Reason #5,376,981 not to have kids: Vodka soaked ass-tampons

My God, why is this a thing?



Sure, I drank like any other teenager. I found a way to get my hands on alcohol, and then I found a time and place to drink it without getting caught. And since such a large portion of my plan was devoted to not being caught, I decided that time and place wasn't 7th period Social Studies. Of course, I would've loved to have been hammered to get through class and get away with it, but it wasn't a realistic option, so I didn't do it.
But apparently, today's teenagers are a much different breed of resourceful/fucking disgusting than I was, so they've found a solution. When given the choice between getting through class sober, or pursing their anus around a vodka soaked tampon, they've elected to go with the latter. And why not? It's genius! Not only does it conceal the alcohol odor, but it gets it into your system much, much faster (Also, it makes for a hilarious play on words when the teacher calls the principal's office and says "Well, there's no sign of alcohol, but he really seems to be drunk off his ass.").
If there's one positive you can take from this though, it's the visual of a group of teenage boys staring at the one kid who struggles and chokes as he tries to suck the vodka out of a tampon. Then, waiting until he's done of course, the sideways hat-wearing, alpha-douche of the group laughs "You're such a GAYWAD dude, you do it like this -" and shoves a tampon up his own ass.
America's youth. Drink it in...

Coors Light: Official beer of the NFL, and Satan

Yummy as a bag of buttholes.

Recently, I spent my day tweeting away about the evils of Coors Light and their unholy marketing strategies only to see, not even a week later, that yet another horse shit ad campaign had been unleashed upon us. Now Coors Light was offering a label that would not only tell you when your beer was cold, but also inform you that "Oh, guess what, this beer is now Super Fucking Cold" (or some shit like that). And not only were they telling you when your beer was "Super Cold," but they were doing so with genius commercial spots featuring Ice Cube arguing with a bottle of Coors Light (FYI Ice Cube, you lost the chance of anyone ever thinking you're "cold" again when you made "Are We There Yet?").
Anyway, I decided that since my Twitter rant had evidently gone unnoticed (there's no blow to the ego like realizing a massive corporation doesn't follow your microblogging habits), it was time to reach out to world with a full-on blog post. One that will hopefully bring Coors Light to its knees once and for all.


An open letter to the soulless bastards at the Coors Light marketing department:
- A wider mouth + color changing label mountains + a view window on the box + a home draft pack + Super Cold Activation + some giant silver train that somehow rips through the streets without ever running someone over = Congratulations, you have mastered the creation of gimmicks. Now consider putting that same effort into deciphering the brewing process, because your beer is unspeakably terrible.
- A temperature cannot double as a marketing initiative. Claiming to brew the world's coldest beer is like Campbell's telling us we should eat Chunky because it's the world's hottest soup. It makes no sense. Besides, everyone knows we should eat Campbell's Chunky soup because Donovan McNabb's mom says so.
- A taste as cold as the Rockies? News flash, cold is not a fucking taste, it's a feeling. And on that note I know my beer is cold when I feel it with my hand. I don't need some paint-by-numbers label to help me crack the case. Even on a blind test I'm confident I'd know if it's cold or not, and on top of that I could even figure whether or not it's Coors Light based on whether it tastes like a Budweiser that has already gone through, and subsequently been peed out of me.
In summation, the only gimmick that will ever get me to drink your "beer" is if every 18-pack came with twenty bucks, and even then, I really can't say for sure. So enjoy your impossibly awful, tasteless, albeit freezing cold beer, then promptly choke on it and die.
Yours in Christ,
TK


Now hear me citizens who don't believe we deserve to be pandered to by some shit-eating marketing reps who think we'll gulp down any worthless swill as long as it's nice and chilly, and join me in boycotting the most God forsaken adult beverage in all the land (and yes, that absolutely includes this). So pass this post along to anyone you know who loves drinking beer and hates drinking cold urine, and especially to the poor souls who have fallen victim to the vicious brainwashing of the Silver Bullet. Who knows, this may even make its way to a Coors Light rep and shine light upon the horrible error of his ways. 
Regardless, we must band together and bring an end to this evil regime, so stay strong, demand quality suds, and just say no to ice cold Coors Light.

I'm too sexy for my teething ring

It's a pretty simple equation, if you have a super-hot baby and you want to make sure the world knows it, buy him this outfit...

I swear to God, if I see any kid in this inexcusable camo shorts/creepy shirt combo I will immediately report his parents to child services. I feel like this outfit alone could completely shatter a child's sexual psyche and result in years of expensive therapy over his deep-seeded mommy issues. 

Mommy's Major Hunk? What the hell is that supposed to mean? I see this kid fifteen years in the future telling girls they should feel privileged he's even asking them to prom, since his mom has been telling him what a fine piece of ass he was since he was one and a half. 

The fact that this outfit has even been manufactured begs the question: should any mother's be referring to their baby as a hunk? I feel like the answer there is a pretty strong "NO!" It seems unfair for a kid to have to tackle Oedipal issues before he can eat solid foods. And can a baby even be a hunk? And if they can, shouldn't you have the decency to take into account the millions of babies suffering from lack of confidence due to their rolly-polly shape (and pants shitting), and not rub it in their faces that you have a seriously chiseled infant?

This was so uncomfortable to even write that I don't know of a good way to wrap it up. World, you are weird and gross. Knock it off.

Stop praising your spectacularly mediocre children!

While driving down the highway this weekend I spotted one of those bumper stickers dedicated to a child's accomplishments. But it wasn't the standard "My Kid is on the Honor Roll at whatever, I dunno like, Lawrence Taylor High."  Which would've been bad enough. In fact I've actually come to realize in the years since, that I was a dick for thinking my parents should put that sticker on their car, because when they did, I now realize that everyone who pulled up behind them looked at it and said to themselves "No on cares douchebag!" But not this sticker, no this one was even more special. It read:

"My Child Received the Attendance Award at Palms Middle School."

Now THAT's worth bragging about!

You have got to be kidding me. We are setting the bar at an all time low if all it takes to pat ourselves on the back is that we made a kid who is able to show up to stuff. And it's not like it was next to an honor roll sticker. No, this was the only lonely sticker on that entire bumper. So it may as well have said "My kid went to school but don't get the wrong idea here, he in no way excelled academically." Congratulations, your kid was at a place. Is that really that praiseworthy? If so, I'd like my long overdue credit for the Yankees 2009 World Championship, because I was present at several games that year.

We need to put an end to this nonsense. Maybe stop shoving your kids faces full of hot pockets, pull them away from the TV for five minutes and make them go out into the real world and actually accomplish something. No more giving out trophies to the losing teams or telling your kids they're special for doing the most mundane shit. Why? Because it has been scientifically proven that this is the formula for creating assholes. So knock it off.

Kids: Small, terrible people

Here's what I won't be going to see at the movies... Hanna. Why you ask? Because kids are awful enough when they aren't expertly trained killing machines.
After seeing ads for this film for weeks now I decided I finally had to acknowledge my gripe here. A gripe that stems from the end of the trailer when Cate Blanchett says: "Sometimes children are bad people too." Right. Sort of. Except that children are bad people all of the time.
Ask yourself honestly, is there anyone fundamentally worse than other people's children? Everyone knows at least one that makes them get that "I don't know how okay this is, but I really friggin hate that kid" feeling. He smells like pee, he never wipes his nose and I swear to Christ if he tells me one more time how much better the food is at his house I'm going to break some pretty substantial laws. I mean realistically the only reason you even "like" your own offspring is because you are biologically predisposed to. Essentially, if your DNA didn't tell you that your pants pooping, crayon eating, ruiner of any and all peaceful moments 3-year-old was lovable it's more than likely you'd look at him and just think "Wow, my kid is kind of a dick."
And after each successive trip to the grocery store I find it less and less appealing to accept having some tiny person publicly scream at me to get them Cinnamon Toast Crunch and yet I'm the jerk when I punch them in the head. No thank you.
So don't tell my girlfriend, but when she's not home I sit naked on top of the running microwave with my laptop overheating on my lap and my cell-phone rubberbanded to my balls while sucking down a two-liter of Mountain Dew, because, well... you can never be too careful.

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."

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.

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.

Back to school...

Whether you're a young woman, another young woman, a slightly older young woman, or a terrifying ghost-cowboy, it's never too late to continue your education.  Government grants are available at an all-time high for popular programs such as business administration, nursing, high-noon dueling and varmint eradication.

Yo Adrian...... I'm a real-live boy!!!

Sylvester Stallone was voted into the boxing hall of fame yesterday and it brings about so many questions.  None more concerning than whether or not people have lost sight of the fact that Rocky and the subsequent sequels (or filmic shitbombs as I like to refer to them) were NOT REAL.

It's bad enough that Philadelphia erected a statue of the fictional character, which should command roughly the same amount of respect as this (how about devote your statue making to REAL people who EARNED the right to be immortalized?  Like Stalin), but now Rocky is in the boxing hall of fame?
I give it no more than 10 years until all the children of the world genuinely think Rocky was totally real, like I did for the first 23 years of my life with Kokomo (damn you and your vivid, lyrical painting Beach Boys).

Sound advice

I have to say, thank God I saw this before I had a kid.  Because if I am being perfectly honest, I had no idea this kind of thing was looked at so negatively. 
I guess I'm glad I know now, but it has really put a wrench in the spokes of my plan to tote my children around in designer handbags like they're Jessica Simpson's dog.  Oh well.

Is there a problem officer?

OPEN LETTER TO THE PARTY-TIME EMPORIUM:
Okay, you install this on my campus and somehow I'm the asshole when I jump in and start tossing small children to and fro (yes, I said to and fro).
How is that fair?  Simple, it's not, and this kind of injustice cannot and will not be tolerated.  Expect to hear from my lawyer regarding this blatant age discrimination.  I bid you good day sirs...

Check and mate

As I walked across campus a few days ago I was stopped in my tracks when I saw this.  After asking around I found out it was a promotion for a course USC is offering next semester that teaches strategy (or strategery to the layperson) through chess.  The man pictured here is international chess master and LA Times columnist Jack Peters, who spent a leisurely afternoon playing ten games of chess simultaneously, and winning.
I, on the very same day, spent an hour writing a joke about how I can't wait to get really old so I can fart in public and get away with stealing.  Which was followed by finding myself palpably jealous of a little kid on the bus because of his kick ass Spider-Man backpack.
Let's hear it for adulthood!

It's not a comic book, it's a graphic novel!

USC recently obtained the costumes from Superman Returns and The Dark Knight and put them on display in the big fancy lobby of the George Lucas building.
As I snapped this picture it occurred to me that I was also wearing a Batman t-shirt... and that I have likely never looked like more of a nerd than at that very moment.  I was basically a retainer away from super-virgin.
Let's hear it for adulthood!