Random Variables

  • If a train “derails,” shouldn’t a car be able to “de-road?” Can a pedestrian “de-sidewalk?” Hey, if I’m on the crapper, can I dethrone?
  • Calling in sick for work is a lot like vomiting. You hate doing it. But you feel wonderful immediately afterward.
  • Here’s the difference between Hip Hop and Rap Music: Hip Hop is about what men want to do to women. Rap tends to be about what men want to do to men. And also, Rap tends to use the word “fuck” more.
  • Anybody who’s so fat they have to pay for two airline tickets should -- in all fairness -- be able to drive in the carpool lane legally. I’m just sayin’.
  • You get better customer service from a vending machine than a Taco Bell. How about those little Einsteins, huh? Hey Taco Bell, Inc. Forget the drug test. Make your employees pass an I.Q. test!
  • If we all wore mood rings we’d never have to ask each other how we’re doing. Heaven.
  • It’s funny that our currency reads “In God We Trust.” If we really trusted God, we wouldn’t chase after money.
  • We used to call them “pirates.” Now we call them “seamen.” I’m not making this up. That’s what we call sailors now. No wonder the Navy is having trouble recruiting. Your job title is a synonym for some dude’s spunk. Even a Cambodian refugee has a more impressive title: boat person.
  • I read that safety designers are working on an airbag for motorcycles. I don’t get it. Unless you’re restrained in a compartment of some kind, all an airbag will do is change the direction your body flings. Putting a high-tech jumping castle in front of a motorcycle won’t help the poor bastard: he’ll just bounce backward at 80 miles per hour. Motorcycle airbag = human superball.
  • I don’t understand gift cards. Basically you’re saying “Here. Go pick out your own gift. I can’t think of anything.” Why not just give cash?
  • If time is money, why don’t homeless people have more spare change? They’ve got all the time in the world, yet they keep hitting me up for a dollar.
  • The only advice you can’t give to yourself: Do as I say, not as I do.
  • Everybody knows that Englishmen drive on the left side of the road, but few people know that Englishmen’s hearts are on the right side of their body. In fact, all their internal organs are inverted left-to-right. Also, the French have their heads up their asses.


New Year's Resolutions

Christmas behind us, we’ve directed our attention to the New Year and, of course, our Resolutions. Already many web logs feature the authors’ resolutions for 2006. I’m sure those of you reading are kicking around the idea of a few resolutions if you haven’t already reduced them to writing. Before you draft your Resolutions, I invite you to consider my advice. I’ve been resolving to do stuff for over 2 decades now. Perhaps you can profit from my experience with the New Year’s Resolution. For example, last year I resolved to:

  • Purchase stock in Trident Gum; find the 5th dentist who doesn’t approve; kill him.
  • Get to know my penis on a deeper level.
  • Drink as much diet soda as my kidneys will allow.
  • Divvy up my lottery winnings with all my blogger friends.
  • Find and capture the “real killers” of Ron Goldman and Nicole Brown; deliver them to OJ for the reward money.
  • Clone wife, have threesome.
  • Research my family tree and prune out all the jerks.
  • Figure out the ending to 2001, A Space Odyssey.
  • Take a self-esteem class.

I’m happy to report I’ve succeeded in no less than 3 of the above! You’re probably wondering what elements make for a successful Resolution. I’m glad you asked. Incorporate the following into your Resolutions and you’re sure to have a happy, prosperous New Year:

1) Success begins at home. Get your home in order first.
Example Resolution: Give the wife gentle reminders to leave the toilet seat in its upright position where it belongs.

2) Improve your marketability. Outsourcing and technological advances have made the job market more competitive than ever. You should constantly reinvent yourself and add to your skill set.
Example Resolution: Become fluent in that cool “mizzle fizzle” language that Snoop Doggy Dog invented. Then, make sure to check the “bilingual” box on job applications.

3) Be a patriot. Do something to help your country.
Example Resolution: Train for competitive eating so I can finally beat that Japanese fucker who robs us of our national dignity by eating more hotdogs on the 4th of July than American slobs 3 times his bodyweight.

4) Don’t forget physical fitness.
Example Resolution: Sign up for that auto-fellatio yoga class you read about on that flyer.

5) Give yourself a fashion make-over to go with the new you.
Example Resolution: Bring the Speedo swimsuit back into style. Stuff as needed.

6) Show gratitude to those who’ve earned it.
Example Resolution: Stop by my old anger management workshop and piss in my counselor’s gas tank. And if it’s a convertible, take a dump on the console.

7) Quantify your resolutions. The most effective goals can be measured.
Example Resolution: Send American Idol contestant Bo Bice 30% more hate-mail this year. Encourage him to shave and get a haircut. Stinkin’ hippie. Also, remind him that his goatee looks like Kelly Clarkson’s twat patch.

8) Drop some of those bad habits by scaling back. Research shows that gradual cut-backs are more effective than quitting “cold turkey.”
Example Resolution: Only do blow and rock when I’m at the titty bar. Elsewhere, stick to Nyquil and Epicac cocktails.

9) Improve your performance at work. Success at work means success in life.
Example Resolution: Purchase and apply talcum powder to scrotum every morning so I don’t have to itch my sack 19 times per day. Or instead, quit job at the food processing plant. Either way, stop having to listen to colleagues exclaim “Damn, wash your hands first, man!”

I hope you profit from the above 9 tips for making New Year's Resolutions. Good luck, Godspeed, and Happy New Year!


Santa Claus is blogging to town

Christmas vacation gave us school kids a lot of time to think about the man for whom we celebrate Christmas. No, not Jesus -- He got Easter and every Sunday my parents didn’t accidentally sleep in for church. I’m talking about Santa Claus. Say, who do you think would win in a fight? Jesus or Santa Claus?

Santa fascinated me. I contemplated Santa daily from Thanksgiving until Christmas Morning. I remember asking my parents about Santa Claus -- not if he were real (of that I was certain!) -- rather, why didn't he use his magical, gift-giving powers to pay off our mortgage last Christmas? Or, how about World Peace and a kick-ass Corvette? Why didn’t he cure my uncle’s drinking problem -- or at least transport him out of jail for the holidays? These are the kinds of questions parents face when they allow their child to believe in Santa Claus until he's 15. It’s a good thing my folks finally let me in on the gag: I was planning to ask for a fake I.D. and my very own Taiwanese sex slave that Christmas. And a Nintendo.

When you discover the truth about Santa, you don’t feel disappointment. You feel excitement. You yearn to tell every kid younger than you that Santa isn't real. Five minutes after learning that Santa is really your mom and dad, you suddenly become the Paul Revere of your neighborhood.

[Marching the street and shouting] THERE'S NO SANTA. IT'S REALLY MOM AND DAD PLAYING A TRICK ON YOU. Surrender your hopes and dreams, little ones. Santa is a myth! The Santa you met at the mall is just a recovering alcoholic who squeaked by a criminal background check. Santa isn’t real.”

Nothing brings more joy around the holidays than shattering the dreams of kids a year younger than you.


Macho, macho men

You know who I feel sorry for? The Cowboy from the Village People. Oh sure. He’s got high cheekbones, a cool gun and a wardrobe to die for. But it seems to me the man(?) was cursed with being ahead of his time.

You all know what I’m getting at. It’s this new movie, Tent-Pole Mountain, or whatever the hell they call it, the one featuring two gay cowboys as romantic leads. You read it right: two cowboys -- and they’re queer. And by “queer,” I don’t mean “odd.” I mean beanbags-across-a-stubbly-chin gay. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t have a problem with gays or cowboys. And I suppose it’s possible that both things can happen to a guy at the same time -- being responsible for the day-to-day operation of a cattle farm and somehow finding a penis to be just the right object to insert in a rectum. Fine.

I wonder what this movie is about. Is the bunkhouse in desperate need of window treatments and these two cowboys rise to the challenge? Is the Indian Chief not a bloodthirsty savage, but merely a misunderstood loner in need of some male companionship? Maybe our two cowboys can be the bread for the Chief’s beef jerky sandwich? Before paleface make sandwich, must smoke peace pipe. You tell’em, Chief Twinkle Eye.

Now back to the Village People Cowboy: can you see why I feel sorry for him? This guy was poking his ass out of those chaps on stage for 30 years before the protagonists in Tent-Pole Mountain witnessed a desert sunset in each other’s arms. He never got the attention and media hype this movie is getting. Heck, most guys didn’t even catch the subtle fact that the Cowboy et al. were advocating a gay lifestyle. I didn’t realize it myself. Of course I was only a kid. But even the older kids didn’t notice. The local bully would sing “In the Navy” while kicking the crap out of us. Somehow, it just worked. Think about it. You feel more macho when you hear a Village People song. Don’t you? Those guys could have done the soundtrack for Manhood itself. Gay? Nonsense. Back in the 70s, those guys were men’s men. Even Hitler-Revival groups sang along to the Village People. That was good, clean, white, Anglo-Saxon, Christian stuff. Heil Felipe the Indian! I’ll bet there were some blushing neo-Nazis around 1983 when it dawned on us that the Village People were the 1970’s equivalent of Boy George!

The Village People Cowboy must be kicking himself through his ass-less chaps. I’ll bet he’s storming around his classic-six apartment, delivering a soliloquy to the effect of:

“What the hell do I have to do to get some media spotlight? So now gay cowboys are hip? Now Oprah’s telling everybody to go see a couple ambiguous cowboys fasten each other’s saddles in a movie? Where the hell was all this pomp back in 1978? I paved the way for these two breeders. I’m the pioneer. I’m the trailblazer. Me. I’m the one who lubricated the way for these two cowpokes to hump their way into America’s hearts. And it hasn’t been easy. I’ve been dodging the clumsy advances of that greasy Indian. I’ve been poking fake pistols into my package. I’ve dropped thousands of dollars into moustache wax and leather cleaner. And this is the thanks I get? Screw that Donnie Darko Dipstick. You know the producer did. How else do you think he got that part? Ooh, Cowboy, you still got it!”

So I feel sorry for The Cowboy. This should have been his day in the tanning booth.

Oh, now I remember the name of that movie. It’s called “Brokeback Mountain,” or as critics will soon dub it, “The feel-good movie of the queer.

[Rimshot. Fade out.]


More bullets

  • I’d kill for a little peace in my life.
  • Anybody who can’t see what a nice guy I am must be a real jerk.
  • I’d love to be more optimistic. On second thought, optimism probably wouldn’t do me any good, anyway.
  • How stupid it was for me not to realize sooner how smart I am!
  • Please don’t end your sentences with prepositions. It’s one thing I won’t put up with.
  • Hold on. I’m planning my next act of spontaneity.
  • I don’t have the time to shop for a watch.
  • From time to time I rob Peter to Pay Paul, but I’ll never fool Sallie Mae.
  • If you want see into your future, take a look at what you’ve left behind.
  • If the Lord helps those who help themselves, how come so many car thieves wind up in jail?
  • A bad day fishing is better than a good day at work, unless you’re a professional fisherman, in which case it’s a tie.
  • When you wish somebody a Merry Christmas and they snidely remark that they don’t celebrate Christmas, promptly wish them a crappy one, then, instead.


Firing off more bullets

  • I overdosed on placebos last Wednesday. It turns out I only thought I overdosed.
  • Speaking of placebos, did you know they’re typically sugar pills? Why sugar? You want the placebo to fool the person taking it. You’re not going to fool them if the pill tastes good. Pills aren’t supposed to taste good. They’re supposed to taste like powdered battery acid. If I’m ever in an experimental group and the tester gives me a sweet-tasting pill, I’m gonna give him a double-blind punch in the gut.
  • Sometimes, just to freak my wife out, I’ll take my shirt off, stand in front of our mirror, look myself in the eye and say “Rule #1: Don’t talk about Fight Club. Rule #2: DO NOT talk about Fight Club.”
  • Catch 22: Let’s say you’ve got a cold. You can’t inhale through your nose without nasal spray, but you can’t administer nasal spray without inhaling through your nose. Boogers and whatnot.
  • Due to your municipality’s commitment to the separation of Church and State, red-and-green traffic control devices have been banned around the non-denominational holiday season. From now until February 1st, all traffic lights will shine crimson for STOP, and lime for GO. The yellow CAUTION light will be amber. Drive safely and have a happy non-denominational holiday season.
  • I don’t see why companies install hidden cameras and microphones to eavsdrop on employees. If they want to learn the truth fill the water cooler with gin.
  • When people say they “want nice things,” what they mean is “nicer things than others.” After all, everything we have today is pretty nice.
  • Unless you’re Helen Keller or Tommy, you’re AWARE of AIDS and breast cancer. Now can we stop with the commercials, run/walks and wristbands?
  • I’m never so proud as when I read what I just wrote. I’m never so embarrassed as when I read what I wrote a year ago.
  • I know sometimes it seems that women have to put up with more than men. But ladies, here’s something to cheer you up: it’s much easier for women to simulate a penis than it is for men to simulate a vagina.



  • I object to the phrase “picking one’s brain” unless you’re filming a movie about zombies. If you need help -- seek someone’s counsel, ask for advice, seek somebody’s opinion. Please don’t “pick their brain” unless you’re a member of the undead or a werewolf.
  • Whenever I ride the escalators at the mall I feel like royalty. It’s such a regal activity. Isn’t it? I feel elevated, important, distinguished. I half-expect a concierge to announce me when I arrive at the second floor. It’s never happened. Sometimes an old hag in a white suit will spray me with some Stetson cologne, though.
  • Tofu is to meat as a blow-up doll is to a real, naked girl. They just ain’t the same thing.

Ode to an Old Lady:

Oh my hip! Oh my back! Oh, m’knee!
Gotta shit. Gotta fart. Gotta pee.

Every joint on my bony body hurts.
When I take a crap it shoots in bloody spurts.

I can’t sit up. I can’t lie down. Help!
Every time I try to move I have to yelp.

Take a gander up my dress if you must.
Not much to see. Just a cavern filled with dust.

  • The other day I saw a guy on a motorcycle riding in the carpool lane. Pure balls.
  • I’ve often read surveys that ask men what they first notice in a woman. I answer that question with a question: Is she walking toward me or away from me?
  • The difference between zero and a little is a lot. This idea gives me hope.
  • What do you call a great-looking woman who’s not so bright? A foxymoron.


Could a CAR fit in Santa's bag?

I saw an ad on TV tonight that encouraged buying your spouse a Mercedes for Christmas. A car. A luxury car. For Christmas.

When did a luxury car become a reasonable request for a Christmas gift? I know the economy is doing well. But can people afford cars as gifts nowadays? If so, I’m going to have to get a second job. I’m having trouble scraping together the cash for a remote-control car for my kid.

Let’s say you are asking for a car this Christmas. How do you bring that up to your spouse?

"Honey, this Christmas I’d like a new car. Nothing too fancy. Something in a Mercedes sedan. Oh, and if you have time, can you pick me up a 2-carat diamond ring with a platinum setting, 10,000 shares of Bethlehem Steel, a summer home in Fiji, and a can of Planters Sweet 'n' Crunchy peanuts. I love those."

I'm pushing my luck just asking for a Christmas blow job. But I persist. Last year I got one by convincing my wife that my jism would taste like cookie dough on account of all the Christmas cookies I’d been eating. She fell for it. This is what they mean when they recommend you get “creative” in bed to keep things “fresh.” Take that, Cosmopolitan!

A few Christmases ago, I asked for a GameBoy. The wife eventually caved, but I spent the entire holiday season in suspense. Those Gameboys were pricy. I gave it a 50%-50% chance. I got the Gameboy -- and a Christmas hummer, come to think of it -- but a car is simply out of the question!

If your spouse can afford to buy you a Mercedes for Christmas, then you don't need to wait until Christmas for a Mercedes. You know what I mean?

Christmas is all about toys. Even though I’m an adult, I still want to find toys under the tree on Christmas morning. Today’s toys are more complex than the ones from my childhood. When I was young, we had pogo sticks, Slip-n-Slides, and the Sit-and-Spin. Most of the toys we had involved bouncing up and down or spinning in a circle. The Slinky was a high-tech toy in my day. Here’s some free advice: don’t try to have sex with one of those.

Today's kids are landing 747s at LAX on a Game Cube flight simulator. These little Nintendo-playin' bastards wouldn't know a Sit-and-Spin from a Speak-n-Spell.

I long for the good ole days when toys caused head trauma or vomiting. Nowadays, the worst injury a kid sustains is spraining his Cheetos-laden button finger while killing hookers in a game of Grand Theft Auto.

I feel cheated.



  • Here’s a new word you can use around the holidays: Turquelent (TURK-yoo-lent), adj. 1) The quality or condition of perfectly cooked turkey whose meat is fully cooked, yet remains moist and tender and that falls from the bone with little effort. 2) n., a chick with really nice cans.
  • If Einstein was so smart, how did he miss the i-before-e rule?
  • For every middle-aged woman who discovered her “inner-goddess,” somebody will get cut off in traffic by an SUV with obnoxious bumper stickers on it. Deities should have to obey traffic statutes, too.
  • To Know Her Is to Love Her, but to Buy Her a Drink Is to Sleep with Her.
  • You know those liquor gift boxes you see around the holidays? They include a bottle of liquor and a couple really nice glasses, or a flask, or a martini kit or whatever. They’re nice. I think they should make one with a whiskey bottle and a firearm.
  • I may not be the best lover in the world, but I’m definitely one of the fastest. When it comes to sex, it’s all about efficiency.
  • When it comes to politics, it’s not the people with the best ideas affecting change. It’s the people with the biggest mouths. That's why things get screwed up sometimes.
  • I don’t think plant life should have an advocacy group. People trying to save the “rain forest” or the marshlands should go find an animal that needs saving. Plants are the most resilient form of life on the planet. Remember that meteor that hit the Earth a while back? It killed the dinosaurs and most animals. Plant life thrived. Even cockroaches marveled at their survivability. I can’t even kill the weeds in my backyard and I’m trying to do that. Plant life doesn’t need saving.
  • I don’t believe in “light pollution” or “noise pollution.” How can either exist? To me, “pollution” implies something undesirable that’s accumulating. You get stuck with more of it with time. Light and noise can’t accumulate. Therefore, they can’t pollute. They can be nuisances, but not pollutants.
  • People have $5,000 for boob jobs and hair plugs but they gripe at an $80 health insurance premium. I guess it’s true: it’s better to look good than to feel good.
  • Sometimes I get angry at work. Then some rosy-cheecked optimist will approach me and ask, “Where’s your sense of humor?” After suppressing the urge to strike the person, I usually respond, “I’m all out of humor. I spent it all laughing at my aquital for 2nd degree murder. Tainted evidence.” They usually leave me alone after that.


Chewing the fat

You hear a lot of talk lately about taxing fattening foods. The rationale behind the movement is: fat people put an undue burden on the healthcare industry; certain foods make us fat; those foods, therefore, should be taxed and the proceeds applied to healthcare costs.

Bullyshite! Fat people cost us money, not fattening food, which may or may not attach to your waistline. It depends on genetics, lifestyle, physical activity, and how much sex and cocaine you get.

I personally hate the idea of taxing fattening foods. And I hate that we’re singling out fat people, who deserve as much respect and consideration as any other addict. But that’s the way the wind is blowing. So I have a suggestion:

I say we have everybody scale in on April 15th. We can have a big, April 15th weigh-in down at the local IRS headquarters. The scale prints a weight receipt which you include in your tax return.

If you exceed the standard deduction for weight, you have to fill out a new form. You've heard of the 1040-EZ? Now we'd have the 1040-FF, or 1040 Fat Fuck schedule.

All these fat fucks would pay by the pound -- for healthcare, and for taking up too much space at the local shopping mall. Have you tried to maneuver around these people while passing Cinnabuns? They back up mall traffic worse than cheese backs up Orson Wells’ colon.

How’s that for compassion? If the government wants to insinuate itself into our lives, do it right! Make fat people eat the costs of healthcare. Leave the food alone!


Some more random stuff.

  • I received a letter from my HOA requesting that I remove the “coupling reindeer” from my roof. Screw them! They’re staying until Three Kings Day. Jeez, seems like everybody’s attacking Christmas these days!
  • Scrapbooking is suddenly all the rage. How do scrapbooking and photography co-exist in the same century? Shouldn’t the former have gone out of style in about 1880? If I would have known it would still be around, I’d have worked harder in Arts and Crafts. Scrapbooks typically have a theme. You know what would be a good theme for ladies? Ex-boyfriends and Failed Romances. You could paste old condom wrappers, restraining orders, positive pregnancy tests, the word “cocksucker” pasted in little beads and glitter, beer bottle caps from that night he went “domestic.” Sweet nothings.
  • If this is the information age, how do “psychics” stay in business? And what’s with “palmistry?” It sounds like a good place to go for a hand job.
  • Those of you who champion diversity should remember our college campuses are severely lacking in midget lesbian neo-Nazi professors who drive SUVs with naked lady mudflaps.
  • The more health food supplements you take, the sicker you are. Also, the more psychotherapy a person has completed, the crazier the motherfucker is. I know a guy who after 5 years of therapy can’t handle the emotional turmoil of assembling a ham sandwich. Also, people who take St. John’s Wort are real douche bags.
  • When TV programs came over the airwaves, it was free. Then they started using cable. Now it costs money. Sure you’ve got more channels. But they’ve got more commercials, the economic incentive for television. It should balance out.
  • Why can you say so little without getting in trouble, but you can write just about anything and people love it? I find this doubly strange; once you write something, you can’t deny having said it!
  • When I’m interviewing for a job and I realize I don’t want the job after all, I ask the recruiter “so, what’s your policy on long lunches, frequent sick-days and kicking the shit out of the boss?”