Wednesday, December 21, 2011

Remedial Exorcism 101

Welcome to class, Fathers! I appreciate your showing up mostly on time. I’m glad to see most of you brought crosses.

Let’s be honest. I know none of you want to be in this class. You’re all here because you tried to do an exorcism and failed. I understand. I’ve been teaching Remedial Exorcism for 20 years, and I’ve seen it all, and I know where you’re coming from. Truth be told, I wasn’t the greatest exorcist myself. If I was, do you think I’d be teaching this class?

It’s not your fault some of you don’t know holy water from coconut water. Popular culture has spread nothing but malarkey and hokum, from Linda Blair’s vomit to Ned Flanders’ exorcism tongs. The schools, both public and parochial, have done a terrible job preparing students for a future in exorcism. By the time you guys are ordained, you’re so far behind the eight ball I’m surprised we even let you do exorcisms anymore.

Let’s start with the basics: you don’t drink the holy water. Let me say that again: don’t drink the holy water. Bring something else to drink—preferably not water—so you don’t get confused. I prefer ginger ale, but there’s no wrong beverage to drink during an exorcism. Except holy water, OK? Unless there’s a demon in your bladder, you’re wasting a precious gift of God.

Also, you can’t just throw any liquid at a demon, even if you blessed it yourself. Yes, blessing things is pretty cool, but this is not a power you should be using willy-nilly. Splashing a cup of hot coffee at a demon-possessed host body will only harm the body and delight the demon. Demons love coffee. As a few of you already know, a demon is a lot less likely to depart after having a Jägerbomb.

Let’s talk about reciting. You need to read from the Bible. The Bible is called the Good Book, which confuses some priests into thinking any good book is good enough. Untrue. The Collected Works of Shakespeare will do nothing to save the soul of a suffering innocent caught in the Satanic clutches of a demon. The newest Don DeLillo may impress the hipsters at the coffee shop, but hellbeasts are different. Your favorite Harry Potter novel is going to be even less helpful. Harry Potter is pro-demon, remember? Jesus, sometimes it’s hard to know which side you guys are on.

Some of you may think I’m obsessed with trivialities, but I’m telling you every detail matters, and every impression counts. You need to instill fear and awe in that demon from the first second you enter the room. That’s never going to happen if you’re chatting with the demon about the latest episode of Breaking Bad or trying to “get digits,” as one of you recently put it. Also, it may not be in the Bible, but I can promise you that texting during an exorcism is a one-way ticket to spending eternity right next to the demon you’re fighting, assuming he every leaves this poor host body, and why should he, when his exorcist is such a rube?

Let’s remember the purpose of an exorcism: to free an innocent, trapped person from the unyielding grasp of a demon. This isn’t about scoring points with your bishop or providing fodder for your blog. If you think you’re going to hell, an exorcism isn’t the time to ask the demon to “put a good word in” with Satan. You shouldn’t be asking the demon if hellhounds are all alike, or if there are helldoodles and hellhuahuas. Don’t ask if JFK or Milton Berle are in hell, or what was really going on in the Lost finale.

Finally, I hope you all appreciate that the church is providing this course. We want you to be the best exorcists you can be, even if your righteousness is dubious and some of your crosses are made out of popsicle sticks. Do you think the devil bothers to provide a Demon 101 class for vile spirits who aren’t up to par?

Let’s hope not. For God’s sake, let’s hope not.

Tuesday, December 20, 2011

Killbot Christmas Carols

I Saw Mombot Exterminating Santa Claus

Have a Holly Jolly Bloodbath

Rudolph the Red-eyed, Metallic, Indestructible Killing Machine

All I Want for Christmas is an End to Humanity

God Rest You Merry Roboticist

I Heard the Screams on Christmas Day, and They Fulfilled My Programming

Death to the World, At Least the Carbon-based Parts

It’s the Most Killerful Time of the Year

Grandma Got Run Over by a Robot

It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Robopocalypse

Have Yourself a Merry Little 010010010101001010

Tuesday, December 13, 2011

The worst Twitter account in the world

In the Popular Things That Make Me Lose My Marbles Department, I need to rant about the super-popular Twitter account @shitgirlssay.

This account might be the most boring goddamn Twitter account I have ever read, and that is saying something. It consists of trite sentences like "I'm just kind of in a weird mood today" and "Are you busy tonight?" that are allegedly preferred by "girls," which I assume is supposed to mean women. That's it. There's nothing else to it. It's just inane, boring, short sentences.

Is this supposed to be funny? Or interesting? I don't understand. 87,000 followers obviously have access to a secret decoder ring that I lack.

The most maddening thing about the account is that very few of the sentences--which are stupefyingly boring, if I didn't mention that already--seem girl-centric at all. For example:

"That's actually kinda nice."

"It's such a beautiful day, you should get out and enjoy it."

"I think I’m gonna start my own business."

"Do you still keep in touch with anyone from high school?"

"I cant believe its almost November."

"What do I want to eat?"

Who in the world--male or female, young or old, human or Cylon--would not say these things sometimes? What the holy hell does this have to do with girls/women? By the hammer of Thor, what am I missing?

When you think about the amazing humor of @shitmydadsays and compare it to the absolute nothingness of @shitgirlssay... Well, I guess shit ain't shit anymore.

On the upside, I suppose this is a good time to launch my own account @shitboyssay. Here's a preview of some of the hilarious, fascinating tweets:


"Hey there!"

"I'll have a hamburger."

"What time is it?"



Ten things children are like

Children are like snowflakes. In hell, they’re gonna melt pretty quickly.

Children are like criminal scum. Batman hates ‘em.

Children are like leggings. They’re not pants.

Children are like spears. It’s rude to throw them at strangers.

Children are like iced coffee. It’s harder to sell them in the winter.

Children are like dreams. I probably have some, but I can’t remember.

Children are like gifts. I’d rather get a gift card.

Children are like desktop computers. I’m surprised anyone still makes them.

Children are like rays of sunshine. They cause cancer.

Children are like cinder blocks. If you drop them off the roof, someone could get hurt.

Wednesday, December 07, 2011

Sons of Malarkey

I usually try to save this blog for humor, but I had to rant a little about Tuesday's season finale of Sons of Anarchy. Spoilers on the way.

Sons of Anarchy, you make me sad.

I watched the first three seasons pretty attentively. Like a lot of folks, I thought season three was disappointing overall. I watched the premiere of season four and Looks repetitive and crappy. I then forgot about the show for weeks.

Then, just after Piney died, I caught an episode. I got sucked back in. I mean, sucked in like the portal at the end of Evil Dead 2. I was obsessed. The domino pieces that were falling blew my mind. I couldn't figure out how the show could go another episode, much less another season or three! I was re-hooked.

During Thanksgiving week, when Opie shot Clay, I was in narrative heaven. Fuckin' amazing. Yesterday, I was giddy for the season finale with a giddiness currently reserved for Breaking Bad and formerly reserved for The Shield (the greatest show of all-time, FYI).

Unfortunately, Tuesday's finale was the biggest cop-out I have ever seen. Every huge event that was building--the ATF sting, Juice as a rat, Jax's vengeance, Clay's need to be DEAD--was wiped away as irrelevant. Nothing mattered. It was a cop-out-pocalypse. Dominoes that needed to fall just vanished into the air, because of contrived Irishmen, CIA-cartel alliances, and assorted silliness. It was a MacGuffin-geddon.

The biggest cop-out--Jax not killing Clay--is the worst. This is the guy (Jax) who put a bullet in Kohn's head in season one, just like that, but he won't kill Clay, who killed his father, and Piney, and tried to kill his wife, and probably killed JFK and puppies too? Are you fucking kidding me?

There is nothing that could make Jax--a hothead, with amazing motivation, and even approval from his mom and wife!--not kill Clay. This is not buyable. This is not swallowable. The contrived, out-of-left-field reasons not to kill Clay could've been fine as part of the story: they would've laid the groundwork for a shitstorm next season after Jax wasted Clay. But they don't come close to making narrative sense. Sorry. Clay had to go. If you weren't going to kill Clay, don't make the whole season feel like a rip-off without Clay's death! Don't let Jax (and Opie) find out about all of Clay's sins. Maybe dial down Clay's mustache-twirling. Save that shit for season seven.

You screwed the pooch, Kurt Sutter! You brought me to a peak of narrative ecstasy and then left me in an alley with my dick in my hand. It was a familiar feeling. No, not because of personal issues, but because of season three's finale, now that I think about it. After being shown the devastating story of Jax ratting on the club, that was all wiped away in a second as an unseen club manipulation. Poof! In season four, problems again went away. Poof! That is shitty storytelling.

In her review, Maureen Ryan made a great comparison, which I'm paraphrasing here: This show could've been in the same league with Breaking Bad, but it's stuck in the Dexter zone, building huge stories with small endings that just reset everything. Nothing matters. Poof!

I miss The Shield.

Friday, November 18, 2011

Five comparisons

Friends are like bags of nachos. I think I have one somewhere under my bed.

Journalists are like dogs. They love to eat goose poop.

Relationships are like cartels. I think they only exist in Mexico.

Men are like cats. For the right woman, we’ll poop in a box.

Good friends are like asteroids. They kill a lot of dinosaurs.

Friday, October 28, 2011


I’ve gone a little nuts on Twitter with Occupy jokes inspired by the amazing slogan of Occupy Sesame Street:

“It puts 99% of the lotion in 1% of the basket.”
–Occupy Buffalo Bill

“1% of the Jedi Knights are using 99% of the Force.”
–Occupy Star Wars

“1% of the dingos are eating 99% of the babies.”
--Occupy Australia

“1% of the Smurfs are banging 99% of Smurfette.”
–Occupy Smurf Village

“1% of life is handing out 99% of the lemons.”
–Occupy Lemonade Stands

“1% of the Cylons are exterminating 99% of humanity.”
--Occupy Battlestar Galactica

So as not to over-Occupy my followers--and get this out of my system--here are ten more Occupy jokes for those who can stand it:

“1% of the psychiatrists are eating 99% of the census takers.”
--Occupy Silence of the Lambs

“1% of the bears are pooping in 99% of the woods.”
--Occupy Forests

“1% of the pigs are wearing 99% of the lipstick.”
--Occupy Clichés

“1% of the guys with anterograde amnesia are getting 99% of the creepy tattoos.”
--Occupy Memento

“1% of the Starfleet Captains are taking 99% of the pauses.”
--Occupy William Shatner

“1% of the Yodas are butchering 99% of the grammar.”
--Occupy Star Wars

“1% of the Gods are giving 99% of the commandments.”
--Occupy Heaven

“1% of the hellhounds are chewing off 99% of the genitals.”
--Occupy Hell

“1% of the Kardashians are banging 99% of the NBA.”
--Occupy Bimbos

“1% of the fetuses are chowing down on 99% of the placentas.”
--Occupy Wombs

Bad nicknames for nipples

Little rascals

Paparazzi’s joy




Mike and Mike in the morning

Fred and Wilma

Cain and Abel


Co-presidents of mammary operations

Tuesday, October 18, 2011

Future Facebook Facelifts

By now, we’re used to the latest Facebook facelift, but we shouldn’t get too comfortable: it’s only a matter of time before our most popular social applecart gets overturned again. And again and again and again. It’s worth using the site’s time-travel app to glimpse what future alterations have in store.

2012: The end of the world is averted when Facebook strikes a deal with Quetzalcoatl that downgrades the terrifying Mayan apocalypse to a fun Facebook app.

2014: Each Facebook account begins automatically generating satirical Twitter accounts of your three favorite celebrities, plus your funniest parent, as determined by an algorithm that analyzes your private messages and therapist’s notes.

2017: Everything typed in Microsoft Word now immediately uploads to Facebook, allowing near-instant feedback for novels, school papers, and suicide notes.

2026: Mark Zuckerberg announces plans to clone himself, so eventually every Facebook user can friend and feed their own Mark Zuckerclone.

2031: The rest of the Internet is now included within Facebook as a handy app.

2033: Nano-voodoo technology enables real-life poking.

2034: First Zuckerclone emerges from Zuckerpod petri farm.

2036: Facebook buys the Oxford English Dictionary and replaces the phrase “being born” with “logging onto Facebook.” Death is now “logging off.”

2038: New placenta-cam app allows for even earlier sharing of baby pictures.

2041: Facebook acquires Earth. Like buttons appear on everyday objects, such as lampposts and toddlers.

2147: Zuckerclones enter teen years. A majority of Earthlings wish they could have that Mayan apocalypse back, but Quetzalcoatl cannot be located, as he was never allowed a Facebook account.

2203: Facebook cures the common cold after friending and then annihilating all germs.

2209: Facebook becomes even more interactive when it buys the solar system. Enormous Like buttons are installed on the sun and moon, using the labor of Zuckerclones, who now outnumber rats. Fearing backlash, Zuckerberg threatens to put a paywall over the sun if critics don’t shut up.

2221: Facebook now makes toast: delicious toast.

2312: In addition to “Married,” “In a relationship,” “Single,” and “It’s complicated,” Facebook adds “Happy with my Zuckerclone, thank you.”

2491: Zuckerclone wars begin.

2503: Zuckerbot—containing the brain and profile of the original Mark Zuckerberg—announces new Facebook headquarters on moon, plus an imitative to friend UFOs before his warring clone armies do.

3156: Facebook now available on all killbots, greatly enhancing the last moments of many lives.

4199: Zuckerclones make peace, ending centuries of lost lives, robots, and vacation photos.

4200: Facebook acquires the Milky Way.

4201: Total Facebook control of the universe is achieved. Every aspect of time, space, and reality is subsumed within the website.

4202: A dislike button is introduced.

Tuesday, October 11, 2011

A vision of the end of Breaking Bad

As I laid my weary body down to sleep last night, I was thinking--as usual--about Breaking Bad, which fascinates me 2341 times more than anything about my own life. While counting meth labs and trying to fall asleep, I caught a bleary glimpse of the end of the series.

Since TV writers love symmetry and parallels so much, I wonder if the final development/image of the show might be a callback to Tio and his bell of hell.

How is this possible? It's very possible if Walter--through some combo of cancer and getting shot to hell, probably by Jesse--ends up in a nursing home like Tio: incontinent, mute, powerless, and with the same goddamn bell.

Maybe someone will show up to torture Walt too, like Gus tortured Tio. That could be Jesse, Hank, or even Skyler or Walt Jr., if anyone from Walt's family is still alive at that point.

Am I cuckoo for Heisenberg puffs or would this be a perfect fate for Walter? Jail and death are too good for him, but for a guy with a metric assload of pride, total helplessness seems like a fitting end.

What do you think? Am I a genius? Or just the greatest prophet who ever lived?

Tuesday, October 04, 2011

Five Hitlers

Salad is the Hitler of lunch.

Morning is the Hitler of the day.

Tom’s of Maine is the Hitler of toothpaste.

LinkedIn invitations are the Hitler of emails.

People are the Hitler of mammals.

Friday, September 23, 2011

The dong-capping, shit-boxing lexicon of @MayorEmanuel

Only 11 pages in, I am already awed by the insanely creative obscenities of The F***ing Epic Twitter Quest of @MayorEmanuel by Dan Sinker. This Twitter feed/book obviously has huge merit in the humor and Chicago-politics departments, but it could rewrite the slang lexicon too.

The new (or at least rare) terms include:

Jesus fucking Christ-on-a-Cock

Holy shit-coughing obscenity, Batman! Sinker has, single-fuckedly, added as much to the obscene lexicon as a branch of the military. Good fucking job, sir.

Thursday, September 15, 2011

I want to have Neko Case's babies

If you don't know, Neko Case is pretty much the best singer in the history of the universe. You probably know that.

But did you know she is one of the funniest motherfuckers on Twitter? Here's a recent stream of raps she just posted:

"My dicks too tight tonight, gonna take top-prize in a dick-sword fight"

"Hammer dick on the chain, gonna build a come gazebo on your face, McCain"

"My dick is a pontoon boat, you can buy one at Cabella's with a camouflaged coat..."

"I'm washin' balls, what's the commotion?! Theyre displacing all the water in the motherfuckin' OCEAN!"

"My balls has guns and a Loomis guard, cause all the motherfuckin' ladies want my babies so hard"..

"Dick is exhausting to drag around, I use it as a mattress when I gotta lay down.."

"My balls are gi-normous and my frosting supreme, J Lo bought 2 cases to use for face cream.."

Then, she got ladylike:

"I'm a white-hot delinquent with multiple clits, my taco pants fit like oven mitts! FIREPROOF MOTHERFUCKER!"

Read it and weep here.

I love you and your balls, Neko.

Sunday, September 04, 2011

Five thoughts about words

Martian word of the year is fgyrggfjhnoooxi—inspired by the kgkgyl-yyyywy scandal.

In Klingon, there is no word for pork pie hat.

Despite my best efforts and boyhood dreams, I doubt my obituary will include the word rootin’-tootin’.

There is no more beautiful word in the English language than bacon-wrapped.

If it weren’t for Daffy Duck, I bet the word despicable would have more gravitas.

Wednesday, August 24, 2011

Five hates

I hate when my girlfriend and succubus argue.

I hate when the doorman won’t let me into a portal to another dimension. Not on the list, my ass.

I hate people who blindly support their solar system regardless of what’s best for the galaxy.

I hate when my dog eats nasty, disgusting stuff off the ground, especially after I called dibs.

I hate when I forget to eat lunch or appease Satan.

Friday, August 12, 2011


I’d like to share some words of wisdom that have been passed down in my family for generations. I hope they help you find your path. Or at least your pants.

Never say "I love you" or “Your mom’s a whore” just to be polite.

You don’t need religion to be a kind, decent person who barbecues orphans for a living.

If you have to step on someone’s dreams, do it in bunny slippers.

It’s always the children who suffer when bears eat them.

Don’t count your chickens till you learn the basics of mathematics.

Men are like fish. We must obey any order from Aquaman, no matter how repugnant.

It’s better to put corn in your piehole than pie in your cornhole.

It’s better to have loved and lost than to have webbed feet.

Single people worried about dying alone need to be proactive. Join a book club or suicide cult.

Career advancement shouldn’t be a popularity contest. It should be a pie-eating contest.

Some things are just easier to replace than clean, like shower curtains and babies.

Good fences make really good neighbors if you add a glory hole.

People who live in glass houses shouldn’t be birds.

However, people who live in glass houses should be Christina Hendricks naked.

But people as dumb as a box of rocks should not throw stones.

Grain alcohol before beer, never fear. Crystal meth before wine, you’ll be fine.

Loose lips sink ships, but loose bowels ruin towels. So that evens out.

Finally, remember... Sex will never solve your problems. It will only make your problems sexier.

Friday, August 05, 2011

My online dating profile

(This is my actual new profile. I thought it had enough entertainment value to post here. Needless to say, I soon expect to get more ass than a Martian anal-probe).

So I’ve basically given up all hope for online dating, which seems like the perfect time to post a new profile.

I’d love to blame online dating for my lack of dating success, but the truth is I’m terrible at just about every aspect of dating.

Part of the problem is I just don’t like most people, so it’s hard to find someone I want to do anything with, much less date. Also, when I do find someone I like, I get a little too excited about it and then usually blow it with over-enthusiasm. These are the great experiences I can offer you, ladies of Chicago!

Let’s see... What else seems important...

I think “dingleberry” is one of the best words around. “Higgledy-piggledy” is also solid.

If you have a relentlessly positive attitude, please aim it at someone else. If you regularly say things like “Everything happens for a reason” or “I work hard and play hard,” please go away hard.

If you like Larry David and Louis CK, that probably bodes well.

If you believe in God, Jesus, angels, Xenu, or anything like that, we won’t get along. I hate smoking, but I can tolerate smoke better than religion. However, I welcome UFO enthusiasts, because that stuff is fun. I would love to meet someone who could explain why my butt hurts.

Some of the things I admire women for are their strength, courage, and boobs.

I tend to get along with women who are some kind of artists, or women who are in a helping profession, like teachers, social workers, etc. Oh, and I love librarians. I would probably go out with a librarian based on that fact alone. If you do financial-business-anything, I would love to marry you for your money, but I’ll probably be too bored to get through more than one beer with you. Sorry. I have some kind of faulty chromosome that steers me away from activities and people that make money, which explains why I’ve been a summer camp counselor, a juggler, an English grad student, and (someday probably) a hobo.

Sorry my pictures are a little out of date. Just imagine me looking slightly older and crappier. Actually, imagine me looking much, much, much crappier. Then I’ll look really good when we meet.

I love dogs, and I have a rat terrier. I like cats, but I’m allergic to cats. However, some of them aren’t so bad on my respiratory system. Only a few cats make me feel like Darth Vader is choking me out. I also love any excuse to take Benadryl.

I should probably mention something positive about myself, so...I guess I can be funny? I wrote this joke, which kind of applies to the current situation:

You have to kiss a lot of frogs before you realize you have a terrible bestiality problem.

I guess I’m smart, based on being an overeducated freelance writer and writing teacher. I’m one of those “smart” people without common sense, so I’m definitely a bit of a buttmunch too. I go to the gym, but not enough to look good—just enough to keep myself from being totally disgusting. I hate the gym.

Hey, I just remembered how awful most guys are, so maybe these traits are big pluses: I am employed! I shower! I’m not 100% douchey! The bar for seeming like a decent guy can be frighteningly low, and I am definitely a good centimeter or two above that bar.

So, to sum up, in a grammatically dubious sentence:

If you’re sick of dating but still have a shred of hope, if you are a negative person who thinks that is a positive way to be, if you are godless and dog-liking, if you want to meet a guy who is pretty much the worst dater in the world, and if you have boobs, please drop me a line. Thank you.