Those Tina Fey American Express commercials, where she goes on a massive impulse buying spree without a thought to the amount or to whether she needs the shit she’s gorge-buying in bulk.
Yeah, let’s encourage idiots in a country where overall household debt increased by 11 percent in the past decade, and where households owe $16,000 on the average in credit card debt, to buy shit they probably will never use, because a vapid celebrity who never has to worry about paying her debts or living paycheck to paycheck does so!
How many of us out there can go into a sports store, and buy hundreds of dollars worth of stuff we don’t even like or know how to use – all because IMPULSE BUY? I’d wager not a whole lot of us can say that, and yet tool stick over here is encouraging us to go out and buy shit anyway – shit you can’t afford, but hey… you have a credit card!
Yeah, let’s encourage that kind of behavior! Not.
And then there was this cock swizzle in the Metro station today. As I’m walking by, he says aggressively, while leaning toward passersby “Does anyone have a dollar? Anyone still remember those things?” As if it’s our fault that he’s a freeloading piece of detritus.
Dude, I work two jobs and am barely making ends meet. No one owes you a fucking dollar.
Job. Remember those things?
I’m usually pretty sympathetic. I’ve given food to the homeless, I’ve contributed thousands of dollars to charity, I’ve adopted two kids, and I’ve taken a homeless woman to a restaurant and bought her dinner.
But give me a fucktard who aggressively accosts me in the Metro station in an accusatory manner, because I won’t give him a dollar, and the only thing he’ll get is a throat punch.
Yeah, it’s Monday, and I’m in a mood.
I woke up relatively late for me, which means my dog and my cat actually allowed me to sleep today without singing me the song of their people entitled, “Pet me! No one has petted me in eight hours,” and “My food bowl is empty, bitch! Let’s go!” I have to admit it was cool to actually sleep until 9 on a weekend.
Since I wasn’t particularly tired, I had no excuse not to go to the gym, so I went. It was the first time I attempted a workout since the orthopedist sliced my ankle open over the summer and stitched together my ligaments, so I wondered how long I would last before collapsing. I didn’t do too badly.
Yeah, I’m pretty proud of myself. Not bad for the first workout since last summer.
The rest of the day will be spent in pajamas, hanging out with the animals and the husband. Chillin’.
Our plan was to find a movie to watch on one of the premium channels, because there’s not a single news channel that’s not either severely slanted left, or ridiculously skewed right. Want to see liberals losing their shit over an Executive Order? Go to CNN or MSNBC. Want to see the right collectively tongue bathe Trump’s ball sack? Tune in to Fox News.
Either way, the vapid, dull, biased outrageary has gotten old.
So, movies. I was distraught to find out from Snopes that Hollywood really wasn’t threatening a strike to force Trump to resign.
I was kind of hoping they would, and then I wouldn’t be subjected to such “classics” as the “Ghostbusters” remake, the “Independence Day” sequel, and the unwatchable and boring “Fifty Shades of ZZZzzz…”
If there’s a single reason for Trump to stay in office, let this be it!
Too bad it was a hoax.
Because maybe without the usual Hollywood histrionics, virtue signaling, and political messaging, maybe we’d have some interesting movies to watch.
We wound up watching last year’s Tarzan movie with Alexander Skaarsgard and Christoph Waltz. It wasn’t Oscar material or anything – at least by today’s standards. It was just cookie cutter fun. Nothing complex. Nothing particularly intelligent. Just a lot of beefcake thanks to Skaarsgard’s shirtless yumminess.
I guess I’ll spend the rest of the day watching “Charmed” reruns. At least their brand of feminism doesn’t involve parading around dressed as bloody tampons.
Every once in a while, you have to wonder if life imitates art, or vice versa.
I love “The Walking Dead.” It’s arguably one of the best written shows on television today. I’m generally not a fan of the zombie genre, but I like the idea of a zombie apocalypse as the event that precipitates the breakdown of society. The show is really about such a collapse – the collapse of government structures designed to protect the citizens, and the resulting anarchy.
Until recently, I thought of a zombie apocalypse itself as simple fiction. But now…
You want a zombie apocalypse? Because this is how you get a zombie apocalypse!
Officers with the Myrtle Beach Street Crimes Unit were conducting an undercover prostitution operation in Myrtle Beach Wednesday, according to police reports.
Offenders were contacted by undercover officers, got into undercover vehicles and agreed to sexual activity for prices ranging from $20 to $200, the reports said.
Oh. Dear. God.
I hope she charged on the low end of the scale for any type of “services” she provided.
Would you pay money to do the nasty with this creature? Without fear that she would nom on your giblets during or in the aftermath of coitus?
There are men who apparently did.
I can’t help but wonder how desperate or strung out on enormous amounts of the good shit one has to be to stick ANY body part into her! And if procreation happened (I can’t imagine she’s cautious about protection), would the offspring be the start of the zombie apocalypse that takes down society as we know it?
Unsurprisingly, the charges against her included drugs.
And those of us who wonder how a complete breakdown society could happen in a zombie apocalypse, have to wonder if this is the start.
Why is it that in a world where we have pig fucking jihadists setting bombs in our cities…
Where protests against police shootings turn violent…
Where ISIS launches a mustard gas attack against our troops…
Where Russia’s president Vladimir Putin has proven once again that history repeats itself by essentially revamping Russia’s security apparatus to resurrect the KGB…
And where of the two major party candidates for the most powerful office in the world – one is in bed with the Russians, fellating Putin so hard, that he might actually swallow and digest his microscopic cock, and the other apparently can’t even tell the difference between a classified portion marking and a paragraph marked in alphabetical order (because the only letter in the alphabet is apparently “C”)…
Why is it that with all this shit going on in the world today, the biggest news story on my news feeds is Brangelina’s divorce?
You know what I learned today against my will?
That apparently Brad Pitt was allegedly fucking around on Angelina Jolie with some French actress about whom I know nothing, and who denies this allegation.
Why anyone cares about this, I cannot possibly fathom, but when I get on my news feed (the news app on my iPhone) or on social media, and all I see is the gaunt, fat-lipped face of Jolie and Pitt’s hobo beard, I have to wonder what the hell the obsession is.
Yes, they’re rich. Yes, they’re famous. Yes, they’re probably somewhat weird. But the richer and more famous they are, the more bizarre their public displays and the more problems they have keeping their shit private.
It’s like we’re living vicariously through them! OH LOOK! THEY’RE RICH AND FAMOUS, SO LET’S GAWP AT THEIR FAMILY PROBLEMS TO MAKE US FEEL BETTER ABOUT OURSELVES.
Please. Make it stop.
And yes, I’m cranky. You would be too if you had to do physical therapy for a bum ankle twice every week.
But on the bright side, my buddy Dennis is helping kick cancer’s ass in his own special way.
Now, y’all are familiar with Dennis’ work, because I proudly carry my pistols in various holsters he has made for me. Well, Dennis is raising money to help fight prostate cancer and giving you the opportunity to win…
Now, motherfucker, this isn’t just some ordinary holster!
This holster is autographed by the NY Times Best-Selling author of the Monster Hunter International series Larry Correia, who was kind enough to autograph this holster for this fundraiser when Dennis met him at Liberty-Con.
There are other autographed holsters as well. I noted one with Dean Cain’s signature on it. Dean Cain is hot. Just sayin’.
So here’s how you register to win one of these beauties!
1) Go to the donation page by clicking here.
2) Make the donation in multiples of $10
3) When you go through checkout, select Team Dragon from the drop-down list so that we get credited with bringing in your donation.
4) When you get the PayPal receipt in your email, simply forward that email to firstname.lastname@example.org so we can verify the amount donated, and that the donation was made to Team Dragon.
5) In the forwarded mail, let me know how to apply the donation (which holster, how to split up multiple entries, etc.)
6) We’ll email you letting you know that your entries have been logged.
We’ll draw the winning entries first week of October, after the fundraiser is done.
Go here and do it. Trust me.
Because FUCK CANCER!
At least you’re not this guy, whose nutsack somehow got caught in an electrical grinder. Ambulance called. Dude wheeled out on a stretcher.
Couple of questions come to mind, including “Why was he using power tools nekkid?” and “Why in blue hell would he ever let a power tool so close to his giblets, that they get caught?”
Someday, he will laugh about this incident. Today is not that day.
And at least you’re not Vegas tourists enjoying a vacation while this douche pickle is zipping by.
On Wednesday, guests of Vegas’ popular Fremont Street Experience were shocked when an unknown liquid began showering down upon them. Alas, it was not rain, but a 15-year-old boy urinating as he rode the Slotzilla zipline above.
Slotzilla is a slot machine-themed zipline. Riders can choose the zipline for $25, which is 77 feet off the ground, or the ‘zoomline’ at 114 feet for $45. The zipline whisks riders over the pedestrian promenade.
Cazimere Ferguson, a vacationer from Hawaii, told Fox 5 Vegas that it was “a lot of liquid coming from above us, just showering us from head to toe, our back and top of the head dripping down. And we thought it was some sort of water, maybe some drinks or beer.”
Isn’t this just the typical Vegas tourist thing to say? “Dude! We thought it was beer raining from the sky, cuz VEGAS! So we, like, opened our mouths, but it was all salty and shit!”
And I’m fairly sure that your day is not “fell into a wood chipper and died on the first day of work” bad.
So, happy Friday, all!