The first trilogy of partially new content is complete! Does that cryptic comment mean a second trilogy is on the way? You’ll have to check in a couple of weeks…but [SPOILER ALERT] yes, that’s exactly what it means.
Check out part 1 and part 2 if for some reason you missed them or, more likely, just want to read them again. I understand. All right, here we go!
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Do you think seals clap in the wild or is that something we teach them to do for our own amusement? Like if a seal did like a really sweet flip out of the water and shit, would his seal pals be awed enough to break into spontaneous applause? I imagine as I type this there’s a really cool seal in a leather jacket jumping over a shark as his seal and porpoise chums (Ha, chums. Chum, shark – get it?) slap their fins together so hard it sounds like a 21 gun salute. I know I could use the Google machine to verify this one way or the other, but I’d rather assume they clap whenever they see something awesome and leave it at that.
Did you see that shit???
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I watched the “classic,” Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer the other night and came away disturbed by some of the implications of that universe. My main area of concern is with the Island of Misfit Toys. Glossing over the fact that hipsters would LOVE those things (well, as much as hipsters can truly love anything. Hollow bastards) the fact that sentient, flawed toys are banished to their own island is horrifying. Most of them are just your run of the mill toys with factory defects — train with square wheels, cowboy on chicken, spotted elephant, suicidal ragdoll — but then you have the Charlie in the Box. The children of this universe are such raging cockweasels that they will not play with a Charlie in the Box. No, for these hardcore asshats only a Jack in the Box will do. It’s the same toy with a different name – it matters not to these little shits. They’d rather Charlie go fuck himself straight to his own island to let him know how unwanted he is than play with his misnamed ass. But that’s not even the worst part. The worst part is when you realize the kids in this story, though awful dickheads, are not the ones most worthy of your hate.
It’s Santa.
That’s right. The fat man himself named him Charlie in the Box knowing full well that kids wouldn’t want him. That’s some malicious sociopathy on his part. What a complete and utter bag of dicks. He derives pleasure from inflicting pain and humiliation on his sentient toys, then makes himself out to be the hero by delivering them to kids at the end. No, he’s no sociopath, he’s a full blown psycho. On that note, Merry Christmas, ya’ll!!
In hindsight, the black, soulless eyes should have been a dead giveaway.
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I was watching a documentary (at least I’m assuming it was a documentary) called All Dogs Go to Heaven and it got me thinking – really? Because some dogs are assholes. What about Hitler’s dogs? Or that dog who barked at me that one time? They get a free pass into heaven too? I love dogs, but it seems like they should have to earn it like the rest of us, not get a free pass through the pearly gates simply by virtue of being a dog. Before you even ask, no, I’m not high. I could go for some Funyuns though…
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How I see the days of the week:
-Sunday – I can never truly enjoy a Sunday because I spend the whole day in a state of existential dread because Monday is coming.
Monday – Monday sucks all the dicks because obviously.
Tuesday – Tuesday is nothing more than Monday in a cheap disguise (think shitty plastic mask & smock Halloween costume from Rite Aid). Fuck you, Tuesday; I know what you are.
Wednesday – Still too far from the weekend. The longest (in a bad way) day of the week.
Thursday – You aren’t Friday. Get the fuck out of here.
Friday – And now I’m too tired from all the other awful days to properly enjoy you.
Saturday – Finally! A day I can truly enjoy…but then again it will be Sunday soon. And then Monday. Fuck me.
To sum up: I am a miserable, curmudgeonly wretch. Come on, Saturday…
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Domino’s lets you order what they call pizza with an emoji now. Yay. Is there an emoji with which I can order a kick in the nuts? Because that’s just about as good as a pizza from Domino’s. Let’s be honest: Domino’s pizza is more like “pizza,” right? I mean, it has the elements of pizza — cheese, sauce, crust — but there’s something missing. It’s like they have a demon onsite whose only job is to suck the soul out of, and then rub its ass on, every pizza they make. It’s flat and lifeless like a cartoon representation of a pizza…which actually means ordering with an emoji makes sense after all. And hey — it’s still better than Papa John’s.
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INT. STUDIO – EARLY ‘80s
William Hanna and Joseph Barbera sit at a large table in front of a mountain of cocaine. They each dip gold straws into it and snort deeply.
WILLIAM: “So Joe, we need 80 more cartoon ideas for the Saturday morning slate. Any thoughts?”
Joe considers, does another massive bump of Peruvian marching powder.
JOE: “Who’s that scary looking fucker with all the gold and the crazy-ass haircut?”
WILLIAM: “Liberace?”
JOE: “No, no. This is a black guy. He was in Rocky 3.”
William does another line.
WILLIAM: “Carl Weathers?”
JOE: “No, goddamn it! Rocky 3!”
WILLIAM: “Mr. T?”
JOE: “That’s it! Mr. T. Kids like him, right?”
The mountain of coke gains sentience and speaks to them.
SENTIENT MOUNTAIN OF COCAINE: “Guys, guys, you’re going about this all wrong. Kids are idiots. They’ll like what we tell them to like. So long as it’s colorful, hyperactive, and makes not a single iota of fucking sense, they’ll watch the shit out of it.”
WILLIAM: “He’s right, Joe. Look at all the screeching bullshit we’ve subjected kids to over the years. No matter how stupid or insane it is they watch it and ask for more.”
JOE: “Okay, fuck it. Let’s do a cartoon about Mr. T. So what is he doing?”
William, Joe, and the Sentient Mountain of Cocaine ponder this for several moments.
JOE: “I’ve got it! Gymnastics! Kids like gymnastics, right?”
Sentient Mountain of Cocaine glowers at Joe.
JOE: “I mean, it doesn’t fucking matter. Kids will like it because it makes no sense!”
SENTIENT MOUNTAIN OF COCAINE: “Yes! That’s it! You’re getting it!”
WILLIAM: “Okay, so Mr.T is a gymnastics coach because why the fuck not. And he leads a team of young gymnasts from town to town solving mysteries.”
The Sentient Mountain of Cocaine begins rubbing holes in itself at approximately nipple height.
SENTIENT MOUNTAIN OF COCAINE: “YESSSSSS!”
JOE: “Oooh! And they travel in a van just like Scooby Doo because fuck it I guess.”
The Mountain rubs itself harder.
SENTIENT MOUNTAIN OF COCAINE: “More! More!”
WILLIAM: “And apropos of nothing, Mr. T has a dog that dresses just like him and also has a Mohawk!”
SENTIENT MOUNTAIN OF COCAINE: “OH MY FUCKING GOOOOOOD!! SO MUCH YES! NOW SNORT ME! SNORT ALL OF MEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!”
They do.
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Here are just a few things I find less terrifying than motherfucking “Clownfest“:
-Playing snake Russian Roulette. That’s where a buddy and I gather six snakes (one of which is venomous) and take turns letting them bite us until one of us dies.
-Slathering my arm in steak sauce and dipping it into a box of starving, rabid rats.
-Allowing a swarm of tarantulas to prance across my genitals as if said genitals are their own personal Autobahn.
-Taking the Ice Bucket Challenge only with dirty syringes standing in for ice cubes.
-Making out with that one Mob Wife with massive lips (R.I.P.) who looks like she would eat my face off.
-Putting on a seal costume & taking a swim with those uber-intelligent sharks from Deep Blue Sea (all sharks like to bite the shit out of seals).
I could go on, but you get the idea.
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Gratitude Challenge: Day 1
[Context: This was one of those random Facebook things that a friend nominated me to do. For five consecutive days I was supposed to post things for which I was grateful. I lasted one day. For me, that’s impressive.]
As an ungrateful and all around curmudgeonly fuck, I was a bit surprised to be nominated for this challenge. Though I question my nomination, I assume this constitutes a legally binding contract and so I will participate. Here goes:
-I am thankful for the guy I saw at the gas station last week sporting a leather vest and a rat tail. Just knowing that guy is out there walking around makes me smile. I’d love to know where he lives so I could anonymously mail him some leather, fingerless gloves. You’re right: he definitely already owns at least a dozen pairs.
-I am thankful for the time I saw a guy at Cancun Cantina in a denim jacket with a cobra patch sewn onto the back. Why was I at Cancun Cantina? Your guess is as good as mine. The more important question is, where the hell does one procure such a fine garment? It was simultaneously the lamest and most awesome thing I’ve ever seen in my life. I plan to tell my grandchildren about it. Or someone’s grandchildren. It doesn’t really matter just so long as some damn kids hear of it.
-I am thankful that my mom was choosy enough to choose Jif for all my peanut butter needs growing up. Where would I be had she opted for that Skippy bullshit? I shudder to think about it.
By the powers vested in me by the Zuckerberg and my participation in this challenge, I nominate two more people. The rules: you MUST participate for 5 days saying what you are thankful for and also nominate two more people on each day. You must also burn a deck of tarot cards while dancing naked to Air Supply songs and– oh, wait. That’s something else. Just the things you’re grateful for and who you nominate, I guess. No need to thank me!
Rants & Anecdotes 
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