Friday, May 30, 2008
An Incomplete List of Things That Suck
In the past I've bitched and moaned about the all-encompassing suckiness of hugely popular entities such as Dane Cook, Olive Garden, Jay Leno, Budweiser, and Wal-Mart. These are your run of the mill shit stains on society's carpet, but it's only the beginning. This carpet has more stains than Bea Arthur's undies, folks. Here's just a few more:

Pizza Hut/Papa John's/Domino's
This is truly the Unholy Trinity of Shitty Pizza. Oh, you can deliver greasy cardboard right to my door? That's just swell. I'd rather drive to get an edible pizza, and I hate driving! These three places always have to come up with gimmicks to mask the fact that their pizzas are the Pies of the Damned. "Should we get Pizza Hut's new Lava-Hot Tasteless Cheese in the Crust pizza, Papa John's Smoked Gristle and Fiberglass Insulation pizza, or Domino's Banality of Evil with Mushrooms pizza? Oh, the choices!"

Pepsi is a distant second to Coke, but that still means millions of people drink this overly sweet swill on a daily basis. Pepsi was recently named The Official Soft Drink of Meth Addicts, so they have that going for them.

The Dave Matthews Band
Good lord this is horrible music. Why is it popular? Why, I ask? It's tuneless carny music with a tourettes sufferer on lead vocals. And their concerts draw a gaggle of trust fund hippies who smell like the conversation pit at Wavy Gravy's house.

Derek Jeter
I'll admit that this one is based on pure, unadulterated jealousy. No, I'm not jealous because he's the shortstop of the New York Yankees; I don't give a fuck about that. I'm envious of the women he's banged! His list of ex-girlfriends reads like a Poon Hall of Fame: Jessica Alba, Scarlett Johansson, Jessica Biel, Mariah Carey (crazy but hot), and MTV's cuter-than-fuck Vanessa Minnillo. And those are just the famous ones. In 2001 he dated Miss Universe. Miss Universe! By law, I'm not allowed to be in the same state as Miss Universe at any time, but Derek Jeter was fucking her. So yeah, I'm jealous.

Any religion that wants to knock on my door and convert me
I'm talking to you, Mormons! And you, Jehovah's Witnesses! I'm all for freedom of religion, but I'm also for freedom of sleeping late on my day off. LEAVE ME ALONE.

Mormons, there's a sale on short-sleeve dress shirts at JC Penney's, so grab a glass of milk and ride your bikes over to the mall. Jehovah's Witnesses, isn't there an upcoming holiday you won't allow your poor, miserable children to celebrate? Shouldn't you be not planning for that?

And don't think I've forgotten about you, crazy evangelical preaching on a street corner! If I'm in the Highlands neighborhood and the only thing between me and Indian food is a disheveled vagrant speaking in tongues, I'm going to avoid him like Dick Cheney avoided combat during the Vietnam era (Damn, this wasn't going to be political).

Hell's Kitchen
This probably isn't even one of the top twenty most annoying reality shows, but there's one thing that bugs me about it: How come no one's ever taken a big swing at that loudmouth fuck chef? Seriously, why are grown-ups afraid of a British guy named Gordon? Lennox Lewis is the only Brit an adult should ever be afraid of.

Of course, they stock his show with emotionally fragile culinary students who are scared of life in general. One day ol' Gordo is gonna yell at a grizzled dude who owns a crawfish shack on the Bayou, and he's going to get a vicious beat-down. I only hope the cameras are rolling at the time.

Tuesday, May 27, 2008

My favorite candy bar is Hershey's Krackel. I've been known to crash parties and eat all of the Krackel in the bag of Hershey's Miniatures. Then I say "This is a pretty lame-ass party. Have the next one catered, asshole. But thanks for the Krackel!"

It is damn near impossible to find a full-sized Krackel bar, probably due to the inexplicable market domination of the vastly inferior Nestle Crunch Bar, so digging through a bag of Hershey's Miniatures is my only recourse.

The Nestle Crunch Bar, the darling of the candy bar world, is as unworthy of its top status as Jay Leno; and it can be found everywhere. "Thank you for choosing the Scarborough Free Clinic to terminate your unwanted pregnancy. Please accept this Nestle Crunch Bar as our gift to you."

If you're keeping score at home, the final results are:

Krackel is delicious.

Nestle Crunch sucks.

Jay Leno's popularity is a microcosm of everything that is wrong with society.

Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Let's Look at the Numbers
On Tuesday Kentucky held its Democratic Presidential Primary. As predicted for months, Hillary Clinton won by an overwhelming margin. Barack Obama only won two cities in the entire state, Louisville and Lexington. This further proves my Red State PF Chang's Theory. If a town in a "red state" is big enough to have a PF Chang's China Bistro, there's a chance the people who live there aren't afraid of voting for a black guy.

Let's look at the final results:

President - Dem Primary
3532 of 3532 Precincts Reporting - 100%

NamePartyVotesVote %
Clinton, HillaryDem459,12465%

Obama, BarackDem209,77830%


Edwards, JohnDem14,2052%

Okay, if you actually got in your car and drove to a polling location to vote "Uncommitted", FUCK YOU. You know what effectively announces to the world that you're uncommitted? Staying home.

And John Edwards needs to buy new cars for each of his 14,205 Kentucky stalkers. They are committed to the extreme. I wonder how many of them just had to vote for a white male, no matter what? Better still, I wonder how many were just unaware that Edwards dropped out of the race months ago?

When I went to vote I encountered the world's oldest precinct worker. This woman still had Arc splinters in her knees from when she blew Noah. She looked at my identification, then directed me to sign the voter sheet on a line marked for someone named "Jessica Harris". I ignored her and signed next to my name. The following conversation actually happened:

Old woman: "You signed on the wrong line."

Me (looking again, just in case): "No ma'am, I believe I signed on the line next to my name."

Old woman: "Well, you are Jessica Harris, right?" (What the fuck?!)

Me: "No. Remember, you just looked at my ID?"

Holy Voting Irregularities, Batman! Either this woman was fucking incompetent or Jessica Harris is the ugliest female ever. I wonder how many voters ol' Cream of Wheat for Brains unwittingly disenfranchised? She needs to retire to Florida, where this sort of negligence is encouraged and rewarded.

Sunday, May 18, 2008
Vegass Stories: Obama '08
I was sitting around my brother's rather impressive home on Friday when I decided it wasn't enough for me to eat his food and drink his beer as he was awash in the red tape of the real estate world. No, to truly enjoy my vacation I would need to make a mockery of his entire values system. With that noble goal in mind, I organized a Nevadans for Obama meeting to be held at his house.

Damn, it is so easy to organize a gathering of Obama supporters. I made one phone call to Obama's Las Vegas campaign headquarters and less than an hour later there were ten annoyingly enthusiastic Obamaites running around my brother's house. They fixed tofu dogs and fallafel burgers on my brother's grill and left a patchouli oil film on top of his pool, all the while discussing how to tax him back to the prehistoric era. (I like Obama just fine, but I passed on the tofu in favor of a Double Double from In-n-Out Burger)

As we talked about how we could do away with tax loopholes and fill the Supreme Court with activist judges, I heard a familiar voice in the distance.

"What are all of these hybrid cars doing in my driveway?"

Holy shit, it was my brother. One of his clients canceled on him and he came home early.

As he looked around at all of the Obama '08 signs in his backyard, my brother became so enraged I thought his heart would explode. His face was as red as a baboon's ass and all he could do was stammer like the dad from A Christmas Story when the Bumpus hounds ate the Christmas turkey.

I never knew my brother was proficient in the exquisite art of the samurai sword, but he unsheathed a Hitori Hanso and went Kill Bill on those poor optimistic sons of bitches. Soon the swimming pool was choked with dead liberals. Those still alive writhed on the ground, searching desperately for their severed limbs.

My life was spared, but I was thrown out of Stately Vast Right Wing Conspirator Manor and had to spend a few nights at an East Las Vegas YMCA. I left when I was asked to share a cot with a guy named Dragon.

My brother thinks he had the last laugh, but little does he know I signed him up to receive Al Franken's weekly newsletter. Oh, and I kinda drugged him and sorta replaced his blood with Michael Moore's blood.

Thursday, May 15, 2008
Vegass Revisited Again

I'm in Las Vegas right now, lounging around by my brother's pool while he works. I feel like a fat Kato Kaelin.

I flew out on Tuesday via Southwest Airlines. Son of a bitch I wish they'd get rid of open seating. I need them to have assigned seating so I can reserve one of the two seats on the entire plane that have enough legroom for someone 6'6", the seats by the emergency exits.

As is always the case, even though I was one of the first boarding groups, the aforementioned seats were already occupied by a midget and a fairy pixie, so I had to cram myself into a spot behind a tiny old man who insisted on reclining his seat on top of me the entire fucking trip. In some countries I think we'd be engaged now.

Two bourbons and two magazines read cover to cover later, we arrived in Las Vegas and I limped off the plane, found a shuttle bus, and went to my hotel for the night, Planet Hollywood.

Planet Hollywood used to be the Alladin, but since a lot of Americans think anyone in a turban is Osama Bin Laden, the invisible corporate monolith that runs Las Vegas changed the theme. Ignorant stereotyping aside, the place has never looked better. It's all shiny and new inside, and that's how I like my casinos. The old school places just remind me of the shitty "riverboat" casinos scattered about the Midwest. Why come to Vegas for that?

Each of the rooms at Planet Hollywood has a "celebrity" theme featuring glass-encased artifacts from the "celebrity's" personal collection. I had the Roger Clemons room. Seriously. Autographed pictures of Roger Clemons were everywhere, and his actual uniform from the University of Texas baseball team was in a glass display case. It's weird to be in a hotel room dedicated to someone you despise, but at least it wasn't the Dane Cook room. But I wonder, since they have no problem honoring an alleged drug user and 15-year-old-girl dater, are there also rooms with Timothy Leary and Roman Polanski memorabilia?

That night I went to Margaritaville and drank like it was my job. I vaguely remember being very friendly to strangers, so I must have been drunk. I then wandered around the Strip in a drunken stupor until I decided it was time to go to bed.

The next morning, after a buffet breakfast that may have saved my life, my brother picked me up from the hotel.

Me: "Thanks for fighting the traffic to pick me up, but I'm still voting for a Presidential candidate who'll raise your taxes."

He: "I wasn't born with enough middle fingers."

Monday, May 12, 2008
My Interview With Hillary Clinton

I was quite excited when Senator Hillary Clinton agreed to be interviewed by the Death Wore a Feathered Mullet news team.

Let me start by saying it's a real honor to talk to you. I've been a fan since that "vast right wing conspiracy" quote.

Senator Clinton
And I've enjoyed your work since that post about getting blown by a stripper behind a dumpster. The whole sordid affair reminded me of Bill in his younger days. Uh...and Bill about a month ago.

Where do you get your pant suits?

Senator Clinton
Thrift stores, garage sales, swap meets, flea markets; anywhere unflattering garments are sold.

In the picture of you that we're running on the blog, there's a photograph of a man hanging on the front of the podium. Who is he?

Senator Clinton
Fuck if I know. I was probably talking to a group of African Americans at the time so I put a picture of a black guy on the podium. I was pandering. It's what I do. I pander.

Have you been drinking?

Senator Clinton
Yes. I drank low grade whiskey with a bunch of steelworkers in a bar that smelled like pickled eggs and ball sweat. And the entire time I prayed for God to strike me dead where I stood.

You seem a lot more candid than you have in the past.

Senator Clinton
Well, I'm blitzed out of my mind for one thing. And let's face it: I'm gonna lose. I'm done.

So you've given up?

Senator Clinton
My candidacy was as unsuccessful as Monica Lewinsky's godawful line of purses. Remember those hideous handbags that spunk-dazed wildebeest tried to sell? I bought one just so I could take a shit in it.

Well, on that note we're going to wrap this up.

Senator Clinton
Have you ever worked really hard for something your entire fucking life only to have it snatched from you by some fast talking upstart?


Senator Clinton
That was a rhetorical question, fuckhead.

Thanks for your time, Senator.

Senator Clinton
Fuck you.

Thursday, May 08, 2008
A Day in the Life of the Guy From the Cialis Commercials
Have you seen this commercial: A man pops a boner pill and is about to schtup his wife right on the living room couch. Suddenly, their college-aged daughter appears unannounced to drop off a pile of her soiled panties and interrupt the "romance".

Here's what happened after the cameras stopped rolling:

Cialis guy
"Honey, uh...welcome home. What a pleasant surprise. Did I not pay your cell phone bill this month so maybe you could call ahead?"

"Ohmygod, dad! You have an erection! Oh god, turn around or put a pillow over it or something!"

"Your dad and I were preparing for coitus, dear. I was bracing myself for a Cialis-induced pounding."

"I think I'm going to be sick."

"Granted, it isn't very big, but he tries so hard."

Cialis guy

"Mom, I don't have the short-dick problem any more since I went to college and discovered something I like to call 'black guys'."

"Now honey, don't stereotype. I slept with dozens of black men before I met your father, and while some of them possessed huge ebony shafts that seemed to be made of steel, others were barely average."

"Well I guess I've just been lucky. Very lucky."

Cialis guy
"Must you two have this conversation in front of me?"

"Relax, dad. Size isn't as important to me as a guy who knows how to eat the pussy."

"Amen! Your father uses his tongue on me so infrequently you'd think my clit was a habanero pepper."

Cialis guy
"Ok, that's it. I'm going upstairs to masturbate."

"Gross. That's an image I'll take to my deathbed."

"Yeah, keep that to yourself."

Saturday, May 03, 2008
My Date With Amy Holmes

I previously wrote of my inappropriate lust for right-wing political pundit Amy Holmes. Well, imagine my surprise and delight when she responded to my incessant emails and agreed to go on a date with me.

(Note: This picture of Amy isn't from our date, due to a strict no cameras policy. I'm guessing this photo is circa 2002 and she's being Avril Lavigne for Halloween.)

Amy currently lives in Washington, DC on a street with the other right-wing political pundits. When she said she'd arrange transportation I was sure she'd send some sort of Republican private jet to pick me up.

After being robbed at gunpoint at the Greyhound station in Louisville and having to sit on a smelly bus next to these guys for twelve hours, I arrived in DC and was picked up by Amy's manservant, Rubimar. He knocked me unconscious and drove to Dick Cheney's secret lair, where I was to attend a party as Amy's guest.

It was odd being the only liberal at a Dick Cheney party. Some items of note from the event:

-I counted three guys who committed suicide rather than slow dance with Ann Coulter.

-Cheney is the human personification of evil and all that, but his bartender makes a fucking great Manhattan.

-Sean Hannity is dating Amy Winehouse. Everyone was all "Get a room, you two."

-You want to see people scatter? Wait until Larry Craig walks into a men's room.

-Newt Gingrich will only drink a special martini made with Stoli Elite vodka and children's tears.

-Since the only Republican in show business, Dennis Miller, had a gig in Vegas that night, the entertainment was Mike Huckabee's biblical puppet show (The gay puppet went to hell).

-John McCain couldn't make it, but angrily called his wife "cunt" in a videotaped message.

-Amy Holmes prefers nine inches, but she'll settle for seven inches and a finger up her ass.