Monday, February 26, 2007

Random Shit Pissing Me Off

New Shows on Adult Swim
I was a loyal Adult Swim viewer until shows like Tom Goes to the Mayor started stinking up the AS lineup. The awful shows AS continued to air and debut were numerous and more disappointing than a BJ from a hooker with cottonmouth (so I’ve been told). For example, The Boondocks, 12 oz. Mouse, Squidbillies, and Moral Orel: These shows are so bad, when I first saw them they made me doubt the existence of a divine being. Countless times throughout the centuries, philosophers have asked “If there is a god, how can he let such terrible things happen?” Usually because it’s funny. This time, though, it wasn’t funny. These shows stunk more than a ten-year-old trunk full of used porno magazines in a hobo encampment.

As with everything else in life, things just got worse. AS’s latest batch of shit cookies—i.e., new shows—are possibly the worst yet.

Tim and Eric of Tom Goes to the Mayor infamy return with Tim and Eric Awesome Show Great Job. Who the fuck keeps giving these assholes TV shows? Tim and Eric suck harder than a desperate junky trying to fellate a fix out of Kurt Cobain’s corpse. And, as always, anyone who doesn’t like the show just
“doesn’t get it.” Bullshit. The show is an insult to anyone with a sense of humor. Although, if I ever have a shaman high on jungle drugs remove a large portion of brain through my nose with a chicken bone, I’m sure I’ll suddenly think the show is hilarious. At that point, I just hope I’m able to laugh like an imbecile without drowning in my own drool.

Saul of the Mole Men is a new show about as appealing as a fat baby with pinkeye. Overall plot: A boneheaded, mustachioed, Midwestern geologist ends up at the center of the earth (or something). He walks around for a while. There’s a queer Brit with a tambourine in there somewhere. The geologist fucks around with some retarded muppets. The viewer feels like a schmuck for watching and contemplates sending a box of dog turds to Adult Swim headquarters for revenge.

Assy McGee is about a talking ass that is also a cop…. Watching this show will give you Down Syndrome.

X-Treme Products/Marketing for Kids
“Hey, kids! Look at the sick packaging on our latest product! We used so many bright colors it could give a colorblind dyslexic a goddamn seizure! Can you read the text we used? Shit yeah, you can! It’s so big even a dumb kid like you can read it! Sound it out, stupid! Now get on your radical skateboard and ollie like a motherfucker over your baby brother! Hey! You know what’s really cool? Sucking the shit out of an electric eel’s ass! Hey! You know what else? If you eat food that can’t be crammed down your throat hole on the go, you’re obviously a little faggot on his way to fat-ass town! Now, squeeze the yogurt out of this tube, put on the latest Kidz Bop CD to hear the ‘kid friendly’ version of your favorite Good Charlotte song, and tempt fate by streaking through public restrooms in bad areas of town! Extreme! Killer, bro!”

Anna Nicole Smith-Related “News”
Am I the only one that finds it just a bit ironic—or stupid, I’m not quite sure which—that more people want Anna Nicole Smith’s body now that she’s dead? Sure, her life was like three train wrecks getting blown up by a dirty bomb, but I still don’t care what they do with her corpse. They could trebuchet the motherfucker into the ocean and it wouldn’t change my life in any conceivable way. I’ll just be glad when the E! network is the only channel covering the aftermath of Anna Nicole’s passing, and all trials related to her are consigned to special episodes of The People’s Court.

Britney Spears
It’s obvious she shaved her head so her hair couldn’t be tested for traces of drugs she smoked out of a round, glass pipe, but if she wanted more attention, she should have just posed naked for something. You know, do some classy pictorials to make up for her low-brow beaver flashing. Trailer Trash Ass magazine probably would have featured her. It’s no Playboy or anything, but it did wonders for the career of Missy Burke. Missy was a poor girl from a poor family in Alabama, but after she posed for Trailer Trash Ass, her confidence was boosted so much she finally had the guts to start stripping. She was a smash hit and made enough money to trade up from a meth addiction to a classy cocaine addiction. She then had a number of operations to fix her many physical flaws. After some additional dental work and a lot of recovery time, Missy was ready for Hollywood. She auditioned for every role in Hollywood. She did a few “art films” and then had to take some time off to let her jaw heal after an embarrassing accident during a casting session. Shortly thereafter she was picked to star in a little movie by the name of Fast Times in Ridgemont High. That movie launched her illustrious Hollywood career. Of course, now you know her by her new name: Sean Penn.

(Insert Ethnicity Here) Time
I’ve heard myriad tardy-due-to-ethnicity excuses in my day: people on Brazilian time, Indian time, Filipino time, Mexican time, Pygmy time, Hobbit time, etc. Here’s an example:

Me: “Dude, why are you so late?”
Person in Alternate Time Zone: “I’m not late. I’m on Mexican time.”

That’s really cute and all well and good, but I’m on white time, i.e., on time (because, apparently, we crackers don’t know any better). I’m sick of showing up to events unusually early because I was unaware the host expected everyone attending to be running on Inca time or some shit. Unbeknownst to me, the last event I attended was scheduled in Mongol time; I was so early, they hadn’t even tuned the Morin Khurrs and the Airag wasn’t fully fermented. I looked like such an ass.

So for fuck’s sake, on the invitation specify which time we’re going by so I can synchronize my watch with the sundial on the Temple of the Sun in Machu Picchu … or wherever these ethnically esoteric time zones have their origin.

Who am I kidding? I never get invited to shit, so this really isn’t a problem for me.

I swear to Odin, the next time I hear the lyrics “legalize it” accompanied by repetitive, wah-pedal-tinged guitar strumming, I’m punching an irie motherfucker in the throat.

The Academy Awards
Wow, a bunch of pea-brained celebrities blowing ego loads all over each other. It’s even worse than all of those geriatric orgies Susan Sarandon throws in the bushes by the big Hollywood sign on Mt. Lee.

Crappy Cell Phone Ringtones
When I worked at ****** & ****** Magazine one of the ad sales girls had a ringtone of a baby laughing. Who the fuck intentionally picks a ringtone of a baby laughing? That’s creepy as hell. This particular girl would often leave the office for long periods of time and forget her cell phone. So every time one of her equally stupid friends would call her at work to talk about how many teachers they had to fuck to get through high school, it sounded like someone was tickling an infant in the other room. Not that I advocate violence against women, but I wouldn’t have been upset if someone crammed that cell phone up the bitch’s uterus and kicked her out a window.

Friday, February 16, 2007

Kick Ass Friday Videos

These videos aren't new, but I saw them for the first time recently. This guy takes songs (usually songs he hates) and rewrites the lyrics to what they sound like, pairing them up with fitting imagery. It's one of the funniest things I've ever seen.
He has several more on his YouTube profile, but I just picked my two favorite…

For a band and song that suck:

(Trivium does suck. Opeth, on the other hand, kicks ass.)

For a band and song that kick ass:

Tuesday, February 13, 2007

Surprise, Surprise

If you're more perceptive than a sun-damaged garden hose, you called this shit. I know I did.


Thursday, February 08, 2007

"Hell Yeah, Bitches!"

(Make sure to watch this video with sound.)

Saturday, February 03, 2007

The Superbowl is Stupid

Shit, football is stupid all on its own. Then some moron came up with the idea to give football a special day for everyone to revel in all of its pointless, ass-slapping anti-action. Every time something happens on the field, they stop the game. It’s like watching a severe narcoleptic strangling a baby seal. Even the athletes know football is stupid; it’s just something they do when they’re not taking drugs and slapping around their girlfriends. About the only good thing about football is that it confuses foreigners who think football is another word for soccer. So while the rest of the country is whipped into a foamy frenzy during the Superbowl, for the players involved it’s just another work day full of plenty of ball handling and homoerotic poses, tackles, and celebratory jock strap sniffing.

Even though I hate the Superbowl, I must admit it is good for the economy. Every year, multitudes of excited football fans buy big-screen, high-def televisions for the big game. Unfortunately, to pay for these unnecessarily large TVs, superfans usually end up whoring their children to the clergy. “Sorry, son. Best Buy has a shitty return policy, so you’ll be spending some time camping with Father Smith.”

Superbowl Sunday is also the biggest day of the year for pizza delivery and strippers, proving once again that nothing goes better with greasy food than greasy women. Although I imagine it might be hard to watch the game while the gyrating piece of damaged goods tells you about how her stepfather took her virginity when she was 12. Remember, gents, playing connect the dots with the striper’s trail marks costs extra. Speaking of greasy strippers, I’m just thrilled to hear that Paris Hilton has herpes. There is a God after all.

A lot of people like to bet on which team will win the Superbowl. If you’re planning on making some bets, go with a sure thing: the Superbowl sucks and I hate it. And don’t give me any shit about only watching it for the advertisements. I’m in the ad biz and even I don’t give a shit about the commercials. A 30-second spot during the Superbowl costs over 2 million dollars. Do you really think any commercial can live up to that? I love funny monkeys too, but is any monkey truly 2.6 million dollars funny? Not even that one on the internet that pisses in its own mouth. “Oh, but this year Kevin Federline will be in a commercial!” Fuck K-Fed. Unless they’re shooting the son of a bitch full of poisonous cancer I’m not watching.

And until they start executing criminals with wild apes wielding chainsaws during the halftime show, that’s a waste of time too.

This year I’ll be watching something a million times better than the Superbowl: the neighborhood retard chasing his imaginary tail in circles for six hours. Every time he gets dizzy and throws up I toss breadcrumbs at him. That makes him quack like a duck and struggle with his leash until he remembers he has a tail to catch.