I LOL'ed my balls off when they shot that guy through the eye

I think it's safe to say we're all glad to be rid of Osama Bin Laden, but is this really the right reaction? Have we stooped so low on the intelligence meter as a society that we're reacting to the culmination of a ten year manhunt for the most evil man on the planet with internet acronyms? That's just sad. How sad? Sad enough that I'm literally SMH.

But honestly, is anyone ever actually doing what these acronyms would suggest they're doing? Am I supposed to believe that when the driver of this truck witnessed President Obama announcing Bin Laden's death his reaction was to "laugh his ass off"? And if that was his actual reaction, doesn't that make him clinically insane? Some people reflected in quiet closure, some stormed the streets with American flags, but this guy just sat in his living room laughing uncontrollably like some very special kind of lunatic.

Then again, this may be totally legit, because with one simple glance down at his bumper we can see that proper reactive etiquette isn't exactly this guy's strong suit; "Hmmm, what is the right way to subtly tell the world my parents are both dead?... Why, the perfect way to tell the world anything they need to know of course, a personalized license plate!"

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.

Caught a bad case of the Vegases

When you see this you have got to feel sorry (or sorrier) for anyone who was actually born in Las Vegas, because apparently it's SO widely accepted that their hometown is an unstoppable cesspool of disease that it's completely acceptable to just throw it on a billboard. I mean, consider this, wouldn't it suck if you were from Topeka and you'd casually just hear people saying: "You just came back from where? Topeka? Better get your dick checked..." That's exactly what residents of Vegas have to deal with, and if that's not harsh enough now we're plastering their flaws on three-story high ads. You don't see any billboards touting New York as the bum-piss capital of the world, or Tampa Bay as having the nation's only 3-to-1 stripper to person-with-a-soul ratio, yet we treat the City of Lights with such careless disregard?
Ouch. Sorry Vegasites... Vegans... Vegasians? Whatever the hell you are. Sorry.

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.

The Truman Show: Rated X

While flipping through the channels the other day I stumbled onto The Truman Show on TBS (I guess I caught the two hour block that day where they weren't peddling some unspeakable Tyler Perry abomination) and every time I watch it I am even more impressed by what a truly good film it is. But this time, something else, something very different, struck me about it.
I thought to myself, with the unbelievable amount of reality TV churned out and napalming our brains each year, how far off are we from a real-life Truman Show? Honestly, I'd give it maybe two, three more years before some psycho heads to the office of a development exec and pitches a show that secretly tapes a baby for the entirety of its life. And don't act like you wouldn't watch it. If you soak in six hours of Teen Mom every week, you'd watch this. But this notion struck me with another, much more troubling question; just how much gratuitous self pleasuring must there have been in the taping of The Truman Show?!

"I swear I can feel their eyes on me..."

Think about it, throughout the film, tons of loyal viewers are shown glued to their television sets, addicted to even the smallest minutia of Truman's life. Now think back to ten or so years earlier, when Truman was but a budding young man in the frenzy of pubescent transformation. Now, if Truman is anything like every other boy in the world, around age thirteen his most prominent pastime quickly shifted from after school cartoons to just completely annihilating himself, often several times a day. And if in fact this was the case, logic says that for a large chunk of years in the long-running 24/7 broadcast of his life, the viewers were watching young Truman come home from school, lock himself in his room, and work over his not-yet-fully-grown wang like he was pumping it for information (and what the ratings did in said years would really say a lot about who the show's core viewership really was).
For shame you fictional perverts, for shame.
Anyway, sorry for ruining The Truman Show for you, but if I have to deal with these questions, so should you.

The Texas Mind Police

What do you get when the FBI and your state police force follow up on a tip about a serial killer's dumping ground that contains dozens of dismembered bodies? Confidence in your well being and the peace of mind of a citizen who knows their law enforcement is fully committed to keeping them safe, that's what. Wait... what now? They got the tip about this mass grave from a psychic? Oh. Well... shit.
Are state police and the FBI really spending thousands of tax paid man hours searching for a place that fucking Miss Cleo told them existed? Why not just spend a week or two scouring the wardrobe for Narnia while you're at it?

"Something terrible has happened... a massive waste of tax dollars."

This story seriously floored me when I saw it, and considering the amount of retardedness (yeah, it's a word) carried out by law enforcement officials that's saying a lot. This is literally the real life embodiment of an episode of South Park where Cartman serves as the psychic liaison to the local police (sidenote: watch this episode if you never have, it's friggin hilarious), only the South Park police aren't quite as stupid, because they're fucking fictional cartoon characters.
So what's the lesson here, you ask? If you live in Texas it's high time you move the hell out, because your cops are taking their investigative cues based on the hunches of this guy.

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.

Bathe those feet in sweet, sweet luxury

Are you sick of letting your base extremities go unwashed because of that pesky bending over at the waist thing? Are you tired of the putrid fungus forming between your little piggies simply due to your unwillingness to literally clean head to toe? Do you find yourself wishing every day that you were born back in the good old days of the first century when Jesus was washing feet like there was no tomorrow?
Well my funky-footed friend, today is your lucky day...

From the makers of "Showering after a hefty dump in lieu of wiping your ass."

 

 

John Cena: Ambassador to the world

Imagine you are in the crowd at the WWE 2011 Extreme Rules event. You are having a grand old time, throwing back beers and watching grown men wrestle in unitards (they still wear these, right?). The guy next to you has three teeth and his wife is holding a sign that says "Triple H can give me the Pedigree any time!" Jerry Lawler's weird chest hair is within mere feet of you. THIS, is America.
But just when you thought things had gotten as red, white and blue as they could, WWE Champ John Cena stands on the announcers table and drops this bombshell:

John Cena Announces Osama Bin Laden's Death To Crowd - Watch more Sports

 Are you friggin' kidding me? Did the guy from such cinematic masterpieces as 12 Rounds and The Marine just give us the breaking news we would have otherwise gotten from George Stephanopoulos? Did we just learn of a Navy SEAL incursion that brought to an end the reign of the most evil man of our time from this dude? Wait, did John Cena kill Osama Bin Laden?!

The best part of this video though is that the honorable Mr. Cena refers to Bin Laden's death as being "compromised to a permanent end." Then shortly after, if you listen closely, you can hear a confused audience member ask aloud "But is he dead?"

Now THAT's America.

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.

5 Reasons to check out the Venice Freak Show

Well, this looks inviting and not at all nightmarish...

I had the privilege recently of visiting the legendary Venice Beach Freak Show (for those of you who have been to Venice, no I am not simply referring to the boardwalk, although that super-buff black guy who walks around in a loin cloth with a fanny pack and a giant staff with a skull on top might indicate otherwise) and let me just say, it was as awesome as advertised.
So if you're ever in town, do yourself a favor and crack your piggy bank open and make your way to this $5 venue that will leave you seriously satisfied.

#5) The Dude Outside - The owner of the Freak Show also takes the role of promoter, as he stands outside for hours on end shouting into a microphone all the reasons you "have got to come inside and see this shit." Like an auctioneer of all things bizarre he rattles off all of the wacked out displays you'll see when you get inside. And if that's not enough to entice you, he offers a free preview with a live, two-headed turtle on the table next to him. Speaking of which... 
#4) Two Headed Friggin Everything - Seriously, everything. Any animal that you were unsure if it has ever had two heads, rest assured, it has. Offering examples both alive and dead (in case you were wondering how hilarious a taxidermied two-headed goat is... VERY), the Freak Show is a veritable cornucopia of all things dual-craniumed.
#3) The Mexican Wolf Boy - Yup. A wolf boy. Sure he wasn't so much a wolf as he was a dude covered head to toe in hair who stood there with his hands in his pockets and conversed with the customers quite amicably, but still. And evidently his rare disorder has him treated like royalty in Mexico (seriously) and pays him substantially to travel the world. I blog for free... Wolf Boy: 1, me: 0.
#2) The Electric Lady - Born with a body that can serve as a conductor of electricity without having that whole death side affect, she is a sight to behold. Basically hooked up like a car battery, she shows off how she can be the connector between power source and light bulb, and even how she can light a torch with her electrified tongue. It's hard to say for sure if this was, but if it isn't this girl needs to be an actress because she does an amazing job of faking the uncomfortable "there's lightning coursing through my body right now" face.
#1) The Balloon Eater - It's hard to imagine the most impressive thing about someone who hammers a giant spike up his nose and swallows swords being his balloon work, but seriously, it was. No joke, this guy blows up one of those long, thin party balloons until it's about four feet long, and he swallows it. And no, I don't mean like a sword swallower puts a sword down his throat then pulls it out (it would be a lot more impressive if they just ate it), I mean he friggin' swallows it. He pushes four feet of balloon down his esophagus and yeah, he eats it. Doesn't even pop it. And why is this the most amazing thing I saw? Because all I could think about for the rest of the day was how the hell he could do that! This guy is putting on shows roughly every 20 minutes, meaning he swallows probably 24-30 balloons a day. And I gotta tell you, I couldn't figure out any way of faking this, so my best guess is that it translates into 2-5 super colorful, latex-filled power shits a day... Hats off to you sir.

Why would the Lakers do this?!

While on the subway this weekend I overheard a conversation that sparked my imagination like few others have. It was an exchange between two middle-aged women regarding the current NBA playoffs. Weird, I know. I'll assume they had already covered what happened on Dancing with the Stars this week and how Glee just isn't as good as it used to be (Yay sexism!). But what caught me off guard was not the topic at hand, it was the serious conviction with which the one woman uttered this sentence:

"No, I don't want the Lakers to win because the last time they did they set my garbage can on fire!"

They hung this picture over her fireplace
mantel before they left too!

Now, I am fully aware that what this sounded like probably wasn't what she meant. In fact, I'd be willing to bet anything she meant some rowdy Lakers fans had gotten out of hand last year. But what I heard, was that after taking their second championship in as many years, the 2010 Lakers showed up at her house and proceeded to desecrate her property. And that made me smile.
My imagination reveled in the thoughts of Kobe gleefully egging her Saturn Vue, Pau Gasol draping toilet paper amongst her precious lemon trees, Lamar Odom lighting dog doo on her front porch, and Ron Artest (obviously) maniacally dousing her garbage can with gasoline and letting her rip. And of course, Phil Jackson sitting off to the side on a giant chair orchestrating the entire thing.
That's all. There's no great lesson here. Just that it would be HI-larious if you looked out your window after enjoying the game only to see your beloved team trashing your shit. That's funny and you know it.

A 65 million dollar slap in the face

Apparently, a $65 million settlement is now considered a loss.
It was reported today that Tyler and Cameron Winklevoss, the twins made famous for their legal dispute with the owner of Facebook, were "forced" to "accept" the court ruling that "all" they would receive from their case against "Jesse Eisenberg" was a measly sixty five mil. Tough break fellas.

Pity us puny humans, lest we destroy you.

I know how difficult life must have been for you so far, what with being tall, white Olympic rowers who attended Harvard and have a rich father, and now this? These guys just can't catch a break. In fact I heard there's been a recall on the tail light bulbs on Cameron's Maserati, and that Tyler's polo horse has strep throat and will likely miss the start of the spring season! Will the string of bad luck never end for the Brothers Winklevii?
Why is God so relentlessly cruel and vengeful? Why?!?!

MTV Spinoffs to kill us all

Why would MTV sign Pauly D, Snooki and JWoww to lucrative deals for new spin-off shows, you ask? There's only one logical explanation, the higher ups at the network are carrying out an elaborate plan to bring about the end of days, then will rule over the post-apocalyptic world and its few remaining inhabitants with an iron fist based purely on their stockpiles of clean drinking water and their access to the last three books left on earth (I imagine that's all it would take to establish overlord status in this future world, and God I hope the books are Goosebumps).

"I would say we're laughing all the way to the bank, but we couldn't 'read' the forms they 'require' to open an account. So now we just tape our money to the underside of our tanning beds or hide it in the pantry with the red sauce. Oh!"

I just can't understand the motivation behind this decision (money). Are you really sitting down at your pitch meetings and suggesting "You know what America needs more of? Mind numbingly stupid people on television" (We already have Wendy Williams, enough is enough). It's almost as though MTV execs actually feed on our willingness to watch whatever shit they put out and require the smug satisfaction it gives them to stay alive. Like somehow they can't be happy with the money they've earned unless they know that in the process they have also sent the American population at large hurtling uncontrollably towards some sort of unstoppable idiot future.
Anyway, I gotta get going. I have like 5 episodes of the Jersey Shore backlogged on my DVR and they are just calling my name.

My day in pictures

So I had myself a bit of an interesting morning, and fortunately was able to snap pictures of all of the oddities I encountered. Lucky you...

Let's start the day at the breakfast truck, where look out! This Category 5 mullet is in full effect...

Wait, are those elastic waisted jorts?! They sure are. And you guessed it, they're being worn by the same dapper gent pictured above. Somebody's ready for a full day 'o lawn drinkin'!

Twenty dollars? Where do I sign up?! Who cares if your tat looks like it was inked by Muhammad Ali, at least it was easy on the wallet. This place's only real underseller is the LA County Prison, "Home of the 3 Cigarette Tattoo."

Holy crap it's the place where Alicia Silverstone got mugged in Clueless!  I may not have made the connection had I not just caught it on HBO last week. Judge me if you must...

Nothing says "spring is here" like a couple of birds bangin' on top of a dumpster!

And we have a winner for most disconcerting sighting of the day (or at least a close second to the mullet)! In case you are confused, yes, that is a picture of Libyan dictator Moammar Gadhafi and yes, it is mounted on the back of a semi.  Not really sure what to make of this. If nothing else we might just want to have a look-see in the back of this gentleman's truck. 

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."

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.

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.