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.”