The Spring Fling should involve less bands and games and more monkeys and poo.

On Hos

I've noticed that somehow slapping hos is ok, but only if they're your hos.

You can slap your friends, you can slap your hos, but you can't slap your friend's hos?

I just saw a midget who resembled Ron Jeremy, and it was the first time in my life I've ever cursed myself for not becoming a filmmaker.

The best way to bludgeon a duck is with another duck.

Things I've Learned in College

I now know the perfect distance to hold away a distraught crack addict so that she neither feels I am rejecting her nor tries to hug me.

VeggieTales Horror Movie

Silence of the Yams

On Smoking

Smoking may not be as cool as it was in the 90s, but it's still cool enough that those people in the Truth commercials look like fucking douchebags.

Cover I'd Like To See

Simon and Garfunkel as covered by Dwayne Johnson:

"I Am The Rock"

Possible Titles for Indian Porn Flicks

Backdoors of Bombay
Taj Mah-Balls

They should make a version of Trivial Pursuit for hipsters where you don't know any of the answers, because they're really underground and no one has heard of them yet.

If anyone's got a mind to hear something stupid, listen to "Turn the Heat Up!" by Shemekia Copeland. It's a rockin' good time.

Alternate Names

There's an odd phenomenon in downtown Binghamton...a series of apartment buildings that resemble 19th-century slums and yet hold names like "The Cherokee" or "The Grand Dupree", embossed in stained glass, above their entryways. This smacks of dishonesty, but I see what they're going for: you know, creating an air of luxury and all that. Oddly enough, Americans are willing to associate anything with luxury as long as it has a European name. So here's the solution: name the buildings honestly, only in other languages.

Here are some helpful examples:

L'Hotel de Merde
Sheissehaus
Hall of Shit (in a British accent)

Blog Post

Blog post. Blog post. I figure I get at least one of these.

Limerick

On a honeymoon near North Hampstead,
a man and wife lay in their bed.
The girth of his dick
was too wide for her width,
so he said, "I'll just stick in the head."

I've realized that day-time tv is targeted toward three main audiences: housewives, unemployed people, and college students. These groups would seem to be disparate, but there are commonalities between them.

Similarities Between Housewives, Unemployed People, and College Students

They all spend their days with nothing to do (obvious).

They all enjoy watching The Price Is Right.

They all drink too much, surreptitiously or no.

They all need to get a fucking job.

One liners can be ok when it comes to comedy, but are never enough when it comes to a coke binge.

So, what's the deal with Seinfeld? Like, his stand-up really sucks.

I've noticed this trend in general in many fields of entertainment. If a character on a tv show, movie, play, etc. has any sort of creative job, the creators of the show/movie/play feel the need to, at some point, display the "work" of the "artist" character. If the artist is a painter, their work will turn out to be a painting that looks like it was scrawled onto a canvas by a drunk two-year-old and/or an overly conceptual piece that clearly has no more significant meaning than the scrawls of a drunken two-year-old. If the artist is a musician, their music will sound like the wails of a drunken two-year-old. If the artist is a writer, their poem or story will display the emotional depth of a drunken two-year-old. This is a travesty. TV shows, movies, plays, etc. are supposed to be created by, well, creative people. Not drunken two-year-olds. Either the people who are actually responsible for our entertainment are a bunch of sad sacks who are unwilling to have anything valid that they may create be part of something larger rather than the complete embodiment of their "vision", or I'm on the verge of finding a job for my accidentally-conceived two ear-old son. I mean, really...does he expect me to do everything? Little shit won't even change his fucking diapers. Shit is filling my living room.

Movie Blurb for Slumdog Millionaire

I didn't see it, but it's supposed to be really good and cultural. I mean, there are Indian people in it. And it won the Oscar.

Movie Blurb for Mr. Smith Goes to Washington (written by someone who didn't watch the movie)

Mr Smith, played by a really popular old actor (watch to find out!), has some business in our nation's capital. So he goes to Washington to get the job done! This classic film is sure to entertain.

Part III

Clothing: Just because you’re a little broke doesn’t mean you can’t express yourself.

Gay Men: Don’t waste valuable money buying the newest, coolest gay wear. Either steal clothing from the homes of your one night stands or become a hipster. This way, you can get by wearing outdated styles ironically and can take advantage of Goodwill and other very cheap clothing options while still looking fabulous.

Lesbians: Don’t change. Wifebeaters are very cheap, and the Doc Martens you bought four years ago will last you at least another six. You already never wear a bra, so why start now?

Staying Fit: Keeping that hot body is definitely an important part of getting sweet lovin’, but gym memberships are pretty expensive. All you really need is a little bit of creativity.

Gay Men: Go to a conservative neighborhood near you in your most flamboyant clothing. Spend thirty minutes to an hour running from the people who chase you while hurling insults and bottles at you. This is a great cardiovascular workout, no gym membership required!

Lesbians: Your construction job probably already takes care of this. Way to think ahead.

And if all else fails, just stay in Binghamton. After you’ve hooked up with the other four gay people in your relative age range, you have virtually no chance of meeting new partners anyway. Problem solved!

Part II

Gay Men: Find your local cruising spot (if you don’t know where it is already). Instead of going there for free sex with anonymous lechers, prostitute yourself. If they’re as broke as you are, you might still be able to get some extra condoms, cigarettes, or a free Dollar Menu cheeseburger. I’m neglecting to include further dating ideas for gay men as everyone knows that they never engage in serious relationships, choosing only to fuck each other through holes in the bathroom stalls of train stations.

Lesbians: Go to the pet store with your lover and look at cute cats. You can then spend several hours talking about your cats. If you have no home to have sex in, that’s alright. Lesbian bed death will soon set in (if it hasn’t already). If one of you has a place, move in together by the second date…no need putting it off until the third and wasting valuable rent money.


Sexual Protection: If those dates go well, you might just need some protection, which we all know can be kind of pricey. Here are some more good ways to save your scarce dollars.

Men: Reuse the condoms that you’ve had your own dick in. While the men you fuck may get each other’s diseases, you’ll be safe. It’s a dog-eat-dog world.

Lesbians: Continue using nothing. Remember that lesbians are magically safe from all sexually transmitted infections.

How to Be Gay on a Budget: Part 1

Everyone knows that the recent economic slump has made things pretty difficult. Just because the strain on your wallet may have put a damper on your living situation, wardrobe, or opportunities to find food, however, doesn’t mean it needs to put a damper on your romantic life. Here are some fun tips about how to be gay on a budget.

Cheap Dates: Forget about dinner or the movies. Here are some much more affordable options.

Gay Men: Find your local cruising spot (if you don’t know where it is already). Instead of going there for free sex with anonymous lechers, prostitute yourself. If they’re as broke as you are, you might still be able to get some extra condoms, cigarettes, or a free Dollar Menu cheeseburger. I’m neglecting to include further dating ideas for gay men as everyone knows that they never engage in serious relationships, choosing only to fuck each other through holes in the bathroom stalls of train stations.

Lesbians: Go to the pet store with your lover and look at cute cats. You can then spend several hours talking about your cats. If you have no home to have sex in, that’s alright. Lesbian bed death will soon set in (if it hasn’t already). If one of you has a place, move in together by the second date…no need putting it off until the third and wasting valuable rent money.

The stand-up competition is over now. Can the pressure be off? Can the pressure finally end? STOP READING THIS! *pulls out hair*

Everyday Activities Made Warmer with the Snuggie

readin' on the couch
surfin' the web
takin' a massive dump
losin' all your friends

It's weird how the longer you've gone without romantic contact, the more your expectations lower, and that this concept even relates to one's dreams. I used to have sex dreams about former lovers or people I was interested in. Then they lowered to "being on a date" dreams, then "having a flirtatious conversation with someone" dreams. I'm now having "ogling someone on the bus and they don't even notice me" dreams.

One time I dreamt about a huge Christmas ham, but when I went to eat it it was Anna Nicole Smith. Sorry, that joke was five years old.

If my mouth was where my asshole is now, I'd probably be a better whistler.

Helpful Hint

A tip to anyone studying abroad: if you want to buy drugs in a foreign country, you'll need to learn more vocabulary than just the word "drugs".

It's pretty weird that I think of most of my jokes while I'm in bed. Especially since said jokes revolve around rape, shit-coated penises, and lollipops. Oh wait, scratch lollipops, that's redundant...I already said shit-coated penises.

Jokes That Were Once Too Soon

AD 81: Mount Vesuvius

1670: Black Plague

1854: potato famine

1867: Civil War

11:00 am, March 11th, 2003: the time I farted loudly in the cafeteria

Rewrite of the new Beyonce single:

If I were a boy...I'd have a penis.

Also, ACDC's "You Shook Me All Night Long" would be much better if it was literal and written by an abused infant.

This is a Really Good Joke

You know what grinds my gears? When I'm shifting with the clutch and I grind the gears.

Ouch.

The Surprisingly Fun World of Auto Repair

I just went to get an estimate after some drunk person drove into my car this past Friday night. I assume that they were a drunk person because it occurred very late at night and because I live two doors down from Kennedy Fried Chicken. I can picture the idiot scraping the side of my car, drumstick in hand, blunt in mouth. Perhaps, in kindness, they blew a puff of smoke over my damaged bumper and side mirror in an attempt to heal my car with the magical herb that has granted them so much relaxation throughout their meaningless and most likely brief life.

Anyway, the body shop looked at the slight scuffing along my drier's side bumper and delivered me an estimate of $760.00. The write-up counted about 13 hours of labor (not to mention the exorbitant pricing on supplies), but I'm more convinced that it will really go something like this:

re-paint and re-finish bumper: 1- 2 hours
celebrate with a tailgate party/ garage bonfire: 9 hours
party culminates in gigantic circle jerk, which results in semen damage to my driver's side bumper: 1 hour
re-paint and re-finish bumper: 1- 2 hours

Total labor: 13 hours

I am powerless. I only wish I could have some pictures of the circle jerk, which I then might be able to sell to recoup some of my expenses.

Working on a New List...any suggestions?

Ok, it's going to be called "Times I Have Truly Been Loved by Another Person".


I haven't come up with anything yet.

Inspired by Weird Al

I was recently in a deli and when I ordered my sandwich, the owner asked me, "Rye or the kaiser?" I picked the kaiser. Now I live in an autocratic German government.

"Come on Eileen", sang Dexy's Midnight Runners.

"Please stop", cried Eileen, semen dripping from her nipples.

earigation - the attempt to remove semen from the ear using forming tools

jittermug - a very ugly person with a facial tic

olivegarchy- a government which consists of a few olives ruling over many other olives

Thought I Had While in a Rape Agression Defense Class

Mounting your overweight acquaintance and holding her arms above her head is a pretty odd requirement for a gym credit.

Made up Words, part II

broly fratrimony - the platonic affection of two men for each other, also known as bro love.

clapioca pudding - tapioca pudding so high in quality that it merits applause

clapioca pudding - tapioca pudding so filthy in content that it gives you gonorrhea.

crapioca pudding - tapioca pudding so poor in quality that it resembles fecal matter.

Serious Text Messages

People these days seem to use text messages for everything, from making plans to checking in at home. They really are a brilliant and convenient way of transferring information. There's only one realm that hasn't been fully explored: the serious text message. With the utilization of the following text messages, you, too, can express yourself without annoying face-to-face time.

To hold an intervention for your friend: a group text from four or five people with the message "UR DOIN 2 MUCH HEROIN".

To announce an unexpected pregnancy: "GOT N ABORTION 2DAY IT WUZ URS SRY"

To end an unsatisfying marriage: a picture message of a cat with the text "I CAN HAS DIVORSE?"

Using these helpful examples as a guide, I'm sure you will have no problem streamlining your future correspondences to more manageable proportions.

Made-up Words

andickquity (n.)- the state of an old man's penis

anpoopomorphism (n.)- the attribution of human traits to one's own bowel movements.
ex. "I swear, he was feeling shy today. And when he came out, he looked like Leslie Nielsen!"

antipissestablishmentarianism (n.)- the practice of bars not letting their patrons urinate

Translations of the Minifeed Updates of My Facebook Friends (Names Have Been Changed)

Pretentious McGee is really annoying.

Mild-mannered but Dull Girl actually not feeling grammar good today.

Some Bitch I Met One Time is sharing not only unnecessary but entirely banal information about her life.

Former Drinking Buddy is getting really drunk every night for the next two weeks.

Girl I Had Sex With is safe from persecution.

Some Dude I Met One Time is desperately trying to acquire friends online.

Big Fat Kid is bitching about something no one cares about.

Girl From High School is accidentally posting everything twice.

Pretty Yet Vacuous Girl like music! Song lyrics!

Evelyn Townsend is questioning, why? why? why?

I have decided to limit my diet to food stolen from high society functions. The only problem with this plan is that I live in Binghamton. I'm very hungry.

My Beauty Secrets

I saw a comedy show performed at another college last night, and it reminded me of how retarded most people are.  I really am better than everyone else in the world.  It's going to be hard to procreate because I don't think it's possible to find another human being that even remotely lives up to my greatness.  Did you see that last sentence?  Most people confuse its and it's, but I remembered the apostrophe.  Even my grammar is impeccable.  Many disciples have followed my for years, desiring the secret of my greatness.  I suppose it's time for the big reveal.

I only eat semen.

Next time you find yourself getting raped, you don't need to fight back physically. Try using puns to get the rapist on your side. After the two of you have a good laugh together, he'll realize he was just being silly and totally release you!

Ex: I've got a sizeable problem with your dick in my ass.

Bad Times to Inject Heroin

On the way to work
On a roller coaster
While giving a toast at your sister's wedding
While your sister's yelling at you for doing heroin during the toast at her wedding
At a parole meeting
On the way to court-ordered rehab
While actively fleeing court-ordered rehab
While being brutally beaten by rehab orderlies
While being brutally ass-raped by your new cellmate
At this point, just do some heroin. You've earned it.

Why I Fuckin' Hate Pandas, Conclusion

It's all been explained. The poor eating habits, the bad parenting, the sexual inadequacy. And now I make a plea to all those environmentalists who would attempt to save the "Great Panda" (great, my ass). Don't. Stop. Save the habitat if you want, as there are other, more worthy animals and plants gracing its territory. Save something endangered and ugly, something with a little more drive to live. It's like watching your alcoholic father spiral deeper and deeper into addiction: we can't help the pandas until they decide to help themselves.

Why I Fuckin' Hate Pandas, Part III

Poor Parenting

The panda mother raises her young on her own, with no help from the father. While some humans also raise children reasonably successfully under these circumstances, they generally don't leave a premature infant in a cave for three to four hours while they loll around and chew leaves (one exception might be the South American feral coca addict). This thing is pink, hairless, and blind. It is not merely like a baby: it is like a baby's wiener. It is left completely defenseless and open to being eaten by just about anything strong enough to overtake a blind, hairless, pink, immobile blob.

Great job, panda moms. Way to help any efforts that are being made to protect your species.

Why I Fuckin' Hate Pandas, Part II

To further my argument from yesterday through a Wikipedia quote:

the Giant Panda has a diet that is primarily herbivorous, which consists almost exclusively of bamboo. However, the Giant Panda still has the digestive system of a carnivore and does not have the ability to digest cellulose efficiently, and thus derives little energy and little protein from consumption of bamboo.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Mating


Pandas suck at mating. Everybody knows this. For some reason, it is widely known that pandas are unable to fuck in zoos. Well, that's just fucking pathetic. It's for the continuation of your fucking species, learn how to pop a top hat Johnson.

In addition, pandas are only able to have one or two babies each year, a dismally low amount for something so lazy and lard-ridden that it is likely to roll off of a cliff within its first year of life.
If a panda mother does end up having two children, she is so void of parenting skills and resources that she actually has to let one of them die. "Honey, we had twins!" "Ok, get a shotgun and a bucket of lye."

Jesus, Jesus Christ, I fucking hate pandas.

More on the female pandas' terrible mothering abilities to come.

Why I Fuckin' Hate Pandas, Part I

Dietary Restrictions

Pandas can only eat bamboo. A huge beast that weighs hundreds of pounds can only eat bamboo. Somehow, this seems like not the best plan. If pandas would be willing to sink their teeth into the flesh of a young billy-goat and/or child at the zoo, I'd give them more of a shot at survival. Instead, their best plan seems to be sitting around threshing leaves and shoots from highly fibrous, difficult to digest plant matter. Well, good luck maintaining that body weight, pandas. But if you want any help from me, all I'm going to offer you a is a fucking cheeseburger.

I Fucking Hate Pandas

more later.

Fun Words for "Diarrhea"

booty juice
butt soup
Mississippi mud slide
Cosby avalanche
backwards period
wicked storm of anal hellfire from above

Some people are vegetarians with the exclusion of fish or poultry for health reasons. I'm a vegetarian with the exclusion of beef because I really fuckin' hate cows.

UPDATE: Aunt Jemima Syrup Continues Containing Child's Blood

After further investigation, Aunt Jemima has been arrested and jailed following allegations that her breakfast syrup contains child's blood. Police raided her wooden shack in the Southeastern United States and discovered a secret network of under ground bunkers, dug by the child slaves Jemima fattens for the slaughter and lined with their bones. Officer Paul Braxton was present at the scene.
"It was awful", he said. "Everywhere you looked there were dirty children in cages, moaning in agony. Occasionally syrup would be drizzled over the cages to feed them. Feeding children with their own blood..." Braxton then vomited in a nearby trashcan.
Jemima, or "Auntie", as she would force the children to call her before she forced them to perform sexual favors on her 80-year-old body, was taken from the complex in a bloody battle police are referring to as "Flapjack Friday". She tore the jugular vein of a police officer who was trying to contain her and sent an entire SWAT team to the ER with third degree burns after pouring blistering hot syrup on them as they attempted to enter.
Further details were revealed in the ensuing investigation. Jemima's trademark red bandana is actually used to mop up the blood that drips from her mouth after feasting on infant kidneys, one of her favorite snacks. She reportedly kept a bowl of them on her desk at all times. Files were found connecting Jemima's evil complex to some of her other products. Police have made no official statement, but anonymous sources say that the pancake mix consists of ground bones and dried child semen and that the cornbread mix is made of corn that was grown in overly dry conditions.

Aunt Jemima Syrup Made From Child's Blood

Researchers who were investigating children's diabetes recently made a surprise discovery that Aunt Jemima brand breakfast syrup is mainly composed of child's blood.
"We were obtaining a blood sample from a boy who had recently eaten pancakes", said researcher Bernard Worrelstein, "and for some reason we couldn't explain, the DNA of the sample did not match a previous one we had taken. "
"We discovered that the change in blood makeup was due to a syrup patch on the boy's arm right where we had inserted the needle. After testing the syrup on its own, we determined that it is over 90% child's blood. We feel that this has serious implications for the [boring scientific mumbo jumbo]", said Worrelstein.
Investigations are currently being made to fully determine the truth behind these allegations. In unrelated news, Aunt Jemima stock has recently risen 32 points.

This counts as Thursday

ps- I'm not drunk.

My best friend had a cat. Said cat used to piss on his towels. It died this summer. We took it to the vet in a towel. That was the last towel it ever soiled.

A Statement on Practicality

We seem to be lacking in practicality every day, and the way in which I usually notice this is in the style of our populace. Until the prevailing style involves muumuus and tool belts, I probably will never be satisfied. However, we as a people are missing one glaring opportunity. There is a way to combine practicality and style into the most potent orb of bad-assness. A way that involves only some grooming and natural growth. A way that will lead you to the afro (a variant of this term being jew-fro, another perfectly acceptable look).

The afro is not only fashionable with its shape and volume, but can double as a useful storage device for anything from a comb to a toothbrush or some toothpicks to clean your teeth after meals. I have even seen a glorious movie called Foxy Brown in which the protagonist pulled a pistol from her fro and wasted a room full of people. Therefore, the fro can even save your life. It is the ideal blend of a tool belt and a designer gown. People, get on it.

I recently saw a commercial for a Burger King sandwich called the "Angry Whopper". It shows a farmer "torturing" a young onion (using whips, electrocution, etc). This "angry onion" is then put into the aforementioned burger. A customer, upon eating the burger, actually yelps in pain from the intensely spicy flavor of the product.

Despite the utter stupidity of this advertisement, it struck on a trend I have noticed throughout American cuisine: the love of foods so spicy that they cause intense physical pain. Thinking from a marketing perspective, I realized that this concept could translate into a whole set of other opportunities. I have created a burger of ultimate discomfort, which I plan on selling to either McDonald's or Wendy's as soon as possible.

I call it: The Ultimate Burger of Doom.

The Ultimate Burger of Doom's advertisement will begin by explaining the concept of "angry beef", the central component of the recipe. A farmer will be shown "torturing" a young cow (using whips, electrocution, etc), slaughtering it, and storing the meat for two weeks in a 120-degree environment. Upon eating the burger, a customer will actually yelp in surprise, then rush to the bathroom, where he/she will spew diarrhea for days with such forcefulness that they risk death. There will then be a scene where the customer lies on a hospital bed, arms and legs stuck full of IVs which make a vain attempt to rehydrate them. Their ass is still actively spewing matter, though at this point it is mostly rice-water. As they look back over their life, they reminisce over all the burgers they have eaten, and realize that The Ultimate Burger of Doom was indeed the best. At this point we will cut to quick clips of raging bulls, screams of "Can you take it?!?!", and other images that will incite our customers to feel emasculated if they don't sample our burger.

"The Ultimate Burger of Doom...your ass is grass. Or more accurately, a literal river of shit."

The following is a limerick about "Eloisa to Abelard", the poem by Alexander Pope

A lady penned up in a yard,
wrote to her sweet Abelard.
The quills of her pen
sung insatiable yen,
that sweet Abelard would fuck her hard.

I <3 Jim

I love Jim Purdue. With his flabby little lips and beak-like nose, he is the chicken man of my dreams. Jim, you can totally Pur-do me any day.

I've been ruminating recently over the fact that the human race has become gradually weaker since its inception. Humans were once able to eat raw meat, combat bears with only a stone axe and some moxie, and bear dozens of babies without emanating a single grimace of pain (I believe it was dozens, I'm not sure on the statistics here). Now, we are lucky if the average American can manage to waddle from the driver's seat of their SUV over to the ordering counter at Starbucks. Fortunately, the latter concern is no longer a problem as Starbucks has introduced drive-thru windows, but the point still stands. Humans are becoming an ever weaker race, driven by our sloth and technologies into a form more blob-like than the average garden slug.

It is time for us as a nation to take steps toward reversing this process. We need to turn our populace into the sleek, fighting, raw-meat-eating machines they once were. Not for the sake of my own peace of mind, not even for the sake of our country- nay, for the sake of the world.

I have prepared a list of a few simple changes which could, if not completely change our society within two days after its inception (and this is a possibility), start us on the path toward reclaiming our true strength.

1) Fill all public pools with quicksand. Make attendance mandatory.
This tactic has the clear advantage of resulting in the deaths of the weak. Medical care must be withheld. After the satisfying sight of atrophied limbs flailing to escape the muck and McDonald's-glazed eyes silently crying in pain as they sink to their murky death, we will be left with only the strongest. Disabled people will not be excluded from this rule.

2) Abolish traffic lights.
This will hone the reflexes humans once used running from sabertooth tigers and the like. Children with slow-reflexed parents are not innocent casualties, as it is more likely than not that their parents' genetic weakness would have been passed along. Better safe than sorry.

3) Round up all Jews, homosexuals, disabled people, gypsies, political dissenters, etc. and put them into concentration camps. This should fix whatever the swimming pools and traffic lights miss.

I wish us good luck in creating our new, perfect society.

First Blog Entry!!!! lol omg <3<3<3!!!!

So here she is, the maiden voyage, the first grand foray on the long cruise of Bloggery. I caution all passengers: men, hold your hats, and fair damsels, hold your girdles, for the ride can get windy. The waves are sometimes choppy; our ship may hit rocks. But when we arise to a warm ocean sun and feel the cool dew that still clings to the rigging, we will cast aside this ocean metaphor like a tuna net and you will suction yourselves to my every word like barnacles. You will feel the joy that can only come from absorbing the humor and language of a modern genius. You will paddle your boats on the shore of my reason and have a glimpse of what lies over the edge, a view into the mind of a prophet.

So prepare yourselves for a reckoning, for a lesson, for an enlightenment. Here, my friends, is my first joke:

Penis.