humor Archives - Page 9 of 11

Lost your Job? Drink Up!

February 2, 2009

New Yorkers know how to find the silver lining in any cloud. That’s why a local bar has created a new night called LAID OFF MONDAYS.

If you’re lucky enough to live here, skip that A.A. meeting and head to the Delancey, where you’ll get one “FREE SHOT OF TEQUILA at 12 am with proof of unemployment.”

This will be the bar where everybody knows your shame. But don’t worry, that’ll go down easier with a nice free shot. And since you digested your Ramen noodles hours ago, you’ll get a buzz on faster. Yay!

There is one drawback to announcing you’ve been laid off: don’t expect to get laid on.

Sandwich Fixins #4

January 30, 2009

Between the fear and the hope, 2009 is shaping up to be a bumpy ride. I might be a newborn foal taking my first wobbly steps or I could be Old Yeller wagging my tail at the man with the gun. Too soon to tell. Either way, I’ve got some questions.

*****

Why does George Michael continue to use public bathrooms? How many times does he need to get busted before he’ll learn to put a bedpan in his limo? At least he only got caught with crack and pot this time. Maybe the glory hole was closed for the night.

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Has a friend ever come back from a trip to Europe and told you the public toilets there are great: they’re really clean? Define clean. Did you ever have someone barf into a helmet and then put it on? I trust the answer is no but I think you catch my drift. Those places would look like a CSI murder scene under a blacklight. Or like a bedspread at the Holiday Inn.

I used a public bathroom in Paris once. Supposedly it locked and cleaned itself between every use. So I thought, what if a bum got stuck in there? Would he drown?

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Why don’t environmentalists ever tell people they should stop having pets? What’s worse for the planet: dog shit or dog shit in a baggy, preserved in a landfill until the end of time? People run around bagging up crap behind Fido, but do you think they’d do that for you? They’d put you in a frigging home.

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Where do creationists think oil comes from? It’s fossil fuel. But if the earth is only 6,000 years old and scientists faked the fossil record, where does the oil come from? If dinosaurs walked the earth with humans, which must be true because Sarah Palin believes it, those fossils turn to oil fast. That’s good news because the hamster you buried in your backyard is fuel by now. If we just stop cremation and putting our dead in boxes, we’ll soon be right as rain. Apply some pressure and pretty soon Grandma’s corpse will be bubbling up some crude.

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Does anyone actually think that paint-on abs look good? If I have a huge belly, the last thing I want to do is draw a big diagram on it. The only place I want to see paint on a guy’s belly is at an NFL game. And that’s just so I can make fun of him. For God’s sake, people! Even Stevie Wonder has a sense of touch: do you think he doesn’t know what fat feels like?

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Why aren’t there any winos anymore? Where have they gone?

Survey Says…?

January 28, 2009

On occasion, I participate in online surveys. If you’ve read any advertising telling you how much money you can make from filling them out, it’s true. I’m writing this to you from my yacht.

After completing quite a few, and marveling at companies’ need to hear my humble opinions, I felt I’d become something of an expert. At the very least, I was well-versed in answering the demographic questions which precede each one.

Imagine my surprise when I saw this:

Granted, I’ve seen different iterations of this question over time. It used to be simply: What is your gender? I assumed someone had complained about the plain-spoken rudeness of that when I started to see this variation: Which do you consider yourself? I still found this relatively straightforward. I remained confident of my reply.

But now they ask me this: Which of the following best describes my GENDER? Suddenly I’m confused. Who is doing the describing? If it’s the man who saw me pumping gas, wearing a plaid shirt after I’d gotten my hair cut too short, which way would he lean?

If I’m describing it, how best to judge? I’m not a fan of menstruation, but my junk is on the inside. I watch football but don’t spend all day taking a dump while reading the paper.

I could be a pre-op transsexual. If we haven’t had the surgery, aren’t we all pre-op transsexuals? Where will we get all those testicles? Will they use ping pong balls? Surely racquet balls would be too heavy. And where would we put them? It seems like they’d just be in the way. Why don’t more men wear skirts?

Okay, I don’t have testicles, but does that truly make me female? Wouldn’t a man whose huevos fell victim to an unfortunate threshing machine accident be offended that I’ve made this assumption?

Damn these online taskmasters! Describing, I can understand. I can do that. But best? How can I know for sure?

An Umbrella for Psychos: Product of the Week

October 31, 2008

Your child will be a hit with her classmates when you send her to school with this umbrella from Art.Lebedev Studio, aptly named “Fuck the Rain.”

Just don’t be surprised if you end up having to explain yourself to Child Protective Services.

Meanwhile, there’s another umbrella on sale if you want to work out some anger issues or just plain fear for your life. (Remember, it’s only assassination if you’re important.)

It’s the Self-Defense Unbreakable Umbrella from Real Self-Defense and it even has its own instructional video.

At first, it’s cute, like Charlie Chaplin doing a trick. But it quickly turns dark with a sociopathic Gallagher watermelon murder, then a Britney-esque beating.

britney umbrella meltdown Scary.

The Philippine president’s security detail uses them. (Maybe they can’t afford guns?) Come to think of it, after January 20th, 2009, you might want to avoid this guy.

He may not be in a very good mood. Though he’ll no longer be president, he may still be dangerous.

More products:
Scrotal Deodorant Wash: Product of the Week

Scrotal Deodorant Wash: Product of the Week

October 20, 2008

Guys, place your orders for Man Junk, a new organic crotch wash made just for your schwantz, taint and family jewels. Here’s a bit of the ad copy:

How nice would it be, knowing that your significant other or one-night stand (hey, we’re not perfect either) is pleasantly surprised instead of trying not to breathe through their nose? Exactly.

That gives a whole new meaning to “going there.” At first, I thought it was a crazy idea. Then I thought about all of the insane things women do to stay pubically presentable, from waxing (not really Brazilian, by the way–that was a marketing ploy) to anal bleaching.

Someone’s going to have to explain anal bleaching to me; if you’re that close to someone’s asshole, it seems to me that the time for making value judgments has passed. It’s a little late to say, “Eeww, this place looks like a shithole,” am I right?

So, if your partner hurls and your dog faints when downwind of your weenie, get thee some Man Junk. No more worries about fummunda.*

Girls, play Secret Santa and sneak this into his gym bag. He’ll get the message that there’ll be no gifts under his tree (wink wink) ’til he deals with the stink.

Man Junk–It’s a product whose time has come!

*the cheese fummunda your balls, silly!

Sandwich Fixins #3

September 24, 2008

It’s that time again when I’ve got lots of filler but nothing sandwich-worthy. So here it is, another serving of fixins!

*****

I think Rudy Giuliani should buy a Porsche so he can say, “Hi, I’m Rudy and this is my 9-11.” It would give him one more way to bring up his favorite topic.

Addendum: Why hasn’t anybody protested to get Porsche to change the name of that model out of respect for the victims? Someone should get on that right away.

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T-shirt idea:

Front:
Don’t hate me for drinking bottled water.

Back:
Hate me for selling crack to your kids.

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President Palin: If McCain wins and dies of some face-melting cancer, we’ll end up with the gerund-dropping vagina minder in office. I think if that happens we should swap out the Oval Office for the set of Hee Haw. It’ll make her presidential addresses seem more authentic. The Hee Haw guys could sing Gloom Despair and Agony in the background.

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The Wall Street bailout shouldn’t shock anyone. Millions of people use something every day to try for a bailout: it’s called a lottery ticket. It’s said that a person is more likely to be struck by lightning than to win the lottery. With the state of the world, getting hit by lightning might not be such a bad thing. I’ve tried standing with my ticket in a tin foil hat in the middle of a thunderstorm but that hasn’t worked, either. I guess I have no luck at all.

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Well, that’s all for today, boys and girls. I’ve got to get back on eBay and bid on more Lehman Brothers stuff.

Looks like I’m gonna need it.

More fixins:
Sandwich Fixins
Sandwich Fixins #2

The Stupid Baby Name Generator or Zuma Nesta Rock Paper Scissors: Home Edition

August 25, 2008

Remember back in 1987, when everybody gave Woody Allen crap for naming his kid Satchel? What a difference a couple of decades make. In homage to the latest Hollywood couple upping the ante of sadistic baby names, I have come up with a very unscientific method of naming your next living, breathing fashion accessory.

(By the way, Woody’s son was named after Satchel Paige, the legendary ballplayer. He legally changed his name to Ronan Seamus Farrow, and I’m not going to make fun of that because he seems like a great guy from his bio on Wikipedia.)

#1. Pick a place where you had a moment of clarity that put your whole life in perspective.

According to US Weekly‘s baby name expert, Pamela Redmond Satran, Gwen Stefani and Gavin Rossdale named their son after a beach in California where Rossdale had a life-altering epiphany.

“He was standing on Zuma Beach in the early morning after working all night as a production assistant on a music video and was quoted as saying he realized he was wasting his time,” Satran says. “He drove up the coast, slept in his car, and started making the moves that would launch his career.”

It’s a good thing for little Zuma that his daddy didn’t figure this out while he was on the john—or maybe he would’ve just named him John, which would’ve been okay. Or Stool. Yup, still better than Zuma.

#2. Choose your favorite famous person.

Nesta was supposedly Bob Marley‘s name before it was changed to Robert by some immigration jackboot who really did us all a favor since Nesta would’ve been harder to read on a blacklight poster and might have provoked subliminal cravings for chocolate syrup or tea in a can.

Of course, it would be most cool to use a name that symbolizes your fight against the Man. For our purposes, let’s include anyone who has used a different name at some point. Do you prefer Cherilyn Sarkisian LaPiere to Cher or Arnold George to Engelbert?

Naming your kid should be fun. I can’t think of anything less fun than spending as much time as I just did to find out that Humperdinck was the real name of a 19th-century composer who adapted Hansel and Gretel for opera. Please, don’t waste your time. Make it up; no one’s looking. One love, indeed.

#3. Name your profession or favorite purported homosexual.

The name Rock “needs no explanation,” given that the baby’s parents are rock stars, Satran says, and the fact that we’re “long overdue for Rock Hudson-inspired revival.”

Let’s face it, Satran is blowing sunshine up our asses with this one. She has no frigging idea what it means. If it means rock star, how could it apply to these bozos? They wouldn’t know rock if it hit them in the face. (Note to self: hit them in the face with a rock.)

If it’s an ode to Rock Hudson, then many closeted performers come to mind. Legal disclaimer: I don’t know why it brings them to mind or if they are indeed in a closet of any kind. I make no claims as to anyone’s sexual preference and no judgments thereof. After all, look at how badly these stupid breeders are screwing up!

So…… I’ve come up with a few choices:

Daytona Cougar Receptionist

Produce Aisle Cassius Mario Lopez

Crack Den Geddy Salad Bar Manager

Did this help you come up with a baby name? Please do share it with me. (Cher/share pun, ha ha, oh no, need more meds). And while you’re at it, I have another question for you all: who the hell is Gavin Rossdale?

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