Ku Klux Target

As a copywriter, I would have gone with "Kid's Computer Desk (Black)".


The only lingering question: is the computer desk for white people white? Or does the computer desk for white kids actually have a computer? Either way, I'm offended. Amused is probably more accurate, actually, but let's go with offended. I'm offended.

Hooray Science!

Back in the day people used to invent stuff. They used to ponder life. Remember Socrates? "The unexamined life is not worth living." Well, we've come a long way; unfortunately, we've gone a long way in the wrong direction. So now, instead of studying the earth and cosmos, cataloging species and discovering the miracles of science, we drop minty candies in sugar water. It's not an experiment, per se, since we know exactly what's going to happen...

But for fuck's sake, when you put candy in soda it rains liquid sugar!! It's like miracle. A gooey-coke-geysery-miracle. Yay! Let's videotape it and take lots of pictures. And we'll all wear blue ponchos, and put it on YouTube. Maybe we'll make the top ten, and oh, sweet Jesus, I'm all sticky now... and wet... and... man, what the hell are we doing with our lives?

West Coast Exploits

I've been slacking; I know. But I have an excuse. I've been across the country, gallivanting in sunny (except when I was there, apparently) California. Here's the recap:

First stop: San Fransisco. My company threw a party at the W Hotel for one of our clients. After the party, the manager of the hotel told us, (and this is a direct quote), "We have never had so many broken glasses. Ever."

The following morning, half-drunk and bleary-eyed, I took the olde-tyme cable car. Yes, that cable car--the one they turn around manually by leaning on it until it begins to lurch clockwise. During the ride, I did not see the house from the show "Full House." Yes, I looked.

As I rode the "subway" out to the burbs, it struck me how unimaginably windy the tracks were. They weave in and out of people's back yards like the Colorado River. It's called eminent domain; knock some goddamn houses down.

My friend and I plop down at a bar. We order sangria. More specifically, we order two GIGANTIC pitchers of sangria. Despite our aptitude for guzzling alcohol, the old female bartender swiftly emasculates us by reminding us we're drinking wine.

I hop a plane to LA. For some inexplicable reason it is colder than San Fransisco. (Okay, not inexplicable; I'm sure it has something to do with cumulus clouds, or moisture, or El Nino, but to me, LA is south, it should be warmer.)

I eat Chinese food at a place called "Mao's" in Hollywood. No one seems to mind that the restaurant is littered with pictures of the Chairman in crazy Hitler power poses. Or that the waitress is a hipster with red hair and a lip ring. Or--and this is the worst part--that the duck sauce is brown and tastes like Pete Sampras' feet.

At a gay bar in West Hollywood some guy introduces himself to me three times. Each time he uses the exact same opening line. The third time, after I tell him he's already done this twice, he looks embarrassed, and tells me, "I'm really bad at this," to which I reply, "I'm straight." That's when he stopped introducing himself.

At some point in the night, my friend is roofied. We discovered this when he decides to urinate in a can and take a nap in the bathroom in the fetal position. Not that I'm suggesting he should have slept in a can and urinated in the bathroom. But still, something was amiss.

Back to NY on Virgin America. I'm sure you've heard the stories: mood lighting, lounge music, sassy flight attendants, leather chairs. You may not have heard about the in-flight chat feature, though, which is easily the best part. I tried to stike up a conversation with an old lady in first class who looked like Cruella de Vil; she ignored me.

Now I'm back. And it's like 80 degrees in NYC. Go figure.

Crazy Elevator Lady

Crazy people. Whether it's their questionable choice of attire or their absolute disregard for social mores, they never fail to brighten my day.

When I first got to NYC, about a year and a half ago, these people stood out like bat-shit-crazy sore thumbs. On my way to work one day I saw a guy pretending to give a live TV weather report right in the middle of a busy intersection (only without cameras, or a microphone, or a fucking clue what he was talking about.) He just kept saying words like "precipitation" and "easterly winds" completely out of context. Another time, in Duane Read, I noticed a lady rummaging through the candy isle mumbling incoherently. Finally, she settled on some sort of industrial-sized bag of Twizzlers, before turning to me and explaining how the FBI was after her, and that she needed Twizzlers for her escape. Then, at Penn Station one day, while waiting in line for tickets, I noticed a man walk calmly up to a trash can, reach in for a Big Gulp, and suck the last bit of liquid through the straw like a Shop Vac, before tossing it aside nonchalantly.

And then, there's my favorite. The craziest of the crazies... the elevator lady. Yes, that's the actual elevator lady. Someone else, obviously captivated by this woman, uploaded a video of her to YouTube. There's 8 million people living in NYC, but strangely it makes perfect sense that I found her in about 30 seconds by typing "crazy NYC subway lady" into Google. I've never seen anything like the elevator lady.

She was furious, sneering across the subway platform at a normal-looking couple standing in front of an elevator. "Fuckin' elevator. Fuckin' idiots. Think they're taking the elevator. Those idiots," she spat.

This went on for some time. I doubted the elevator lady knew this couple, but she seemed thoroughly invested in their lives. I was intrigued so I kept listening. She chuckled to herself and threw up her hands. "Hey morons!" she shouted, through cupped hands. A few people turned at which point she went back to a quiet mumble. The couple across the platform was completely oblivious.

I was convinced the show was over. But then, out of nowhere, like she heard some sort of crazy-person-dog-whistle that only she could hear, she bolted off, straight toward the couple. I wondered if I should warn them. I decided against it. What would I say? "A crazy lady might push you in front of a subway"? I didn't want to be liable for whatever was about to happen. Instead, I just stood there and watched:

She march right up to them and immediately got to work, trying her best to jar the pair of unsuspecting strangers from their quiet, sane existence. I couldn't hear what she was saying, but her hands were doing most of the talking, anyway. As she spoke, the man looked confused. But as she went on, pointing and blabbering, a look of concern overcame him. Then, the crazy lady began to make emphatic hand gestures at the elevator. Stomping her feet.

Suddenly a train pulled into the station. The lady took off as if nothing had happened. The couple looked relieved, and unbelievably perplexed. I decided to approach them.

"What did she say to you guys?" I asked.

"She said something about the elevator being out-of-order. But way crazier than the way I just said it," the man's wife replied.

I nodded. I looked at the elevator; it looked fine. Moments later, as my train chugged into the station on the opposite track, the elevator door opened and a group of passengers filed out.

"Fuckin' idiots," I thought to myself, smiling, as I boarded my train home.

Break It Up

I guarantee this video will shock you (unless you've seen two chickens break up a rabbit fight).



Lucky for you, I speak rabbit. And chicken. Here's what went down.

White Rabbit: Fuck you, bunnayyyyyy!
Spotted Rabbit: Fuck me? Fuck you!
White Rabbit: Oh, it's on bro.
Chicken #1: BYAAAAAH!!!
White Rabbit: Ow! That's my ear, asshole.
Chicken #1: You just got saaaaaaaaaacckked.
Chicken #2: Just keepin' the peace, guys.
Spotted Rabbit: We were just having som---
Chicken #2: KEEPING THE PEACE!!
Spotted Rabbit: Man, someone's been eating growth hormones.
White Rabbit: Seriously...
Chicken #1: Say it again. I dare you.
Chicken #2: That's what I thought.

Lonely, I'm Mr. Lonely

At a recent NATO summit meeting, President Bush received a warm greeting from the world's leaders.

And by "warm greeting" I mean he stood there alone, daydreaming about crinkle-cut french fries, while everyone else was having the best time ever.

[Via: Some German site that I can't read]

Mars Bitches

April Fools joke? A nod to Dave Chappelle? I'm guessing the former, but either way, somewhere, somehow, Carl Sagan's rotting remains just got a boner.

It appears Virgin and Google have teamed up to send 20 earthlings to Mars, beginning in 2014. And not just any earthlings... YouTube-earthlings. But don't take my word for it; take it from the big, British virgin himself, Richard Bronson:


As you can see, this will not be a joy ride. The goal is colonization. Permanently. On Mars. They've even picked the future "Plymouth Rock" of the Red Planet: the Lunae planum area of the north side of Kasei Valles (wherever the fuck that is.)

Overall, I think it's a great idea. With one glaring exception. Is it just me, or is YouTube the worst possible place to advertise this? Shouldn't they be flyering Harvard, or MIT, or you know, like NASA, or some shit? What caliber of space traveler do they think they're going to attract from YouTube? The most popular video this month (with over 4 million views) is the trailer for Ben Stiller's new movie, "Tropic Thunder". It's not like these idiots are watching lectures about particle physics. Those videos have like 12 views. Collectively.

I don't know about you, but I don't want the "Leave Britney Alone" kid to be the first human on Mars. Come to think of it, I don't want anyone to go to Mars based on a 30-second YouTube video. Imagine some aliens land on Mars and see our YouTube colony! We'd be the laughing-stock of the entire galaxy. Maybe even the Universe.

I'm sure a lot of "planning" went into this and whatnot, but maybe they should call the whole thing off. I'm not comfortable with KevJumba in space.

The Glass Is Half Full

Introducing: the machine that can turn a "50 gallon drum of urine" into potable water.



Oh, and it could eradicate 50% of human disease, too. That's pretty good, I guess... as long as you're an optimist.

[Via: The Colbert Report]

5 Dolla Foot Loooong

I told myself I was going to stop patronizing (shopping at, not condescending) Subway (the restaurant, not the tunnel) a while back when they refused to honor one of THEIR OWN gift cards. After a few minutes of totally unnecessary bargaining, they sent me on my way, turkey sandwich in hand.

One should never have to negotiate for government cheese.

I hadn't been there in some time. Maybe a few weeks. The franchise owners at my local Subway must have noticed that I'd been boycotting their store. And they must have relayed this to the corporate office, cause they've been trying to win me back ever since with their new advertising campaign; a mind-numbing jingle that haunts my dreams.

Since the "5 dollar footlong" campaign launched I've eaten several Subway sandwiches. I don't see the trend ending either; they have this big sign out front that reduces me to Pavlov's dog whenever I walk by. Worst of all, I think they know that I'm powerless to inexpensive, lengthy food. I swear I spotted this sly little grin on the cashier's face last time he rang me up. Shifty bastard.

He definitely knows.

Burger Police

Have a listen to this most unusual 911 call. Don't worry, I'll wait.



If I were the 911 dispatcher, I would certainly have sent a deputy... this woman should be locked up immediately.

Bats Perish, And I Know Why

Today the New York Times ran a story called: "Bats Perish, and No One Knows Why." I guess 90% of the bat population has died off in the Northeast, and eco-batologist-types are worried the world is about to end. Worst of all, no one knows why this is happening... no one... except me.

Here are the facts: Bats hang out in pitch black caves year-round. When they leave their dreary, subterranean dens, they seem to keel over and die. Why am I not surprised?

First off, bats are just about the weirdest looking thing left on the planet.

Yikes. It's furry and translucent. That's a winning combo. The truth is, weird looking things inevitably die off. Take the dodo bird, for instance. It looks like an albatross raped a pigeon. EXTINCT. Or the woolly mammoth. Some people say Native Americans killed them off. Nope. They're just ugly. Think about it, what's uglier than an elephant... that's right, an elephant covered in shaggy, brown hair. EXTINCT.

As for bats, I'm pretty sure it was Darwin who said, "animals that look like miniature-pterodactyl-mice will perish." It's probably on page 1 of that book he wrote that Creationists hate so much. The only time furry, translucent creatures get any ass is when they're in dark caves. It's a lot like how drunk people--who would otherwise find each other revolting--hook up in dimly lit dive bars. If you can't see who you're banging, it's hard to object.

And that, my friends, is why bats have lasted so long. It's the caves. Plain and simple. If they keep leaving their caves, venturing out into broad daylight, they will inevitably, and steadily, decline as a species.

Shit-And-Run

Uh, oh...
Click image to enlarge
Let recap: A homeless man broke into the HOMELAND SECURITY offices in BROAD DAYLIGHT on a FRIDAY AFTERNOON. And then, he took a dump in, not one, but SEVERAL rooms before escaping without a trace (or is it skid mark?)

He must really hate our freedom.

It's Pork, Suckers

If you happen to be extremely high right now, the idea of a bacon infused lollipop probably doesn't seem like such a bad idea. But I'm sober. And I can tell you with absolute certainty: it's a bad idea. It's a very bad idea. But that didn't stop the crack-team over at Lollyphile, developers of the self-proclaimed "least kosher lollipop in the history of candy," the Maple-Bacon-Lollipop.

And you thought Americans were fat enough.

The last time I craved meat-wrapped candy was, well... pretty much never. But since they're only 52 dollars for a package of 36, I'll take none. Thanks Lollyphile, don't quit your day job. Oh, wait. You already did. And you started a company called Lollyphile. Here's the back-story, from their website's about section:

"We started waaaaaay back around Halloween of 2007 when we found ourselves with a lot of absinthe and no candy. One thing led to another, and we ended up getting picked up by a few candy boutiques and building a website, which got way more business than we'd ever expected it would."

No shit. Your business started with a bottle of absinthe and no candy. So you were drunk/hallucinating and decided, "hey, let's put some pork on a lollipop." And now you're rich 'cause a bunch of idiots are willing to pay $52 for a box of pork-pops.

I don't care what you say. That's the American Dream.

Really Crude Oil

The price of gasoline hit an all-time high today. According to Reuters, "The rise in pump prices comes as crude oil vaults to new peaks near $110 per barrel amid an increase in speculative investing in commodities and concerns that world energy consumption will outpace new supply."

I have no idea what that means. But I do know this:

$110 a barrel. 20 gallon tank. Carry the 1... I'd say the price to fill up an SUV today is roughly equivalent to 45 seconds with one of Governor Eliot Spitzer's whores.

Now, I sort of understand paying $4.00 per gallon on gas. It's basically the same as a gallon of milk. And squeezing utters is a whole lot easier than drilling oil wells in the middle of the desert. Especially with all the bullets whizzing by. But 5 grand an hour for a hooker? That's just absurd. It's 2008. Hookers are free. It's called Craig's List: Casual Encounters, Governor... or should I say Eliot?

He hasn't officially resigned, but Google's already replaced him. And Google pretty much knows everything.

The Audacity Of Pigeons

Fuck pigeons.

These rash little motherfuckers seem to have conspired against me city-wide. You probably think I'm joking. "Oh that's funny. Pigeons don't conspire," you'll say. No. It's not funny. And yes, they do. I swear upon all that is holy, at least once a day, a pigeon flies two inches over my head without warning. I'm sick of it. I'm sick of their poor judgment and utter disregard for my safely. I'm also sick of their white, pasty shit falling from the sky--but that's another story.

Listen pigeon, if I'm walking down the sidewalk, and you're pecking away at a morsel of rye, there is no reason--I repeat: NO REASON--to flip out, flap your wings frantically, and take off like a scud missile in the direction of my face.

I don't deserve this. Please stop.

If one more of you reckless, irresponsible bastards so much as jostles a hair on my head, I'll be forced to plant bread crumbs soaked in arsenic around the city. Either that, or I'm going to get a hat fitted with those anti-roosting bird spikes. Maybe getting impaled will teach you to calm the fuck down.

Score One For Decrepit Old People!

John McCain secured the Republican nomination last light with victories in Texas and Ohio. He even had this big sign that said "1191". I'm not sure if that's his age or the year he was born, but either way, he's pushing a millennium.

In other really-old-white-guy news, Larry King attempted to move gracefully on national television. As it turns out, teaching Larry King how to dance is like trying to teach a quadriplegic to walk. He looked like a robot with a short circuit. At one point, when Janet Jackson attempted to pry his stiff, ossified arm from the side of his lifeless body, he mumbled, with a discernible hint of despair, "I'm a struggling Jew" before giving up altogether. If you watch one video for the rest of your life, make it this one:



Interestingly, the feeling I get when I watch Larry King dance is the same feeling I got when John McCain kissed his wife after his victory speech: some things are just not meant for public consumption.

You Might Be A Redneck If...

You think taking a trip to Wal-Mart is like going to Cinderella's ball.


[Source: Some guy's Flickr.]

An Open Letter To February 29th

Well, well, well... Look who finally decided to show up on the calendar. Fucking deadbeat.

Of all the things that happen once every four years, you, February 29th, are undoubtedly the worst. The earth has one job: Revolve around the sun. But since it can't do that properly, we have to add a day onto the calendar once every four years. You are that day. You realize this, don't you? You're a mistake, February 29th! A technicality.

My real issue is not with you, though; it's with your people. You know who I'm talking about. The leap babies. Every time I meet one of your snooty, unfunny offspring, I'm reminded why I hate you. Did you know that it requires an unhealthy amount of self-restraint on the part of humanity to smile and nod when one of your bastard children exclaims his age, as if it's really funny when he says he's turning 6 when he's actually 24? Well it does. When your people were 8, and they told people it was their second birthday during show and tell, it was cute. When they're 40, and they joke about being underage to the bartender, it's sad and pathetic. And you're responsible.

You're also fucking up the month song. Bigtime. It starts off like a fucking Dickens novel, but then you come along and ruin it.

Thirty days hath September,
April, June, and November;
All the rest have thirty-one
Except February alone:
Which has twenty-eight 3 years in four,
Till Leap Year gives it just one more.

Are you kidding me? You need half the song to explain that? When I have kids, and I teach them the month song, it's gonna be different. None of this Leap Year favoritism. It will end, "except for February, because the Gregorian calendar is a piece of worthless shit."

That's about it, I guess. See you in four years.

Warm regards,
Evan

P.S. I don't recall anyone asking for an extra day in February. Ever. It's fucking cold, asshole. If you want your own special day, the least you could do is come back in the spring.

Barack Oblowjobs

Meet Larry Sinclair: toothless crack head. He claims to have met Obama in an upscale Chicago lounge in 1999. After they danced the night away, or something, he invited Barry back to his limo, where he performed oral sex, and gave Obama some crack. Let his 1 minute and 42 seconds of fame commence right... NOW.



Since most people don't believe toothless, unshaven hobos who smoke crack, Larry--perhaps aware of this--offered to take a polygraph test, even though no one asked. For some reason, whitehouse.com (not to be confused with whitehouse.gov, though that's exactly what they want you to do) took him up on the offer. Larry was asked two questions. First, "Did you perform oral sex on Obama in 1999?" to which he answered "Yes", and second, "Are you lying when you say you performed oral sex on Obama in 1999?" to which he answered "No". So what were the results?
(Click image to enlarge)
There you have it. A score of -3 or below indicates deception, and he scored -15. That's like taking the SATs and getting a zero (which is only possible if you manage to answer every single question wrong AND fail to spell your name correctly.) If these results surprise you, and you genuinely believe Barack Obama may have put his wang is this dudes mouth, then I know this Nigerian guy who'd love to deposit millions of dollars into your bank account. He keeps emailing me about it.

More Crappy

Pepsi has an illustrious history of nonsensical taglines. After the whole "You've got the right one baby, uh huh, uh huh" thing with Ray Charles didn't pan out, they introduced another slogan: Nothing Else Is A Pepsi. Then, a few years later, the tagline became: It's the Cola. So there you have it. Pepsi: Nothing else is itself, and, it's Cola, in case you forgot.

But this time, Pepsi's gone too far. If you thought "It's the Cola" was vague and stupid, you'll really enjoy their new slogan: More Happy. It's bad enough that Pepsi tastes like crap. But if I have to hear "More Happy" for the next several years I'm going More Kill Myself.

In a pathetic effort to lend credibility to the campaign, Russell Weiner, VP of cola marketing at PepsiCo, notes, "One of the nice things about the word ‘happy’ is it’s really multidimensional."

Multidimensional? Riiiiiight...

'Cause the word "happy" means so many things to so many people. You know, like joy, and stuff.

Oh, I got it! Joy! The Joy Of Pepsi... no... the Joy Of Cola! What? That was already a tagline? Fuck it, just go with "Yep" before someone else takes it.

Fear-Mongering For Dummies

As if being named Barack Hussein Obama weren't bad enough, the Drudge Report picked up this photo of the Democrat frontrunner, dressed as a suicide bomber Somali Elder. The picture, circulated by the Clinton campaign, shows Obama during a visit to Wajir, Kenya (not, contrary to a Fox News report, in a dank Afghani cave.) Obama's campaign manager, David Plouffe, slammed the Clinton campaign for what he called “shameful offensive fear-mongering.”

Maybe I missed something, but since when is shameful offensive fear-mongering frowned upon? And another thing, what kind of name is David Plouffe? Plouffe sounds like one of those stupid words copywriters make up to describe how soft diapers are. Campaign managers need to be tough; they need to fight back. When your opponent releases a photo of you wearing a turban you don't accuse them of fear mongering, you release a photo of them wearing a turban! Jesus. This isn't rocket science.


Obama, you can thank me later. Preferably with a low-stress cabinet position (you know, like Director of FEMA or something.) Oh, and for the general election, here's some fodder:

If McCain nuzzling into Bush's chest like love-starved puppy isn't enough to get a Democrat in office, then I'm afraid nothing is.

The Top Ten Weirdest Online Dating Websites (And What Their Slogans Should've Been)

If you're married, but have an exigent urge to cheat on your spouse, look no further than the Ashley Madison Agency. It's just like match.com... only for home wreckers. With 1.7 million members, I think it's safe to say, the oft touted "sanctity of marriage" has been officially demoted on the totem-pole of righteousness. For those of you keeping track, it can now be found just below the "sanctity of calling shotgun" to claim the front seat in the car. But that's neither here nor there. The real story is Ashley Madison's slogan: When Monogamy Becomes Monotony.

It's perfect. But it got me to thinking: what if all online dating sites (even the really creepy, niche ones; ok, who am I kidding, just the really creepy, niche ones) had better taglines?

Well, in honor of St. Valentine, albeit five days late, I give you: The Top Ten Weirdest Online Dating Websites (and what their slogans should've been.)


Sugar Daddy
Current Slogan: Where the classy, attractive and affluent meet.
New Slogan: Where shameless gold diggers meet clueless rich dudes.

Daily Diapers
Current Slogan: The world's largest site for adult babies, adult diapers, diaper fetish, infantilism, plastic pants and adult baby clothes.
New Slogan: Hey, you shit in your pants too? Let's go out!

Date My Pet
Current Slogan: Date Me. Date My Pet.
New Slogan: We can't openly condone bestiality, but you get the idea.

Farmers Only
Current Slogan: Farmers, Ranchers, Ag Students & all of Agriculture, Horse, Livestock Owners & all Animal Lovers, Cowboys, Cowgirls, Rodeo Fans and Country Wannabes
New Slogan: Two words: barn sex.

Meet An Inmate
Current Slogan: Lonely Attractive Inmates in the USA Seek Penpals
New Slogan: Experience the joy of prison companionship (minus the painful anal rape.)

Tallmeet
Current Slogan: Where tall friends and singles feel at home!
New Slogan: Because you’d crush normal-sized-people.

Nerd Passions
Current Slogan: Boldly eschewing the shackles of conventional popularity, Nerd Passions is a place to embrace your nerdiness!
New Slogan: (Pretty much anything in Elfish and/or Klingon will do.)

H-Date (Herpes Dating)
Current Slogan: Time to starting dating again...
New Slogan: Join the ceespool!

Pot Partner
Current Slogan: Find your smokin' match.
New Slogan: Because no one else really understands Funions.

Republican Singles
Current Slogan: A community to meet the "Right" person.
New Slogan: Being wrong about everything never felt so "Right".

Adventures On The Internets

Today I mistyped NFL.com and landed on NF.com, some sort of fifth-rate search engine that preys on football fans with shoddy motor skills.

(Click to enlarge)


I wondered how NF would stand up to Google so I typed "fart" into the search bar. I couldn't think of anything better on the spot. Here's what NF.com came up with.

(Click to enlarge)

The girl at the top gnawing on a shoelace notwithstanding, the search results weren't half bad. And while fart ringtones are enticing, I think we both know, I went straight for the fart machine.

(Click to enlarge)

Nine bucks? For a machine that farts? An iPod cost like $300, and all that thing does is play music. Must be some sort of misprint. My mouse hovered over the "Buy Now" button, despite the stern CAUTION label on the package: You may die laughing. I had to capitalize on this bargain.

I closed my eyes and clicked. And then, just as I whipped out my credit card, I stopped, and slid it quietly back in my wallet. A simple typo brought me to NF.com, and then, entranced, I almost purchased a remote-controlled fart machine.

NF.com must be doing something right. Because that's never happened to me on Google.

My Tiny Hero

Being the strongest dwarf in the world is a lot like being the fastest snail. No one cares. But that doesn't stop pint-sized bodybuilder Aditya 'Romeo' Dev, who is, by the looks of this photo, scarily serious about his trade.


You'll notice, he's just about eye-level with his trainer's balls. But don't let his stature, or his lifelong proximity to testicles fool you, 'cause he can lift, count 'em, TWO 1.5 kg dumbbells. If you just did the math, or you know what a kilogram is, you're probably thinking, "hey, that doesn't sound like much." Which, I have to admit, is exactly what I thought.

But then I saw Romeo standing next to what I can only assume is a toothpick...


And his trainer holding him up like an Oscar statuette...


And him struggling, like a constipated Sumo wrestler, to lift what look to be the same weights they give to old women during pool aerobics...


And I was convinced. He is the strongest midget in the world. And then I realized, being the strongest midget in the world is like being the fastest snail. No one cares. But Romeo, if you're reading this, I want you to hang in there. Once Howard Stern catches wind of you--and believe me, he will--you'll be getting more ass than you can handle.

Presidon't

In my first post ever, I decided Rudy Giuliani wasn't allowed to be President. Shortly after my post--and I can only assume, directly because of it--Rudy was out of the race. I'm still not too keen on this guy walking around among the general public without a neck, but so long as he's not leading the free world, I'll make due.

Then, shortly after I wrote about Mitt Romney's heinous attempt to fit in with black people on Martin Luther King Day, he dropped out of the race. Coincidence? I don't think so.

Today it has come to my attention that another presidential nominee is unfit for office. Now I know it's getting down to the wire, but I feel like I should do something. This one is really awkward, so I'm just going to come out and say it.

Mike Huckabee is a squirrel-eater.

Since you don't hear the term "squirrel-eater" bandied about in everyday conversation, allow me to explain. I don't mean squirrel-eater, like: once he ate a squirrel during a camping trip; I mean it like: he used to full-on roast squirrels in his college dorm room with a popcorn popper. Fucking gross. I know. But here's the proof.


Let's recap. When Tim Russert asked Huck about his rodent-sweet-tooth, here's what he said:

I should say it tastes a lot like chicken, but it doesn’t. It, it tastes like squirrel. It’s not the best thing in the world but, you know, when you go squirrel hunting, you got to do something with those things. And part of it was just to say we could do it. I mean, it was a college thing.

For the record, if you've never been to college, steaming squirrels in a popcorn popper is NOT a college thing. For now, Mike Huckabee is in the race. But when he drops out, you know who to thank.