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.

Occupy-palooza

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

Weathermen

Sticky-outies

Show-offs

Mike and Mike in the morning

Fred and Wilma

Cain and Abel

Nozzles

Co-presidents of mammary operations

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.

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?

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.

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:

twat-rainbow
snatch-warbler
dong-berries
shit-coffin
shit-scratching
cock-bleeding
cock-handed
twat-cobbler
shit-boxed
dong-capping
fuck-hat
cock-socked
twat-fingered
dick-trimming
shit-sorcerer
cock-soaked
muff-shitting
fuck-tower
dong-fountain
fuck-topper
shit-sad
cock-tard
fuck-smack
shit-coughing
fuck-tank
cock-bulb
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.

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.

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.

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