Fuck the Patriots

On February 3, 2002, the underdog New England Patriots defeated the heavily favored St. Louis Rams in the Super Bowl. The Pats, lead by Tom Brady, an unknown 6th round draft pick, were quite a story at the time. I'd say that everyone in America except Rams fans were cheering for New England that day.

Less than six years later, the Patriots have already won two other Super Bowls and just completed the first undefeated season since the NFL went to a 16-game schedule. They're also BY FAR the most hated team in the league. How did this happen?

Well, it starts with their brilliant but classless coach. Surly, humorless, and a proven cheater, Bill Belichick is a true Renaissance Man for complete scumbags. Their fans, the entire johnnycake-eating lot of 'em, are arrogant in a way that makes New York Yankee supporters seem humble and self-effacing. I want to move to Massachusetts just so I can start smacking them with a sack of doorknobs.

Even Tom Brady, the former underdog turned champion, has slowly morphed into Scott Baio. How many supermodels has he impregnated? He's fucked more models than anorexia. Several years for now, look for the VH-1 series Tom Brady is Forty-Five and Single, But Has Six Baby-Mamas.

God damn the Patriots for being such assholes. God damn them for running up the score on shitty opponents. But most of all, god damn them for forcing me to cheer for both the Eagles and Giants in the same season. I wanted someone, ANYONE, to beat New England so this "Path to Perfection" bullshit would stop. Now the playoffs are my only hope.

Go Anyone But New England!

'Twas the Season

I officially give up on humanity (again). The Holiday Season is officially a shitheap and there's no going back. The general public is one big collective asshole from the day after Thanksgiving until they have to be forced out of the stores on Christmas Eve.

The biggest dickhead of the season was on the phone, thank God, or I would have taken his life. An old man (big surprise) called and asked how much something cost. Personally, I have never called a retail establishment and asked about prices because I realize the world doesn't revolve around me, but hey, that's okay; I quoted the man a price, no problem.

But it didn't end there. The man then went into what will always be known, for now and evermore, as The Free Cheese Diatribe. Please keep in mind that this was Christmas Eve, and the store was incredibly busy.

"I come in your store a lot, and the wife and I really enjoy the free cheese samples you set out. When do you usually have the cheese samples?"

"Every Saturday morning," I answered.

Oh god, that really set him off. "Well, the last three Saturdays I've been in there hasn't been any cheese out. My wife and I like to try the different cheeses and crackers. Why hasn't there been any cheese the last three Saturdays?"

"To my knowledge, there has been." As in, I'm there on Saturdays and I'm a fat guy who will eat a cheese sample or two.

"Well, I was there in the morning and there wasn't any free cheese. I spend a lot of money in your store (yeah, right). We bought some cheese and crackers the last time you had them out."

Wow, you bought cheese AND crackers? I'm surprised the owner of the store doesn't just retire from that god damn windfall. Merry Christmas, Diamond Jim!

He just kept on and on and on. This horrible person had nothing better to do on Christmas Eve than complain ad nauseam about a lack of fucking free cheese at a retail establishment. God, I wanted to scream at him "WE DON'T OWE YOU FREE SAMPLES, YOU ENTITLED OLD FUCK!" but he's the kind of person who would have followed up on getting me fired. There's no doubt about it. So I listened to him as customers, real customers who were at the store buying actual products, waited to ask me legitimate questions.

Then he demanded, "I need to talk to the manager. I want to ask him about the cheese schedule."

I didn't attempt to hide my distain. "You want to talk to a manager about cheese samples? Okay, but it may take a minute. We're very busy." Silly me, I hoped he would take the hint that we had better things to do than to listen to his petty concerns, but I forgot for a second that I was talking to the most self-centered fossil on Earth.

"OH, SO YOU'RE TRYING TO TELL ME TO GO TO HELL?"

He must be a mind reader. I was going to hang up on the prune-eating bag of wrinkles for raising his gravely voice at me, but I decided to share the love with one of our managers. Ten minutes TEN FUCKING MINUTES!!! later the manager got off the phone with the idiot. We both said a little prayer involving a burning Christmas tree and the man's home, then went about our business.

If I'm ever such an old inconsiderate piece of human garbage, kindly end my life.

Last Minute Gift Ideas

-For the Republican on your list, and we all have one, I suggest the Full Length Puppy Fur Judicial Robe, from the Newt Gingrich collection at Sears. It's a perfect marriage of function and unnecessary cruelty. Look for Newt's arrogant smirk on every package!

-Here's a common problem: You look great in a picture, but standing next to you is the dreaded ex- boyfriend/girlfriend (or ex-husband/wife). How would you like to replace this disposable human being with a photo of a beloved pet? Well frankly, that's sad...but thanks to the folks at petpic.com, it's possible. That forgettable prom date? Now it's your faithful dog! Hey, did you marry your cat? No, that would be illegal and sick, but with petpic.com that's the impression you can give your horrified house guests.

-Everyone has a white trash relative, friend, or coworker. What to give the Cletus or Nurleen on your list? I suggest a pair of acid washed jeans. These denim gems can be hard to find, but nothing compliments a mullet and a Nascar shirt like a pair of jeans from a Def Leppard video circa 1987. And if you can't find the pants, you can always give 'em meth.

-Peanuts cartoons are almost universally beloved, but the Charlie Brown Christmas Special has been overplayed for years now. I recommend the controversial and little-seen You Have Elephantitis of the Testicles, Charlie Brown. It's year-'round fun for the whole family.

Okay, that's only four suggestions, but god damn, how many last minute gifts do you have to buy? Start earlier next time!

Only 6 months away from an even dumber Earth!

Good news, fans of stupid people breeding! Jamie Lynn Spears, 16-year-old sister of has-been and deadbeat mom Britney Spears, has her own little soon-to-be-neglected bun in the oven.

According to published reports, the father is her "longtime boyfriend". "Longtime"? Did they meet in nursery school?

Apparently, Jamie Lynn is on some Nickelodeon show; or at least WAS. I'll doubt next season's storyline will incorporate her knockedupedness. So she essentially threw her career away by not using birth control.

Since nothing is a secret anymore, the Death Wore a Feathered Mullet investigative team has acquired a written transcript of the pre-coitus conversation between Jamie Lynn and the dude who planted his moron seed.

Jamie Lynn: "Wait. Put on a condom so I don't get pregnant and ruin my career and become a national joke."

Dude Who Planted His Moron Seed: "Naw, girl. It don't feel good like that, know what I'm sayin'?" (I'm just assuming he talks like K Fed)

Jamie Lynn: "Well, okay."

And the rest is white trash history.

And I guess I can scratch Deflower Jamie Lynn Spears on Her Eighteenth Birthday off of my "Lifetime Goals" list.

This commercial sucks it

Why couldn't this guy get his face burned off instead of the cute Canadian girl from that public service announcement?



To begin with, that is the lamest band ever. The "singer" should thank the God of whiny mancunts that any woman, regardless of credit rating, would marry him. And while his wife may not be the most fiscally responsible person, she is doing the laundry while he bitches about her in song. Put down the guitar you can barely play and fold some sheets, motherfucker!

And it seems he wouldn't have married the lucky gal if he knew she had bad credit. What a romantic.

"Well, you're a fucking deadbeat, but I won't divorce you if we can live with your parents and I don't have to do anything but play in a band that makes those guys in the Viagra ad look like the Rolling Stones circa 1966."

I feel sorry for the girl's parents. Does their ingrate son-in-law invite his unemployed band over every day? Does he write a shitty song every time he feels slighted?

"The meatloaf was dry yeah the meatloaf was dry
Because my wife's mom is a lousy damn cook.
If I had known before I married this girl
I wouldn't have given her a second look."

Really, he probably calls the drummer: "Dude, get over here. My wife just said 'no' to anal, so I wanna lay down some tracks."

I'm not going to insult anyone's intelligence by suggesting I'm posting this picture for any reason other than Eva Mendes' breathtaking turd cutter, but I would like to make a few comments.

I think fur is tacky and rather pointless, but other than that I'm not a PETA guy. I like to eat steaks and fried chicken, for example, and I don't think they're on the menu at the PETA Christmas party.

And as far as animal testing goes, let's use some common sense. It's cruel and unnecessary to spray bunny rabbits in their eyes with perfume to see if it blinds them (uh, it will); but if medical science can find a cure for cancer by hacking up a few monkeys, they need to start sharpening their scalpels. It comes down to valuing human life over the life of an animal. Even though a lot of individuals don't deserve such consideration, I have to support humankind as a whole.

And this photo begs the question: Does Eva Mendes support the entire PETA doctrine? Is that the ass of a vegan? Does she ever protest in front of a slaughterhouse or rescue Chimps from research labs?

"What happened to Mr. Sparkles?"

"Eva Mendes stole him."

"Damn her! I was teaching him how to roller skate."

So if you're scoring at home I'm against the fur trade but for thick steaks cooked over an open flame to medium rare. And Eva's butt should be on the dollar bill.

Workplace conversation

Female cashier: "You showed up in one of my dreams last night."

Me: "I'm sorry."

Female cashier: "Yeah, I walked into a bar and you were sitting there getting drunk."

Me: "That wasn't a dream. That was a premonition."

Hometown News

This story appeared yesterday in the Louisville Courier Journal:

Local Liquor Store Overrun By Unpleasant People

State police and the FBI are investigating complaints from employees of an eastern Jefferson County liquor store that an unusual number of "crazy rednecks, smelly bums, grumpy old bastards, and wannabe thugs" have shopped there in the past few weeks.

"Son of a ____," a cashier began, "if these people were any dumber they'd be mannequins. In fact, I wish they were mannequins so I didn't have to hear them speak."

A store manager who, like all employees quoted for this story, wished to remain anonymous, added: "The old people...oh my god, the old people. They line up at the door before we even open and pound on the windows with their canes and walkers. And they smell like a combination of moth balls and stale urine."

When asked to describe the typical purchase of a elderly person, the store manager said "Barely filtered vodka and blended whiskey in half-gallon plastic bottles, 4 litre jugs of swill wine; basically anything that's cheap and will get them drunk. It's not like they have any taste buds left."

Another employee complained of "dirty smelly hippies" who "stink like someone threw up on Jerry Garcia's corpse." She added, "And if you think 'merlot' rhymes with 'forgot' please kill yourself immediately."

None of the employees had anything nice to say about the customers, described by one as "The largest gathering of douchebags in one place since Dane Cook played Yankee Stadium." However, a cashier supervisor said part of the blame for the hellish working conditions lies at the feet of the incompetent seasonal help recently hired.

"Last week we had a cashier beat up her boyfriend in the parking lot, " he said, "and the next day she couldn't make it to work because he slashed her tires. Real Jerry Springer stuff. And most of them have to be retrained every day. It's like they're goldfish with arms."

Whatever the cause, police are not optimistic regarding a change for the better. Said Sgt. John Scherer, "If the state owned that building, we'd shut it down and implode it the next day. It's that bad."

Is this the rest day of the first of my life?

-What's funny to a fat guy? A fatter guy. And a fatter guy standing next to an oversized crowned orange? Hilarious.

This is Kansas football coach Mark Mangino. His team is going to the Orange Bowl, and I'm convinced it's because the Bowl Committee wanted to match him up with his mascot doppleganger.

-Whenever I see Tyler Perry or George Lopez on TV, I find it oddly refreshing that minorities are adequately represented by unfunny comedians. Why should whitey Bogart all the mediocrity?

-Really though, Mark Mangino is skinnier than Tyler Perry is funny.

-If God doesn't want me to drink a lot of bourbon, then why do I do it?

-I noticed that the number one search on Yahoo! today was High School Musical 2; but number two was Citizen Kane. Ah, the duality of man.

-I don't like the holiday season. Maybe it's because my twin brother was killed by a mall santa. I don't know.

No justice in the suburbs of the Natty...

Recently, far Northern Kentucky has been a real source of embarrassment for the city of Louisville. Because the Creation Museum, which teaches children that the earth is only 6,000 years old (not true) and that man lived in harmony with vegetarian dinosaurs (false), is in Kentucky, a lot of people assume my hometown has something to do with it. I assure you, it does not.

But the Creation Museum is nothing compared to the worst thing Northern Kentucky ever did to the city of Louisville. It was far worse when they let Mel Ignatow go free.

In 1988 Mel Ignatow was arrested for the murder of his girlfriend, Brenda Sue Schaefer. His lawyers managed to get a change of venue from Louisville to Kenton County, about a hundred miles away, just across the river from Cincinnati, Ohio. At the trial, the jury heard evidence of Ignatow's abuse of Schaefer; about how he decided to kill her when she tried to end their relationship. Also, Ignatow's female accomplice testified that she took pictures while he brutally raped, tortured, murdered and buried Schaefer. She wore a wire for the authorities and Ignatow is on tape telling her not to worry because "that place we dug is not shallow."

Despite this overwhelming evidence, the Kenton County clowns acquitted Ignatow of all charges. After the trial, some of the jurors said they didn't trust the witness because of her short skirt. Some even admitted to wanting to get the trial over with before the start of the Christmas holiday. When the judge read the verdict, he basically told the jury they were fucking retarded. He later took the unprecedented step of writing an apology to the Schaefer family. How moronic was this jury? Los Angeles juries thought this jury was dumb.

The entire city of Louisville was outraged by the miscarriage of justice. Imagine our anger two years later, when a guy buys Mel Ignatow's old house, rips out the old carpet, and finds pictures of Ignatow raping, torturing, murdering and burying Brenda Schaefer. Hey, isn't that just how the prosecution's "unreliable" star witness described it? Imagine that!

Although Mel Ignatow couldn't be tried a second time for murder, he did spend time in jail for committing perjury on the stand. But of course, you can't give someone a life sentence for perjury, so he's out of jail now.

Ignatow lives in Louisville, which really pisses me off. They should make him move to Kenton County; he's their problem as far as I'm concerned. In fact, his original jury should be forced to live with him in a large loft and have their lives taped for reality TV. I'd watch Living with Mel just to see those cocksuckers squirm.

Click here to read more about this travesty.

Canadians are pretty serious about workplace safety!

Canadians are so concerned about workplace safety that they've made perhaps the most disturbing public service announcement EVER. You probably shouldn't watch it, it's that horrific.



You hate me now, don't you? God, wasn't that just fucking awful? I read that they show that during hockey games! Can you imagine sitting around the house on a Sunday afternoon watching football and suddenly, in the middle of the usual Bud Light and Pepsi ads, they show some cute chick burn off her face? Thanks for the nightmares, Canada.

Hey Santa...don't be such a dick.

Hey, it's Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer and Hermey, the elf who wants to be a dentist! If you're like me (and for your sake I hope to God you aren't), just the sight of these characters puts a smile on your face.

I love this annual Rankin/Bass stop-motion animation special. There are dozens of memorable characters, but in the spirit of this blog, let's focus our attention on the real assholes. And I'm not talking about the obvious villains, but beings who casually treat those around them like complete shit.

Comet, the Reindeer Games Coach
This typical jock asshole makes his case for Douche of the Century by announcing "And we're not going to let Rudolph join in any reindeer games, right gang?" as soon as he realizes that Rudolph is *gasp* different. Rather than behave like a genuine adult role model, he joins the mob to remain popular. He's probably a closet molester.

Fireball the Aryan Reindeer
Remember Fireball, the buck who initially befriends Rudolph only to betray him minutes later? He's memorable not only for his Judasesque behavior but also his shock of blond hair. Hey, a reindeer with a blond clump on his head is as freakish as a reindeer with a glowing nose, so he should have shown some compassion, the douchebag.

Donner, Rudolph's Dad
For being one of Santa's original eight reindeer, Donner sure was a spineless nancy-buck. First of all, he should have kicked Comet's ass for ostracizing his kid. Also, some may say it was very pro-feminism of him to lounge around at home while his wife risked her life to find their runaway son, but I say it makes him a giant pussy. They could have gone together, at least.

Unnamed Elf Foreman
The portly pixie with the goatee made Hermey's life a virtual hell. The typical incompetent, surly middle-manager, he didn't understand why anyone would aspire to more than seasonal slave labor. Of course, his behavior may be explained by how he was treated by the final person on this list....

Santa Claus
The writers for Rankin/Bass made the odd but compelling choice to depict Santa Claus as a complete and utter prick. This dude, surprisingly thin until his put-upon wife (who has an accent unlike any of the other characters, suggesting a mail-order bride situation) fattens him up for the season, is unpleasant to everyone. He cruelly dismisses the Elf song they worked on for weeks, is short with his spouse, and more or less tells Donner that his son is a freak who should be hidden from polite society. Of course, when bad weather kicks in on Christmas Eve -and who would have predicted bad weather at the North Pole- he begs the freak for help to save his ass. I wanted to see Yukon Cornelius put his pick axe in Santa's skull.

Crazy customers? meh...

Last Thursday night a man walked into our store with what appeared to be a wrestling title belt slung over his shoulder. Yes, you read that correctly: Wrestling. Title. Belt.

The "champ" quickly grabbed a bottle of Jagermeister or something equally white trash and approached the checkout lanes. One of our cashiers asked the guy very matter-of-factly "Did you win some sort of wrestling championship tonight?"

"Nah," the guy grunted in reply.

The cashier persisted: "Are you a wrestler?"

Once again the answer was "Nah." No further explanation was given as to why this man was adorned with something from Hulk Hogan's trophy case.

I didn't say a word the entire time. I've worked retail for so long I no longer react to human oddities, least of all a strange accessory. I've seen every fashion atrocity known to man and beast. Five hundred pound man/woman in a tank top? Check. A t-shirt which depicts the murder of the Lindberg baby in day glo tye dye? *yawn* A denim jacket "bedazzled" with rhinestones in the pattern of a nativity scene? Old hat.

When I worked at Organized Living I designed a $10,000 closet for a middle-aged couple who wore slinky-eye glasses the entire time. They were very serious about maximizing their storage space, and they had the money to drop ten gurr on shelving, but those stupid fucking glasses never came off. And I didn't once acknowledge them.

Oh, I'll admit that every once in a while a stupid hat will really anger me. I have this thing about really stupid hats. I saw one today that resembled a miniature bean bag chair on some lump's head, and I wanted to rip it off his noggin and run to the back to fill it with my excrement. But I never react outwardly. I refuse to give them the satisfaction.

Shipoopi indeed

I love this video of Family Guy's Peter Griffin singing "Shipoopi" from the 1957 movie version of The Music Man. Ok, the lyrics to the song somehow manage to be both sexist AND totally gay, but it's quite a spectacle. I'm waiting for Chad Johnson to do this when he scores his next meaningless touchdown for the Bengals.



Did you notice how Tom Brady was an uptight asshole? Maybe that was the day he dumped his pregnant girlfriend to date Giselle Bundchen, so he had a lot on his mind.