OC News Roundup

Is there a Merit Badge for Grand Theft Auto?

When I was in the Boy Scouts (shut up, TK), we got our kicks from archery class, learning how to start a camp fire, and the lingering stares of our Scout Master. I guess kids these days need a bigger rush than you would get from trying to not be the last one in the showers. OC Register.

Get your hands off my pussy

You know, I’ve been known to give my dog a rub down when he’s had a rough day of laying on the couch, having only a dish full of food and water and a floor full of toys to play with, but I draw the line when it comes to cats. Those smarmy, pissy little bastards certainly don’t deserve a $50/hour rub down from some septuagenarian with too much time on her hands. Helps with digestion? What the fuck are they feeding their cats? Filet Mignon? OC Register.

Send in the clown’s Crash cart

I dunno about any of you, but I have never had a clown at any of my previous birthday parties, and I’m not really sure if I would’ve wanted to if there were the chance that he might (OC Register):

A) Keel over dead from making balloon animals
B) Have Vietnam flashbacks every time a balloon popped
C) Ask to sit on my lap and tell me about the time he and Nixon walked on the moon
D) All of the above

Plus, the dude is fucking scary looking! I mean, if I wanna make some kids cry I’ll just do what I normally do:I tell them Santa Claus is dead and that we ate the Easter Bunny for dinner last night. Mmmmm, toasty.



Currently listening to: Your lingering cries for help.

Heat Wave Haiku

Happy fuckin’ Tuesday, folks! I hope all of you had a great mother-fucking weekend. I managed to get stuck doing laundry in a house with no air conditioning in 90 degree weather AND I was interrogated by a police officer, all in one day!

But enough about me, I know what all two of you are waiting for. Using the current heat wave as inspiration for my perspiration, it’s that time of the week again where I take an ancient form of poetry and puke all over it. Like ta’ hear it? Here it goes:


Sun rises up high
Sweat like MJ at Disney
Why can’t I just die?

*Oh, and to my co-worker that can’t seem to find a pair of pants that fit her ginormous ass and has her Rock of the 90’s CD playing on a continuous loop, “Go to Hell”.

I only need to hear the Cranberries/Spin Doctors/Hootie and the Blowfish once a day, thank you very freakin’ much. God, I hate you right now.

A legend in his own time

I just learned that comedian/actor/author and all around jackass and one of my favorite comedians, George Carlin, passed away due to heart failure on Sunday.

George’s career began in the 1960’s, most notably on the Ed Sullivan Show (yeah, I’m too young to remember that, too). He was also the first host of NBC’s Saturday Night Live (who remembers when SNL was actually funny and not just a springboard for any no talent comedian/actor’s acting careers?) His “Seven Words You Can Never Say on Television” routine was one of his most popular and probably most controversial, netting him a charge of indecency.

On a personal note, despite his cult status and anti-establishment routines, my clearest memories of George are as the sage-like Rufus from the Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure film, and as the golf obsessed Roman Catholic cardinal behind the “Buddy Christ” marketing scheme for the Catholic Church in the Kevin Smith film, Dogma. The role of Rufus seemed more like a "thanks for the paycheck" role, while the cardinal was infused with all of Carlin's disdain for religion in general, playing the role of someone oblivious to their own ridiculousness.

In an age of Dane Cook’s, Mike Myers, and Lisa Lampanelli’s, George was one of the few comedians that actually said something worth hearing. His routines were not vulgar for vulgarities sake, but rather it drew you in and you were then hooked by his insightful routines on politics (“…an illusion of choice…”), religion ("There is no God"), and humanity ("I think we're already 'circling the drain' as a species, and I'd love to see the circles get a little faster and a little shorter"). The world is too bright and shiny without you, George.

In honor of George, here are the seven words he was originally fined by the utterly useless FCC for uttering on television:

1. Shit
2. Piss
3. Fuck
4. Cunt
5. Cocksucker
6. Motherfucker
7. Tits

Also, here is a link to the entire routine on YouTube.

George is survived by his daugher, Kelly.

Put my Zagnut in your Whatchamacallit

Harmless confection, or will Ronald McDonald pop out of the bag and obliterate my testicles?

Let’s find out!

(Update: Testicles are fine.)

(Update to the update: That’s what she said)

Thought for the day:

I hate political correctness. Case in point: when you call someone retarded and then somebody gives you a glare that could burn a whole in titanium and tells you that those kind of people should be referred to as “mentally challenged”.

Sorry, being “mentally challenged” means not being able to figure out what 4 down on the TV Guide Crossword Puzzle is.

When you shit in your pants, give it a name and take it shopping for shoes, you’re fucking “retarded”.

I SHIT YOU NOT

I was just asked to be a sperm donor.