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click that shit | Wednesday, 06.29.05
|The gallery's been updated with our pics from the Virgin Islands! We've got beautiful scenery, dead dogs and me in my underpants. Check it out!|
Oh, and while you're at it, check out some of the tmh superfriends...
mentalshed | richardland | braindent | negativeshock | thecureforboredom | interwebnet
Who pays $2.99 a month to get XM Satellite Radio's Playboy channel? The absurdity of the question is directly related to the absurdity of the channel even existing in the first place. Let's be honest folks, some things just don't translate well without visuals. For instance, have you ever tried to play Ninja Gaiden without a television? Or watched in horror as grandma tries to play a DVD in her toaster? Actually, scratch the grandma example because most grandmas don't own DVDs or toasters or automatic garage door openers because grandmas are very good at getting pinned underneath automatic garage doors.
|Today's Special Guest: Bambii Suxxx|
audio porn | Wednesday, 06.29.05
So I keep seeing ads for XM's Playboy channel, and I'm wondering what kind of content they could possibly have on there. Are there three hour blocks of sexy girls describing blow jobs that you're not getting? I'm sure there's some type of call in show, where two giggly dingbats talk to slovenly basement dwellers about their favorite bukakke websites. "I like the one where hot nympho sluts drown in a bathtub of semen and it's totally worth $45 a month on my mom's credit card!" And let's not forget the 5:00 rush hour afternoon drive, where your favorite starlets get on the mic and play with themselves. It's the XM Playboy channel! There's absolutely nothing creepy about ruining your pants before picking up your kids at soccer practice!
A porno radio station isn't even good in theory. At first I figured maybe they can get away with saying dirty words, but you can say dirty words on every XM station. Everything's uncensored and ready to offend your mom. I'm pretty sure there's even a guy on the kid-friendly Disney station named DJ Cunt who spins nothing but Cannibal Corpse and Rotting Christ records after 8 pm. So the filthy language thing is out, what else could the Playboy station possibly have to offer? Shows devoted to wangs? Tips on how to score with women with bodacious tatas? Here's a free tip courtesy of me: Don't let her find out that you listen to porno in your car. And if she's into that sort of thing, run until you die, because she's just as desperate for audio jollies as you are and your children will be monsters.
I don't know, maybe I'm just not looking at the big picture. XM has a lot of channels that I'm certainly not interested in, but obviously someone out there got really excited when they discovered that there are like 15 stations devoted to "Let's Go Kill Us Some Dirty Towel Headed Terr'rist" country music. And sometimes, I'd rather listen to that godawful racket than listen to stations that are marketed toward me, a confused 20-something alternative punk hip-hop metal poseur. I listen to the goddamned standup comedy station more than anything else to get my weekly fill of David Cross, Dave Attell and classic Steve Martin routines. Maybe the Playboy station is this holy grail of awesomeness, where naked ladies play nothing but sexy Lords of Acid jams out of their vaginas. That's worth more than $2.99 a month. Like, fifty-five cents more.
|Muskrat at every single meal, why can't we have some guts?|
Ai Ai Ai! | Tuesday, 06.21.05
"Oh ho ho, I'll try anything once," says one of your friends or family members as he shoves a spoonful of cow brains covered in fire ants into his salivating mouth because it's considered a delicacy in a country where the word "delicacy" is synonymous with all things disgusting and wrong. He winces in pain as the fire ants tear his esophagus into a thousand flaming shreds before spitting out the words, "Oh Jesus, oh fucking god, it's not that bad, seriously." See, if he admits that his exotic snack choice isn't compatible with his delicate organs, he'll receive a smattering of eye rolls and I told you so's that will, admittedly, mean nothing to him, but are still annoying nonetheless. After forcing the final hunk of brains down his throbbing throat, he takes a huge gulp of fancy beer, slams the bottle down on the table and calls everyone else a pussy for not torturing themselves with dangerous menu items. "You guys are faggots, it only stings for a few sec--" are his last words before his eyes roll back in his head and a greenish black foam erupts from his mouth, sending fire ants and cow brains and fancy beer all over his now lifeless corpse.
|Swim faster, sweet muskrat.|
Everyone went to school with one of those kids who ate inedible objects for money. Chances are, if you're coming here, you were that kid who ate inedible objects for money, and you brought countless hours of joy and merriment to your fellow classmates for lower than minimum wage. I had one who would do private shows for free. You didn't even have to say anything, you would just hand him a pile of pencil shavings or a Dixie cup of sewer water and he'd go to town. Usually I'd insert some sort of ironic statement here, like, "And he went on to become the healthiest human being that ever lived," but I can't do that. He's probably dead.
Or maybe, just maybe, he's become a Danish zookeeper, who slaughters muskrats and serves them to unsuspecting friends and family. It would be a bit of a stretch, but just play along, okay?
"A single muskrat serves up to four people. You just have to avoid saying what it is before your family has eaten it because it sounds disgusting," elephant keeper Peter Jensen was quoted as saying.
Nobody at Copenhagen Zoo, home to 3,300 animals and 264 species, was available for comment.
-- Yahoo! News
Friend of Peter: Thanks for having me over Peter! *whiff whiff* Oh, Jesus, what the fuck are you cooking in there, muskrat?
Peter Jensen: Ah ha ha, what? Muskrat? I would never--
Friend of Peter: Really, it smells like you're cooking, like, 50 muskrats in there.
Peter Jensen: I'm not!
Friend of Peter: C'mon, Peter, just admit it, I won't even be mad if you just tell me.
Peter Jensen: Dude, seriously, am I the type of person that would leave my elephant post, enter the muskrat exhibit, slaughter each and every one of them with a machete, throw them into huge burlap sacks, load them into the trunk of my car, bring them home, skin them, pound their heads open with a hammer, preheat my oven to 350 degrees, cook them for 4 and a half hours, invite my unsuspecting friends and family over for an "old fashioned Danish 'chicken' dinner" and then serve them slices of muskrat with broccoli, rice and fresh rolls?
Friend of Peter: Well... I guess not.
Peter Jensen: Thank you. Now, you can get started on the rolls, I have to go drop my bloody burlap sacks off at the cleaners.
Poor Peter. He's got a taste for muskrat. But, it could be worse. At least his friends aren't sneaking into the petting zoo and killing rabbits, pigs and chickens.
"It's always a success when you can serve you friends something special," zookeeper Nikolai Rhod said, adding he had also eaten rabbits, pigs and chicken from the petting zoo.
-- Yahoo! News
Oh. Thank god he doesn't work at a nursery, or Nikolai Rhod would be all, "It's always a success when you serve your friends the heart of a dead child. I pee my pants with glee when they ask for seconds!" They have an interesting breed of zookeeper over there in Danish land. They might as well just save some time and turn the zoos into fancy mystery restaurants, since they could make those 3,300 animals and 264 species last a few years if they play their cards right. And then you wouldn't have these awkward situations where a child is happily watching a lion sleep one second, and the next second he's watching a madman slicing it open with a chainsaw because he forgot to bring his lunch to work.
|I couldn't find a shot of the eyeball soup from Temple of Doom, so you'll have to settle for the real thing.|
But hey, sometimes it's fun to try new things. One time at a Portuguese restaurant I ordered the Rodizio, and the first selection was some unknown mystery glob of black meat. "What is this?" I asked the waiter. "Blah blah something in Portuguese JUST EAT IT," he replied. Eh, whatever. Gulp. Hm, kinda chewey. Like a little black sausage. Suddenly the waiter remembers how to speak English. "How was the chicken heart?" he asked with a sly smile. And you know what? It wasn't bad. I asked for a few more, then I had the waiter fired and exported for playing games with my chicken heart. But my adventurous appetizer choice became a hot topic of conversation, and filled me with a fake sense of sophistication. Finally, I could say cool things like, "Oh, you're ordering a hamburger? Well, I guess I'll have one too, but only because they don't serve chicken hearts at Applebee's. DID I EVER TELL YOU ABOUT THE TIME I ATE A CHICKEN HEART? IT WAS GRAND!" Mystery chicken hearts are one thing; mystery muskrats are totally and completely not really all that different.
|Address the ball. "Yo, whutz crackalackin', ball?"|
cracker assed crackers | Sunday, 06.12.05
I'll be the first to admit that I love drama. Like, I love nothing more than walking through the mall and seeing two people just completely losing their shit over something retarded like the location of their parked car, or the price of produce. "Did you know the price of broccoli is up three cents today? I HATE THIS FUCKING SHIT AND WHERE THE FUCK DID I PARK MY CAR? OH JESUS CHRIST I'LL KILL EACH ANY EVERY ONE OF YOU." Love it. Love it. I use other's instability and mental illnesses to make me feel better about myself, and if there's some sort of law against that, then you can take away my freedom, but you'll never take away... my freedom! Wait, that can't be right.
I think that's why I'm really excited about the upcoming Honeymooners remake. I don't plan on seeing it. I don't even know who's in it. All I know is that it has an all African-American cast, and it will drop huge drama bombs among crackers who say things like, "Dude, seriously, I'm hardly even racist, I just think the shit is fucked up, bro." And then you press them for more information and eventually they cave... "Because, it's filled with," looks both ways, cups hand over mouth, quietly whispers, "black people!"
Dear god, no! They're ruining everything! Seriously, if you're going to be aggravated over anything, be aggravated that someone somewhere thought that this remake was absolutely necessary. Then get aggravated that it will spawn three sequels (two direct to video) featuring an entirely different cast (except for one cast member that will return for the third film after failing miserably at life). Then, after all that, I guess you can get aggravated that this sexy, dark chocolate remake of the Honeymooners features an all African American cast, and that its blackness sullies the good natured whiteness of the original. About a bus driver who threatens to beat his wife every time she opens her big, smart assed mouth. And his dopey friend. Who was actually pretty funny. I have to admit.
See, if I was in charge of running shit, I'd be directing remakes like this at every possible opportunity. It's kind of like the time I came up with the idea for an all black, all flamingly homosexual Rammstein cover band. You wouldn't know they were flamingly homosexual until they ripped off their industrial flack jackets to reveal matching rainbow belly shirts with their names printed in glitter across the chest. Instead of shooting flames into the crowd, they'd shoot pink confetti and bubbles. And roller skates... roller skates as far as the eye could see. Oh, and they wouldn't actually cover any Rammstein songs. They'd just fellate each other on stage for an hour while I stood in the background playing Rammstein albums on a ghetto blaster. I have countless (well, two) marvelous ideas such as this, as you will see in the list below.
Movie Remakes That Will Keep Whitey in Check
Happy Days. Remember the lovable charm and innocence of the 50's? Of course you don't, and there's a good chance that your parents don't either. But at least we have reruns of Happy Days to remind us that there was a time when telling someone to "sit on it" was on par with calling someone a "cocksucker." Happy Days had it all: hula-hoops and milkshakes and varsity jackets and the guy from the garbage bag commercials giving advice to a no good dirty greaser with a greasy heart of golden grease.
|Correctamundo mutha fucka.|
This television program must be remade! It will be just like the old Happy Days, except now it will be set in South Central Los Angeles in the early 90's. The Cunninghams (played by Wanda Sykes and Cedric the Entertainer) are the new family on the block, and their son Richie (Ludacris) befriends a local motorcycle riding crackhead named Fonzie (Ice Cube). And they all get into some wacky situation with Ralph Malph (Malcolm Jamal Warner), Potsie (Lil' Bow Wow) and Pinkie Tuskadero (Lucy Liu). We'll even have cameos from the original cast of Happy Days, but they'll be cast as garbage men and crooked police officers.
[Just as an aside, I would pay, at minimum, $1,500 to see this movie. The only way this remake could get any better is if Jesus revealed his true black form during the opening credits... and I know people who know people that could make this happen.]
Diff'rent Strokes. White people loved Diff'rent Strokes because all of the crackers on the show lived in the lap of luxury, while all of the un-whites were poor as hell. Well, everyone except for the bicycle repairman pedophile who tried to rape Arnold and Sam in the back of his store... he was very white. That episode had a profound affect on me during my childhood... I exercised extreme caution while riding my bicycle because I didn't want to risk getting assraped over a faulty chain or kickstand.
So this remake would be pretty easy to remake, just reverse the roles. Rich African American family adopts two cracker assed cracker children and shows them what it's like to be rich and have tacky furniture. And since I don't know of any popular black child actors, or midgets that don't scare the everloving shit out of me, we're just going to have to dye that kid from Jerry McGuire black. He's still 10 years old, right? He has that look in his eye... a look that says, "Free me from my oppressive white skin and give me witty catch phrases that I can vomit forth on the unsuspecting public."
Also, we're going to need a stately black gentleman to play Mr. Drummond. Someone like, oh I don't know, Morgan Freeman or something. I would totally increase the budget of my film to get him on board, if only to hear him say, "Cracker assed cracker" and randomly punch the housekeeper in the face.
No one wants to hear about the great time I had on my vacation, because it's boring, and I'll feel bad that I couldn't stow each and every one of you safely underneath my seat so that your contents don't shift during takeoff. But, hearing about the stupid shit that happened to me while I was on vacation is infinitely more entertaining and way less bloggy. Like, if this was a blog, I'd open up this entry with a list of the magnificent foods I ate on the boat, and how a mean boy gave me a dirty look that made me cry. TMH is not a blog. I swear. Here are some stupid things that happened to me while I spanned the seven seas in search of duty-free alcohol, buffets and booty.
|How I Spent My Summer Vacation: Burned and Wet|
and cranky and tired and internet | Friday, 06.03.05
Stupid Thing #1: Skinless Joe Jackson
Like many nerds, my main source of light comes from the soft hum of a computer screen and the imaginary fireballs I shoot from my hands when no one is looking. So, natural sunlight and my pasty, notebook paper-esque skin mix like two things that don't mix very well together. For instance, I could say something like, "My skin reacts to sunlight as Amish test audiences reacted to the upcoming Fantastic 4 movie adaptation," which is to say that they probably didn't like it, or even see it in the first place because it features moving pictures that will confuse their god-fearing, butter-churning, buggy-riding minds. God, I love butter.
|Here is my foot in whiny Jedi form.|
Rachel went on this trip for one reason and one reason only: to receive the largest amount of skin diseases as possible through photosynthesis. By laying out next to her, my skin served as a highly reflective light source. A side effect of my good deed was being baked alive like a Kentucky Fried Anakin. For some reason, my right foot took the brunt of the sun's cruel rays, and turned it seven shades of red and purple before swelling up and comically blowing steam out of any available pores. "Boy, forgetting to put suntan lotion on my feet was a bad idea," I said aloud, verbatim. "To rectify the situation, I will now enter the ocean without putting suntan lotion on my back, because as we all know, water beats sun like scissors beat paper and husbands beat wives who ask too many questions." As I playfully splashed around and giggled like some sort of sexless water pixie, the sun worked its magic on my back... and I'm not talking like Grandpa pulling loose change from your ears and then soiling himself magic. This was like some sort of devil magic that requires a 57 sided dice. I got burned and it hurt and I asked a nice man who was selling cocaine on the beach to rub some vaseline on it and I'm feeling much better now, thank you.
Stupid Thing #2: I'm a Big Fat Wet Idiot
We took this awesome tour of St. Lucia, where they drive you around in a Land Rover and you get to stand up and hold on for dear life and run over children and stuff. A nice man was selling fruit at one of our stops... all the fruit you could eat for a dollar! Well, I think it was all the fruit you could eat for a dollar, perhaps it was a dollar per piece of fruit, but whatever, my big American stomach was hungry for cheap fruit. Anyway, the stop after that involved a 15 minute hike through a forest to see a natural waterfall. The trail was extremely slippery, and I nearly busted my ass a thousand times while wearing my zero traction Pumas (luckily, I left my Chuck Taylors at home, which have less than zero traction if such a thing is possible and I'm pretty sure it isn't). We get to the waterfall, take the picture and begin our walk back to civilization. Across rivers. Through caves. Up hill both ways in the snow.
Let's focus on the "across rivers" part for a second. Each crossing had two options: take your shoes off and walk across a shallow section, or keep your shoes on and walk across treacherous rocks that the natives spray with PAM cooking lube every night. Not wanting to deal with the hassle of removing socks and asking the tour leader to tie and untie my shoes, I decided to follow the slippery rock road to freedom. First rock, no problem. Second rock, no problem. I'm now standing between the first rock and the second rock. Third rock, no problem. Pssh, this shit is easy. Time to get a flow going and jam across this river... fourth rock, no prob -- oh hey wait a secon -- fifth rock oh fuck oh god sixth rock KERSPLASH. The tourists that safely made it across gasp in horror as I land on my side and get completely drenched in about three seconds. Lots of "Oh my god"'s and "are you okay?"'s filled the air as I crawled my way towards dry land. "Yes, I'm fine. Just an idiot, don't mind me." Then a woman said the most horrifying thing that a person can say to you after doing something so stupid and wet... "Did your wallet fall out of your pants?"
|Here is where I insert a fabulous comparison between me almost drowning in three inches of water and the Atari classic River Raid.|
Oh, you bitch. I check my back right pocket, my official wallet carrying pocket, and... no wallet. Oh, wait a second, I'm on vacation, I never put my wallet in my back pocket because the gypsies will steal it and spend my big American dollars on all-you-can-eat fruit. Both hands dive into my front pockets... no wallet. No one noticed the steady stream of urine running down my leg since I was already soaking wet and I just naturally smell like urine for reasons unknown. Luckily, I remembered that I was wearing cargo shorts before I dove back into the river, and found my wallet on my person. This would be the second day that I would have to leave my wallet and money out to dry, as I spent about 15 minutes in a hot tub a few days earlier before realizing that I left my wallet in my swimming trunks' pocket. Please feel free to trust me with your children or pets while you are on vacation... unless your house has running water, because I will accidentally drown them and myself before you pull out of the driveway.
I probably did more than two stupid things while on this vacation... actually, I'm quite positive I did more than two stupid things on this vacation, but they're not the "haha that guy's pretty stupid but we all love him anyway" kind of stupid. They're more like "you are a failure" kind of stupid that would ruin Christmas if it wasn't June.
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