way longer than the others? Why do they do that? Do they have an itch that's just out of reach? Maybe they're tired of not having a screwdriver when they really need it. I think it would be easier to just carry an all-in-one tool with you. How do they decide which fingernail they're going to grow? And why stop there? They've already got a screwdriver. Why not let a couple of nails grow on the other hand? Then they'd have needle-nose pliers!

These are the same kind of guys who wear their hair short, but let that one little rat-tail grow out the back. I abhor this pathetic attempt to look hip. If you want to be a freak, show some commitment for Christ's sake. Grow your whole damn head of hair like one of the Ramones. Let all ten of those fingernails grow into twisted little freaks of nature like Howard Hughes. Grow your hair like a real hippie, and then go get it caught in a piece of machinery that decapitates you. Freak.

I know. That’s mean-spirited. And we all know how loving hippies are. Please don’t bother pointing out the irony with your freakishly long fingernail.


I'm in love with my car

We love our cars, don’t we? We love cars. We derive a sense of identity from our cars. What we drive is who we are. Some guys love their cars so much that after they buy them, they join a car club. You know this guy, don’t you? He wears a baseball cap with the name brand of his car on it. He’s got the matching key chain, belt buckle, coffee mug and boxer shorts. He budgets a weekly detailing service while his child-support falls into arrears. He masturbates to Hot Rod Magazine. And he’s a member of the car club. He wears his car’s name brand hat to the meetings. Sidenote: you don’t see baseball caps with other name brands on them -- Viagra. Nobody wears that one.

What is the purpose of a car club? A bunch of people get together and celebrate car ownership. Call me a spoiled sport, but I don’t think owning a car requires a weekly celebration. After all, I own a house, but I don’t meet with all the other homeowners once a week and discuss the new ceiling fan I installed. I do have an HOA, but they just complain about the length of my weeds and my nude newspaper retrieval. It’s not the same thing.

Car clubs would have been cool about a hundred years ago, before everybody owned three of them. In 1905, you would have been one slick dude if you were cruising around in a Ford. “That’s right baby, I’m a Model “A” man. And all the ladies want my phone number. I got a top end of 22 miles per hour and a sweet-ass chrome crank starter. Wood-spoke rims, standard, beeeotch!” The 7 guys who could afford a car had something to celebrate. But this is 2005. Who gives a shit about your tricked-out Hyundai? Shouldn’t you be getting thrown out of a titty bar right about now?

A recent car commercial shows other cars dimming their lights and bowing to the featured car. You read this right: bowing -- presumabley out of respect to the superior automobile, as if the car were royalty. Who’s buying this steaming pile of advertisement? Cars bowing to each other? It’s a sedan, not the Pope! Why should my car bow to some middle-aged pencil-dick in a Lexus? If my car is bowing, it’s not out of respect. It’s because I rear-ended a Hybrid with a “Buck Fush” bumpersticker. I never cease to be amazed at what advertisers want us to believe.

Some cars are so cool that they have a motorized rear-view mirror. When headlights shine into the mirror, a sensor activates a motor which moves the mirror into “night-driver” mode. What inspired this? Maybe some guys are so excited about their cool cars that they can’t remove their hands from their penises long enough to adjust a mirror. Honestly, though -- do we really need a motorized rear-view mirror? What’s the matter? Are you all tuckered out from activating the crusie control? You know what these mirrors should have? A message that reads “Vain jerk-off in mirror is gayer than he appears.”


So many ideas, so few readers

  • Maybe I lacked self-esteem as a kid, but when adults asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I explained that it would be hard enough to get anybody to want me for anything, let alone for what I wanted to do.
  • “Some assembly required” = “some cussing required.”
  • Here’s the problem with life: It’s tough to get a realistic view of something into you’ve jumped into the middle of it, but by then, it’s too late to decide you didn’t want it. For example, I’ll bet your career sounded cool when you started out. How’s it treating you now?
  • “Lifetime guaruntee” = “guarunteed to sit on shelf for a lifetime.”
  • Here’s all you need to know about Social Security. Two generations of American workers, Generations X and Y, involuntarily pay into a system they know will either offer them a pittance, or nothing at all when they retire. The Baby Boomers -- 65 million of them -- will make sure they get everything promised no matter what it costs. Therefore, not only are the rest of us paying for a benefit that won‘t be there, payroll taxes will increase throughout our working lives. Social Security isn’t failing. It has failed. We have 535 congressman. Not one will admit this. In conclusion, not only will the dildo fucking you in the ass increase in diameter, but when you roll over for your retirement reach-around, you’ll get a kick in the nuts, instead. God bless FDR.
  • “Limited warranty” = “limited to the time it takes us to ship it to you.”
  • We tell rich people “you can’t take your money with you.” We all know that. But it’s important to remember the same applies for your debts, too. Yay!
  • Some people hate money. I think they’re should be a hate crime for people who hate money. Who should be prosecuted? People who buy Glade Plug-in air fresheners. What are these people thinking? “Gosh, is there a way I can waste money and electricity at the same time?” And what’s with this Oil of Olay shit my wife keeps buying that costs $29 for a shot glass-full of cream. I couldn’t jerk off with the amount they put in those small bottles. “But I like the way it makes my skin tingle.” Well go buy a bottle of Jergen’s and mix some Bengay in it. Save me $20. And how about Starbucks? STARBUCKS? I know, everybody jokes about how much their coffee costs. But they love the coffee. If you drink Starbucks, you don’t love coffee. You hate money! Brew your own coffee and throw a scoop of ice cream in it.
  • “Some restrictions apply” = “we were completely full of shit just now. Please disregard.”
  • Corn is God’s greatest miracle. You can do anything with corn. Cornflakes. How do you make a flake out of corn? It’s a miracle. You can make oil out of corn. You can magically turn corn into a nut. Corn nuts! Amazing.
  • “Buy one, get one free.” = “we overpriced this shit by 100%.”
  • If you want a first mortgage, you have to prove you can afford it. Then they give you a second mortgage to ensure you can’t afford it.
  • Have you noticed when a company wants to improve its image it shows pictures of African children’s faces. It doesn’t matter what they’re selling. They just need to show those little faces. They could be selling plutonium-tipped baby seal clubs to the KKK. As long as they imply that they’re helping Africa everything’s OK.
  • Capitalism is like the Betamax video recorder. It’s a superior product. It works the best. The only problem is, nobody’s buying it.