Archive for May 2009

Take a Note

May 28, 2009

Take a noteBitch!  Of course, I could take a note.  I have two degrees, and the skills of a fucking champion!  You know what that means?  You, most likely, have a similar, though inferior, skill set.  This means you could take a note, at the very damn least.  Ever hear of a tape recorder, chump?  How about that BlackBerry on your big ass hips?  Yet, you ask me to take a 4-word note for you.  If your middle-aged ass can’t remember to send one e-mail, quit the game today, and don’t even think about pushing ‘restart’, punk bitch!  Just because you make more money than me, doesn’t mean I’m here to take fucking notes because your wrist is sore from beating it to UFC.  So, stuff your sorrys in a sack and go fuck yourself.  When you get back, take your own note.  Then, promptly choke on it!  Or I could write that shit on your shirt with a Sharpie.  MAKE A CHOICE!


Humans and Pitbulls

May 27, 2009

Don’t you really hate it when people think they get status through association.  You don’t get a pass to talk to someone any way you please because you share an acquaintance.  Personally, I’m like a punk ass home room teacher!  I’m fresh the fuck out of passes.  It’s probably best you keep your observations, opinions, advice, and insights to your damn self until you reach a mutual understanding in new relationships.  You can keep those little tidbits in that extra space in your brain, a leather bound journal, or a series of Tweets for all I care.  Just don’t share it, unless you’re really ready to have an open and brutally honest dialogue which could end with you being self-conscious about all your past fuck ups, my favorite method.

Human-Pitbull Gene

Would you pet a pit bull you don’t know?  If yes, quit the game of life immediately, do not pass ‘Go’, and collect your welfare check on your way to complete and utter self-destruction.  You officially have nothing to offer society.  Don’t get me wrong.  People are generally nice.  I give you that much.  However, so are pit bulls until they run into a dickhead of an owner or owner’s friend that doesn’t understand the concept of mutual respect.  You shouldn’t think that sharing your opinion with good intentions should spare you from having your behavior corrected.  Crossing that line from friend of a friend to intimate acquaintance too soon could result in you being called out on a number of different things.  So, just mark time and keep that lip buttoned if you happen to be sensitive or don’t feel like getting your fucking hand bitten off.  That is all.

The Best Part of Waking Up

May 26, 2009

This has nothing to do with coffee, the shit brown hue it stains teeth with or how the caffeine could shrink your balls.  But I may put that one in my back pocket for another time.  This, however, does have more than a little bit to do with the ridiculous social double standard that permits women to flaunt their greatest physical assets while men hide their junk like a kid that doesn’t want to share his toys.  Boners have feelings too, and it’s way past the time that I spread the wordThe Best Part of Waking Up

If you’re a guy, and you consistently wake up with enough morning wood to burn down the state of California, you should stop being ashamed immediately!  Stop hiding it!  Do you know how jealous your dad, grandfather, or friend with early onset erectile dysfunction is of the fact you can get wood while you sleep?  If you don’t, you’re a selfish prick, and you probably don’t deserve a working penis.  The best thing you could possibly do with morning wood is share it with the one you love.

If the one you love just so happens to be over the age of 40, it still doesn’t matter.  Cougars well past their prime can walk around with their sun spots showing, why not let the world know you can still get wood?  This is truly the best part of waking up!  Not only are you alive, but you’ve lived to skeet another day.  And that’s a beautiful thing!

Where’s the Common Courtesy

May 21, 2009

When was the last time your buddy asked you to describe your underwear? Unless you’re a moron and think I’m referring to a cuddle buddy, friend with benefits, or booty call, the answer should easily be, “NEVER!!!” If the answer was anything other than never, it should have been answered with a firm slap to the cheek of your choice. You know why your buddy’s never ask you that question? It’s because they don’t fucking care and never will or should! So, I implore you. Bathroom EtiquetteWhy is it every time I go into the bathroom with my guard down some jackass in $200 slacks is pissing with his belt around his ankles?

Is that really necessary? Apparently not, because your johnson isn’t coiled around one of your legs. So, I ask again, what is the reason for dropping your pants all the way to the floor while standing up to pee? Was it an accident? Did you eat chips at lunch, and your pants just slipped between your fingers? Are you airing out a wretched fart that got caught in the fabric of your pants? All of these reasons would be acceptable if you walked your lazy ass the extra three steps to a stall and promptly shut the door. Next time a toe kick to the asshole might immediately follow my outrage. Fuckin ri-donk-ulous!

Funky Friends

May 21, 2009

NoseDid you ever tell someone they stink, their breath stinks, or anything of the sort?  If so, give yourself a pat on the back!  You would think you were doing the person a favor as long as you weren’t an over-dramatic bitch about it.  Why wouldn’t you tell someone you call a friend that they have more boogers than a sick horse, that their ears have more earwax than an old man in a coma, or that their breath is hotter than a wood burning stove?  Other than being a spiteful little prick, there aren’t any acceptable answers to that question other than, “I would.”

Our parents, teachers, and the parents of the smelly fucker in the front row in third grade told us it was rude every time we were trying to help out.  I beg to differ with these experts on interpersonal relationships.  They’re going about it all wrong.  I would much rather be the kid that is conscious about my hygeine to avoid: smelling like a rat fart that was set on fire, having breath worse than truck stop toilet, or having more boogers than a lid of rubber cement.  If everyone just told the fucking truth, that kid would take a bath and blow their nose instead of developing a complex and going on a shooting spree before they grew any pubes.

You Smell Like a Fruit Stand

May 20, 2009

Fruit StandSo the fuck what?!?! Maybe fI like the smell of mango, bitch!  I can make my hair smell like whatever the hell I want.  This is America, motherfucker, and I’m a BOSS!  I can wash my hair with hay and cow shit scented aloe infused shampoo if it makes me happy.  And when was this meeting of minds held and the vote taken that decided men can’t smell like fruit and vanilla?  Did it get routed to my spam box?  I’ll tell you judgemental little shits one thing.  Regardless of if this meeting ever took place, I’d much rather smell like fresh fruit and baby powder than a bear’s ball sack and motor oil because it’s socially acceptable…suck a dick!

Your Doctor’s a Fuckin’ Snitch

May 19, 2009

Shhhhh-ut the fuck upATTENTION ALL DOCTORS: Shut the fuck up!  You’re supposed to be like a secret agent…emphasis on ‘SECRET’, fucker!  You should have to pass some sort of interrogation exam before getting your license.  I’m not saying you should be waterboarded, but you need to be able to keep that lipped zipped.  Comprende, muchacho?  It’s either that or I get a number for my records, and get to show up in a mask.  Your spouse or your ass on the side doesn’t need to know my shit comes out red no matter what I eat.

Would it not make run-ins outside the office a lot less awkward because you couldn’t tell anyone all the awkward shit about your patients.  I don’t really give a shit if you don’t use my name.  Just the fact that you could be a cold-hearted sack of shit and point me out to a friend makes me want to replace you with WebMD and a book on human anatomy.  I wouldn’t need to immediately flash to that moment when their cold ass hands were on my junk if I run into your ass at the farmers market because you’d have no idea it was me. Or what if I had a bit of an erection issue, you wouldn’t call me out to your entire table at a restaurant to make up for the fact that you’re a shitty parent.  Everybody wins!…except your kids.