Holy flying monster sharks! Careful with the meds, grandpa…
There are just some days when you feel like giant flying sharks are coming to get you.
I’ve been messing around with my violin today, which I haven’t really played since high school. For a split second, I thought I’d have to get up early tomorrow for first-period orchestra practice. It was horrible, and then a wonderful relief when I realized I’m not in high school anymore.
Unique Ways to Sign an Office Birthday Card.
Have a great birthday!
Have a happy, great birthday!
Have a happy, miraculous birthday in which all your dreams come true and you are granted great riches and the world reigns in peace and harmony for all eternity.
Hope your birthday doesn’t suck.
Let’s face it, your birthday is going to suck, but try not to cry too much, okay?
Happy coming-out-of-your-mom’s vagina day!
Happy your-mom-had-to-have-20-vaginal-stitches day!
You’re so old, the hill is over YOU!
You’re old now and therefore the sexy lady on the front of this card would find you sexually repulsive.
I hope this card makes you momentarily forget that today brings you further along in the relentless march towards the grave.
Hope you have a happy birthday- IN MY PANTS!
Remember to tip the birthday prostitute! LOL JK you don’t have to tip prostitutes.
Happy birthday! (This message has been written under the supervision and approval of the HR sexual harassment specialist.)
I’ve decided to take a break from looking at adorable kitten photos to share a picture of this fierce bitch of a dinosaur. Archaeopteryx was about the size of a raven, and it had feathers, teeth, and a hyperextensible toe charmingly referred to as a “killing claw.” Imagine having a picnic and then seeing this thing swoop down and steal your sandwich.
Did you know that it’s Gregor Mendel’s 189th birthday? He’s the guy who demonstrated the principles of inheritance by cross-breeding pea plants. (You may recall this from the biology homework that you probably copied from me or someone like me.) I don’t know about you guys, but I think being the father of modern genetics is totally hot. If he were alive today, I’d be all, “Hey, Gregor Mendel, let’s find out our genotypes by reproducing and studying the distribution of traits amongst our offspring.” And he’d be all, “Sorry, oath of chastity.” And then we’d have a good laugh and maybe make some kick-ass Punnett squares.
Some people spend their Saturday nights going out and meeting people, I spend mine depicting the arguments of bitter academics via kitten photos.
Foods that sing America, one belch at at time
In honor of Independence Day, the day America finally moved out of Great Britain’s basement, I’ve decided to take you all on a brief culinary tour of American cuisine. Now, I don’t mean regional foods like clam chowder and cornbread- I mean REAL American food, food that makes you want to vomit, then cry, then vomit tears. Proceed with caution, because I’m pretty sure you can get a heart attack from just reading about these foods.
Deep-Fried Heart Attack.
If there is a food product that is small enough to fit inside a deep-fryer, Americans will fry it. And then they’ll fry it again, for good measure, just to make sure it’s filled with enough tasty trans-fats. It doesn’t matter what that food item is, or if it will taste even remotely palatable fried. Someday, Americans will find a way to deep-fry a heart attack and serve it with a side of butter. But until that day arrives, we have deep-fried Coca Cola.
This is a Coca-Cola-infused batter topped with a Coca-Cola syrup and whipped cream.
However, fried soda pop does not even remotely rival the the almighty Zeus of the fried-food world, deep-fried butter.
Basically, you are eating fat cooked in fat. Now, I’m sure it tastes delicious, but if you’re like me and have seen the organs of a deceased morbidly obese woman, the prospect of eating fried fat is not so appealing. I’m sure the dead lady with the aorta the size of Alaska enjoyed fried butter, too.
Baconalia
America is bacon-crazy. Denny’s, America’s number one drunk hangout, recently did a celebration devoted entirely to bacon called ‘Baconalia’, which brings to mind a bunch of hoofed guys having giant orgies with strips of bacon. They sold bacon-enriched items like bacon sundaes and bacon pancakes.
I…I actually ate these pancakes. It’s not something I’m proud of, but it happened. I’ve come to terms with it, and I’ve moved on with my life. You see, the bacon gets tough when cooked inside a pancake, so it’s a bit like eating bacon-flavored rope stuffed inside a pancake. It was the culinary equivalent of going out to a club, getting drunk, making out with your cousin, and then passing out in an alley way. Which, incidentally, is what most people do before going to Denny’s. From now on, I’m sticking with chocolate-covered bacon.
Foods Stuffed in Other Foods
If Socrates were alive today and living in America, he would be devising syllogisms like, “Hey, I like Food A, and I like Food B, then I must like Food A stuffed inside of Food B!” Surely they must be good together, right?
Wrong. That’s chocolate and sausage in the same “meal.” Whatever it is, it’s a pairing of such unspeakably bad taste that it could only be rivaled by Ke$ha and Miley Cyrus teaming up to sing a three-hour long concert of Nickelback songs.
So, what about putting together similar items that don’t clash taste-wise? Maybe some meats?
Ah, Turducken. A duck filled with pork sausage, stuffed inside a chicken, stuffed inside a turkey. Perhaps one day, some brave culinary adventurer will continue this fine tradition further up the food scale. I dream of a world where my children can dine on a Turducken stuffed inside an ocelot, stuffed inside a bear.
Happy 4th of July everyone!
A Reading from the Butt Bible
This morning, while eating pizza on the couch, I discovered a workout with quite possibly the greatest title of all time:
THE BUTT BIBLE.
Now, as someone who’s always giggled whenever anyone reads the commandment about not coveting thy neighbor’s wife or ass, I found this hilarious. So, of course, I did a little research. Did you know that there are Butt Commandments? The Fifth Butt Commandment, for instance, is “You shall endure the burn to tone the tush.” That beats the whole “Honor your father and your mother thing.” Will honoring my father and my mother get me a sexy, round booty? I don’t think so.
I hope Pauline Nordin forms her own religion. We will be the sexiest disciples on Earth. Our butts will be a beacon of sexy goodness in the world. People will bounce quarters off our asses regularly, and we will turn the other cheek. Everyone will covet their neighbor’s wife’s ass.
In the event that Pauline does decide to start her own religion, I’ve taken the liberty of transcribing the first section of the Butt Bible for her. I hope to one day be a renowned Butt Bible theologian, a sexy, iron-assed Thomas Aquinas .
IN THE beginning, Pauline created the Butt Bible.
Now the glutes were unformed and flabby, and saggy cheeks hung deep upon thighs; and the ghost of last night’s cheesecake binge hovered over the faces of women.
And Pauline said: “Let there be firm, toned asses.” And there were firm, toned asses.”
And Pauline saw the firm, toned asses; that they were good; and Pauline divided the firm from the saggy.
And Pauline said, “Let me make more firm, toned asses in my own image, after my likeness; and let them have dominion over the single, eligible men- over the doctors, over the lawyers, over the douchebags with an MBA from Harvard.”
And Pauline toned the women’s asses, and said unto them: “Thou shall show off thine cute butt in clubs to attract a rich husband. Wear short-shorts, or tight jeans, maybe ones with rhinestones on the butt, because that will draw attention to the firm, toned ass that I have given unto thee.”
And Pauline saw all the asses she had toned, saw the dance-floor hookups of firm-assed women shaking their booties with rich douchebags, and behold, they were all very drunk.
And on the seventh day of workouts, Pauline rested with some whole-wheat pita chips and a Tivo’d episode of Drop Dead Diva.
NEXT TIME: I write about the tradition of Assover.
Why I Haven’t Blogged In Months: Yet Another Stupid List
Became a Phish groupie and followed band around the country for 5 months.
Realized Phish are actually a terrible band; had nervous breakdown
Owls. Giant owls. The horror. The horror.
It is very difficult to claw yourself out of a giant owl pellet with your bare hands.
Took too much LSD; thought I was being eaten and regurgitated by giant owls.
Laziness. You mean I actually have to move my fingers to type? Fuck that.
Wrote blogs so witty that they cause the human face to melt off; realized I had a responsibility to mankind not to share them. It was selflessness, really.
Couldn’t come up with ten items to complete the list; felt that I would incur the wrath of the Gods for not coming up with an even number of items on this list.
Wrath of Gods incurred.
Ten Things I Hope To Find in the Newly Discovered Crawl Space Underneath My Bedroom Floor
1. All the cash that was in Al Capone’s secret vault.
2. Geraldo’s dignity + his secret stash of detachable mustaches.
3. All my missing Socks (my lost copies of the 1973 Beverly Cleary novel).
4. A parallel world in which I am hotter, smarter, and more successful.
5. A parallel world in which I am uglier, dumber, and less successful (for self-schadenfreude.)
6. A yet undiscovered ecosystem of rare bacteria (actually a likely outcome)
7. A copy of The Cask of Amontillado that a very intellectual construction worker put there as a meta-joke.
8. The skeleton of said construction worker, trapped there after his meta-joke backfired.
9. A tiny Russian gulag filled with tiny disaffected Russian intellectuals writing novels about their experiences in my crawl space gulag.
10. Narnia. An asbestos-laden Narnia.
I think my calling in life is to be a designer of ironic t-shirts. Up next: a “Let’s Get Bizet!” t-shirt.
