There has to be a better way to collect money for charity

Every holiday season, the Salvation Army sends a motley collection of insane crack addicts to stand in front of our store. They incessantly ring their damn bells and scare elderly customers. And that's on a good day.

The first lady they sent out was hit on by one of our customers! Let me repeat: One of our customers gave his phone number to a Salvation Army bell-ringer. That's got to be the lowest pick up ever. "I couldn't resist the way the sunset highlighted her herpes sore." She was never seen again, so she either found true love with her parking lot Lothario, or he brutally murdered her. Either way.

The next bell ringer was a guy who didn't like the cold weather. That's a problem when you work for the Salvation Army, because standing outside is pretty much what they do. He spent about an hour hanging out in our small vestibule, his ringing deafening us all, until one of the managers made him go back outside. Also, if you walked past him a thousand times, he would say "You have a Merry Christmas now, you hear" every single time. And he smelled like Willie Nelson's guitar strap.

The woman they sent the past few days (post Christmas must be the Salvation Army equivalent of the graveyard shift) was certifiably bat shit insane. She brought a tiny radio and danced spasmodically to a form of music I've never heard before. I don't think my radio can even get this station. Today as I walking outside there was a sudden gust of wind and she SHOUTED "Auntie Em, it's a twister!" Because of her, I had to have this conversation:

Customer: "Where are the chili samples?"

Me: "Excuse me?"

Customer: "The lady outside said you were cooking chili in here today."

Me: "The bell ringer said that?"

Customer: "Yes."

Me: "Yeah...she's mentally unstable, ma'am. There's no chili in here."

At least she won't be back. She decided to get drunk in our bathroom. And she left the bottle on the floor.

Merry Obsolescence!

I received The Dark Knight on DVD as a swell Christmas present. I was actually happy for about a minute, until the VERY FIRST THING on the DVD was a commercial for the Blu-ray HD format. The ad essentially told me my DVD player, and in extension the very DVD I was watching, was the kind of outdated technology you made fun of your grandfather for having; until he died and you felt really guilty for being so fucking superficial and petty.

Anyway, what the fuck? Why was my Christmas gift insulting itself? Is this the way Sony plans to indoctrine America? "You're watching this great movie on a DVD player? Holy god, you suck. Why don't you just smear the tv screen with strawberry preserves and grow giant cataracts on your eyes, imbecile."

By the time the movie was over, I was a little loopy on spiked egg nog, but I think I heard the following over the closing credits: "You still have a crappy non-HD square television, don't you? Way to hang on to every penny like it's your balls. Your cheap ass is one of the reasons the economy is in the shitter. Seriously, fuck you!"

I've never been so insulted.

Jane Seymour really likes her jewelry; and other ad attrocities

-According to a commercial I've seen ten million times in the past week, actress Jane Seymour has designed an "Open Hearts" collection for Kay Jewelers. It's fine with me if people want to waste their hard earned money on this kind of thing, but something Ms. Seymour says during the commercial strikes me as rather odd. She states, rather casually, "My wish is that my Open Hearts design becomes the universal symbol for hope and love."

Really Jane? You want your costume jewelry to become the universal symbol for hope and love? Why don't you wish for eternal life and heat vision while you're at it? Personally, I'd like my extended middle finger to be the universal symbol for "Fuck Jane Seymour's hubris."

-Bud Light has come up with a new way to sell their horrible swill. They claim it has "drinkability". You know what else has "drinkability"? Water. I want my beer to have taste, thank you very much.

-Speaking of awful beer targeted at morons, Coors Light is touting their innovative "cold activated" bottle. When the Coor Light bottle is frigid enough to kill what little taste the beer actually has, the mountains on the label turn blue. I guess simply touching the bottle to determine its temperature is hopelessly outdated. "Why are you touching the bottle? Just look at the mountains, old timer. Seriously, Methuselah, you should go churn some butter now."

Happy Festivus, everyone!

An open letter to holiday customers

Fuck you, you bunch of pushy, ignorant, annoying, rude, proudly stupid, cluelessly tacky, sense-of-entitlement-having puddles of butt-fuck runoff. Choke on your fucking Christmas dinner, you fucking fucks.

Other than that, Happy Holidays!

He came for the chili, he stayed for the violence

Ole Miss (University of Mississippi to you Yankees) basketball coach Andy Kennedy was arrested Wednesday night in Cincinnati for allegedly punching a cab driver and calling him "Bin Laden". This was after a member of his group was thrown out of a local bar.

How does one get tossed out of a bar in Cincinnati? Did he insult their crappy chili? Was he NOT wearing a stained Metallica t-shirt? Anyway, their cab driver claims Kennedy used his face as a speed bag while calling him a terrorist. Kennedy denies this, as you'd expect.

What was this guy doing in Cincinnati months after Kings Island closed for the season? He was there to coach Ole Miss in a basketball game; and, it seems, to terrorize the local immigrant population.

In all fairness, everyone in America is innocent until proven guilty, so maybe he didn't do it. Maybe the taxi driver is a graduate of Mississippi State, Ole Miss' bitter rival, and he saw his chance to take Andy Kennedy down. Or perhaps the cabbie was askin' for it! What if this conversation transpired:

Cab driver: "So what brings you to Cincinnati?"

Andy Kennedy: "We're playing Louisville in the SEC/Big East basketball challenge."

Cab driver: "Is that at U.S. Bank arena?"

Andy Kennedy: "Yes."

Cab driver: "Well, good thing you're playing there tomorrow night. My friends and I are plotting to blow it up next week."

Andy Kennedy: (Punches cab driver repeatedly) "BIN LADEN!! BIN LADEN!!!"

Cab driver: "DEATH TO AMERICA!"

Or maybe Andy Kennedy was just being a drunken douchebag. Who knows?

Despite being arrested, Kennedy was allowed to coach last night. What did you expect? He coaches at Ole Miss, for god's sake. He'll probably get a raise for this. "Nice A-rab punchin', coach. Here's a shitload o' money."

If it turns out he's innocent, I'll print a retraction, but I'll bury it in my archives like newspapers hide their retractions next to titty bar ads.

Christmas Gifts for People You Hate

Obviously, the best thing about the holiday season is the ability to use the act of giving to punish your enemies. Here are a few new weapons for the arsenal.




Ryan Leaf is widely considered the biggest bust in the history of the NFL, so why wouldn't a sports fan want his autographed jersey? Perhaps because it would infest his dwelling with abject failure? And the jersey only costs $449. Strangely, the price jumps to $700 if it ISN'T signed by Ryan Leaf.







For the book lover you can't fucking stand, how about Through the Storm: A Real Story of Fame and Family in a Tabloid World, by Lynne Spears.

Without reading a word of this tome, I can safely say that Lynn Spears is to literature what Wilt Chamberlin was to monogamy.

And how did Bryan Spears' name get on the cover? I never even knew he existed until this very moment. Don't get me wrong, I'm sure he's as vapid and useless as his sisters, but his name ain't selling any books.













For the music lover you loathe, there's The Many Facets of Roger. From the looks of it, all of his "facets" involve him saying "Where's my money, bitch? You got my money?"










If you know (and hate) a single woman, particularly one who just went through an ugly break up, there isn't a better way to say "You'll probably die alone" than the gift of the Boyfriend Pillow.

Hey, look how close that hand is to tit. The Boyfriend Pillow is getting more action than I'm getting, that's for sure.










Do you know someone who crosses the line between film buff and insufferable prick? Give that Fellini-watchin' fucker Cool as Ice for Christmas.

I can't believe this wasn't a trilogy. Why did the powers that be deny us two more servings of ice? Oh, because Cool as Ice was a commercial and critical disaster that ruined the careers of everyone associated with it? Okay.








If you're a hipster, odds are you know a heroin addict. Dude, heroin is so 1991; your pal might as well be tooling around in a flannel and a pair of Doc Martens. Save his social life by giving him this horrific poster, reminding him that when he shoots up, he's sticking a needle in the arm of Jesus.

Note: This is the worst thing I've ever seen and makes me want to start doing drugs to forget it exists.

Separated at Birth?

Disgraced Illinois Governor Rod Blagojevich



















University of Louisville Athletic Director Tom Jurich








Now I know why Jurich won't fire the shitty football coach: He's waiting for a decent bribe!

I sent a member of the highly respected Death Wore a Feathered Mullet news team to call Mr. Jurich and ask about the head coaching job. Of course, we taped the conversation. Here are a few highlights.

Our operative asked about the possibility of hiring a new coach, and Jurich said "This coaching position is a fucking valuable thing, you just don’t give it away for nothing. I’ve got this thing and it’s fucking golden, and, uh, uh, I’m just not giving it up for fucking nothing. I’m not gonna do it. And, and I can always use it. I can parachute me there and coach that fucking team."

When pressed for details about fan pressure to make a coaching change, Jurich stated "The fans aren't willing to give me anything except appreciation. Fuck them."

This will not stand, man! I don't give half a turd about corruption in Chicago, but when the integrity of a third-rate football program is called into question, it's time for action.

Who's ready for a really lame party?

Does this ugly Christmas sweater make you want to party? God, I hope not.

Before I officially begin my little rant, a little back story: About three years ago there was an inexplicably popular blogger who delighted scores of easily amused readers with his "Highlights of My Day" list; which was one step up from a jackboot to the nuts as far as highlights of MY day were concerned.

Well, this Blogger Who Shan't Be Named is back, this time with a website dedicated to - are you ready for this? - Ugly Christmas Sweater Parties. Yes, apparently an encroaching trend in holiday parties is for everyone to show up wearing hideous Christmas sweaters, so his website (which I refuse to link to) provides helpful hints, tells you where to buy ugly Christmas sweaters, and even has pictures from Ugly Christmas Sweater Parties across this sad sad nation.

What the unholy fuck?! Come on, America; you can do better!

I can see some dreadful office full of terminally uninteresting people just LOVING this idea. They'll rent the party room at the local Olive Garden and, while chewing on breadsticks, laugh themselves stupid at the very concept. "Oh my, look at all of the ugly sweaters. We are all so funny." They'll drink blender concoctions and discuss Are You Smarter Than a Half-Wit Idol Who Dances With the Stars?

The fact that I won't have to attend such a yuletide abomination makes me hate my shitty job just a little less. One of its few perks is that I don't have to pretend to share interests with or even like my coworkers.

"Hey Todd, how would you like to double your take home pay and never have to deal with the public?"

"Will there be an Ugly Christmas Sweater Party?"

"Yes."

"Fuck off."

I'll state for the record that if I'm ever invited to a god damned Ugly Christmas Sweater Party, I'll burn down the Red Lobster or TGI Friday's where it's held. And I just know for a fact that the Blogger Who Shan't Be Named will somehow make a fortune off of this. This man has his thumb on the pulse of Moron America, and they will reward him handsomely.

But please, there are better themes for holiday parties. A few years ago I attended a "Burn Your Tackiest Gift" Christmas after party. The fumes from the burning gifts made me forget how to do basic math for a few weeks, but at least it was a good time.

Here are a few other theme suggestions:

The Mistletoe Belt Buckle Party

The Spiked Eggnog and Hookers Party

The Beat Up the Racist Who Works in the Mail Room Party

The Ugly Kwanzaa Uwole Party

The Try to Get a Handjob From the Slow Girl Who Works in the Cafeteria Party

However you decide to party, Happy Holidays!

Can we please get rid of this guy?

I've written before about the utter suckitude of University of Louisville football coach Steve Kragthorpe, who in two short years has taken the team from Orange Bowl champions (under the superior coaching of his predecessor) to national laughingstock. This past Thursday night they lost to Rutgers 63-14. Yes, that score is correct; and yes, Louisville's football players all have their sight and full allotment of limbs. Steve Kragthorpe is to motivation what Ike Turner was to domestic tranquility.

Unfortunately, Louisville's athletic director, Turtleneck Tom Jurich, is Kragthorpe's BFF, so this sorry excuse for a coach isn't going anywere. *I've never, ever seen Tom Jurich without a black turtleneck, but I can't find a picture of him wearing one! Fuck you, Google Images!*

Anyway, since the athletic director refuses to do his job and get rid of an incompetent employee, the Louisville fans are going to have to start some shit. And by "fans" I mean "people who give a lot of money to the football program". Tom Jurich doesn't care what my poor ass thinks, but he has to at least pretend to care when it comes to local richies. The next time he comes to them with a bucket to fill with money, they should instead overload said bucket with their own upper-crust excrement.

There has been message board talk about fans turning in their season tickets. I don't think this is a good idea, because eventually they'll hire a less pathetic coach, and you'll want those tickets when someone who knows his dick from a doughnut is in charge. Besides, the university FORCES you to buy the football package if you want basketball tickets, which are in high demand because Steve Kragthorpe has nothing to do with basketball.

I think the season ticket holders should just not show up to the games. 30,000 empty seats at next year's home opener will send a loud message. If the tickets aren't turned in, the athletic department can't resell them; and there will be 30,000 less people eating stale nachos and drinking overpriced, watery beer. When the owner of Papa John's sees that the stadium named after his company is 3/4ths empty, I'm guessing Kragthorpe will be gone by halftime. Yes, this city's most powerful private citizen is a pizza magnate. And the pizza in question is lousy.

I didn't come up with that picture of Kragthorpe, and I don't want to be sued, so allow me to tell you that I found it here. If they stole it from someone, well that's their problem.

Not your standard club wear

Back in 2004 or 2005, the Las Vegas club Light received some publicity for denying admission to Shaquille O'Neil because he was wearing a sweatsuit, a clear violation of their dress code. I remember thinking it was ridiculous for Light (now called Bank, keeping with the trend of one word names for Las Vegas clubs) to keep Shaq Diesel out for any reason. Hell, the man was and is a 7'2", 340 lb. party. Last summer he delighted a club crowd with a freestyle rap that included the infamous refrain "Hey Kobe, how's my ass taste?" That's entertainment!

Hindsight being 20/20 and all, it appears those Las Vegas clubs were/are right for enforcing those strict dress codes, although the reason has nothing to do with Shaq personally.

Last week, New York Giants receiver Plaxico Burress accidentally shot himself in the leg at a NYC nightclub. He had a gun hidden IN HIS SWEATPANTS and it either fell out and discharged or went off when he was reaching for it to pistol-whip a fool, I don't know. Either way, he probably wouldn't have had room for the gun had he been wearing a pair of $150 jeans so popular amongst clubbing douchebags. If this club in New York City had a dress code that was enforced on everyone, regardless of local sports stature, Plaxico would still be getting his enormous paycheck.

In short, if you're a famous athlete, it's better to party at a place that treats you like everyone else. Don't worry, there will still be gold diggers and hangers-on once you get inside.

Everyone has an opinion...

In a desperate, almost pathetic attempt to increase the popularity of this blog, the CEO of Death Wore a Feathered Mullet, Ltd. has suggested a few changes. Here is a recent memo I received from the CEO:

Dear "Writer" of DWAFM:

As you know, blogging is big business, and your business isn't good. There are middle schoolers scribbling High School Musical plot synopses who get more page hits than the flagship blog of our now-dying media empire. Recently, the Board of Directors met at the home office in Henderson, Nevada, to address this problem. Several potential solutions were discussed. Here are a few highlights.

-Someone suggested that you write better, more entertaining posts, but this was quickly rejected by those of us who aren't fucking retarded. We know you're doing the best you can, god bless ya, with your limited talent and intelligence. Also, since your life is boring and lacks meaning, your source of material is slight, to say the least.

-We overwhelmingly passed a resolution that you include more pictures of hot chicks on your blog. Folks love the hot chicks. Since no self-respecting hot chick would ever let you take her picture, find the photos on the internet.

-More polls. Readers like to think that you care about their opinions, even though we all know that isn't the case.

-Two words: Kitten pictures!

-If you must write political posts, keep it moderate and non-controversial. For example, almost everyone is against child molestation, slavery, rape of the elderly, nun abuse, driving under the influence of black tar heroin, setting fire to children's hospitals, and loudly farting at state funerals. Therefore, please do not openly endorse any of these activities.

-Consider hiring a professional blog consultant. Yes, this would be an out of pocket expense that we wouldn't reimburse, but it's a small price to pay to escape total irrelevance.

-We know you couldn't get laid at a whorehouse with Charlie Sheen as your wingman, but would it kill you to make something up?

-You don't have to be on a tourism board to recognize that more people are interested in Las Vegas than Louisville. Moving back to your home city was a bad move, blog wise. If you won't move back to Vegas, at least quit talking about Louisville so much. In fact, we recommend that you change the blog's name back to Viva Las Vegass and kind of "pretend" the move never happened.

-People want to know what you look like, but since you're aesthetically unpleasing, use the picture of someone non-threateningly handsome.

-The meeting ended with sandwiches from Capriotti's and a string of fat jokes made at your expense.

We hope these suggestions help you help us make 2009 a banner year for Death Wore a Feathered Mullet, Ltd. (formerly Viva Las Vegass, Inc.). And by "banner year" I mean "a year in which we don't lose millions of dollars."

I can't help but feel a little insulted, but I will try a few of their suggestions. Here's a picture of an attractive woman holding a kitten:

The 5 Douchiest One Hit Wonders Ever

Let's start with who didn't make the list. Vanilla Ice was a gigantic douche, but he was more of a one album wonder. Limp Bizkit may have invented modern douchery, but they had a handful of successful songs. On the other side, Crash Test Dummies had one god awful hit, but they weren't really douchebags; just horrible musicians.



5. The Verve Pipe
There was already a band called The Verve, so they douchily called themselves the Verve Pipe. Does this mean I can cash in with a band named The Rolling Stones Pipe? Their one "hit", The Freshman, featured these brilliant lyrics:

When I was young and knew everything
And she a punk who rarely ever took advice
Now I'm guilt stricken
Sobbing with my head on the floor
Stop a baby's breath and a shoe full of rice no...

What? What? They are right about one thing, though...Those damn punks rarely ever take advice.

4. Snow
Snow was a douche for being a white Canadian who tried to sound Jamaican in the song Informer. And he called his record "Twelve Inches of Snow". You'd think someone with such a vivid imagination could write a decent song. You'd be wrong.

3. The Prodigy
Remember when electronica was supposed to be the "next big thing"? Neither do I. They played the video for Firestarter constantly on MTV, so you got to see these idiots in all their douchey glory.

2. LFO
In the late nineties, record executives sought the perfect marriage of sterile, soulless boy band music and rampant douchebaggery. They named their creation LFO, and the steaming shitburger they served America was called Summer Girls. No one has heard from these guys in a decade, but they still deserve Shovel Justice.

1. Crazy Town
This wasn't even close. This was the douchiest one hit wonder band ever, their song Butterfly was a tone-deaf ear rape, and their lead "singer" went by the name Shifty Shellshock. He should have called himself Douchey Fuckbrain. In the video he strikes a Messianic pose that proves he's the Jesus Christ of Douche.

Watch the video if you don't believe me. It's so douchey I smell Axe Body Spray whenever I see it. You'll have to watch it here because the fucking douchebags won't let anyone embed it.