Tuesday, January 31, 2012

An Ode to Wendy's Super Bar

Oh how I loved you

How I wish you were here

For you, Wendy’s Super Salad Bar

I’ve shed many a tear

For just three ninety-nine

I could have all that I can eat

Jell-O... pudding... pasta

Tacos with extra meat

Imitation bacon bits

Abound in great supply

Those shelled sunflower seeds I love so much

I think I may cry

Your sneeze guard of glass

Protecting you with care

Yes it looked disgusting

But imagine if bare

Oh why oh why did you leave me

Why did they take you away

If only I could see you again

Oh the words that I would say

Why, Wendy’s Founder Dave Thomas

Did you play with my heart

And that red headed daughter of yours

That slutty little tart

Every time I drive past

I see her evil little grin

As if to say, “She’s gone forever...

That’s right Mother fucker...

I win.”

Monday, January 30, 2012

Pillow Talk

“Last night I had a dream that I was eating a giant marshmallow. When I woke up, my pillow was gone!”

 Okay, so today, of all the topics that I could go on about, I’m going to dissect the logic of this old, lame, and corny joke.

 First off, if you could indeed finish off an entire pillow as you slept, you surely wouldn’t be able to do it in one bite. Agreed? Good.

So now we have established that you are ripping this sucker apart like the Tazmanian Devil with a roast turkey. I would venture to say that not long after beginning this novel meal, you would be working on the inside of this once marshmallow-like pillow. At this point you should be dreaming that you’re at the carnival eating a giant bag of cotton candy or going down on Daisy Duck (me-ow, err, I mean ka-wack!), depending on what your pillow is filled with.

 Okay, I know what you’re thinking. “But what about those new fangled memory foam pillows, they seem marshmallowy and they would stay in one piece as you ate it.”

To which I respond: Who the fuck says “fangled” anymore? My spell check doesn’t even recognize that as a word. I would be shocked and amazed if anyone old enough to use that word could even find the power button on a computer let alone get on the internet without calling their 6 year old great grandchildren for help. Oh, and they weren’t invented (or at least not in wide usage, but I don’t feel like looking it up.) when the joke was written, so bite me.

Now let’s look at the line “When I woke up, my pillow was gone!”

Really? That would be the first thing you noticed when you woke up? That your pillow was gone?

Your bedroom would look like somebody beat, raped, and strangled a goose. But the first thing out of your mouth would be, “Hey, where’s my pillow?” Is that normal for you? Do you live on a poultry farm or something?  Okay, maybe you do. I’m sure somebody does, so why not. But why are the feathers in your bedroom? You know what, never mind, I don’t even want to know. I’ll just give you that point, okay?

 Lastly, I’m sure that after you ate this pillow, you would probably be in need of some sort of medical attention. Stomach pump, perhaps. Maybe even a full-blown operation to remove the offending material.  Or at the very least just be feeling sick as hell.

I would find it pretty incredible that you would be out and about to be making jokes about it so soon after eating your pillow “Last night”. Maybe if you said last month, or even last week, I could at least entertain the notion, but I’m just going to have to call bullshit on that one.

Sunday, January 29, 2012


I would like to offer my sincerest apologies for my previous blog entry. After posting, I decided to actually Google how many hairs are on a fly’s anus, as I had erroneously claimed I had already done. To my dismay, I found no pages discussing this subject whatsoever. The closest thing I got was “How many hairs are on a fly’s eye?”

 Seriously. Who the hell cares about that stupid ass shit? I want to know about fly anuses dammit!

I don’t know, maybe flies don’t have hairs on their anuses. But you’d think I could at least get a “Zero” or something. Though I should probably mention that I did not look past the first page of search results. But really, does anybody look past the first page for anything? You Google “Three-way”, and on the first page you get everything you need. Two women, one guy – Two guys, one woman – Three women – Three…Never mind. Just… never mind. A woman, a donkey, and a goose. Anyway, the point being that you go to page two, and you get shit like “Sir Thomas Threeway” or “Three Wayans Brothers movies everyone should see”.  

So you start out searching for some hot lesbian action, and you wind up with “Don’t be a Menace to South Central While Drinking Your Juice in the Hood”. Gee…thanks Google.

And no, I did not confirm any of this. Who the hell do you think I am… Tom Brokaw?

Saturday, January 28, 2012

Google Freaks

  I like to play a game with Google sometimes. I come up with some random topic off the top of my head and see what are the fewest amount of letters it takes for it to come up in the automatic suggestions. I’m not sure yet on how to determine the winner though, except in cases where I type in something like “Ho-“ and in the suggestion box, the question “How many hairs are on a fly’s anus?” pops up. At which point I unplug the computer, cut off all the power to the house, cut the phone line and hide under the bed. Because nobody’s that good. NOBODY!

  You see, this is the type of shit that makes people start wrapping themselves in aluminum foil to block the brain scans from the CIA satellites. And as insane as that is, how could you argue with them? I mean, how else would Google be getting this information? What legitimate response could you give a crazy person that would make any sense even to a sane person? That within the last week or so, an overwhelming majority of people in the world decided to get interested in the study of insect ass hairs? But I’m sure the answer to that would be “Then that means that they’re not reading our minds...they’re implanting thoughts!” And really, what other explanation could there be?  So why does Google want us thinking about hairy fly anuses? They’re freaks, that’s why.

Friday, January 27, 2012

The Facebook Dilemma

I hate that you can't tell if your Facebook friend request has been accepted or denied.

I mean really, if a person's feelings would get that hurt over a rejected friend request, then they aren't that stable to begin with, and keeping them hanging on and checking their friends list every 10 minutes probably isn't the wisest move considering their fragile mental state.

Tell me to screw off so I can say “fuck you too” and get on with my life.

Most times it isn't even an issue, I usually forget who I friended anyway. But when you see a person you haven't seen in 20 years and you're curious if they even remember you, you friend them without sending a message because you don't want to give it away, and they don't accept it, the dilemma begins.

So now my assumption was that she wouldn't remember me, and would be forced to message me to ask who I am, and I would pretty much know my status after that. Well I failed to consider two other possibilities: She would remember me and still not want to be my friend, or she wouldn't remember me and still not care, therefore no message and no way of knowing if she even saw the request.

So what do you do? Do you message them a week later and tell them who you are, as if to say:

(For best results: The following should be read in a condescending tone with a quasi British accent)

“Oh dear girl, I do believe that some sort of error has occured. You see, I'm that dashing fellow that you met thrice 20 years ago, surely you intended to friend me of all people. Remember, “Accept” means that you WANT to be a person's friend. But not to worry, I know that it must get confusing for you sometimes. If you need any assistance with using the basic controls of Facebook, I would be more than happy to lend a helping hand as it were...”

To which the response would probably be “Ya, I remember you, that's why I rejected it”

And there's the other angle, that I look like I'm trying to harass her into friending me and that I'm a pathetic loser that can't take no for an answer while she wonders why a casual acquaintance from so long ago even remembers her, let alone wants to be her friend so badly.

I know the right answer of course is to let it go and get on with my life, which I'll do. But it's the not knowing that gets you. Next time I'll be sure to send a message with the request, but would a “Fuck Off” button really be so bad?