Happy Holidays Jerks!

Hello Nobody,

I was compelled to make a funny little video that was inspired by the great Mel Brooks.

Over the holidays Old Navy ran a whole bunch of commercials for some of the shit clothes that they sell. You know the stuff they pay little kids 2 cents (How come computers don't have a cents sign? What the fuck! "¢" I found one online!) a month to make! And then they sell it to you for $4.99 and it falls apart after you wash it twice. You know, that shit? "Festive Fleeces everyone! The blood of children on every one!" But I digress.

Anyway, all these Old Navy commercials featured a bunch of hunky guys, or bears, running around without shirts on! And every time I saw one of these commercials, I would break into "The French Mistake," from the VERY un-politically correct movie Blazing Saddles. (Do you know they offered Johnny Carson, Gene Wilder's role and he said "no?")

Yatta Yatta Yatta, I made this video. Plus I've attached the scene from Blazing Saddles! Notice the similarities!



Oh Balls! I can't embed the scene from Blazing Saddles. Here's the stupid link...

www.youtube.com/watch?v=JMK6lzmSk2o

Brad Maybe's Blodeo #0008 - The Douchiest Top Ten EVER! (of 2010)

Brad Maybe's Blodeo #0007

Wonton Weekend!

(My first go at this post was a bit terse. So I'm redoing it. Do over.)

Back in the mid-90's I was extremely bored. So bored I went out and got a public access TV show on the Buffalo cable carrier. It was literally as easy as taking two classes and a written test. I missed one of the classes and cheated on the test. And my show, Brainstorm, was born!(I named the show after my relationship with my girlfriend at the time. I'm Brad, her name was/is Rain and we fought a lot. She hit me with her car once.)

Needless to say, Brainstorm was a pretty awful show. I barely knew how to edit anything. I didn't have any good ideas. And I was fighting with my girlfriend constantly. There's one hour long episode of me and the douches I used to hang out with back then sitting around my apartment talking about Star Trek. I also used to tape me and my friend Mike playing video games. And just throw all that on the air.

Unfortunately, I have all the episodes, a whopping six of them, on some giant sized video tapes that are being stored in the basement of Micheal's Catering Hall in Orchard Park, NY. (Are you getting lost in the hustle and bustle of the holiday season? Let Micheal's cater your office or family Christmas/Chaka Chan party.) I have no access to them, and even if I did, I have no way to transfer them to digital.

So, you can imagine how shocked I was when a former intern of mine unearthed this classic Brainstorm clip on Youtube! I'm singing "Sliver" by Nirvana, which I remember being really into at the time, with my friend John Destefano's band, Crunchy Frog. Although for this performance and for one brief Rock 'N Roll moment we were Wonton Weekend!!!!

I came up with the name Wonton Weekend when I was in college. You see one weekend... oh F it. Watch the stupid video and CRINGE!!!! And those were my REAL glasses.

Brad Maybe's Blodeo #0006 McRib Challenge!

Brad Maybe's Blodeo #0005

Brad Maybe's Blodeo #0004

Brad Maybe's Blodeo #0003

Brad Maybe's Blodeo #0002

Brad Maybe's Blodeo #0001

Where Are Turtle's Balls? And Why Is Entourage Sucking Balls?

Hey Dickeaters! It's been a long time! So, I got a job on a morning show and I just haven't had the time or energy to write my stupid blog. But lately I've been feeling stifled and figured I'd pick up this blogging thing again.

This week's episode of Entourage was entitled "Hair" (The Sixth Ep of Season Seven.) and it was a total and complete pile of unbelievable SHIT!!! Infuriating in its gall!! How dare the writers of this once awesome show? HOW DARE THEY? It's like they pulled a rotten diaper out of the dumpster and poured its contents on the dinner table and said "we didn't have time to make anything better, so dig in jerks!"

This whole season has been toilet paper. (I'm really into excrement analogies in this blog.) But this episode was the cure de crai? What's that thing the frogs say? Kir di gra? (I'm in the process of Googling it. Ah, here it is.) Coup de grace! This episode is the mother f'ing death blow!

Quick recap for those who don't know... Entourage is a show on HBO. It follows Vinny Chase, an actor and his entourage. Drama is his has-been brother, E is his retarded little friend, Turtle is the completely useless guy, and Ari Gold, his truly awesome agent. Smoking weed and getting laid have always been very important nuances of the show as the crew deals with navigating Hollywood.

Having said that...

Am I really supposed to believe after watching six seasons of Turtle bang a countless number of Vince's castoffs, a hooker from the whore house next door and participate in a three-way with Drama, that he's never had a girl with no bush?! REALLY!!! In L.A.! And even if that's true, the sight of one would make him lose his wood?

I'm no freakin' playa, but I've cum across (pun intended) that phenomenon quite a bit since college! And I was in college in the early 9o's!!!! I had a front row seat for the receding "hair pie," to use a phrase from Revenge Of The Nerds. I saw it go from untamed, to the triangle, to the Mohawk or landing strip, to the Hitler mustache, to the bare minimum of what it is today.

And on top of the no bush thing, when did Turtle become a whiny little fucking bitch!!! This whole storyline with him and the Hispanic chick is a hollowed out pair of balls filled with warm piss and garlic served in a dirty ashtray!

Turtle has been in Hollywood with Vince for fucking years! He's pulled every fucking scam there is to get laid and thankfully we never actually had to see him do it! But in this "Hair" episode some fucking genius thought it would be great to show Turtle banging. Good call! Probably the same guy that decided to just completely alter the universe of the show and make him a ball-less pussy! Give Turtle his balls back!!

And take the balls out of the show's mouth while you're at it.

The rest of the episode was a basket of forced drama. Whatever was going on with Ari and the rest of the jerkoffs sucks! Why is E buddies with that guy he's working with? He's a total a-hole d-bag! And speaking of a-holes! Why the heck would you bring Billy Walsh back and cut his balls off too!

It's kinda cool that Vinny is now "dating" the porn star Sasha Grey and becoming a drunk, but that's about it. And in a nice twist in the end of the episode, we get to see Sasha naked and her full bush as she descended into the pool while Vince is passsed out. Enjoy the most G rated picture I could find of Sasha's "Hair."


But whatever you do... don't shop at American Apparel.

What Does This Word Make You Think Of?

Well, if you're not a 12-year-old boy, or me you probably think of a turkey or if you saw it on a menu at Wawa, a turkey sandwich. (Wawa incidentally is the best convenience store chain in the country. But that's a whole blog in and of itself. I hate when people say "in and of itself!")

If you are like me or a 12-year-old boy, this word would probably make you think of a woman performing oral sex on a man.

When you go into a Wawa, they have a full deli, and when you order a sandwich you use a little touch screen thingee. It prints out a receipt with a number and some dipshit starts making your sandwich. Just so you know what I'm talking about.

As I start my sandwich ordering process, I notice the word "Gobbler" on the menu above the touch screen and I just start giggling to myself. For an instant I was transported back to tenth grade (Or as our Canadian friends would say "University." Hi-Oh! You see what I did there? ((I only write this blog to amuse myself.)))

Where was I? Yes... I was standing in Wawa, giggling over the word "Gobbler" and thinking of the first time my wiener was inside a young lady's mouth. Tenth grade, I was 16, Kristina was 18, and it was in a pool. She was underwater! It lasted about five seconds, but my life had started to change in so many ways. (Incidentally, this is the same girl I lost my virginity to and one time we did it in her old school VW Beetle behind a Chuck E. Cheese. Then we passed out and the cops woke us up at like 3AM. But I digress and I do that a lot in these stupid blogs of mine. Although I already mentioned I only write them for myself. And some guy named Glitch Mob and a girl in Brazil.)

As I was daydreaming about my first teen BJ, I was rudely roused by some man standing behind me. "Are you gonna order a sandwich buddy?"

"Oh yeah," I muttered as the good-times-past vanished from my head and I started ordering my sad sandwich. Then the man behind me starts talking to his son, a kid about 10-years-old.

"What kind of sandwich do you want?" the man said. (My hand to God!) The kid says, "I want a Junior Gobbler Daddy." Needless to say, I started giggling again. And I just thought, someday soon kid you'll get a real Junior Gobbler. And if you're lucky the girl, or guy will call you "Daddy."

Because Some Asswipe Designed The NY Times Building To Look Like A Ladder

I've turned into one of those lazy bloggers. I was all Gung-ho about it in the beginning and I wrote some really top notch blogs, but now I'm not writing shit. So, just to post something, I found this old email exchange I had with some Senator I thought sounded like a douche in the press.

Back in 2008, two or three assholes decided to climb the New York Times building. Look at the thing! It looks like a ladder that just screams to the mentally deranged! "Hey Crazy Climber," the building might say. "You should climb on me! Look at my deep rung like structuring! Grab hold and ride me to the top big boy!" I don't know why the Times building would sound like a horny gay man on Craigslist, but it does. So after the last asshole climbed up there Senator Eric Adams was quoted in the New York Post, ironically, saying some totally delusional GOP scaremongering bullshit.

I wrote the Senator this email in June of 2008.

Thursday June 12, 2008 12:05PM

Subject: Can You Clarify?

Dear Senator,

Forgive my lateness on this but in the NY Post on Monday Amy Crawford wrote that your "biggest concern is the threat of a terrorist daredevil, who could plant a bomb on a building after climbing it."

I completely understand the reason for your obvious grandstanding after a situation like this. I agree that these "daredevils" put others at risk with their stupidity.

But my concern is the comment above about a fictional terrorist that you have created. Forgive me, but doesn't your remark about a terrorist climbing a building to put a bomb up there sound like something a jackass would say? Correction, something a republican jackass would say.

Senator, if a terrorist gets a bomb into NYC or assembles a bomb in the city, THAT'S THE POINT WHERE WE ARE IN TROUBLE. He could shove that bomb up his ass for all it matters. And why the heck wouldn't he just take the elevator to the top of the building? And are we talking about Polish terrorists, what the hell would a bomb do at the top of a building? Is he trying to recreate the ending of Ghostbusters? Regardless!!!

Senator, is your greatest concern, in life, that a terrorist will get a bomb into town and then, like Spiderman, climb to the top of a building to detonate it? Or do you just love the sound of your own voice?

I also think your proposed "skyscraper threat assessment task force" sounds foolish. Can I be on the STATF? What are they going to do, put out a list of the easiest buildings to climb? And then what? Will the buildings actually have to do anything to become less climbable? Or would the STATF have just handed every adrenaline junkie from Queens to California a list of "Easy Climbs In The Big Apple?" How much is this bullshit task force going to cost?

There isn't a task force in the world that is going to stop the next fool from trying to climb a building for no reason. How dare you try and equate a dumbass headline grabbing stunt to terrorism!?

I expect nothing less than a Senator that lives in the REAL world representing Brooklyn. Not somebody that would use GOP scare tactics to make a moutain out of a molehill.

GFY,

Brad Maybe

The Senator responded four days later!

Monday June 16, 2008 10:12PM

Subject: Opinions are like...

Brad, the beauty about this great country is that we all have a right to our opinion.

Best,

Eric

NYS Senator

Luckily, I was masturbating to my favorite kind of porn at the time he responded and I instantly shot back the following missive. (If your wondering, I enjoy watching an older woman seduce a "teen" girl. The scene is usually a young girl coming over to the house looking for her friend, but only the mom is home. Muffs are eaten.)

Monday June 16, 2008 10:14PM

Subject: Assholes?

And the beauty of an elected official is that they will never admit to being wrong.

GFY,

Brad "Like I Didn't Know This Is A Great Country" Maybe

Believe it or not, the gentleman from Brooklyn had more to say. I let him have the last word, because much like you right now, I was already bored.

Monday June 16, 2008 10:14PM

Subject: How did you know?

Brad trust me, I have had to admit that I was wrong many times. I am far from perfect but extremely sincere about those issue that are important to me.

Best,

Eric

NYS Senator

In conclusion, I'm awesome.

(Editor's Note: This email exchange has been edited to make the author look a little funnier and a little smarter. But I'll forward you the actual emails if you want to read them! They're not that much different.)

License To Carry A Meat Thermometer UPDATED

(INITIAL REPORTS SAID A WOMAN WAS STABBED, BUT IT WAS A MAN. I'M NOT EDITING THE BLOG!! SO F THE A-HOLE THAT DIDN'T FACT CHECK.)

This is one of those stories you could easily say "only in L.A." But I could see this happening in Philadelphia or any town in Florida.

KTLA is reporting that a woman attending a movie was stabbed in the neck with a meat thermometer! All because she "shushed" another woman for talking on the phone.

Police say the victim will survive the attack and was at a normal 98.6 degrees at the time of the stabbing. (HI OH!!!!!!)

I think the real victim here is the woman on the phone. I'm 100% sure she is a respectful woman, whose phone was set to vibrate and only answered it because she suspected there was an emergency.

After the "shushing" two men with the woman on the phone decided to teach the woman who was trying to enjoy the movie a lesson. Luckily, one of the men had just put a really nice pork tenderloin in the oven right before they came to the movies and had his meat thermometer on him. (The ONLY other reasons I could think this asswipe has a meat thermometer at the movies is because he lost his ice pick or he's into painful assplay.) I think the punishment fits the crime. If you shush, you get a meat thermometer to the neck.

L.A. sheriffs officials describe the suspects as "black males. One man was wearing an orange hat with an orange jersey and the other man was dressed in a black hoodie." Yeah, that sounds like what a couple of black guys would be wearing. I wonder if one of them was wearing his pants on the ground? (No I didn't!)

I like to think after the stabbing Orange Jersey and Black Hoodie made it home and their pork tenderloin was at a perfect 160 degrees. Maybe one of their bitches made some asparagus and scalloped potatoes and they all had a wonderful dinner.

Sleeping Dogs

Being a resident of New York City has so many amenities. Sure, there's Broadway and great pizza, but you almost never hear anybody talking about one of the greatest pleasures NYC has to offer, and that's taking a bus out of the Port Authority!

A few things you should know about the Port Authority.

First, it literally is the happiest place on Earth. Just walk in and start counting the smiles.

Second, stay out of the bathrooms. If you have to go No. 1 and it's a dire emergency, pull your wee wee maker out before you go in, use the first available urinal, and don't worry about putting your wiener away until you get out of there. Washing your hands is out of the question! If you're a woman, go to the Duane Reade and buy an adult diaper.

So, a couple Fridays ago, I was taking the NJ Transit down to south Jersey. As I queued up (That's fancy English for lined up and that's exactly the kind of classy talk the Port Authority demands.) I noticed this happy little fella taking a snooze a couple places in front of me. Without a second hesitation, I pulled out my camera phone. Notice I took several pictures, with and without flash and one after he rolled over ever so cutely on his side. You know, just to get the right shot. Oh and by the by, it's 3:30PM!

As I'm playing Annie Leibovitz another guy gets in line behind me and says, "don't you think we should wake him up?" I let out an emphatic "No!" Almost as if to say are you fucking nuts?

"Why not?" asks Mr. Busybody. I just look at him and say, "Sleeping dogs." But he's pretty insistent and moans "well this guy's going to miss his bus."

I'm just thinking who gives a royal fuck if this fuckin' guy misses his bus! He's drunk, passed out and sleeping on the floor of the Port Authority. It's Friday afternoon and he's got about ten more buses to catch if he misses this one. NOT MY GOD DAMN PROBLEM!

But no!!! Mr. Busybody has to try and wake him up. So, I take a full four steps back and hope that my sleeping dogs theory proves to be right.

Notice how Sleeping Beauty is positioned in the picture on the bottom right. As soon as Mr. Busybody attempted to wake him, Sleeping Beauty socked him right in the mouth with his right hand. I wish I had a recording of the laugh I let out. Just a total maniacal-dick-I-told-you-so kind of laugh. Actually, I wish I had the punch on video.

"Well I don't give a fuck if you miss your bus," was the last thing Mr. Busybody said on the subject.

Sleeping dogs dude. Sleeping dogs.

The NY Post Thinks You're An Idiot

God Bless the NY Post for knowing its audience. For some reason the average NY Post reader has no idea how gravity works so the tabloid has to literally draw a picture.

While covering the unfortunate suicide of a man, who leapt off the balcony of this building, the editor felt it necessary to draw a dotted line, complete with a pointing arrow, so that readers wouldn't become confused.

Apparently the Post conducted a survey and if they don't draw the line pointing down, 75% of their readers will think the jumper ascended into heaven. It would be cool if the next time somebody jumps off anything they draw the dotted line going up.

May I suggest adding a stick figure to your illustrations of jumping suicides? You could write neat little captions for them to say. "Goodbye cruel world!" "Look out below!" "Might as well jump!" "I'm falling for this building!" "I just shit myself!"

Thank you NY Post for letting us all know how f'ing dumb you think we are! Thank you!!!

Respect The Pitch! And How I Made A Yankees Fan Cry.

Before I tell another story about going to Yankee Stadium, I have to say that I hate the Yankees. But I wanted to see the new palace the Steinbrenner clan tricked the city into spending $400 trillion to build. So, up to the Bronx I went. Oh, and they were playing the Phillies, who I also hate. But interleague is interleague and I could hate on both teams equally.

Yeah, the stadium is pretty fucking solid. I’d say it’s probably one of the best places in Major League Baseball to go watch some rich assholes eat babies, poor people puke on themselves, or the Yanks play a game against some other douche team from the AL. My two favorite features are the padded seats and the garlic fries. And in some ironic joke, they put a fucking fruit stand in there. “I’ll take two dogs, chicken fingers, nachos, four Buds… oh and two Red Delicious apples please.” Yeah right.

And now let’s get to the Macguffin of my story. I live by one rule when attending a professional baseball game, “Respect The Pitch.” It’s very simple, if the pitcher is going to throw a pitch, you keep you fat ass in your God damn seat. That’s it.

If they’re singing God Bless America, or some little 19-year-old piece of ass is throwing out free t-shirts, or Jeter and A-Rod are doing lines of coke in the dugout during a commercial break, do whatever the fuck you want. Stand up and cheer like you just don’t care. Pull out your dick. Find a Phillies fan and punch him/her right in the cocksucker. I don’t give a shit! BUT, if the pitcher is in his windup you should NEVER be cluttering the field of vision of my gorgeous-baby-ocean-sky-blue-Arian-20-20-laser-surgery-vision-mother-fucking eyes! (They’re really quite nice, women get lost in them.) That’s all I ask, “Respect The Pitch.”

Now don’t get me wrong. I’m not one of those a-holes with a radio headset filling out a scorecard during the game. Daddy likes to drink and then daddy usually breaks the seal around the third inning. So, including six piss breaks, beer and food runs, I’m outta my seat a lot. But I would NEVER block anybody’s view of the game! That’s because every pitch thrown in a baseball game has the potential to be the best play ever, or at the very least a fucking ‘web gem’ on douche-center that night. 99% of the time it’s a ball or a foul tip, but just do me a fucking favor and “RESPECT THE MOTHER FUCKING PITCH.”

Oddly enough, somebody at this particular Yankees game wasn’t following my ONE rule. A curly haired woman wearing a Jeter jersey (go figure.) and her “date” decided to get up and push through the entire aisle in front of me and during a double fucking play! I didn’t get to see it.

As the asshole couple passed up the stairs, you’ll never guess what I did. I fucking let them have it. “Hey, is everything OK?” I yell. “We all just missed a double play! Is there an emergency at home? Do you have to leave? Or are you just so disrespectful to the people around you that you don’t care if anybody else gets to see the game?”

I wish had had a picture of the look on this broad’s face. Completely and utterly confused as to why I’d be yelling at her. Her only retort was, “why don’t you shut up?” “Respect the pitch,” I yelled back.

About ten minutes later, they came back… during a God damn pitch. Lumbering down the aisle, making their whole row get up, I let them have it again! Jeter’s No. 1 fan was completely dumbfounded. She honestly thought I was being a dick to her for no reason. Her husband/gay friend/dick-of-the-month is just shrugging his shoulders, almost as if to say “sorry she’s one of those self-centered bitches that thinks the world revolves around her.” Most of the people in front of me acknowledged my rightness. And that was the end of that.

Maybe five minutes later, the 21-year-old “lady” seated behind me taps me on the shoulder.

“Why did you yell at those people?” she asks.

“They didn’t respect the pitch and I missed a double play,” I say.

The look that crossed her face was extremely similar to the poop smelling face the other broad had. I was then subjected to the worst verbal beat down I have ever been dealt. Worse than the lamest fight on the 100^th rated reality show on TV. Princess didn’t appreciate me policing the game and wanted to let me know these were her seats! Or her Daddy’s and he wasn’t using them tonight.

“You should keep your mouth shut and get out of our seats,” she moaned. “If people in our seats want to get up and enjoy the park, then let them.”

“Yes, but I’m trying to enjoy the game, which is why we’re all here.”

“No,” she cried like a total bitch. “Get out of our seats!”

“Excuse me,” I ask.

And then she let out a quick, “buh-bye.”

“What?”

“Get out of our seats, buh-bye!”

I had nothing. The “buh-byes” kept coming. By the time she said it for the fourth time she was holding up her hand like a little puppet and the movement of her hand matched the “buy-bye.” The sixth one just smacked me in the face and I sat there with my mouth open looking like a fat goober. I had been bested by a 21-year-old over privileged gash. I turned back to face the game in defeat, thinking that I just got beaten by “buy-bye.”

Funny thing, if you’re ever arguing with me you should never, under no circumstances give me any ammunition.

A few minutes after the last echoes of “buh-bye” bounced their way out of the outfield, my little friend got a phone call. I tried really fucking hard not to listen in, but her squawking made that impossible. Here’s a quick paraphrase of that phone call… imagine a girl with an awful voice, trying to make it sound sexy;

“Hi Tommy… Are you down at the shore?... I’m coming down tomorrow… I’m at the baseball game… Are you hanging there with Victoria?... Oh no!... Stay away from her!... Oh no, I don’t have a boyfriend, we broke up… a few weeks ago…. Yeah we should totally hang out!... OK Tommy, see you tomorrow…. Stay away from Victoria! Bye Sweetie.”

That conversation went on and on for about ten minutes but that’s the gist of it. About a second after The Buh-Bye Girl hung up, I turned in my seat and said, “I can’t imagine why your boyfriend broke up with you.”

As it turns out, I must have stepped on a very sensitive nerve.

“What!” she said.

“No wonder you don’t have a fucking boyfriend,” I slyly said.

“Fuck you,” she cried. “Get out of my seats!” And then she gestured to spill her beer on me.

“Do it!”

“You’re fat,” she yelled.

“If we’re going with the obvious,” I said. “You have greasy hair and no boyfriend.”

She muttered “fuck you,” as she held her beer over my head.

“I’m willing to bet you’ll be single all year.”

I realized she’s really into the whole repetitive thing, because now “fuck you” was all she was saying.

“You looking forward to getting Tommy’s sloppy seconds tomorrow?”

“Fuck you.”

“Single all year.”

“Fuck you.”

“I’m sure you’ll fuck a lot of dudes, like Tommy, but nobody’s gonna wanna date you.”

“Fuck you.”

“You will be single all year!”

At this point she is in a rage! Her beer is spilling all over, some of it on me, but not a lot. She’s giving me the finger and just singing a chorus of “Fuck You.”

“Do you realize that when guys hate fuck you,” I say. “It’s not just because you’re an asshole?”

“What does that fucking mean?” she cried. She’d lost it at this point and was standing. My friends and her friends were interjecting at this point and I was just smiling. I turned my attention back to the game. The damage had been done.

For the next couple of minutes she lobbed a few words at the back of my head and finally in tears she said to her friend, “I’m going up there for a minute. I’ll be back.” She never came back. I really wanted her to just so I could say, “buh-bye.” But I didn’t get the chance.

There are two morals to this story. The first one is to “RESPECT THE PITCH!” And the second is that you shouldn’t yell at somebody for yelling at somebody. Because I will find a center in you. I will chew it up and leave. Well in this case, I chewed it up and stayed to watch the Phillies womp ass on the Yankees!

The Real Reason John Mayer Is A Dick

Jessica Simpson was a memory! After Tony Homo dumped her, that was it. No more Country records, no more any kind of records, no more movies, no TV shows, she was done!!!

All we had to do was ride out the inexplicable rise to fame of the Kardashians and America would be relatively twat free.

But NOOOOOO!!! John Mayer's gotta talk about how Simpson is "sexual napalm." Initially, you'd think that meant she gave him Chlmaydia, or some other form of burning. But Mayer's racist wiener loved that blonde douche calling sex with her like crack cocaine. Also, not a favorable comparison.

So thanks to that dick, Simpson is back and she's on fucking Oprah!

Sugartits gets on there and gripes, "I don't want people to know how I am in bed." And then with a hair flip announces, "But my phone hasn't stopped ringing. And it looks like famous guys want to fuck me again." Good for you...Chunks!

And then she proceeded to talk about the infamous Mom jeans' incident and blah blah blah blah!!

If she starts popping up in shit again, because of Mayer, I'm gonna be super pissed! F U John Mayer, F U!!!

She's got a reality show coming? SON-OF-A-BITCH!

An Open Letter To The Producers Of Pornographic Movies

Dear Porno Industry,

Can you please produce a movie with girls that look like Julia Mancuso and Lindsey Vonn?

Here's what I'm thinking:

Linds and Jules are racing down the hill, and the loser has to go down. When they get there, it's a dead heat and an argument ensues. Little cat fight turns into full on lesbo fantasy. Forced kisses. Clothes being ripped off. Nude wrestling. Some hardcore munching. Everybody's A gets licked. Little trib action. And then they order some pizza. Dude shows up. Various 3-way action positions. End credits.

I'd pay $2 to watch that online! Some possible titles:

Ski Sluts

Ladies DOWNhill

Super G-Spot

Wiener Slalom

I like Wiener Slalom.

P.S. Don't put Vonn in one of those granny style bikinis (See above). Seriously, is that picture supposed to be hot, or is that an adult diaper? Julia, on the other hand, you are a vision!!!!

Screw You Guys, I'm Bulldozing My Home

An Ohio man bulldozed his $350,000 home two weeks ago because he didn't want his bank to foreclose on the property.

A spokesperson for the Riverhills Bank said, "what an asshole."

My Olympic Crushes

U.S. skier Julia Mancuso and the smoking hot 19-year-old British curling skipper, Eve Muirhead. (I believe it's pronounced more-head.)

I can not get enough of these two during the winter Olympics. And look at those mouths! Open up and say "Ahhh" ladies!

I believe it was Vancouver native Chad Kroeger that said it best when he sang, "You look so much cuter with something in your mouth." Oh Kroeger, you're incorrigible!

Elton John Thinks EVERYBODY Is Gay

In an interview with Parade magazine, Elton John referred to Jesus Christ as a "gay man."

"I think Jesus was a compassionate, super-intelligent gay man who understood human problems," said John to the magazine.

In response to those comments, a spokesperson from Heaven issued this statement: "Although those Apostle's robes hung pretty loose and there may have been a night of innocent experimentation with Thaddeus, we can assure you J.C. is definitely not gay. But if he was he'd never get with a queen like Elton."

Star Trek Casting Announcement!

In a bold casting move, Bad Robot Productions has announced Barry Manilow will play Odo in the J.J. Abrams reboot of Star Trek Deep Space Nice.

"I love Barry," said Abrams. "Plus we're going to save a fortune on makeup."

The Time I Got Mugged

Couple years back, I got mugged. I look back on it and think it was more of an aggressive panhandling then a mugging, but it was seven years ago and I still tell the story all the time. I never get sick of it so, I thought I’d write it down… in blogform. I even attached a visual aid! Check out the horribly stitched together picture. I’m the white guy.

September 8, 2003. A warm late summer evening that began with a trip to the Bronx. If you’re going to be a victim of a crime, the Bronx is probably the sexiest place on earth that could happen. Fortunately, no muggings, gang beatings, forced acts of sodomy or stray bullets ruined my first trip to Yankee Stadium. I’m a Mets fan, but got offered a free ticket to see the Bombers play a makeup game against Toronto. The game was unbelievably poorly attended and the Blue Jays kicked ass, 9-3. I had a perfect buzz and was chanting “Let’s go BJ’s” with impunity!

I had attended the game with my friend Bram and after the Yankees were finished pooping all over the field, we both headed back to Jersey City. I lived about fifteen blocks away from Bram, or one stop on the Path train. Because it was early and the season opener of Monday Night Football was on, we decided to watch the game at Bram’s house. On the way there, I used my last twenty dollar bill to buy smokes and a six-pack. Being 2003, this purchase only ran about twelve or thirteen bucks.

The Eagles ended up losing to the Buccaneers, 17-0, in what was the first game in their new stadium. McNabb!

Leaving Bram’s I had three options on how to get home:

1. Path train. I would have had to backtrack a few blocks and wait up to thirty minutes for a train.

2. Cab. Jersey City cab drivers like to pick up additional fairs while you’re in the cab. It’s like a little bus. So, fuck those assholes. Whenever I did end up taking a cab in Jersey City, I would never shut the door when I got out. Just to annoy the dickhead cabbie.

3. Walk. As my lazy Mom would say, from the time I was ten years old until I got my driver’s license, “It’s a nice night, you kids can walk,” because she never picked me up from anywhere EVER!

It was a nice night so I decided to hoof it, and off I went up the hill that is Montgomery Avenue. I figured this decision was a calculated risk. It was after midnight on a school night and I only had to walk passed two housing projects. Well wouldn’t you know it? There was some trouble waiting for me across the street from housing project No. 2.

If you haven’t taken a look at my visual aid, so cleverly titled “The Scene Of The Crime,” yet. Please take a gander at that right now.

If you’ll notice the sunken plaza parking lot to the right of me, “The Victim,” it was down there that I first noticed “The Perp.” As I was walking along the sidewalk, “The Perp” was shadowing me down in the plaza parking lot. (Incidentally, that plaza is home to Chun Bo Chinese Restaurant. Over the next four years I will spend about $10,000 on General Tso’s Shrimp. Call ‘em and order some of that shit! (201) 369.0010.) Anyway, I don’t think too much about my shadow down in the parking lot, because he’s got no way to get up to me… I thought. That’s when I noticed the stairs. And then two seconds after that, guess who was running up those stairs?

At this point, I'm going over the inventory of my pockets in my mind. iPod, cell phone, empty wallet, and the wad of seven or eight singles in my front right pocket.

Having completed my inventory, I put my head down and just tried to keep it moving. As I passed my shadow at the top of the stairs, he stepped right in front of me and said “You better run it.”

Having no idea if I should run or blow my nose, I quickly gave “The Perp” a quick once over and noticed several things:

1. I was at least six inches taller and fifty pounds bigger than him.

2. His left hand was in the pocket of his jacket like he was pointing a gun, or his finger at me.

3. His right hand was holding a boom box and a lit cigarette.

4. He had a scarf over his mouth.

5. He was standing at the top of the staircase.

“Pardon me?” I say. He repeated his original statement, “You better run it.” Maybe because I was drunk, or maybe cause he was so little, or maybe because I would have bet my life on the fact that he didn’t have a gun, I decided to play dumb smartass. If this guy was going to mug me, he had better come right out and say it! “You better run it?” Like the white guy walking passed the projects after midnight is gonna have a copy of the Urban Dictionary on him? He might as well have said, “See a broad to get that booty ack, lay ‘em down and smack ‘em yack ‘em,” and I would have had the same reaction. I’m sorry I don’t speak jive.

“I’m sorry, man,” I say. “I don’t know what you’re saying? Do you want me to leave really fast?” And then my little friend took it up a notch. His voice hardened and he wanted to let me know he wasn’t playing with the big dumb guy anymore. “YOU BETTER FUCKING RUN IT!” Realistically, at this point, if I just forked over my seven or eight dollars and got out of there, I didn’t care.

So, I act like it dawns on me. “Oh, do you want this?” I say as I pull my wad of crumpled up singles out of my pocket. And then the dumb motherfucker uses the hand he’s supposedly holding his “gun” with to take the money out of my hand. Well, he certainly wasn’t going to put down his boom box and cigarette.

I quickly tried to decide if I should punch and then push him down the stairs, or skip the punch and just push him. That’s when I noticed “Some Asshole” a few feet ahead. He was just standing there watching me get mugged. Quick glance behind me revealed “Another Asshole” just standing there. Sadly, both Assholes were a lot bigger than me.

In retrospect, had either “Some Asshole” or “Another Asshole” been running the proceedings at the first “You better run it,” I would have forked over my money, iPod, cell phone, bent over and pulled my pants down and then offered to pay for a cab to take us to an ATM so they could drain my checking account.

After Lil’ Perppy took all my money and I realized that I was at a major disadvantage I said, “So, if we’re done? I’m gonna run it now.” And I just walked away very briskly.

I often wonder what my money was spent on. I like to think that my assailants used to the money to buy a book for one of their children, or medicine for a sick grandparent. Or, at the very least, instead of buying the three dollar bottle of malt liquor, they splurged and bought a four dollar bottle of malt liquor.

I called the cops when I got home and described the three guys and told them exactly where they mugged me, but they refused to do anything unless I went to the station to fill out a report. I would have had to walk passed at least one set of projects to get to the police station, so I just decided to cut my losses and call it a night.

To this day, “You better run it,” is usually one of the first things Bram says to me whenever I see him. And that's the story about the time I got mugged.

Sell Me A Cell Phone Old Man!

No disrespect to Eric Clapton, but him hocking cell phones is like Miley Cyrus doing a series of commercials for adult diapers. “Hey y’all! When my dad, Billy Ray, lost control of his bowels he turned to Depends Undergarments. Now when he parties in the U.S.A., he can piss and shit himself all he wants.”

I watch the old Slowhand in this commercial and think, “I wonder if he uses the senior discount when he eats dinner at 4 o’clock at Denny’s?”

I get it, Creamboy plays a Fender, it’s the limited edition Fender 3G myTouch with sunburst inspired design and it’s got the cool little guitar thing on there. Plus it comes with free music from Avril Lavigne! But Mr. Clapton is two years older than my mother and she doesn’t even know how to turn her cell phone on. She just hits buttons until “it lights up.”

During the spot, they’re playing one of his lamer songs, “I’ve Got A Rock N Roll Heart.” An 80's mid-charter that was written by six people and on which the Sheriff Shooter proclaims, "I get off on '57 Chevys." Who wants to think of an old guy getting a boner from a car? Coincidentally, the '57 Chevy is my mother's favorite car. She used to give handjobs in them in the 60's. My favorite part of the commercial is when 73-year-old Buddy Guy calls old Clap for a chat. "Oh hey Buddy, I’m just hanging out and trying to sell state-of-the-art technology to teenagers. What? You fell and broke your hip?”

I’d like to see the old Yardbird selling some more age appropriate products. Like something for erectile dysfunction, the Acorn Stairlift or even the Shoedini!!! By the way, Gilbert Godfrey is doing a wonderful job voicing those spots.

Just a little sidebar. If you want to make a million dollars in the next 10 years. Think of some shitty product that can help old people bend over less, stay warmer, or not fall over.

Well like I said, I don’t mean to disrespect a living legend. “Layla” is perfect in Goodfellas. And I love hearing “Wonderful Tonight” at weddings. And ONLY at weddings. I like to complain just to complain.

Miracle Whip Is Going To Kick Your Ass!

I wrote this one over the summer of 2009, but about two people read it where it was originally posted. Now, I'm hoping four or five people read it.

So what the F is up with this Miracle Whip commercial? "We're not going to tone it down?" A bold statement from something I put on my sandwich so the bread isn’t dry.

Can you imagine the meeting where they came up with this? Some tool from Kraft probably thought that Miracle Whip’s hipness was dipping. “We need to get D-bags in Williamsburg Brooklyn to start putting Miracle Whip on their vegan patty sandwiches! Let’s get Andy Samblurg and Dracula Weekend to be in a commercial!”

I don’t know what’s worse? 1. The fact that this COMMERCIAL has over 2,000 (Currently 35,000) YouTube hits. 2. The tool playing guitar with that Che Guevara look probably has a record coming out. 3. The hipster chick with the little boy haircut holding the Miracle Whip bottle like she’s Britney Spears hocking Pepsi. 4. The announcer guy trying to sound like Miracle Whip is dangerous.

I think Smaru486 summed it up perfectly on YouTube when it wrote, “I got laid cause I used Miracle Whip.” Well said sir, or madam.

Don’t get me wrong. If I’m putting together a bologna sammy on white with some American cheese, I’ll reach for the Miracle Whip. I’ve been eating Miracle Whip for as long as I can remember and never once thought to myself, “God bless those brave men and woman over at Kraft for making a sandwich spread that doesn’t comprise. I love you Miracle Whip for having the balls to be so different, with all your spices and awesomeness.” You know why I never thought that? Because it’s fucking mayonnaise! Or whatever the hell it is.

Oddly enough I have had those thoughts about Frank’s Hot Sauce. Now that’s a condiment that somebody could really rally behind. I'd fucking kill a man for some Frank's.

Ten thumbs down McGarrybowen (The agency that dreamt up this in-your-face-disaster-of-a-commercial.)

Holy Shit!!! I know that guy!!!

Apparently the FBI thinks this sketch will help them nab a jewel thief/murderer.

Really? I realize a man is dead, but WTF? I wonder what the conversation between the FBI sketch artist and the eyewitness sounded like?

"Can you describe the robber please?" "Well," the witness might say. "He was wearing a bunch of shit on his face and head! I really think a sketch would be pretty useless." "We get paid by the sketch, can you tell me what the shit on his face looked like?"

I actually called the FBI and said I'm pretty sure I saw their suspect skiing at Killington last weekend. They thanked me for the tip. Can you imagine if two FBI guys went up there and flashed this picture around? "Have you seen this man?" "Oh my God, he's going up the ski life right now!!! Get him!!!"

I can't believe the smartasses over at the NY Post didn't give this a great headline like, "SKETCH TARD-IST," or "WANTED: BUNDLED UP MAN."

That is all.