Does Snooki have a calzone in the oven?

"I can totally store breast milk in here!"

Rumors are swirling that reality star, perfume spokesperson and all-around female role model Nicole "Snooki" Polizzi is pregnant with her first child... or at least the first one that was crafty enough to get past her daily banana and Plan B smoothie. So for a moment let's just ignore the implications of this somehow qualifying as national news (looking more and more like the Mayans were right), and just consider the possible repercussions of a Snooki pregnancy:

- The question of "Who is the fawtha?" makes for a ratings record-setting, 6-hour long, greatest fucking episode of "Maury" EVER.

- Next season, the gang bands together to convert the "Smush Room" into a nursery.

- When an ultrasound shows the baby is upside down in the womb, expert doctors use a baker's shovel to delicately reposition it.

- The baby makes a classic Jersey Shore entrance when it falls out on the dance floor after some guy punches Snooki in the head.

- Lil' Snooki becomes the face of a new line of Jersey Shore baby food, which includes flavors like Tequila Sunrise, Pureed Meatball, and Hangover Blocker.

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...

Everything I know I learned from movie shows: Part I

It occurred to me recently that many of the most important lessons I have ever learned, I learned from watching movies. In fact, I can't remember anything of value being instilled in me that wasn't done so by a film (thanks for nothing, loving parents). Now, in celebration of the wealth of knowledge that modern cinema bestowed on my budding young mind, I pass along these, the most essential life lessons you can learn through film, part I:

Summer Lovin' got me ten to twelve in San Quentin...

Men and women are very different (also known as the True Love/Sexual Assault Paradigm): Thanks to the jaunty musical GREASE, you'll quickly learn that when recounting a summer fling in song form, women will beg the question "Tell us more, tell us more, was it love at first sight?" While men will query "Tell us more, tell us more, did she put up a fight?" So, to sum up, women will be largely concerned with whether or not two people were truly connected from the first time they met, while men will basically just want to know if you had to rape her.

Having kids is a horrible idea: All it takes is one viewing of the film adaptation of the classic Roald Dahl book CHARLIE & THE CHOCOLATE FACTORY (the one with Gene Wilder that's actually named for Willy Wonka, not the one where Johnny Depp plays an albino pedophile) to learn that having kids is the wrong move. Why you ask? Because children are terrible people, as evidenced by the fact that Charlie was able to inherit an entire candy factory based purely on the merit of not being a total piece of shit. Yes, children are by in large so awful that Willy Wonka's deciding process was essentially: "Well, every other kid here is a complete asshole, so I guess you're the winner."

Where to drive drunk:  First off, let me start by saying that drunk driving is unbelievably moronic and dangerous and no one anywhere should do it, ever. Having said that, if you're go to do it anyway, at least do it in Minnesota. Why the north star state? Simple. Because as THE MIGHTY DUCKS so astutely pointed out, if you get caught there, your penalty will likely be a court mandate demanding that you coach a rag-tag pee wee hockey team to frozen glory. Quack, quack, quack...

Most Dangerous Cities in America: A Comprehensive Guide to Planning the Worst Trip of Your Life

"We'll call you when we get to Macon!"

While doing some research at work about the worst places in America (quickly turned my residual pride from the 4th of July into deep, deep shame), I discovered some very troubling facts. For instance, did you know that in 2010 alone there were 223 documented murders in Baltimore, MD (a tidbit noticeably absent on their tourism pamphlet)? That means that in order for The Wire to have been truly accurate, they would've had to have one to three people arbitrarily shot in the background of every single scene. No small task.
In any case, seeing such facts made it clear to me that I should share my knowledge with my readers, lest they unknowingly plan a vacation of doom. So here's the rundown on the most dangerous cities in America. Enjoy!

Compton, California- Apparently all of Dr. Dre's ringing endorsements were true.
Stockton, California- The tempers here are shorter than the purple shorts of their namesake.
Washington, DC- Come for the cherry blossoms, stay for the aggravated assault.
Atlanta, Georgia- It's not all roller rinks and peaches, there's also a lot of blood.
Macon, Georgia- The three headlines that come up on Google News are murder, brawl and dismemberment, in no particular order.
Orlando, Florida- Sure Mickey Mouse only wears shorts, but you can bet your balls he's hiding a switchblade in them.
Gary, Indiana- Boasting the childhood home of the Jackson Five, Joe Jackson was responsible for 73% of the crime from 1950-1960.
New Orleans, Louisiana- Most murders per capita = A new city nickname: The Big Easy To Die Here.
Flint, Michigan- Hard to believe there would be so much crime in a city with such an uplifting motto.
Detroit, Michigan- A city whose primary exports are cars, blind rage and alcoholism.
St. Louis, Missouri- That trademark band-aid under Nelly's eye isn't a fashion statement, it's from the repeated face stabbings he endures each time he goes home.
Camden, New Jersey- Looking down their noses at those pussies in Philly since 1828.
Newark, New Jersey- You'd really expect more from the home of the Devils.
Trenton, New Jersey- Home to Thomas Edison State College, and their infamous mascot, the Soiled Pants.
Albany, New York- State capital of New York. U.S. capital of savagely beaten, drunk college kids.
Poughkeepsie, New York- Come see the leaves change on the Hudson and witness the great southern migration of the five-tooth crackhead.
Cincinnati, Ohio- Statistically, if you steer clear of the Bengals you should be fine.
Cleveland, Ohio- What LeBron really took to South Beach was his desire to be able to leave his panic room.
Youngstown, Ohio- They were going to call it Oldstown but everyone there either moves or is killed before the age of 25.
Houston, Texas- Ever since the arrival of that Chinese giant, the whole city has been up in arms.

So please readers, use these facts wisely when planning your next vacation. Heck, maybe even just spend the week at home and have yourself a stay-cation. Just don't call it a stay-cation, because that makes you a fucking asshole.

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.

What else are you gonna do... NOT riot??

Since the city of Vancouver erupted following the game 7 loss by their Canucks last week, I haven't been able to shake the feeling that I've seriously been missing out.  There's just something so inherently intriguing and eerily beautiful about the beast that is the sports-induced riot... and I want in.

"And this is me in front of Vancouver's famous raging street fire."

I want so badly to know what it's like to be swept up in the whirlwind that is a mass group of people simultaneously flipping some primal switch in their brains that leads them all, you included, to the same undeniable conclusion; "Flipping cars and arson is definitely the logical way to go here." Then, as if controlled by the mob itself, you proceed ransacking and/or destroying everything within reach until you are ruthlessly beaten into submission with a billy club.
Now I know that may not sound like fun to some of you, but imagine the unbelievable rush it must be to want it so badly that you do it in spite of knowing how it will end.  It's basically like having sex even though you know you might wind up with a baby. Speaking of which, these people found the best of both worlds in Vancouver (Side note: If you're reading this 9 months from now, you live in Vancouver, and your name is Stanley... these are your parents) (Side side note: If you're reading this at 9 months old you are some kind of record-setting baby genius who will inevitably rule the world with an iron fist and I'd like to preemptively pledge my loyalty and servitude to you, baby Stanley).
In the end, it's not a question of how logical or illogical rioting is. It's just a matter of me living my life never having been happy or angry enough about anything to turn over some helpless bastard's Camry, and that my friends, just isn't living at all.

Hurricane Nic hits the Big Easy

Been hammered drunk in the French Quarter of New Orleans? Yup. Insisted that someone else's house is in fact your own? Done it. Gotten unnecessarily belligerent with police officers who were trying their best to just send you home and let you off with a warning? Yes, sadly I've done that too. But all in one night? No way. Surely such a maelstrom of awesomeness could not possibly be orchestrated by a mere mortal. Nicolas Cage however, yeah, he can do that. So he did.

"Wait, this isn't where I left our house."

Yes the crazy-haired Oscar winner found himself in police custody on Saturday after a boisterous and booze-fueled argument with his wife over whether or not the house they were standing in front of was the house they lived in (now that's drunk), caught the attention of local authorities. Though police did their best to calm the situation and let it slide (I imagine that is page one in the New Orleans PD handbook, seeing as how if they took in everyone who should be arrested on Bourbon Street it would require a holding cell roughly the size of New Orleans), Nic "dared" them to take him in (classic move, always ends well) and they eventually obliged.
Then, in a twist so amazing it made me pee my pants a little, Mr. Cage was bailed out by none other than Dog the Bounty Hunter. Yeah, this happened. And if you are anything like me you are praying with every fiber of your being that Nic jumps bail. Because I swear to God nothing would bring more joy to my life than to flick on A&E one night to the sight of Dog's giant-boobied wife macing Nicolas Cage.
Oh, and in case you were wondering, the over/under on how long South Park takes to dedicate an episode to this magical event is 4 weeks. I like the under.

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.

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.

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.

LOST: Any doubt I had that this is the funniest man on the planet

So you may remember a post I put up a few months ago regarding Charlie Sheen's desire to have "going insane" henceforth referred to as "Charlie Sheening." Well, my favorite actor is back in the news and he is, how should I put it... Charlie Sheening like a mother fucker.
In an amazingly awesome twist of events, just days after news broke that he'd return to work and production of Two and a Half Men would resume, he Sheened so hard he managed to shut the entire billion dollar show down. Maybe for good. The efficiency of this man's maniacal rants are simply astounding. Here are some of the finer bullet points from his radio interview:

"I was told if I went on the attack, they would cancel the show... so I'm just sort of seeing if they're telling the truth or not." -- Genius. He sets it up like a kid who was told he'd be spanked if he used his crayons to write on the walls. Then proceeds to write on the wall anyway... with poop.

"Watch your ratings, dudes. Watch your stupid ratings. Do what you've gotta do -- I'll go make movies with superstars and not work with idiots." -- You have to love the complete dismissal of everyone he works with. And the assumption that superstars are dying to work with him. Only when you enjoy complete disregard for anyone but yourself and soak in delusions of your own grandeur, are you truly free. I believe Jesus said that.

He called the creator of the show a "turd" and claims he embarrassed him "by healing at a pace that his un-evolved mind cannot process." -- The obvious next move was to make a scatological insult then refer to himself as some sort of super-human. He had to do it.

Then he shares his feelings about Alcoholics Anonymous, including calling them "the 'Church of the Martian Idiots'," and saying "They suffocated my soul, they hijacked my brain, they brainwashed my friends and my family. Now I hate them violently and I will use every soldier in my army to defend myself against them and all their other freakin' loser clowns." -- Yes. Attack those who've done nothing but try to help you. That is how you Sheen like a pro.

Then when asked what he'll do about work when it resumes, he drops a golden nugget: "I'll be early. I don't sleep - I wait." -- BAM! Game, set, match. Even though I'm pretty sure he stole that from a Chuck Norris Facts website, I'll allow it.

Plain and simple people, we should all bow to this man. For he has Sheened liked no man before him has ever Sheened. And likely no man after him (when he inevitably Sheens himself to death) ever will. Plus he has given juvenile comedy writer like me an unbelievable wealth of material.
Charlie Sheen... I love you.

We'll drink till we're all firshnickin!

From the good people that brought us circumcision, Mel Brooks, and delis that can sell the hell out a tongue sandwich comes a brand new (and kosher, obviously) libation sure to the party started:

Drink Juquila...

It's like a bar mitzvah in a bottle!

We don't want any trouble here

On Friday night of this past All-Star Weekend, troubled actress Lindsay Lohan was officially deemed too dangerous for the NBA. Yes, the young star was turned away from Pau Gasol's party because she was simply "too much trouble." Really? It's pretty bad ass when you are considered too much trouble for the NBA.
Just to make my point, let's go over a few of the names that would not likely have been turned away:

Gilbert Arenas- Locker room gun wielder and noted shark owner
Chris Andersen- Once suspended 2 years for drug use and also guilty of looking like this
Dennis Rodman- Future hall of famer who despite many other transgressions, will always be most dangerous thanks to his participation in the making of this film
Joakim Noah- He's this guy
Ron Artest- You simply never know, and since I don't have nearly enough time to list all of the possibilities here, let's just point out that he has spent literally his entire life being Ron Artest

So take pride Ms. Lohan, you are officially considered more volatile than every one of these men; Which by logic makes you the most dangerous person on the planet.
Then again though, maybe none of these people would have been allowed in. In fact now that I think about it, it's fairly likely that Pau Gasol's party was just a front for a meeting of Euro-NBA'ers only, in which they exchanged information on the delicate art of flopping and screaming like you've just been shot in the chest.
Save it for soccer ya jerks.

You stay classy Cleveland

Really Cleveland?  As a sports city previously known mostly for midges, a budding young fictional star from the California Penal League, and more recently the nationally televised, city-wide heart raping you received at the hands of a young king, you were really neither here nor there on the radar of the average sports fan.  But that will all change once this story gets out.
Apparently, in a possible attempt to usurp Philadelphia's crown as the most clinically insane sports town in the world, a Browns fan took it upon himself to tackle an 8 year-old following Cleveland's late overtime loss to the Jets on Sunday.  Good thinkin' buddy, that will solve decades of impossibly impressive sports ineptitude.
Now don't get me wrong, I am all for the public and merciless beating of Jets fans, but this seems like a little much.  Next time, just wait outside the player's entrance and see if you can't strangle the tool out of Mark Sanchez.  The world will thank you for at least trying.

LOST: Charlie Sheen's clothes and mind...

...if found, please report to NO ONE.  Why?  Because Charlie Sheen is gift from God.  His antics are a joyous freshwater spring of hilarity in which I soak myself whenever his name pops up in the headlines.  And lucky me, guess who's back in the news. 
Yes the troubled star was happened upon by police in his NY hotel this morning and reported as drunk, naked, and out of control (as if there's any other way to party).  Sheen, whose company consisted of a solitary young lady (of whom I'm sure had many fine, Christian reasons for being there), apparently noticed his wallet had gone missing and flew into a violent rage.  Or, as it will be referred from this day forward, proceeded to Charlie Sheen all over the place.  I mean honestly, isn't it time we gave this guy his due?  He has been busting his ass for the last twenty some-odd years to impress us with his sheer insanity, and it's become abundantly clear that it's because he wants "going insane" to henceforth be called "Charlie Sheening."  And it damn well should.
After all, we are talking about a 45 year old man who was just apprehended after completely trashing his hotel room while stark naked (with his Two and a Half Men hanging out, mind you), only 2 months removed from rehab and only 6 months removed from an incident in which he may or may not have tried to stab his wife.  And what do his publicists say?  That "Mr. Sheen had an adverse allergic reaction to some medication."  They should be terminated immediately.  I will gladly replace them, and I will happily offer the press and police and subsequent judges and juries much more accurate and pertinent explanations of the celebrity's riotous shenanigans :
"Mr. Sheen had a tremendously magnificent reaction to a whole shit-ton of booze and decided, as is his right, to go fucking Charlie Sheen all over everyone's asses. Topper Harley for life!  Peace!"

Are you the D-Bag at the concert?

Having just spent the last two days at the insanely awesome Epicenter Festival I had the privilege of seeing some of my favorite bands of all time.  Aside from the kick ass music I also got to witness the other thing inherently present at all concerts... douchebags. 
I don't know if it's the venues or the sheer number of people that increase the odds of spotting a giant doucher, but whatever it is, nothing seems to bring them out of the woodwork quite like a music festival.  And after seeing so very, very many, I felt it was my duty to put together a checklist, just so you know that when you don't see the douchebag at the concert... it's probably you.

You're definitely the douchebag.......
5) if you have ever felt the need to chug half of your $10 plastic 16-ouncer of Coors Light, throw the remaining half aimlessly into the crowd and scream "Git 'er done!!!"
4) if you and the five dudes you came with have managed to remain shirtless for the entire 12 hours but never once removed your super-hipster fedoras.
3) if you have a tattoo of the band.  I hope that ayear from now the entire band is outed as child molesters and you have their big fat logo tattooed on the small of your back.
2) if you're the butthole that has my girlfriend's left shoe.
1) if you wear a white patent leather jacket with red-studded, fingerless gloves and literally none of the other bands acknowledge that you're there when they thank all of the bands for being a part of the festival.... I'm looking at you Jared Leto.

(sorry for the cheap shot but this is what happens when you sell out to a friggin' orange soda conglomerate buddy)

P.S. Gotta give props to whoever it was at KROQ 106.7 that decided to name a Los Angeles music festival Epicenter.  That just seems like we're asking for it.  Anyway, see you next year at KROQ's Broken Levees festival in New Orleans.

Star player charged with driving past his bedtime

The New York Jets would really prefer that if you're going to drive hammered, you do it at a decent hour.  Don't be out drunk driving at 5am... like some kind of idiot.
Hell, even Joe "I want to kiss you" Namath objects to this tomfoolery.