LeBron James: Setting a new standard in pussydom

Looks like we finally figured out what happens when you grow up being worshiped from the age of 12, constantly being told you're the second coming, and never having anyone say a single bad thing about you. You become the world's richest pussy.

This picture is never not relevant.

Last night, adding to the litany of pussy moves in his stellar being-a-pussy career (refusing to shake hands after a loss, refusing to talk to the media after a loss, driving his coach out of town then proceeding to leave anyway, holding a nationally televised special to announce the royal boning of his hometown, making a commercial that portrayed things as though he were the victim, more than likely being one of the guys crying in the Miami locker room, never hitting the big shot, and so on), LeBron James elected to skip the pregame introductions during his team's second visit to Cleveland this season in order to avoid the deluge of boos that were sure to come his way.
When asked where he was LeBron simply answered "I was in the rest room." Which I'm sure he was. In fact there's no doubt in my mind that he was huddled up in a locked stall rocking back and forth and repeating aloud "Everyone loves you, everyone loves you..." He then conveniently left the bathroom and made his way out to the court while the lights were down for the Cavaliers intro.
This is honestly friggin' pathetic. For the amount LeBron gets paid for one game I would happily walk out to midcourt at a Lakers game wearing a t-shirt that says "I gave Magic AIDS" (and if you double it I'd throw "Kobe was guilty" on the back). But this guy, a grown man and professional athlete, can't even handle the boos he so obviously deserves. How thin skinned can you be (if Nike has any integrity whatsoever they will make the next pair of LeBron's an open-toed, strappy heel)? I can't help but imagine Dwyane Wade rubbing the back of a teary-eyed, snot nosed LeBron James in the tunnel and gently reassuring him "It's gonna be okay buddy. The boos can't hurt you, I promise. I'm right here."
But the best part of it all? The Heat got handled by the league worst Cavs and lost the game 102-90.
This one's on you LeBitch. Nice job.

Sex in high places

"I see no reason not to get fully naked here."

As far as places to have sex go, this one is pretty high up on the list. Twelve stories high if you're counting.
Two USC students were recently captured during their most intimate of moments (or however else you'd refer to a rooftop bone-a-thon in broad daylight), caught on camera enjoying one another's naked-time company high atop Waite Phillips Hall (where all of my classes are held, none on the roof as luck would have it). And now the hormonal young rapscallions are facing the wrath of perhaps the most steadfast enforcers of social etiquette... fraternity leaders. Wait. What?
Yes, apparently the fraternity that the young man belongs to is quite taken aback by this uncouth behavior and has launched an investigation. Wow. I don't even understand that sentence. I feel as though actions such as these require he immediately be promoted to fraternity president. Conduct unbecoming of a gentleman? Isn't that a prerequisite for joining a fraternity?
In fact I can't quell my suspicions that this was some kind of hazing, like the current leader of the fraternity took all of the freshman and gave them each individual tasks to complete: "You, clean up the poo I took on the lawn... you, steal a letter off the Omega house... and you, uh, I dunno... fuck on a roof."

Taylor's unpublished love letters

I read this headline and my imagination immediately ran away with me. Think of all of the possibilities.
Are these Lawrence Taylor's unpublished love letters to that underage prostitute (a girl whom, much to LT's credit, he did not pick up on a playground)? Or are they Taylor Hicks' secret correspondences with Simon Cowell that eventually won him the most clearly rigged season of American Idol to date? Or better still are they Taylor Lautner's clandestine exchanges with his sworn vampire enemies in which he declares his unholy yet undying love for Edward? Who knows?! So I read on , and alas, they are simply the immediate exploitations of a woman who passed so recently her body may not yet be cold.

"Of course I'm taking into account that our most private
exchanges will one day be made public. Why wouldn't I?"

Elizabeth Taylor just died. Is the first move really to slap her private love letters up on Ebay? She was only seventeen when she wrote these, is nothing sacred? I mean come on, would we take a chronicle of the devastating wartime hardships and pubescent struggles endured by an exiled teen and publish it for all the world to see? Oh... right (Yes, I still unabashedly endorse the use of Cliff's notes. It's a simple issue of time management people).
Anyway, don't go wasting the 75 G's that the letters of the late actress are expected to fetch at auction. I know a guy who will have the bootlegs available up on Hollywood Boulevard in no less than a week. Five bucks. You're welcome.

Drug addict hubris is the worst kind

So this was in front of me at a stop light this morning and I felt obligated to snap the pictures:

This struck me as strange on so many different levels. Now, just to be clear, I'm not making light of how difficult it is to kick an addiction (I know first hand from back in 2006 when my refusal to leave the house in order to repeatedly watch my season two DVD of The Gilmore Girls prevented me from getting a job for an entire year). After all, ridding yourself of something as serious as drug dependence is something to be admired, I'm just not sure it needs to be plastered all over the back of your car.
First of all, addiction is generally known to be a bad thing. It has a negative connotation. As in, no one anywhere is shouting "Woooo addiction!" This sticker is telling us something is terrible when we already know it is. It's as redundant as having Calvin peeing on "Murder" or "The Twilight Film Series."
Secondly, the license plate is just absurd. "IUZ2USE." Really? Bragging about that are we? I'm sure that has done you a world of good in job interviews where the potential employer happens to see you pull in to the lot. And having vanity plates in general is the absolute worst, maybe even worse than doing heroin, so this is a double whammy. Regardless of what they say, all they really do is let the world know that you are paying a yearly douchebag fee to own them. You kicked drugs? Good for you. Now it's time to address your addiction to shitty forms of "self-expression."
And lastly, I get that you're proud of your accomplishment, but you might be a little too proud. Call me crazy, but I doubt that the guy who used to spend 8 hours of his day pleasuring himself and has finally found peace through years of therapy has a sticker of Calvin peeing on the words "Chronic Masturbation" on the back of his Kia Rio.
It's called quiet pride. Try it.

What was all that 2012 nonsense?!

So I know I've been a bit obsessed with this whole Armageddon thing (the event, not the movie, though I do still bawl like a baby when Bruce Willis sacrifices himself... so noble), but as much as I've accepted that the end is near I was under the distinct impression we had at least until the new year. That is, until I saw this on my way to work today:

 

 

 

Coming soon to a planet near you!

May 21st of this year people! I never thought the Mayans and/or John Cusack would intentionally mislead us this way, but whoever posted this billboard seems pretty confident as to when the shit is hitting the apocalyptal fan. 
This hardly seems like enough time to get my affairs in order (shut up, I have affairs). Though, if there is one silver lining at least we'll have time to catch the conclusion of March Madness. Well, unless Duke wins again, in which case I'm pretty sure we can blame this whole End of Days mess on the impossibly dark and evil soul of Coach K.

Note: Disregard this post if you are able to read it on May 22, 2011

Way to ruin ice cream

Have you ever been eating ice cream and suddenly you miss your mom and you don't know why? Well check the ingredients, because you may be eating breast milk... ya sicky.
Yeah. I know. Gross.

Quit Bogarting my supply!

The product is called Baby Gaga (because apparently what it's made of wasn't strange enough, so they upped the ante with the name too) and it's becoming a big hit in a London ice cream shop (it's stuff like this that makes it clear why we felt such a strong need for revolution, you limey pervs). The owner of the shop claims it's novel because "No one has done anything interesting with ice cream in the last 100 years." You're actually right sir. And do you know why that is? Because ice cream is awesome. It's perfect and everyone is on board with it. Not unlike boobs. Yes, everyone loves ice cream and boobs, but now you've gone and made them both creepy. Thanks a lot, dick.
Don't get me wrong, I understand that breast milk is an all natural product that most of us survived on as children, and I realize that is the primary argument those defending this product make. But I pose this question to those very same people. Do you realize what those completely true facts don't change at all? That it's weird. It's really weird. It's weird. Stop it.
In conclusion, I'll at least suggest a marketing slogan:
Breast milk- It does a body good... A baby's body. You freakshows.

I'm really not an angry person...

Nothing says Good Morning America like a chair through a window.
The recovery for the shattered image of R&B singer Chris Brown hit a bit of a snag this morning when an interview took a turn for the worse. And by a bit of a snag, I mean he went batshit nuts at Good Morning America after being asked a series of questions about his little "dust-up" with Rihanna back in 2009. Obviously, the best way to show that you are past that dark point in your life is to quietly dismiss questions about it, then promptly throw a chair through your dressing room window and exit the building a shirtless madman.

What? I think that interview went well.

I imagine Brown's handlers are just thrilled that he decided to go all "Chris Brown" on the exact day of his album's release too (maybe wait till next week to publicly lose your shit?). All I know is interviewer Robin Roberts should thank her lucky stars this segment was done on national television and not in a car on the way to the Grammys, otherwise things could've gone down very differently for her.
In any case, here's some advice Chris, if you're that sick and tired of being badgered about an incident that happened two years ago... too bad asshole. Maybe you should've thought of that before you made a girl look like she went 12 rounds with Apollo Creed.
It's not gonna go away buddy. Just ask Ike Turner. He's been dead for four years and yet he still isn't exactly remembered for his two Independent Music Awards. Boo-hoo. Deal with it you over-entitled, self-indulged, never-gonna-be-Usher-because-Usher-never-knuckled-up-a-lady's-face scumbag.

See you in a week!

Crunchy Brain Doodles will be out of commission for the next week (along with my waning sense of decency and my liver) for Spring Break (yes that is still a thing for me, thank you grad school and amassing student loans!).
So try to survive the week without me. Maybe take the opportunity to look back on some of your favorite posts and leave comments. Or pass the link along to your friends who have yet to partake in the crunchiness.
In the mean time I will be struggling to find a way to survive an entire week without the money you don't pay me and the ego boost you don't give me to do this.
But I won't leave you without one solid piece of advice:
If over the course of spring break you find yourself in trouble with Johnny Law and in need of a good attorney, insist on one with such high standards that they demand the little things. Like the word license being spelled correctly on their own commercials.

Note: For seksual harrasment or raype cases, we recommend you consult an actual law firm.

Why buy the tiger if you get the milk for free?

Want to get your fix of feline calcium in the morning but sick of the hassle that goes along with extracting it from the world's largest known jungle cat?
Are you fed up with the high cost of tranquilizers? Are you sick of the complicated milk pumps? Are you ready to rid your morning routine of the high risk nature of getting your mouth around a tiger's nipple? Say no more.
From the company that brought you Bear Cheese and Gorilla Eggs, comes the product that will revolutionize your intake of cat dairy forever... Tiger's Milk!

Tiger's Milk- It'll put hair on your balls... striped hair.

It's going to be a very LA day

Only in LA is this a completely normal sighting.

"I'm still a man, I'm still a man, I'm still a man..."

At least once a day I see some comically enormous, completely emasculated man walking a "dog" (I only got a quick look, so this could have been a fat hamster on a leash) that he could literally crush in the palm of his angry ogre hand. And every single time I can't help but gleefully wonder what other Hollywood cliches he has relented to at the hands of his "aspiring actress" girlfriend.
I assume that when he leaves this convenience store he crams his giant body back into his Prius, or better yet, his Smart Car with the coexist bumper sticker on it, and heads back to his ridiculously undersized studio apartment in West Hollywood. After dropping off Dustin Hoffman (that's his chihuahua's name, obviously) and grabbing a quick sushi lunch at the corner cafe, he sits his tiny fedora atop his oversized skull and heads out to Venice Beach to spend the rest of the afternoon with his lady, who sells her homemade jewelry made of found scrap metal on the boardwalk.  All the while daydreaming fondly of simpler days gone by, when his one and only obligation was grinding bones to make his bread.

We won't let you kill the credibility of Warlocks

Not to dwell on this Charlie Sheen madness (he's been Sheening HARD for a solid two and a half weeks now, I assume without water, that's gotta be some kind of record), but once again a revelation has emerged that was impossible to let go.
In a recent rant that included Sheen finally admitting he has "Adonis DNA and tiger blood" and fessing up to the fact that he is a "bitchin' rock star from Mars," (which I had always been suspicious of anyway) he also casually dropped the truth bomb that he is indeed a Warlock.
What he failed to see with his "highly evolved brain" though, was the backlash this statement would cause from one very prominent and highly regarded group... the Warlocks.

First of all, Charlie can't even fly through space.

Yes, the actual Wicken community headquartered in Salem, Massachusetts (might wanna consider a relocation, I heard some pretty rough shit went down for you people there a while back) is up in arms about Mr. Sheen's casual decree that he is one of their own. A spokesman for the slighted Warlock community cited that Sheen's comments were "a blatant offense against our ways and our teachings" and that while Charlie is a crack addled nut job (liberal paraphrasing), Warlocks are "peaceful and enlightened" and "have the ability to communicate with the dead and learn from it."
Simply astounding. Each successive news story born of this mess is somehow even more insane than the last. Charlie Sheen vs. the Warlocks? This sounds like the drunkest MadLib I've ever done. And I don't care how sick of it you people are, I am still sitting back and loving it with all my heart. While also trying to wrap my head around just how batshit crazy you have to be for a Warlock to be like "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Don't lump us in with this psycho."
In any case, I have a feeling this will all be resolved very soon. Because if Warlocks really do have the ability to communicate with the dead, something tells me they'll be able to pencil Charlie in for an exclusive interview in the very near future.

A lesson in athletic decorum

Late last week when Brigham Young University kicked their second best player off the basketball team, which was at the time the #3 team in nation, it was a huge story. Not because it's that rare for a player to be dismissed from his team for violating school conduct, but because BYU's particular conduct policies were a little more strict than most realized.
Yes, poor Brandon Davies was kicked off the team for, what are the kids calling it these days.... getting his consensual swerve on.

Time to transfer?

Meanwhile, Ben Roethlisberger is readily whipping his dong out whenever he feels like it whilst leading his team on another long playoff run, and Michael Vick is being handed the key to the city when just three short years ago he was electrocuting puppies (Seriously. Electrocuting puppies. That sounds like #2 on a young Charles Manson's "What I did over summer break" show and tell list).
So who's to blame here? Simple. Brandon Davies.
Why Brandon? Why on earth would you voluntarily attend a school that's motto is effectively "Yes means no"? As an elite athlete it is your destiny to take the road more travelled, the one that leads you on the path to complete immunity from the law and/or any constraining societal standards. You are meant to enroll at a school that is more than happy to cover up that measly double murder you "may or may not have played an integral role in" (I hear Miami calling). Or at the very least, a school that admits there's nothing wrong with a little bit of bump 'n grind.
To put it simply, if your goal is to parlay your basketball scholarship into a mandatory religious missionary trip and possibly meeting a few of your future wives (you can look, but don't touch), then by all means, the Stormin' Mormons (that's what they're called right?) is the team for you. If not. Go to a regular school my man. And promptly up your game from consensual sex with your girlfriend to masterminding a child slavery ring. Because hey, you're an athlete, and you earned it.

Celebrity Apprentice Premonitions

After watching the premier episode of Celebrity Apprentice last night I decided to save you all a lot of time by just going ahead and predicting exactly how the season will play out.
You're welcome:

"Hey Survivor guy's ball bag... You're Fired!"

- Latoya Jackson will make at least one eerie, cryptic reference to her recently deceased brother per episode, only to reveal in the final episode that she IS Michael Jackson.

- At some point, and there's nothing you can do to stop it, you will see Richard Hatch's balls.

- Jose Canseco will be sent home for stealing the steroids Lisa Rinna injects into her face twice hourly to keep it in tact.

- Mark McGrath will flip his blonde-frosted lid when Meatloaf refers to him as "Sugar Gay."

- Lil' Jon will arbitrarily answer such an alarming amount of questions with "YEEEAAAAH!" it will prompt testing that eventually proves he is mentally retarded.

- Gary Busey will be unabashedly awesome the entire time.

- Star Jones will be unabashedly awful the entire time.

Best name ever?

Well, I found another gem hidden amongst the comedic stockpile that is the abundant signage in Koreatown.
There is evidently, an interior decor company run by a man named Lance. I know, shocking. And while that seems a little cliche, I'd hardly call it hilarious. That is of course, unless Lance's last name is equal parts both juvenile and phallic. And yeah, it is.

Not Affiliated with Bruce Dong Floral Design

I feel like when forming this company, rather than consult a marketing firm they just polled the writers at Saturday Night Live for name suggestions. And I expect any week now to tune in to SNL only to see Lance Wang- flamboyant decorator, Bill Hader's new hit recurring character.

Whoever smelt it created this revolution in their minds

I usually shy away from political commentary. Mostly because I find it endangering to your credibility as writer to tackle subjects on which you are utterly unqualified and uninformed. I'll stick to poop jokes and figuring out what kind of person you are based on your favorite Ninja Turtle, thank you very much.
But this one was too rich to resist, even for someone who has legally tested as politically retarded.

I can't be the only one who thought this was Carlos Santana

Libyan leader Moammar Gadhafi has resorted to the "I have no idea what you're talking about" defense. When interviewed by ABC News regarding the current political unrest in Libya (I'll tell ya what's in unrest, my wallet over these hiked up gas prices. HAYOOO!), Gadhafi simply replied "Nah, that's not happening." Despite a MASSIVE amount of video evidence that suggests otherwise, he stuck steadfastly to his story, insisting there have been NO demonstrations against him and added "My people love me."
If you're running that interview, what do you say to that? How thrown are you by this man's astounding gall? I mean, his insistent denial of what is undeniably fact has got to put a real kink in your line of questioning. It's basically like when you're in a car with one other person and a hot fart-stink rises amongst you. Now, you know you didn't fart, and your traveling mate's response is "I don't smell anything at all," even though there are tears running down their face and the air in the car has turned a musty tint of green. Yeah, it's basically like that, times a billion.
I honestly don't know what my overall point is here. I guess I kind of just wanted to point out the sheer balls it takes to straight up deny impending revolution. So say what you will about Moammar Gadhafi, but the kid's got moxie.

Why eat food?

Are you sick and tired of the stranglehold food has on your daily life? Are you fed up with the monopoly it has on your options when hungry? Say no more.

It's time you tried... Fud.

It'll fill ya good!

At half the price and just twice the calories of traditional food, Fud is quickly becoming the choice of the informed consumer. Not only is it affordable, but it comes in all of your favorite food flavors like:

- American

- Other

- Hot

- Left Overs

- And more!

Fud is the wise choice in these harsh economic times, and 4 out of 5 customers agree Fud is "about as delicious as it sounds!"

So make the switch to Fud today, your wallet, and your stomach will thank you.

(Caution: in a double blind study some users developed a rare degenerative disease in their colons that caused "outside butthole." This may or may not have been directly related to their intake of Fud)