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.

Proverbs

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.

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.

Five thoughts about food babies

Ugh... Ouch... Ohhh... My Indian food baby just ate my kidneys. Now he’s chewing my spleen. Why didn’t I go to Lamaze class???

Ah... Nothing like coffee to facilitate the safe delivery of a healthy food baby, It's a boy!

Who’s up for a food baby shower?

Overheard: “Which way do I flush the toilet, up or down?” Depends if you want your food baby to go to heaven or hell.

There’s a party in my stomach, and everyone’s pistol-whipping my food baby.

Five maybes

Maybe if gym teachers bit people and vampires taught dodgeball, that would shake things up.

Maybe more kids would stay in school if we called it Free Beer.

Maybe I do have a God complex. I’ll look into that after I blow up these planets.

Maybe people wouldn’t commit so many crimes in broad daylight if we called it “nice young lady daylight”.

Maybe it’s just me, but barfing makes me want to puke.

Five confessions

I like to pretend my food is bad people, and my bowels are the bowels of hell, and my poo is reincarnation. It smells like justice.

I don't regret the children I fathered. I regret the fathers I childrened, because that sounds embarrassing.

We didn't need The Weather Channel when I was a kid. Keeping a meteorologist chained to the radiator worked just fine.

I learned a lot from comic books, like how to order sea monkeys or eat a planet.

If the glove fits, I peed in it.

Five thoughts about children

To understand your parents better, sell your own children to pirates.

Instilling values in children must begin early. That’s why all pregnant women should eat a Bible a day.

Children are like wet cement. They’re just not very smart.

The most important thing parents can teach their children is how to make hobos dance.

The reason grandparents and grandchildren get along so well is they’re both in the pocket of the oil industry.

President Obama’s Circles on Google+

Family

Chicago Friends

DC Friends

Secret Muslim Friends

Batshit Republicans

Somewhat Sane Republicans

Somewhat Batshit Democrats

Democrats Who Make Me Want to Vomit When I See Them, Which is Far Too Often

World Leaders I’d Like to Take Out with a Drone

World Leaders I’d Like to Take Out for a Beer

Supervillains

Elvis, Tupac, Nixon, and Other "Dead" People

Journalists and Other Idiots

Awesome People I Met Because I’m the Freakin’ President

Clintons

Bitching About Starbucks Spelling = Ultimate Douchery

You wouldn’t think that entitled, douchey, white people could get any more entitled, douchey, or white, but you would think wrong. The unfortunately popular blog Starbucks Spelling is a hideous new low in the craptastic, ever-flowing, sewer of white shittiness.

Making fun of how other people talk and spell is usually arrogant and assholish, but it’s seldom as awful as these “hilarious” pictures of coffee cups where, for example, “Julie” is spelled “Joolee”. Ha ha, what a good one that is! These stupid baristas can’t spell! I am a genius for going to Starbucks and having a name.

This goes beyond first world problems or white person problems to new depths: Starbucks misspelling your name is an Ultimate Douche problem. Congratulations to my fellow caucasian assholes for helping us maintain our firm, pasty claim on being the worst people in the world.

Here’s my message to anyone who has ever posted a picture of their misspelled coffee cup on Facebook or anywhere else:

You should be grateful this poor barista didn’t stab you. The only purpose of writing your name down is to get the goddamn whatever-ccino into your shitty little hands. It isn’t a spelling test. It isn’t a monument to you and your wonderful name that—heaven forbid!—a mere commoner might besmirch. Get over yourself, then please go fuck yourself, then pretty please stick an entire Starbucks up your ass. Thank you.

There is a bright side to this stupid phenomenon. Some plucky grad student could write a fine dissertation on how the spelling ability and will to live of baristas have deteriorated due to relentless daily exposure to toxic levels of douchiness. You’re welcome, academia.

Things to do to baby Hitler if you’re too squeamish to kill him but do have a time machine

Take away his binky.

Give him a second binky. See what happens. Try a third. Maybe he becomes so obsessed with binkies that mass murder isn’t even on his radar.

Shake him. I know you shouldn’t shake a baby, but we’re talking about Hitler here.

Steal him and drop him in the past. Maybe he’ll go after Neanderthals, who are dying off anyway.

Steal him and bring him to the future. Hope he tries to wipe out Martians, who have it coming.

Lie to him about his future. Tell him, “I am from the future, and you are going to blow up the moon!” Tell him it’s OK, who needs the moon anyway. This will keep him busy.

Show him the complete DVD collection of Lost. It might not change his life, but it will broaden his ideas about time travel. Instead of being the first Hitler, maybe he could be the second Smoke Monster.

Go back further in time and ask his great-grandparents, “Does worst-person-of-all-time-itis run in your family?” If they say yes, kill them.

Read him the story about the beautiful baby who didn’t grow up to slaughter millions or have a creepy mustache.

Show him Inglourious Basterds documentary repeatedly.

Buy him a puppy. Pour barbecue sauce on baby Hitler. See what happens.

Ten ins and outs

Out: pond scum
In: pond sleaze

Out: sugar daddies
In: Splenda fathers

Out: coffee table books
In: coffee table snuff films

Out: gospel choirs
In: gospel speed metal bands

Out: the cradle of civilization
In: the binky of civilization

Out: circle jerks
In: rhombus jerks

Out: phony baloney
In: sincere salami

Out: id, ego, superego
In: egg, chicken, chicken sandwich

Out: a hog on ice
In: a pig on quaaludes

Out: a beacon of hope
In: a bacon of hope

Five hates

I hate when I get all the way into the bathtub and *then* realize I forgot my Gilligan hat.

I hate when the butler forgets to water the shrunken heads.

I hate when the fabric of reality rips right in the crotch.

I hate wondering if I’m smart enough, strong enough, or slathered in chocolate sauce enough.

I hate when I mix up my recipes and prophecies. This seven-headed beast pudding just doesn’t taste right.

Five thoughts about love

Love is a monkey. True love is a monkey in a top hat. Immortal love is a monkey in a top hat peeing on a chicken.

It’s better to marry someone you hate than to drop someone you love in a volcano and then giggle about it.

You never forget your first love or second war crime.

Deep down, all anyone really wants is to be loved, abducted by aliens, and displayed in a Martian petting zoo.

What is love? Is love buying a castle, renovating the dungeon, and hiring goons to capture the people you love? I guess it is.

Replacing dogs with gimps in the bookstore

50 Games to Play With Your Gimp

How to Housebreak Your Gimp in 7 Days

The Other End of the Leash: Why We Do What We Do Around Gimps

The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Gimp Tricks

Charlie the Ranch Gimp

Why My Third Husband Will Be a Gimp

Oogy: The Gimp Only a Family Could Love

Through a Gimp’s Eyes

Walter the Farting Gimp: Banned from the Beach

Gimps and the Women Who Love Them

Bad Gimp: A Love Story

Everything Gimp: What Kids Really Want to Know About Gimps

The Multiple-gimp Family

97 Ways to Make a Gimp Smile

Five thoughts about robots

It's 3:19. Do you know where your robot army is?

Science is not about replacing religion with cold facts; it’s about replacing your spouse with a hot sexbot.

Everything’s bigger in Texas, even the government nanobots playing Yahtzee in your brain.

Happy Bring Your Fembot to Work Day!

Strunk and White’s terrifying rule of robotics: “Omit needless humans.”

Five thoughts about orphans

A study shows that cows with names produce more milk. I’m gonna try the same approach at my orphan labor ranch.

If you’re struggling with your New Year’s diet, try putting ranch dressing on the orphans. It helps.

I'm willing to pay more for American-made orphans.

Tossing helpless puppies and orphans into the ravenous maw of Oprah isn’t a duty—it’s a privilege.

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

Five thoughts about Batman

Should I go with my chastity belt, championship belt, or Batman-approved utility belt? Big job interview today.

Overheard: “Technically, milkshakes have taken over the role of...” Batman? I think he was going to say Batman.

For Iron Man, I bet a top pet peeve is when Batman comes over and pees on your couch.

When I die, I hope they say, “We’re not here to mourn. We’re here to audition a new Batman.”

If we can put a man on the moon, we can put Batman on the moon. Let’s hurry. Most moon people are criminal scum.

Five thoughts about the abyss

When you look into the abyss, the abyss poodle licks your eyeballs.

When you look into the abyss through a window at night, the abyss files charges. The abyss doesn’t like that sort of thing.

If you French kiss the abyss, the abyss German kisses you.

When you play footsie with the abyss, the abyss plays soulsie with you.

When you gaze into the abyss, the abyss covers its boobs. The abyss is surprisingly modest.

A Bird-to-English Dictionary

aaayayaum
I can poop anywhere, and that is awesome.

bup-bup bup-bup-bup
Your haircut stinks!

chwee chwee chwee chwee chwee
You call it preening, but a man’s gotta look his best.

dzeer dzeer dzeer tzee tzee
Someday, I am gonna kill a squirrel or malti-poo.

eeeen eeeen eeeen
I descended from dinosaurs, you know.

hup-hup-a-hwooo
If I poop on this guy’s head, you owe me a Coke.

kip-ip-ip-ip-ip
A cat on a leash! A cat on a leash! There is a God after all.

kreeaaaaaaaaaaar
Do we have to practice this formation again? Jesus.

kyew kyew kyew kyew kyew
My third egg is gonna grow up to be a doctor.

ooaah coo coo coo
I know who killed Kennedy.

prrip prrip
I would make a great mate. If you don’t believe me, ask your mom.

si-si-seeeee-soo-see
This is an instinct! This is an instinct!

toop-toop-toop-toop-toop
No, you jackass, birdsong is learned!

tu-tu-tu tu-tu-tu-tu
If you mess with my eggs, I will cut you.

tzeen tzeen tzeen
Why do I even come back to this craphole every spring?

weedle-eedle
I love the smell of reproductive success in the morning.

weet-weet-weet-weet-zee-zee
Mate for life? No thanks. I get more ass than a branch.

whi-whi-whi-whi-whi
Woof woof woof!

widdik pik widdik pik pik pik
You’ve got to stop this war in Afghanistan.

zeet-zeet-zeet
An angel getting its wings is bullshit. If anyone needs a new pair, it’s millions of chickens.

Five don’ts

Don’t stop moving towards your goals just because of fear or elephant tranquilizers.

Don’t jump from the frying pan into the bedpan.

Don’t lock the barn door after the Cylons nuked your horse.

Don’t judge a book by its obscene, glow-in-the-dark, pop-up tentacles.

Don’t let a day pass without making at least one person feel like a disposable toilet seat cover.