Friday, March 26, 2010

Now with 1000% More Panda!

I google searched "Panda Back Rubs" and this is what I found.
I feel like cuteness just blew its load all over my face.

Maybe you think it is a funny idea to go up behind your boss when he is showing visible signs of agitation and getting all red and angry sounding, and you put one hand on each of his shoulders and start giving him a backrub and saying things like "Shhh. It's okay, Baby." But I am here to tell you that according to this write-up I just got, it is sexual harrassment, and not the good kind like our parents used to have, where you got to slap girls on the ass and no one cared. I mean the bad kind, where they can try to fire you despite the fact that you could tell he was totally into it for a second until he realized it was you and maybe you just turned him gay a little.

I wouldn't have a problem with him turning a little gay. That's like that Twilight Zone where the racist guy gets turned into a Jew and sees the error of his ways and then gets sent to Auschwitz. Too late for you, New Jew! Actually, that premise is pretty much every Twilight Zone, so I shoulda just asked if you are familiar with the concept of "irony", because that's what it would be to turn my boss even a little gay, because he is such an incredible homophobe that he just calls himself a "Sapien" if you ask him his species*.

And sure maybe kissing his earlobe was taking things a step too far but they looked so warm and sure enough, I was able to get the whole thing in my mouth before he pulled away. I know the standard definition of kissing does not involve any attempts to completely engulf an earlobe in your mouth, but I like to push the envelope.

I was going to say "think outside the box", but that made me think about vaginas for some time... so I had to switch to "push the envelope" for the sake of conserving time and because thinking about vaginas makes me want to touch myself, and my workplace has a strict "three strikes and your out" policy about that.

I don't even know how you would push an envelope. I always carry mine. I guess you could be all "Psst! Hey Kid! You wanna get high? Here's an envelope." but the kids at the local orphanage have already gotten wise to me and know that just because I bring them something to smoke doesn't mean they get stoned. In my defense, I totally thought it would work. If you light up the tail-feathers of a dead bird you find in the road, than logic dictates that you'll get high. Name one person who wasn't high who tried to smoke a dead bird? Exactly.

*Yes. I ask all potential employers what their species is, because the first time you don't ask? POW! You're working for an alien and assisting in the enslavement of the Human race. I'm pretty sure that's what Schlindler's List was a metaphor for. Think about it...

Moral: I have TWO posts at Mama Pop today. One is here, and in it I'm a corporate shill, and the other won't be up until 1pm, but unlike giving your boss a backrub, it IS hysterical.

Tuesday, March 23, 2010

Three Ideas That Might Change America Forever. But Probably Won't.

I was going to write a how-to guide about rolling up bologna into tubes and then taping the tubes together and then sliding one on each of your fingers like a Freddy Kruger claw and then going into a crowded area and caressing the back of people's necks with your bologna hand and HAHAHAHA! Now they've had damp, cool, lunch-meat rubbed on their skin!! What a hilarious joke! But the first person I tried it on punched me really hard and as I lay crumpled on the floor of the church I got hungry, so I ate my bologna fingers, tape and all, and now I've got a wicked stomach ache and my hand smells weird, so it's a good thing I never wrote that "How To" guide after all.

I haven't written a funny story about the hilarious hijinx of my kids in a long time, and maybe that's because I've learned to respect them as people and the idea of exploiting them for my own gain seems both callous and inappropriate. Or maybe they just haven't done any funny shit even when I spray extra floor polish at the top of the stairs and then go set up my camera and tripod and yell for them to "GET DOWN HERE! RIGHT! NOW! AND YOU BETTER BE WEARING SOCKS!!!" because my children are smart and know a trap when they hear one, so instead they tip-toe up to the edge and they aren't in any danger of falling at all, and Nice Job, Kids! Guess we'll NEVER make a million dollars on America's Funniest Home Videos©, thanks to you guys being such terrible quitters.

If you told a mermaid her vagina smelled like tuna fish, would she be insulted or would she take it as a compliment? I think "compliment" because mermaids are probably way cooler and more understanding than that cranky lady in the changing room at Lane Bryant.

Here's Andre the Giant on a ATV. You're Welcome.

Friday, March 19, 2010

They Don't Even Have A Noble Prize For Best Porn. Who knew?

So because I am a great humanitarian, I have decided not to post any super-deep thought pieces today because it's Friday and I've already had like 6 Sloe Gin Fizzes, and maybe you think that's a girly drink but these pants didn't take themselves off, so they must work just fine.

The first thing I want to talk about is this:

which maybe was taken from the failblog, but I can't be sure because there aren't always that many good clues about where pictures come from. I think any dinosaur that needs to wear a costume to eat a human is a big Pussy-a-saurus and needs to harden the fuck up. Come on, Man! Dinosaurs don't wear costumes! They wear entrails like a Mexican bandito wears his bandolier. That's not racist because draping yourself with bullets is cool and not lame and while it assumes that any bandito is Mexican, it does not assume that I care to be educated on the matter.

The other thing I wanted to share is the greatest reason for God and Buddha and Rosh Hashanah and Zeebus to create the internet. Ladies and Gentlemen, allow me to introduce you to It's pretty much exactly what it sounds like so if you think that it's suitable for work, you must work in a porn factory or a brothel or your mom's house. Here's a sample that probably won't get you fired, but maybe save it for later anyways:

Pew! Pew! Pew! This is the greatest website ever!

PS: Except for Mama Pop after 1pm today, when you can read more of my innovative and handsome thoughts!

Thursday, March 18, 2010

Sexual Assault! Penis! Cops! Exaggeration!

This image came up when I Googled "Wang Attack". (*shrug*)

I was going to finally get around to posting my earth-shattering research in the field Advanced Handsomology but that's going to have to wait for later because there is important news coming out of Great Britain, and NO! it's not that they found a way to talk normal, or that they realized that those guards at Buckingham palace who are never supposed to move or react are not very effective as guards because a key part of guarding something is being able to move your eyes. No, what the news is... is that some guy in Scotland got really drunk and attacked a cop with his penis. And I don't know about you, but I think that sounds like a terrible idea.

Apparently,"Marium Varinauskas, 28, tried to strike the officer on the head with his penis when she was called out to his flat, but she got out of the way." ("flat" means "sex dungeon" in British... I'm almost positive.). Now the problem with using your junk as a blunt instrument is that there are lots of nerve endings down there and they tend to be a bit sensitive, and I don't mean"you can't call them names or else they'll cry" sensitive, I mean "if some hot girl in line at the movie theater brushes up against your wang accidentally while bending over to clean up the popcorn she just spilled* than maybe the security guards will grab you and drag you away" sensitive.

I like the part where it says "...but she got out of the way." That kind of action pretty much writes itself. Reading that was like watching Die Hard on cocaine while tied to a pole and someone is trying to light you on fire. "Is he going to catch her?" I wondered? NO! Whew! She got out of the way. That was some ace reporting, BBC. What's your next story about stuff that didn't happen? "There was a shooting in Brixton** last night only the assailant didn't have a gun and was just sitting at home playing Wii golf alone." By this rationale, pretty much everyone in the UK is a criminal, all the time, all over the place. And who's to say they aren't?

The BBC describes the incident as such: "The accused got to his feet and was standing over the police officer exposing his penis and thrusting it in her face, forcing her to take evasive action to avoid getting struck."

Evasive action? That's even more exciting than "she got out of the way"! It sounds like this guy had just tried to catch her in an elaborate trap, that wasn't just taking his dick out and trying to hit her with it. It sounds like a much grander adventure when someone escapes something. So to all you writers out there, remember! someone should always be escaping something. I, by way of illustration, am currently trying desperately to escape sobriety.

This is a contender for the dumbest news story I've ever posted.

* Maybe she spilled it because I shouted "Holy Shit! A talking donkey!" and when she looked I smacked the bottom of her popcorn tub, but than again maybe she's just clumsy. Either way the cops couldn't prove anything. HAHAHAHAHA! Suckers!

**"Brixton" was the only town I could think of because of that song by The Clash. I know mad geography, Yo!

Monday, March 8, 2010

2 Parables, Except Neither Have Morals. Oh Nevermind... I'm Phoning It In.

It's Monday! And you know what that means on The Monster Apathy! That's right! I'm hung over and phoning it in. And maybe you think that's because of all the Oscar parties I went to last night with my entourage of sexy, gymnast, crime-stopping, supermodels. Well, I'm a gentleman and I don't kiss and tell (or not kiss and tell) or (or not kiss and sit at home crying on the couch because not only am I alone, but also I'm out of toilet paper and those coffee filters really chap my ass.) I don't do any of those things is my point. Although, I sorta doubt anyone who has read this blog for any length of time expects me to have a point. That's like expecting a whimsical unicorn to come scampering into your house uninvited and take a big glittery dump on your coffee table.


So there's a guy at work who has to have everything be about him and he's my favorite person to listen to because he always talks really loud to himself and says things like "Oh I'VE seen things a hundred times worse than THIS!" and "You think YOU know what pain is?" and "I have to watch my mouth because they are just looking for a reason to fire me, I guarantee it!" It is this last statement that I would like to address, because he ends ever second or third thing he says with some kind of guarantee, and one time I had the sniffles and he guaranteed that I was getting H1N1 or Herpes or Spattergroit©* or whatever, but I didn't end up getting anything, so his guarantee didn't hold up and now I want to find out if I can sue him.

I'd be all "Your Honor! This MAN had a verbal contract with me that said forthwith I would gain some sort of compensatory illness from said nasal leakage, and check this shit out your wizard-ship! No sickness!" and then I would run up to the bench and grab his gavel and start banging it and shouting "Order! Order! Or I'll clear this courtroom!" and then the bailiff will tackle me and the last thing I hear before I get dragged off is "Sir, I warned you about wearing that filthy bathrobe in my court the last time you were here**!" And then I'll shout "Diplomatic Immunity!" and then I'll say "That'll do, Pig." to the bailiff... only really quiet and soothing so maybe he'll relax his grip a little so I can make a break for it.

Sometimes my daydreams are more exciting than I can even stand.


This is how you would graph the words "I am so cool" on a graphing calculator. Because knowing is half the battle, and graphing calculators are the other half, and being able to show bullies that you ARE cool because LOOK! MY calculator says so! is another half, and being hard to grip because you are inordinately sweaty is another half.

I AM SOOOO Cool! Thanks Ti-85! You'd never lie to me!

* This is a Harry Potter reference, because I believe that one day Hagrid will show up and tell me I'M really a wizard and still only ten years old, and that whole time I spent drunk and striking out with the girls from the Honors Sorority was just a bad dream.

** That last time was a simple misunderstanding about the definition of "shoplifting" and how it may or may not apply in a porn store because I thought those places were like the Wild West and there were no rules. Seriously. Have you SEEN the things they have for people to put inside them? It was like Thunderdome in there.

PS: You should read my Mama Pop article. It's a matter of life-and-death. If you think movie reviews might kill someone. (Besides Gene Siskel... Too soon?)

Thursday, March 4, 2010

It's Just A Big Fart Joke. Maybe Stop Back Tomorrow.

I couldn't think of anything to post because I have amazing restraint and DON'T want to write about Farty Joe, my co-worker who has so much gas that pretty much every surface where he works is coated in a 10 micron-thick layer of poop, and the best part is when he farts really hard and it's loud and staccato and trumpety and then he breaks off into peals of laughter even though no one else is around to smell it. "Hahahahaha! I just shit my pants!" is what he probably is thinking. I need a new job.

But like I said I have amazing will and determination, like an Olympic Gold Medalist in the combined "Being Handsome/ Being Brilliant" event, so I'm not writing about that even though I really really want to, because sometimes his friends come to visit him for the sole purpose of going in his dark little fart chamber and letting one rip. Then they leave real quick and close the door, so Farty Joe can asphyxiate on their gas, and then everyone laughs real loud and calls each other names like "Farm Animal" and "Asshole" and "You Just Shit Your Pants" which I guess is a Native American name like "Dances With Wolves" or "Comes Too Quickly" or whatever and then they all make giant arm flapping motions to air it out and then they say things like "Whheeeewww!" and "That stinks!!" and "Oh My God!!!" and then they laugh again, because those are all the best joke ever. It's like the best of Shakespeare's play-on-words humor mixed with Richard Pryor's self-deprecating take on race relations with just a dash of Denis Leary's over-the-top crudeness. "Wheeww! That DOES stink!" I think to myself.

The other thing I didn't want to say about it, is that I'm afraid to ask him if he's REALLY dying because sometimes they smell like cancer. Or at least, what I imagine cancer would smell like if there was such a thing. But I don't want to just walk up and ask "Hey Joe? Do you have cancer? Because your farts don't smell very good, and are more than a little evil, and maybe you need to go to the doctor because there is no way whatever is happening down there isn't malignant." because he would just laugh and then probably put me in a headlock and hold me down by his asshole and try to fill my mouth with vaporized crap atoms. Again.

So instead of writing about that here's an adorable kitty-cat. (*shrug*):

Tuesday, March 2, 2010

Tough Love

Dear Shadow,

Look Tubby...I think we need to have a talk because you're really letting yourself go and you used to be so tall and pointy and now you're kinda rounder and bulgey in the middle and maybe you don't have the same super-fast metabolism as me, because Buddy? You've got some junk in your trunk. Which is code for "fat ass" in case that wasn't clear. I mean the only way I'm able to maintain this virile, svelte physique (which is like THE BEST almost-alliteration ever for people who are at home and keeping score of what great writers do. That was the literary equivalent of a double-lindy backflip with a two and a half twist dismount or something. I also stuck the landing and boinked the Russian judge backstage before my routine. Result: a perfect 10) is by my constant regiment of eating Pop-Tarts and playing Wii bowling and doing hard pelvic thrusts any time I agree with someone. You must be slacking, Shadow. And chicks hate slackers, except for that dirty guy in Reality Bites. And even then, it only counts in the 90s, so you totally need a time machine to be a hip slacker, Shadow.

I don't want to be all judgey and finger-pointy, because believe me Shadow, I've had single-underpants weeks before. I KNOW what it's like to live off the stuff you've spilled on your bathrobe even though it might be chicken grease and contain salmonella but who even cares because your life is an empty hole. But you have to rise above it. You have to remember that you can't evade store detectives if you aren't able to run, and you wont be able to run if you are carrying all those extra shadow-pounds. I even tried turning sideways and standing on my tiptoes and stretching all the way to the ceiling to make you skinny, but it's obvious you're not even trying. I mean...I even closed my eyes all squinty and turned down the lights so I could barely see you, hoping you would blend in with that giant sour cream and root beer stain on the rug, but I could still see you because of that splash of guacamole from last weekend.

So it's time to shape up or ship out, Shadow. Maybe it's hard for you living in my shadow because I have such taut hind-quarters and such amazing pecs if I hold my breath super-big and wrap duct tape around my ribs, but you have to push through. You have to believe that with a little effort you can stop looking so much like a Rorschach blob that reminds people of a walrus without tusks, but they are afraid to say that because maybe the lack of tusks means they have issues with penises or pinnipeds* or having sex with their mom or whatever. My point is, let's see if we can trade in your muffin-top for a muffin-bottom, and I'm not sure what that even means, but Shadow...I really fucking mean it.

Hugs not Drugs!

PS: Pinniped is the family name for seals, sea-lions and walruses. Knowing is half the battle. I'll include a picture of Pinniped morphology mostly because it has an arrow pointing to the word "anus". Whoa! One way street, Buddy!!! HAHAHAHAHAHA!!: