Friday, February 27, 2009
Fire Marshall Bill's Been Working Out

The Hot Chicks with Douchebags site is a constant source of hilarity, but they almost shit the bed with this horror-rape of a picture.

This guy is all kinds of Wrong. He's a Wrong Variety Pack, from his burnt sienna tan to his teeny tiny legs.

And he works hard to look like this! Think of the hours in the weight room, the pharmacy of steroids injected, and the ten days he vacationed on the surface of the sun; all so he could be mocked by some fat guy from Kentucky.

He completely ruined that woman. "Babe, if you wanna be with me, you need to step up your extreme weightlifting and unhealthy tanning. I like my gals mannish and leathery."

Or to be fair, maybe she ruined him. Maybe he was your typical guy, going to the gym to lose his middle-age gut, when the goddess Testosteronous entered his life. "You need sun and steroids, honey. I want your scrotum to look like rotten fruit."

At least they have each other.

Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Love lost...
I once dated a hipster, but she killed herself when Death From Above 1979 broke up.

Sunday, February 22, 2009
Seriously...Fuck the Academy Awards
Okay, I was going to do one of those rundowns of the Academy Awards telecast, but I just found out today that The Dark Knight wasn't nominated for Best Picture. Really? Are you fucking serious? Hey, I don't follow these things closely; I just assumed that the best movie of 2008 would get nominated. Silly me.

Really, I was going to be pissed if it didn't win, so you can only imagine how livid I am now. Instead of an Academy Award recap, you're just getting some random thoughts.

-Hey Saturday Night Live, are you trying to tell me that after all these years you can't find a funnier black guy than Keenan "Goodburger" Thompson? How many half-assed impressions of black celebrities and political figures is America going to have to sit through before SNL holds a simple open audition for someone who doesn't suck as much?

-I'm taking the position that 99% of cigar smokers are self-important assholes. Today at work this short, chubby balding guy complained because his cheap stogies went up in price by a whopping ten cents apiece. I wanted to say to him "That's what you get for stealing Woody in Toy Story 2."

-All right, they just gave Heath Ledger the Best Supporting Actor Oscar, so they got something right. Now I can turn the channel before the travesties of justice begin.

-Really. The Dark Knight not being nominated for Best Picture is like Julia Roberts not being nominated for Best Looking Woman Who Fucked Lyle Lovett.

-Sorry, that's all I have. I've been sick the last few days.

Wednesday, February 18, 2009
At what age do you completely stop worrying about ear hair?
During the day, when productive citizens are at work, old men descend upon the liquor store in frightening, complaining, slow-moving numbers. They take up two or three parking spots with their giant cars, they buy large quantities of jug wine and barely-aged bourbon, and they all have epic amounts of hair coming out of their ears.

If I did a shot every time I saw an elderly gent with a hair prairie (or "hairie") coming out of his ear I'd be passed out drunk by lunch. These old men are way too worried about getting a case of 1.75 litre Kentucky Gentleman than they are about trimming any unsightly ear hair.

I'll freely admit to having an ear hair. Yes. One. One ear hair; and it's white, even though I as of yet have no white hair on my head. However, I keep it out of public consciousness with a trimmer I bought from Sharper Image before they went out of business. I'm thinking if old people would bother trimming their ear hair, Sharper Image would still be around. Thanks a fucking lot, elderly population, for making us settle for Brookstone.

All of this leads us to the title of this post: At what age do you completely stop worrying about ear hair? I guess when your joints are on fire and you piss in four different directions you aren't worried about cosmetics, but it really would be pretty easy to trim that shit. If losing weight were that easy, I'd be one svelte mother fucker right about now.

Wednesday, February 11, 2009
My Old Kentucky Horseshit
The Kentucky House of Representatives just voted to raise taxes on alcohol. I have a problem with this, and it isn't because I'm a drunk who doesn't make a lot of money. No, really it isn't.

For those of you from real states, let me explain Kentucky's alcohol situation to you. Despite producing the vast majority of bourbon sold worldwide, many of the state's counties are "dry", meaning alcohol cannot be sold there. Not surprisingly, these counties are lousy with bootleggers and moonshine producers, but hillbillies get to feel good about themselves for not officially selling the demon elixir.

My problem with all of this is that state congressmen from dry counties are allowed to vote to raise taxes on a product they won't allow to be sold in their backyard. And of course they're more than happy to generate revenue for their predominately poor, backwards areas by taxing the bejeebus out of us "big city" drunkards. Well, fuck them with an empty bourbon bottle. And it's empty because I drank it, you moralizing shit stains.

One of two things need to happen soon:

-Revenue generated by any alcohol tax should only be used in counties that sell alcohol and therefore COLLECT THE FUCKING TAX! If alcohol is so evil you can't even lower yourselves to sell it, then you don't get the money, Gomer.

-Or even better, the state should take away the privilege of letting counties go "dry". It isn't a right to be allowed to prohibit the sale of a perfectly legal product. Lottery tickets are sold in every county in Kentucky, so why not alcohol? Prohibition was a tragic failure on a national level and it's stupid and pointless on a county level. All it does is encourage a bunch of inbred Al Capones to break the law.

In the meantime, when the tax increase is passed and I have to listen to a bunch of customers bitch about it, I hope those temperance movement assholes are pleased with themselves.

Sunday, February 08, 2009
I More or Less Watch the Grammys So You Don't Have To
Everyone is dying to know what a guy who is clueless about pop culture thinks about the Grammys. So here we go:

-U2 opens the show. In 1987 they were my favorite band. And I think I was wearing a Lands' End Squall jacket, so what the fuck did I know?

-Whitney Houston makes a rare non-court-related appearance. Stoned? Crazy? Both? I don't even care.

-Dwayne "Don't Call Me' The Rock'" Johnson tries to tell some jokes and no one laughs. NO. ONE. LAUGHS. There were moments of silence after the 9/11 tragedy that were less quiet.

-I'm not saying Justin Timberlake doesn't have talent; he has talent, kind of like that guy who really tears shit up on karaoke night at a bar where most of the patrons are assholes. Does he deserve to sing with the Reverend Al Green? No.

-How do I know the Grammys are gay? Coldplay performs (Yes, going to the Apatow well once again). With Coldplay, it's hard to tell when the show ends and the commercials begin. Or am I stuck in an elevator?

-Carrie Underwood reminds me of the one really hot chick in the ensemble cast of a "Country Hootenany USA" show at a struggling amusement park. After the park goes bankrupt, Carrie achieves inexplicable superstardom while the unfortunate owner makes an appearance as the villain on Scooby Doo.

-I'd never heard of Sugarland, who win a "country" music award, but they play their song on the horrid ear-rape satellite station at work. At least now I know who to hate when it comes on for the third time in a single day.

-Every few years, Kid Rock comes back with a different image and a slightly different appropriated sound. He's the Madonna of guys who've fucked Pamela Anderson.

-Miley Cyrus and Taylor Swift totally win the sophomore talent show! LOL!

-The Family Guy rerun is the one where Peter gets a new dog because he thinks Brian is getting too old, so my Grammy watching is going to take a major hit for the next thirty minutes. They say the Jonas Brothers are coming up, so this is perfect timing. The Jonas Brothers make me want to drive their tour bus off the side of a mountain. Seriously. I'll take the hit for society.

-Okay, Katy Perry is wearing a skimpy outfit, so goodbye Family Guy. She sings "I Kissed a Girl" but the recreational lesbianism is merely implied. Cheat.

-And Kayne West is next. If he isn't insulting George Bush, I don't wanna hear from him. I'm back, Family Guy. I shan't leave you again.

Fuck, it's over.

-Adele wins Best New Artist. I have no idea who she is, but her weird acceptance speech makes me think it's SNL's Kristen Wiig in a fat suit. Yeah, that's a cheap shot. How about a "weighs more than Kristen Wiig" suit? Better.

-Morgan Freeman introduces Kenny Chesney as "a man I'm proud to call my friend." And another little piece of my soul dies.

-A Sean Puff Daddy P. Diddy Combs sighting. It's now officially a celebrity circle jerk.

-M.I.A. (I know who she is because I saw her on a magazine cover the other day) is either knocked up or she's wearing a "more pregnant than Kristen Wiig" suit.

-Paul McCartney dusts off "I Saw Her Standing There" for a trip down Memory Lane with the left turn signal on the entire time. It kind of sucked, but he used to be in Wings, so I'll give him a pass.

-John Mayer takes time out from being a complete douchebag to accept an undeserved award. Feast on a dick buffet, Mayer.

-While a couple of people I don't care about perform, I fix myself a refreshing Coke Zero.

-Justin Timberlake again? And he gets to be introduced by Samuel L. Jackson? This is too much for me to bear. I'm going to add a shot of bourbon to the Coke Zero.

-Hells yeah! Academy of Performing Arts President Neil Portnow! Neil Fucking Portnow! HE IS A GOLDEN GOD!

-Neil Diamond looks like the guy who gets thrown out of the strip club for taking way too long a sniff.

-B.B. King and Buddy Guy, two certifiable legends, are on stage with John "Aforementioned Douchebag" Mayer and some greasy Billy Ray Cyrus-lookin' dude.

B.B and Buddy lived through institutional segregation for this? They deserve better.

-Speaking of deserving better, the city of New Orleans gets a tribute from Lil Wayne.

-Then he wins a Grammy. He's short. The "Lil" in his name is not ironic.

-Robert Plant and Alison Krauss perform, win some awards, and finally put this marathon to bed.

Wednesday, February 04, 2009
Unsolicited Advice Part 2
I've decided to bring back my "advice" blog. Check out Unsolicited Advice. Most of the time I don't actually give out advice, I just insult people. It's fun for the entire family.

Monday, February 02, 2009
Our Interview with Michael Phelps

The nosey busy-body community was recently rocked by pictures of Olympic champion Michael Phelps going all Snoop Dogg on a bong (or as the terminally out of touch media calls it, a "marijuana pipe").

Predictably, the parasites who make money solely because Michael Phelps exists made him issue an apology for "acting in a youthful and inappropriate way". Horseshit.

I wanted to get the truth, so I sent a member of the highly unprofessional DWAFM news team to interview Phelps. As luck would have it, the swimmer was in Louisville to give a speech to the local Shriners and presumably score some choice cheeba.

We didn't want to get Phelps high, because then he'd just ramble on about jam bands and hemp speedos. If you want a guy to tell the truth, you get him good and drunk.

Five Jager bombs later (Jager bombs? What a douchebag!) Phelps was ready to spill the beans.

DWAFM: "You smoke pot all the time, don't you?"

Phelps: "You bet your Kentucky Fried ass I do, Farmer Ted."

DWAFM: "Okay. So you take back your promise to never let it happen again?"

Phelps: "Dude, I hit the bong every night. You can call me 'Aquatoke'."

DWAFM: "Aquatoke?"

Phelps: "That's right, Hillbilly Jim. Aquatoke. I'm gonna start promoting my Aquatoke line of bongs and one-hitters. A one-hitter is a small pipe that holds enough pot for one hit. Is that too much info for your tiny yokel brain?"

DWAFM: "Fuck you. This interview is over. I hope you develop a heroin addiction, you dweeby human torso."

Phelps: "What did you call me? Uh...well, your mom married her brother."

DWAFM: "Your mom is so fat, any guy who eats her gets a free t-shirt."

It got ugly after that. Yes, Michael Phelps is a prototypical dork, but he's also a 23-year-old world class athlete. Our correspondant, Larry, is 39 and has never consumed a vegetable. We at Death Wore a Feathered Mullet wish Larry well during his long, painful recovery. They say he could be on solid foods again by the end of the year.