Now I Want To See Old Dogs
This is an Old Dogs we can all get behind! Original music by Tim Heidecker.
Iceland Is The Most Fucking Metal Country Ever
In the wake of all the financial meltdown news (are we a financial meltdown blog now?), you might have noticed Iceland popping up here and there as their beautiful world of Bjork and T-shirt-inspiring wolves descended into a nightmare hellscape of total economic ruin. In fact, things have gotten so bad in Iceland, McDonald’s has decided to withdraw from the country entirely.
BT dubbs, this is the same McDonald’s that ENTERED Soviet Russia in 1990, when people had to save their wages for multiple days in order to buy a Big Mac. Iceland is that fucking poor! But you know what they say, every black death cloud has a something something, and in this case, it is more black death. Iceland’s is shunning the Western world and letting its rich Icelandic roots back out! And basically, Iceland is the most fucking metal country ever.
Hygiene On A Shoe String
In honor of avoiding political talks due to the rule of the totesmaster (thou shalt not write about politics, thist is mineth domain)—that wise old curmudgeon who wears nothing but organic silk robes—I’ve decided to wax poetic on the virtues of bathing. Due to the recession—you know, that reason your unemployment keeps getting extended—we’ve all needed to find ways of reducing unnecessary spending. And I have a simple and practical answer: bathing.
Showers cost you big bucks on your water bill, and if you like ‘em hot, then also on your gas bill. So can baths, if you take them the ‘conventional’ way—that is, draining the tub after every use. This practice, just like feet binding and shaving with a knife, is outdated. The way to do it is to keep that baby plugged up and re-use all that perfectly good water. All you need to do is add some basic ingredients and you’ll have a fresh bath everyday! First, grab a scoop of baking soda out of that open box in the fridge and dump that in the tub. Want bubbles? No need to go out and buy expensive bubble bath. Just look through your cupboards for any bubble-producing agent: laundry detergent, dishwashing liquid, Comet, what have you (stinging on the balls may occur, but will subside over time).
Let’s Take A Quick Break From Not Talking About Politics!
I know I’m about a week late to this party, but I don’t have much time off from insufflating benzodiazepines working to get involved in politics. There are few moments of respite for me, but this little story caught my eye. It seems that this public option health care proposal has a few enemies! There have been many, many allegations about what a horrible demon country it will turn us into, but now that it has actually been written and released, its opponents have turned to criticizing how big it is.
They literally have nothing better to throw at this bill than the fact that it is large, heavy, and has lots of pages. Anywhere between 1,980 and 2,050 pages. Kind of sounds like a lot! I mean, you would think that a legal document that covers every minor detail on how to reform a $2.5 trillion industry would be kind of big, but 2,000 pages! That is more pages than the Bible. “The health care bill is trying to replace the Bible, America. We must stop it.”
It Is 2009 Already!
Well! It has been such a long time since we last spoke. So much has happened! We have a black President, this thing called Twitter, and nobody has any money (though I will take a moment to blow myself and say that I neatly predicted our economic collapse here). This website has been so out of the loop, if it were to be turned into a human it would be just like your nutty grandpa, always asking you where the oatmeal is and trying to fondle your penis. Cut it out, grandpa!
Whoops, just getting back the sea legs. First paragraph, two dick jokes! Just like old times. We have so much dick jokes to talk about. Where to begin? Catch up after the jump!
Camp Fire Stories
Last Friday I went to Floyd’s Barbershop in Santa Monica and told the stylist that she could do whatever she wanted. While the tattoo laden stylist distracted me with an interesting conversation about the health risks involved in anal sex she managed to give me a haircut that later garnered references such as – a fighter pilot, Hitler and the guitarist from Interpol.
Later on that night, an Amazonian cougar drunkenly swaggered over to me, showed me a dinner menu and asked me if I was on it. She was about three inches taller than me and there was a decent chance I would find a dick under her skirt, so I politely walked away. As she attempted to grab my ass a friend with slightly lower standards gently nudged his haunches in the path of her gorilla hands and let her feel his goods. I watched in horror as he stuck his tongue down her throat and proceeded to lift up her shirt exposing her (prosthetic?) breasts. This wasn’t a dive bar by the way, it was a high class restaurant on Main Street – the Vatican is presently in debates to determine if it was a miracle he wasn’t promptly removed from the establishment.
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An Open Letter To The Patron In The Stall Next To Me
Dear Patron In The Stall Next To Me,
I know you’re there. I can see your penny loafers under the stall. It’s a shame they don’t go all the way to the floor; oh well. So I’m here waiting, waiting for you to let loose. Come on. You know you want to. That guy who was taking a piss is washing his hands. He’ll be out the door in less than thirty seconds. Don’t make me unload first, I’m shy. It’s an emotional problem, okay? My father never hugged me, my mother never loved me, my sister died in a terrible tricycle accident.
This is starting to get awkward, I saw your nervous two-step. Pitter patter pitter patter—this ain’t no tap dance. Let it out buddy. I’ve got a meeting to get to, just trying to loosen the burden before I spend twenty minutes talkin’ about our underserved Asian market.
What’d you eat last night, Taco Bell, TGI Fridays? Yeah, you’re a Bloomin’ Onion kind of guy. Listen pal, I’ve got an extra large four-dollar coffee, lotta cream, lotta sugar, under my belt and I just smoked my last Camel Light. You ever stuff a turkey ‘til it busts?
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Totes Quotes!
The following is a B-Sides collection of historical quotes, compiled by the Brother of Heart.
“I wish I were born Asian.” – Malcolm X
Human Tetris
In case you haven’t seen this ridiculousness already, I just wanted to share the sheer idiocy of the Human Tetris craze that is currently sweeping Japan like reefer madness. (While you’re watching this video, just keep reminding yourself that the Japanese score fifty times better than us on educational tests, their economy is flourishing while ours is floundering, all of their cars are cooler than ours, and we play all of their super cool video games… Also, Jesus likes them more than us, and they shit world peace).
Just to give you a brief rundown of what you’re about to watch, apparently Human Tetris is a game that’s hosted by a businessman and a milkmaid who have convinced a group of idiots to swathe themselves entirely in aluminum foil. Then, a wall opens up, and giant sheets of Styrofoam move on a conveyor belt toward the aluminum-garbed retards. Now here’s the fun part, on the Styrofoam sheets are cutouts of various, ridiculous shapes that the aluminum people must try to morph their bodies into. If they can’t get their body to make the right shape, they’re pushed into what I can only assume is a pool of urine.
Take a gander:
(Continued after the jump)
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Dear Garden Party
Dear Garden Party,
I heard that you guys are offering $250 for an outrageous “Hollywood” story, is that true? If so, I’ve got one that’s really going to top the charts…
I moved to Hollywood from Ohio about three months after graduating high school. I was the wide receiver on our High School’s football team (we were first in our division three years in a row, some may say thanks in part to a couple plays I made). I was on top of the world – great friends, supportive parents, a job opportunity at Wellis & Jacobs Real Estate and last but not least my beautiful girlfriend Cindy. I dropped them all because a stranger once told me I looked like a young Harrison Ford.
My High School Graduation Pic