Whitney

by ANDREW J HICKS

–

"I wanna smoke a pile of rocks THIS BIG!"

My generation contains a subset of dorky guys who like girls but have a love for the cheesy adult-contemporary and pop hits of the ’80s and ’90s. I’ve got a friend — loves pussy, loves Michael Bolton even more.

Me, I’ve got musical guilty pleasures out the ass, but I have a special fondness for the Hot Diva Pop of the Reagan/Bush/Clinton years. Music that makes you look gay from women you’d love to fuck. I’m talking about early Mariah, Janet, Vanessa Williams, Paula Abdul, Madonna and, yes, Whitney Houston.

So when Whitney was found dead in a hotel room at age 48 last Saturday, it was a cause for mourning and reflection. There were also many crack jokes involved also. Because, let’s face it — it’s funny.

A coworker complained to me that Whitney was no great legend, that she only had like 6 popular songs. I told him I could name 20 Whitney Houston songs that charted. He didn’t believe me. I rattled them off: You Give Good Love, Saving All My Love For You, Greatest Love of All–

Another coworker interrupted: “How many can you name that don’t have the word ‘love’ in the title?”

I got to 19 Whitney songs and blanked. My general manager, who had arrived around the time I listed Song 13, chimed in, “What about [singing] My Name Is Not Susan“? And I had my 20. How could I have forgotten about the WORST Whitney song ever played on the radio? I started singing, “My name is not Bobby, but my husband’s name is.”

Later, I remembered Whitney’s 1991 live version of The Star Spangled Banner at the Super Bowl. It was released as a single at the height of combat operations during the first Gulf War. You’d better believed it charted. A fourth coworker told me, “You know, at the time, no one had any idea that Whitney lip synched that Super Bowl performance.” I’d had no idea. “Yeah, he said, “saw that one on E! about 6 years ago.”

The weird thing about famous people dying young is, it brings the living closer together, if just in a minor way, for a short amount of time. Whitney, I respect your achievements. I love about 15 of your songs. I even watched your movies. And my coworkers and I had fun remembering you. Rest in peace.

Facebook Statuses From ’80s TV Characters

LIKE WNF ON FACEBOOK AND GET DAILY ONE-LINERS IN YOUR NEWSFEED

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Whatever you think is happening, it's all a misunderstanding. -Jack Tripper, Three's Company

You’re goddamn right I did that!
–Steve Urkel, Family Matters

I have black friends.
-Ricky Stratton, Silver Spoons

Fucking Charo! AGAIN!!
-Captain Stubing, The Love Boat

I wish I had boobs ):
-Punky Brewster

Yes, let’s have two grown single men and a Canadian with a puppet explain menstruating to me and my sisters. If you will excuse me, I am going to ask the bag lady down the street what to do with these tampons. FML!
-D.J. Tanner, Full House

I (heart) sheep. Like REALLY (heart) sheep.
-Balki, Perfect Strangers

Keep making fun of my accent. Hope you enjoy pubic-hair soup, dicks!
-Mr. Belvedere

Soon, the revolution will begin…
-Benson

We’re all out of grits, bitch!
-Alice

I banged Winnie!
-Kevin Arnold, The Wonder Years

I watched Kevin bang Winnie!
-Paul Pfeiffer, The Wonder Years

I’m having an awesome bang day!
-Blair, The Facts of Life

Sam Malone is in a relationship with Diane Chambers and “it’s complicated.”

I. AM. A. ROBOT. NOT. AUTISTIC. YOU. FUCKING. ASSHOLES.
-Vickie, Small Wonder

I LOVE PUSSY! HA!
-Alf

I LOVE COCAINE!
-Willis, Diff’rent Strokes

I LOVE COCAINE!
-Cliff Huxtable, The Cosby Show

I LOVE COCAINE!
-Animal, The Muppet Show

I LOVE COCAINE!
-Mork, Mork and Mindy

I’m calling immigration.
-Mindy, Mork and Mindy

Norm Peterson checked in at TGIFridays. just now

Mmm hmm, honey. Mmm hmm.
-Any castmember from 227

Why doesn’t anyone else notice my two older sisters are half-white? When will the lies stop? FML!
-Theo Huxtable, The Cosby Show

If they only knew why I wore rainbow suspenders…
-Rerun, What’s Happening!

If they only knew why I wore rainbow suspenders…
-Mork, Mork and Mindy

Is anyone else creeped out that my old-ass parents had a new kid?! Me and Alex could be his parents!
-Mallory Keaton, Family Ties

Legalize it!
-Alex P. Keaton, Family Ties

I hate it when a plan goes spectacularly tits-up. Posted from Cook County Penitentiary
-John “Hannibal” Smith, The A-Team

Joanie Cunningham changed her relationship status from “married” to “divorced.”

Chachi Arcola changed his relationship status from “married” to “widowed.”

Bitches be trippin’!
-Blake Carrington, Dynasty

They don’t call me Boner for nothing!
-Boner, Growing Pains

Homey DOES play that Farmville.
-Homey the Clown, In Living Color

We’ve gotta get a second bathroom.
-Nicole, My Two Dads

My favorite people: Samantuh, Monuh, Eangeluh.
-Tony, Who’s the Boss

Yes, cracka, my middle name is Wayne too.
-Dwayne Wayne, A Different World

Banged Joan. Banged Natasha. Banged Chrissy. Banged Margie. Banged Cynthia. All before breakfast.
-Dan Fielding, Night Court

Banged Chrissy. Banged Cynthia. Banged Natasha. Banged Joan. Banged Margie. All before lunch.
-Sam Malone, Cheers

I pity too many fools. When is it my turn to be pitied? How many chains do I have to put on before my pain is noticed?
-Mr. T, The A-Team

—

CONCEIVED BY: J.Miz
EDITED BY: Andrew Hicks
ADDITIONAL CONTRIBUTORS: Benjamin Bennington, Eric Dohman, Tony Fyler

This Week in J.Miz, Volume 18

by J.MIZ
edited by ANDREW J HICKS

—

J.Miz: Making the seatbelt look sexy since 2011.

• I want my new nickname to be SAUCE! S’up SAUCE? How you livin SAUCE?! You’re looking hot SAUCE!!!!

• Our three cats keep sitting in triangle formation. What’s weirder , them lining up like that or the centaur that always appears in the middle?

• What if it turns out 12/21/12 is actually the day Maya Angelou is supposed to die? Oprah will be PISSED!

• The saying goes, “The best things in life are free.” But so are the worst. Like AIDS.

• I think I was just asked out on a blind date online. But the email was in Braille, so I’m not sure.

• The best thing about bipolar disorder is realizing you don’t need those meds anymore. Because you are FUCKING AWESOME!

• When somebody tells me they suck at life, to the point of several suicide attempts, I feel so bad. That they suck at suicide too.

• I am now at the age where I grunt anytime I have to bend over, not just during sex.

• Some women think they’re cut out for motherhood, but in reality they barely pull off mother trailer park.

• Have you ever heard tribal drums only to realize it’s your ceiling fan? #Reasons INeverTriedAcid

• Thanks to my Advanced Task Manager, I can KILL the Messenger whenever I fucking feel like it!

• I once had an affair with my boss. That was a totally awkward situation. For a family business.

• White chocolate has always irked me. Not only is it gross, it’s kinda racist. Regular chocolate doesn’t remind people it’s brown.

• The upside to being back in the dating game is that I no longer feel that terrible emptiness. In my vagina.

• I think it’s funny when fat people jokingly call themselves fat, so I tell them they’re funny. But I don’t say they’re not fat.

• Just ONCE, during sex, I’d like to be told, “Don’t make me turn this thing around!” And then totally make him.

• I’ve always said that one day I would adopt. I want to show a child that I am capable of great love. Not just kidnapping.

• I lick my phone off to clean it. Don’t get any bright ideas, dirty penises of the world.

• To show support of my boyfriend’s busy career and still being able to spend time together, I’ve been going over to his place. To buy my drugs.

• A slight tweak has my boyfriend and I enjoying simultaneous orgasms. The trick is to totally sync up our cheating.

• The fact that men fake orgasms shouldn’t be surprising. They fake love and monogamy all the time.

• I like my men cocky and my ladies perky.

• Vacuuming is my favorite household chore. I prefer my house pets on the verge of a coronary. They’re cuter like that.

• I’m so hungry I could eat my twin.

• I’ll I’ve had to eat today is candy and bread. I feel like a pigeon.

• My phone treats me like it doesn’t know me. It can always predict me typing YouTube, but never foresees “pussy,” “cunt” or “fuck.”

• If it weren’t for nightmares and the excessive amount of premature stock I place on brand new relationships, I’d NEVER have dreams.

• Toolbar: Any athletics themed, suburban tavern that has a DJ.

• If I rolled around with a jacked, strong, well oiled man for 10 minutes, I’D HAVE to fuck somebody. That’s just logic.

• Thank God you can’t get keyboards pregnant, or I’d have kids ALL OVER the Internet.

• I wonder how many people’s lives have been ruined by the fucks on Yahoo! Answers.

• Men are enigmas, puzzles of sorts. I always pick the complicated ones, with thousands of pieces. And one piece is inevitably missing.

• I have a cheapie lighter that makes me feel like a crack head. I have to keep lighting and lighting and lighting it. Under this foil.

• I love iTunes. It knows all my favourite songs.

• I texted my boyfriend to ask him if he was ignoring me. He didn’t get back to me.

• I’ve decided that I am not going to date anyone SERIOUSLY any time soon. Why start now?!

Stanhope Gets Troy Holmed

by ANDREW J HICKS

—

This guy stole Doug Stanhope's routines verbatim. All we did was steal this doctored photo from Facebook.

My night’s entertainment has come courtesy of first-rate comedian Doug Stanhope and some sixth-rate dude named Troy Holm. Each one, apparently, wrote the following bit:

i’m going to tell you how to win the war on drugs. the way you have to do it is to attack the source. the source of the drug problem. it’s not the growers or the suppliers. it’s the people that are responsible for making life so absolutely boring, and dull, and predictable, that you rather put toxins in your system to get away from that! whoever that is responsible for T.G.I.Friday’s, and Ashton Kutcher, and Last Comic Standing, and PT Cruisers, and 8 Simple Rules For Raping My Teenage Daugher (or whatever it was called), and Vin Diesel, and whoever made life so fuckin’ dull that you’re working for 5 to enjoy 2.

Stanhope has performed this bit in front of many (probably hundreds of) audiences. Troy Holm is a balding fireman who used to write a blog called Examining My Dance Pattern. Troy’s favorite topics of discussion — picking up beautiful ladies, lying to beautiful ladies so he can have sex with them, getting drunk and working as a fireman. It was a pedestrian little Tucker Max-lite blog.

Every now and then, Troy Holm would spice things up by posting entire Stanhope routines, transcribed word for word, while never acknowledging Stanhope as the source. Don’t you remember the rules? High school English? It’s okay to use someone’s words if you tell us you used them. Pretend those words are yours, and all lit geek/indie comic hell can break loose.

It’s semi-fascinating to look at the comments section for Troy Holm’s “Working Hard/Prison/Drug War” post, which has been up since July 15, 2010. On July 16, one woman commented on the blog post. On July 18, Troy Holm left a single reply comment, acting as if the words in the post were all his. Then the post sat idle for 18 months. Suddenly, commenters (825 so far) began to explode with scarlet-letter rage and indignation. Troy, they’ve said, is a “plagiarizing shitstain,” “unoriginal twat” and “talentless turd.” (One of my favorites: “I bet you say shit in ‘Borat voice’ at parties too.”)

Troy Holm’s Facebook profile pics have also suddenly become riddled with venomous words from Stanhope fans. Troy has a receding hairline, so read the comments and you’ll see 100 bald insults that are damn near the same joke. (Guys writing unoriginal, hacky bald jokes to insult a dude who got caught stealing words from a famous person? It’s an Inception-level mindfuck!)

Best of all, Stanhope’s army of followers was tipped off to Troy Holm’s existence by Stanhope himself. Stanhope left at least one comment on Troy’s Facebook profile (“I Know What You Did Last Summer”) and shared a link to Occupy Troy Holm, a Facebook fan page that picked up 850 likes its first hour. Spend 10 minutes hitting Pg Dn every four seconds, and you’ll find some good roast-type jokes — mostly in the C- to B+ range — at Troy Holm’s expense.

Whether Troy’s blog or Facebook profile will still be active by the time you read this, it’ll be interesting to see how much more cyberabuse this man takes and how far up the media ladder this story will get before it quickly fades. But remember, kids, no one likes a plagiarist. But if you must plagiarize, please plagiarize someone more obscure than Doug Stanhope.

Broken News | 2011 Year-End Review

by CHRISTOPHER WOO

So, here we are at the end of 2011. It’s been quite the eventful year for news coverage, to be sure. I’ve taken a lot of time off from We’re Not Funny to focus on other things, but when Editor-In-Chief-Comedian-Extraordinaire Andrew J. Hicks threw the idea at me to do a year-end news review… well, it just sounded right. So here you go folks, more of the same old snarky, dry jokes you’re used to from me.

Herman Cain suspends presidential campaign after allegations of marital affair and sexual harassment

Herman Cain is a pimp straight out of the old school. The man gets his whole shit busted for all of his infidelity then has the brassnuts to bow out of the race while blaming it on the media figuring out what a swine he is. That’s right. It’s not his fault he can’t keep his Calzone out of some extramarital Deep Dish, it’s the media to blame for finding the sad Train O’ Whores. That’s gangster, son… gangster.

Rapture predicted for May 21st

Another religious nutjob had an end-time prediction. Not just any prediction, but an exact date. Like a good heathen even I know the bible says not even Jesus knows ‘the day nor the hour’ the Big G will come back, but this guy thought he did. This date, of course, passed by with little incident. Well, unless you count the woman who tried to kill her kids and herself to save them all, or the numerous other folks who sold off all they owned or gave it away. Nevermind all that, though, I’m just happy I get another undefined period of time to jack-off to Emma Watson in the first Harry Potter, err… the last one… the LAST Harry Potter.

Lindsay Lohan spends 5 hours in jail for probation violation

Seriously? This made the top news of 2011? Am I on Candid Camera? OK, listen Two-Thousand Eleven, you and I have to talk. You fucked up, you fucked up real bad and I am not happy at all about it. When I made a wish on January 1, 2011 for a talentless coke-whore to die, and a talented coke-whore to find some rehabilitation, this is not at all what I meant. You mixed that shit all up, 2011. Amy Winehouse was supposed to be the one to find some rehabilitation.

Congress passes deal to raise debt ceiling

All seemed well and rational in congress, at first, until John “DJ Boner” Boehner dropped a beat and shouted out “raise ‘da roof, homeslices.” Add to this Michelle Bachmann’s confusion over the issue and it’s easy to see why this passed:

Casey Anthony found guilty of giving false info to law enforcement

Frankly, this one makes me sick. Not for the reasons you are thinking, though. First of all, how many of you were on the Jury of her trial? Yeah, I thought so… All you heard about for two weeks on Social Media sites was this woman. Y’all don’t know that she did or did not do a thing, so what’s with all the trippin’ over it? Seriously, don’t we all have some bills to pay or a book to read or something? And what makes me even more gut-hurt over this? Immediately after the trial you have porn producers trying to get a contract with her for a movie. I mean seriously? Who the hell wants to watch a porn starring a pretty attractive young woman who claims to have been sexually abused as a child and is a possible child-murderer? Who? Tell me who! Wait… who? Eric Dohman? Oh…

Major protests in Egypt, Libya, Bahrain, Greece, Iran…

The Occupy Movement, the getting-off-of-your-ass-and-doing-something-about-it movement for the video game generations. I stand in solidarity with you guys, but I must say, I think you got it mixed up a bit. I understand the thought of targeting the petty bourgeoisie on Wall Street, where they do little to make lots, I do. However, I don’t think that has the impact you could have had with a little more creativity. Like any good Ayn Rand fanatic, the 1% are completely irrational and must bed their married understudies to… wait… no that’s just Ayn Rand. The point I make here is that we should Occupy them where it hurts. Occupy the Mercedes dealership. The Lear jet manufacturer. Realdoll.com. The Ronald Reagan Presidential Library. Iraq, Afghanistan, or Palestine… wait, no they already have those occupied.

2012 Celebrity Death Picks

by BUDDAH ESKEW
edited by ANDREW J HICKS

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Dick Cheney has one thing to say to the Grim Reaper.

Almost a year ago, I posted my 2011 Celebrity Death Picks. I certainly missed the mark, but don’t ask Liz Taylor. (Liz “famously said, ‘A world without Michael Jackson just isn’t worth living in.’ I agree, so get out!”) There were the obvious misses, like Amy Winehouse, Andy Rooney, Harry Morgan, Betty Ford and even Heavy D. But Randy “Macho Man” Savage? Who saw that coming? And Dr. Jack Kevorkian? May I just say, “Bahahahaha!!!”

Also, Dick Clark still lives. He has proven to be an elusive bastard indeed. I give up, Dick. You will live on forever, even if no one ever understands another word you drool.

So here go my 2012 predictions:

• Muhammad Ali — All of Ali’s weights are now considered Shake Weights. Even Michael J. Fox has a shot at knocking out the champ.

• Wilford Brimley — The Cocoon jig is almost up, Willie. We have all bought enough insurance, denture cream and shitty cereal based on your endorsements. Now move over. Dick Van Dyke needs the work.

• Dolly Parton — Insert “big titty” joke here.

• Kirk Douglas — Last year, I picked Michael Douglas and blew it big time. Damn you, cancer cures! If I can’t have the son, I’ll take the father.

• Zsa Zsa Gabor — For chrissakes! She has died three times in the last five years. Can a brother get a decent coroner?

• Kelsey Grammer — Just a hunch…

• Fidel Castro — When Fidel drops, my 1959 Castro dictator rookie card will double in value. And to think, the Cubs just hired Fidel as their new hitting coach.

• Andy Dick — I’m calling it right here! Suicide by April 1st. No fooling.

• Tito Jackson — Tito is the Frank Stallone of his family. He will never hit more home runs than his brother Reggie or win as many championship rings as his cousin Phil. So I forsee a sporting goods accident around mid-summer. Sleep well, La Toya, you may be up next year.

• Joan Collins — I masturbated to Dynasty-era Joanie C in the early ’80s. Here’s a clue: Linda Evans in the library with the candlestick.

• Dick Cheney — Sorry, no hunting accident, just a good ol’ fashioned heart attack.

• Jerry Lewis — This guy has blown up so big, I swear I saw him floating above the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade. Time to pop, Jer.

• Andy Griffith — My lone holdover from last year. I just know 2012 is his year.

• Adam West — Holy embalming fluid, Batman! POW!

—

SIDEBAR NOTE: I was all set with the great, obscure, dark-horse death pick of Francine Hurd Barker of Peaches and Herb fame. I’ll be damned if Francine didn’t one up me in 2005. R.I.P. Peaches.

What’s That Sucking Sound?

by LOLA TUCKER
edited by ANDREW J HICKS

—

According to Lola Tucker, a little plastic surgery isn't a bad thing. (NOT PICTURED: Lola Tucker, a little plastic surgery.)

Recently, while out and about, I heard a lady mention that she’d had liposuction on her waist and hips. I was surprised. She had always been a very attractive woman with a knockout figure.

Now, I should point out, I’m not anti-cosmetic surgery by nature. Of course, I don’t like people who take it so far that they begin to look like a Madam Tussauds Wax Museum figure, with skin so tight their eyebrows are hidden in their hairline. But a little plastic surgery here and there is cool.

I wouldn’t mind a little Restalyn or perhaps some Juvaderm. My upper lip is starting to resemble that of a woman who has been smoking for 30 years. I’ve never even picked up a cigarette.

I had breast reduction surgery. To this day, I can say without hesitation it was the best decision I ever made. And not just because I was worried about my back failing under the weight of my 38DDs. I reduced my boobs purely for vanity’s sake. Let’s face it, there is absolutely nothing attractive about a rack that enters a room several seconds before the rest of this 5’3″ frame strolls in. After my surgery, men started to look me in the eye.

Department Store Santa Confidential

by ERTEL GRAY
edited by ANDREW HICKS

Kris Kringle needs some straight Kahlua.

—

I was a Department Store Santa during the hectic Christmas season of 1995. Value City was the store. For years, it’d held prime position as the face of the Lycoming Mall in Pennsylvania. Catering to the “low-income/useless crap on the cheap” demographic, Value City operated under the name “Gee Bee’s” before someone (presumably in a cheap suit), stood up in a board meeting, and said, “Look, we want to offer our customers value. Yet we want to imply that this is no mere store. So… Value Hut? Value Sovereign Nation? ValueTownXpress? Mmm…. how about Value City? Besides, what the fuck is a Gee Bee anyways? Do we really want our customers to associate our name with the song ‘Nights on Broadway’?”

The work wasn’t bad, really. I got stuck in the household accessories department, which — oddly — was filled with massive, massive amounts of African-themed knickknacks, vases, tribal masks, and so on. I was verbally reprimanded for being culturally insensitive for cracking a remark (to a black coworker, no less) along the lines of, “You got it lucky, dude. You work in the shoe department. Apparently, I wandered on to the set of Roots.” The black guy thought it was funny. My boss, Mr. Wunderlin (irony?), didn’t.

Wunderlin, around the time the entire store became a Winter Wunderlin (ha ha!), approached me to ask if I’d take on the assignment of Value City Santa Claus. My qualifications? I was slightly chubby at the time, white, and maybe just had a little “too much” dignity at the time. For six hours a night, I was forced to sit in a chair in a sweaty costume, getting groped by children with sweaty, sticky candy-cane hands. These little angels would yank at my fake beard, while I braved the time bomb that some kid would either, a) piss or shit him/herself on my lap, b) vomit profusely, or, c) all of the above simultaneously. It was as close to hell as I could be without actually going to hell.

Holiday Gift Ideas For the Giving Impaired

by ANDREW J HICKS
written December, 1993

—

Andrew Hicks in 1993. We think he still owns that tie.

For lack of anything better to utilize space, I will now bring to you THE ANDREW HICKS INDEX OF LAST MINUTE CHRISTMAS GIFT-GIVING IDEAS VOLUME XXIII. If you’re anything like me, you now have two shopping days left until Christmas and haven’t even started your Christmas shopping yet. And, by December 23rd, the only things left in the stores are the 8-track recording of Barry Manilow Sings the Hits of Vanilla Ice and Santa Helper, a holiday variation on Hamburger Helper with reindeer meat substituted for ground beef.

Not to worry. With these six helpful hints, you’ll give your friends and family a Christmas they won’t soon forget. I can guarantee that!

• Give something practical. I recommend the new combination Ginsu knife/laser disc player/encyclopedia/potato fryer/water purifier/mini-blender (because “love is a mini-blendered thing!”)/Thigh Master.
• Most people prefer something you made yourself over an extravagant store-bought goods. What, you may ask, can I create on such short notice? Ever hear of the fine art of dryer lint sculpture?
• No one can have too many pairs of underwear. Nothing says lovin’ like Fruit of the Loom!
• For items over $30, leave the price tag on for that lavish appeal.
• Chances are, if you just wrap up one of the person’s old items he’s forgotten about and give it as a gift, he’ll think you bought it. Best of all, it doesn’t cost you a dime… if you use a free community newspaper to wrap it.
• If you’re planning on giving that special someone an all-expense paid trip, make sure it’s not an excursion to Beirut, Libya or downtown St. Louis.

And remember this: Even if you can’t find any last minute gift item to give them, most people will be willing to forgive you if you’ll show them how to program their VCR.

Shout-Outs

by BRANDON STOKES
edited by ANDREW J HICKS

Brandon Stokes

—

• Shout-outs to George Jefferson’s wife AND Lil’ Wayne, for having the same voice but being two completely different Weezys.

• Shout-out to that Lil’ Wayne CD you keep stashed, just in case you have to give your black friend a ride home.

• Shout-out to guys who tell chicks they’ll eat their butts in text messages.

• Shout-out to Southpole and FUBU for keeping wiggas PIMPED OUT LIKE A HOMIE G DAWG!

• Shout-out to every time you want to say, “That shit’s racist!” but you’re not quite sure.

• Shout-out to black people who aren’t afraid of eating fried chicken in front of white people.

• Shout-out to everyone that couldn’t find the pussy from doggystyle when they lost their virginity… or was that just me?

• Shout-out to Flavor Flav for getting famous with Public Enemy instead of just being that one stupid nigga from the news.

• Shout-out to YouTube for letting the closet racists vent.

We ‘Bout To Get Kim Jong Ill

Kim Jong swills.

Before his death, the North Korean dictator merchandised the crap out of his likeness rights… KIM JONG SHILL.

Roasted dog-meat burgers are on the Dollar Menu at KIM JONG GRILL.

That little guy sure had a high voice… KIM JONG SHRILL.

Dude had a sex change 30 years ago that was somehow hidden from mass media… KIM JONG JILL.

North Korea should construct a protected landscape using Kim Jong’s figure as inspiration. Enjoy your kimshe on the grassy tummy area of KIM JONG HILL.

Or in Summer 2012: Take the kids for a spin on the new Wackadoodle Minicoaster at KIM JONGVILLE.

Care for fresh pepper on your Korean food? Ask the waiter to grind his KIM JONG MILL.

For being a totalitarian, he had little power in the bedroom — he could only manage the KIM JONG TIP DRILL.

Every time he ejaculated, it was a KIM JONG SPILL.

His hoarding habits will make for a lengthy read of the KIM JONG WILL.

Did he drown? Because I don’t think he was KIM JONG GILL.

Kim Jong Dead

edited by ANDREW HICKS

Once he'd stared into his right hand for an hour or so without blinking, Kim Jong's hand would turn into Satan and give him relationship advice.

—

AMANDA DOPPLER
Who the fuck is Kim Jong Il, and why is he dead?!

ERTEL GRAY
Kim Jong Il dead? Man, and I thought he was just ill. Turns out I was dead Jong.

JEFF BAILEY
Kim Jong, are you serious?! This is seriously fucking my fantasy dictator team. It’s the playoffs!

ERIC DOHMAN
Weekend at Kim Jong’s. Now THAT would be funny.

This Week in J.Miz, Volume 17

by J.MIZ
edited by ANDREW HICKS

—

Helen Keller and the Miracle Worker in black used to play a fun game where the Miracle Worker would breathe into Helen's face, and Helen would determine exactly what the Miracle Worker ate for breakfast that morning.

“I ain’t no holla back girl!” -Helen Keller

Awhile back, somebody gave me some Fire & Ice enhancing lube. In those days, we called it “the clap.”

Money can’t buy you love, but you can buy it for yourself.

Every time I type “fucking” into my cellphone, it asks if I mean “sucking.” How THE HELL does it know I’m on my period?

I never trust a guy with a Kings of Leon ringtone.

Some men find me a little too crass. In all honesty, that’s a pretty fair assessment. I expect it. From a pussy.

Opinions are like assholes — sometimes there’s sucking involved.

I LOVE the feel of a warm body next to me as I sleep. But the downside is, it never lasts. They start smelling if you don’t ice them down.

I never trust a guy in a jean shirt.

Glory Hole Bee Gee Hell: A WNF 3-Way

edited by ANDREW J HICKS

Liverpool, 1979: Mama Cass gets down and dirty at the Bee Gee glory hole.

—

JOHNNY RODRIGUEZ
My bedroom window sucks as a glory hole. Nothing glorious about it.

ERTEL GRAY
Oh, the entire concept of a glory hole just… I don’t know if I can place that level of trust in an unseen, anonymous stranger. “Hi… Yep, first time… Anyway, here’s my peen.”

EMILY TOOPS
Agreed. I mean, you gotta be ballsy to use a glory hole.

JOHNNY RODRIGUEZ
But not too ballsy, ’cause balls wont fit thru there.

ERTEL GRAY
My luck, on even my most sexually adventurous of days, I’d wind up on the business end of a scalpel-wielding psychopath known as the Glory Hole Weenis Collector or something. Course, the upside of being a eunuch is, I could always front a Bee Gees tribute band.

JOHNNY RODRIGUEZ
Fuck yeah! I love the Bee Gees!

ERTEL GRAY
How many of them have died? The other two, right? I just heard Robin has some sort of cancer?

EMILY TOOPS
Yeah, I thought two of the three died of cancer. God hated those Brothers Gibb.

Fun With Bill Collectors

by ERTEL GRAY
edited by ANDREW HICKS

A stunned Ertel receives terse words from a deceptively smiley, multiethnic lady named Nancy. Image by Eric Dohman.

—

[DISCLAIMER: The following conversation between me and a debt collector literally just happened. As I was on the phone, I was furiously typing away on this porno/typewriter thing I call the Internet. The rest I filled in from memory. Some I may have even embellished. So sue me… wait, don’t sue me. Forget I even mentioned that.]

NANCY: Hello, this is Nancy with [insert bullshit collection agency name] and am I calling in regards to an overdue bill, on your account with [bullshit business name] Am I speaking with Ertel Gray at the moment?

ME: Yep. You sure are.

NANCY: Mr. Gray, I am calling on behalf of [bullshit business] in regards to your outstan–

ME: Yep. Listen, Grace, we’ve established that.

NANCY: It’s Nancy.

ME: I am who you’re looking for, and yes I owe [bullshit business] [X amount of] dollars. Congratulations, you’ve tracked me down.

NANCY: We can offer you, if you’d like to settle this debt today, by check or credit card, no service charges whatsoever.

ME: Well, that’s awfully generous of ya to waive a three-dollar surcharge if I pay today, Shelley, but I have like no money on my bank card until payday, so I’m gonna have to pass.

I Wait on Famous People

by ANDREW HICKS

In 1957, Andrew Hicks serves Marilyn Monroe and Frank Sinatra a Chocolate Thunder From Down Under at the Outback Steakhouse in Springfield, Ill.

—

Last week at work, I thought I spotted the guy who played Craig’s dad in the Friday movies. Turns out it was one of the Isley Brothers. But it got me thinking, I’ve waited on a ton of famous people in my years as a server. Here are some highlights:

• While still in server training at Long Horn, I had to cut Bob Dole‘s 6-ounce sirloin into tiny pieces tableside. You know, because of that whole dead-arm thing he has going on.

• Not long after his gastric bypass surgery, I served Al Roker a grilled cheese from the kid’s menu. He ate two dainty bites and tipped me 135 percent.

• As a young cocktail waitress, I served a round of peach schnapps shots to Jesus Jones.

• I once laid out some paper towels for Ricky Martin during a restroom attendant shift at a seedy strip club called Chez Nutz.

Bachelor Survivor

THE REALITY TV MOVIE

Act 1: Bachelor Survivor dances with the stars after an amazing race, goes to celebrity hoarder rehab and gains a bunch of weight then loses it all.

Act 2: Bachelor Survivor sells all his hoarded shit to pawn shops and goes to live with swamp people who use their ice-trucker business to fund their ghost-hunting business.

Act 3: Bachelor Survivor is replaced by Ashton Kutcher.

—

—

by JEFF BAILEY and ANDREW J HICKS
art by ERIC DOHMAN

This Week in J.Miz, Volume 16

by J.MIZ
edited by ANDREW HICKS

L to R: Chippy, Chippy, Chippy

—

• Until they tell me otherwise, I will assume that all squirrels are named Chippy.

• I recently started putting baking soda in my cat’s litterbox. But honestly I’m disappointed in the efficacy. He has not made ANY crack.

• If I had a dollar for every time I drunkenly drove to some guy’s for a booty call, I’d be able to pay for all these DUIs.

• If I had a dollar for every time I said, “If I had a dollar…” I’d say nothing but THAT.

• I heard some guy call himself a “recovering alcoholic.” I thought that was a pretty fancy name for what I always called “Sunday.”

• When I get a new haircut, I need to fuck something. That’s just the way it is.

• As I walk to work on this windy Chicago day, I have newfound respect for the salmon.

• Whenever my black friends quote anything, I always incorrectly assume it’s from “The Color Purple,” the Bible or T.I.

Thanksgiving ExtravaGaganza

by ANDREW J HICKS and ERTEL GRAY

—

Soundalike dance songs about turkeys. For an hour and a half. Enjoy, world!

The first Thanksgiving took place 490 years ago. Miles Standish deep fried a turkey, Pocahontas brought over a crapload of Boone’s Farm, and Squanto provided the blunts. Everyone ate, drank, smoked and listened to the music of the Thompson Twins*. Thus, a tradition was born.

The ins and outs of Thanksgiving remained relatively unchanged until 1887, when canned fruits and meats were introduced to the market. Suddenly, Thanksgiving was a time for turkey, Boone’s Farm, blunts and a bowl of jellied cranberry sauce, wiggling and still in the shape of the can. In the century-plus since, no one has ever actually eaten the cranberry sauce. It just sits there. It’s the Ringo Starr of the Turkey Day feast.

Mullets, Fauxhawks and Bieber Lesbians

by KING MAB
edited by ANDREW HICKS

Lesbian hair photo collage assembled by Eric Dohman.

—

Remember when mullets were cool? Some of you might be old enough.There was a narrow window of history where business in the front/party in the back was not only tolerated but venerated. People weren’t making fun of Mel Gibson in the ’80s for his rocking hairstyle, nor were they taking jabs at Bono while he belted out “Sunday Bloody Sunday” while sporting the Camero Crash Helmet. In the ’80s, mullets weren’t a bad thing, they were totally BAD. And even though the poor, ignorant fuckers who purposefully fashion their hair into the Faded Glory are constantly, and rightfully, mocked, it wasn’t always so. Although it really does boggle the mind that hipsters are trying to bring it back — albeit ironically.

Now, you can tell when a popular hairstyle is on its way out when lesbians begin to wear it to identify themselves as lesbians. The same thing is happening right now with the fauxhawk. You can still go to meat-market clubs and bars to find guys sporting that abominable hairstyle, completely ignorant of the fact that the fauxhawk is the mullet of their generation.

Andrew vs. J.Miz: Heavy D Is Sinbad

by ANDREW HICKS and J.MIZ

—

From L to R: KRS-One, Scotty Pippin, Guy, Ralph Tresvant, "Sinbad," Montell Jordan, Bill Bellamy, Malcolm X, Skee-Lo, Heavy D.

ANDREW: In 1998, I made a bet with a friend that Heavy D and Sinbad were the same person. If Sinbad shows up at Heavy D’s funeral, I’m screwed.

J.MIZ: Today is Sinbad’s birthday. Irony? Or IS IT?! HES BACK, YO! And, as for determining the winner of said bet, I’m gonna go with marijuana winning that one.

ANDREW: It’d be cool if half of Heavy D could reincarnate into half of Sinbad. Imagine all those marginally funny jokes contained in all those marginally appealing rap songs.

J.MIZ: Or if they were both in the same body and had a predeliction for punching the opposing side. I’d pay top fucking dollar to see that slugfest.

ANDREW: I picture C+C Music Factory‘s Freedom Williams showing up to referee that event.

J.MIZ: Yeah! Or the fat dude from X Clan. And I’m pretty sure E-40 is the guy from P.M. Dawn.

ANDREW: I’m pretty sure Ray J is the other guy from P.M. Dawn. Which means Kim Kardashian fucked at least half of P.M. Dawn.

J.MIZ: Isnt Kardashian that Susanna chick from The Bangles with butt implants?

ANDREW: That really butch Bangle is Uncle Kracker.

J.MIZ: But didn’t Uncle Kracker turn into Bubba Sparxxx just before becoming Paul Wall? I’m pretty sure…

ANDREW: She was definitely the busiest Bangle.

The Majesty of Karaoke

by ERTEL GRAY
edited by ANDREW HICKS

Karaoke: Where the world's most attractive people huddle together and scream beautifully into a microphone.

—

“For every failed singer in this world, there is a karaoke DJ eating his weight in hot wings by dim light.”
-Voltaire

The ancient Japanese art of karaoke has never really seemed to hit its zenith in America. Even today, every bar you go to has at least one karaoke night on its chalkboard schedule, nestled between $2 Pitcher Tuesday and Thirsty Thursday.

So what’s the appeal? For every Joe Average, maybe it’s the dream of wooing a lady friend with a mystical version of Peter Frampton‘s “Baby, I Love Your Way.” In reality, the alcohol involved always seems to transform Frampton’s ode to loving a female’s way into a horribly off-key, off-rhythm “‘OohbabeeILove…’ where am I? The damn screen’s moving too fast. Where’s Brenda at? Get up here, y’whore! ‘WannaTeeellYou…'”

Karaoke, at its crux, is basic good fun. No one’s there to judge your performance. Oh sure, that guy who just threw up on his shirt sorta looks like Simon Cowell, but remember: you’re wearing beer goggles. I lied about the “no one’s judging you” thing, actually. If you’re singing, you should be aware that I am judging you based on pitch, vocal range and choice of material. I am your own… personal… Cowell.

But you’re not going to win a recording contract and/or make millions with me. I’m judging you solely because I don’t want to make the same mistakes you do. Recently, I made plans to go out with a girl (yeah, I was surprised, too) who absolutely loves to sing. And apparently displays the same lack of shame that I do. A keeper? After tonight’s debacle? Right? (Right!) You’re bloody well right!

Online Dating Profile Disqualifications

by JUSTIN OLOMON
edited by ANDREW J HICKS

—

Enjoys inflating heart-shaped balloons a little too much. Next!

I keep seeing other people’s posts about online dating, so I’m gonna go check out one of these matchmaking sites and see what kind of girls I can find.

*starts scrolling through profiles*

Okay, 25? Looks 50. Next!

Favorite book is Twilight. Next!

Favorite TV show is “Jersey Shore.” Next!

Single mother. Next!

Religious. Next!

Part of the 99%. Next!

Tea Partier. Next!

Too chubby. Next!

Too skinny. Next!

From Pekin, Ill. Next!

I (HEART) BIEBER! Next!

Looking for a tough man. Next!

Makes less than $20,000 a year. Next!

Luvs to paaartay hard in the name of Cthullu! Not sure what that means. Next!

This Week in J.Miz, Volume 15

by J.MIZ
edited by ANDREW HICKS

—

Being fat on Halloween is an extra-special thing.

• For Halloween, I’m going as a shy, conservative, demure, celibate lady. Now THAT’S a fucking costume!

• Handing out “treats.” My Halloween costume is “The Bad Influence.” I’m giving the kids cigarettes, airplane bottles of booze, and HPV.

• The Jack-O-Lantern started with turnips. Suck on that, Hallmark! I want a damn Turnip-O-Lantern.

• Why do fat women always look so angry? I’d be ECSTATIC if I got to eat that much delicious shit!

• An 80-year-old woman asked me, “How has such a pretty girl like you never been married?” My reply, “Guys only like to FUCK crazy girls, Gramma!”

• If you discover a shortcut and it then replaces your regular route, it’s no longer a shortcut.

• Whenever I masturbate, I have this EXTREMELY detailed fantasy about having sex.

2011’s Least Popular Halloween Costumes

• 

  Rocky Dennis was named People's Sexiest-On-The-Inside Man Alive in 1985.

  Rocky Dennis from Mask

• Octomom’s placenta

• Tom from MySpace

• Any costume you have to buy

• Nancy Grace’s fart

• Obese, bacon-intoxicated Ghandi

• Gas station marquee from the future

• Large Marge

• Andy Rooney’s pubescent bed sheets from 1923

• Freshly fucked couch

• Neighbor from “The Hogan Family“

• Undead Mr. Belvedere

—

CONTRIBUTORS: Andrew Hicks, Paul Lao, Probably Matt Linville, Jessica Stimson, Eve Ventrella and Woo
EDITED BY Andrew Hicks

Pop Music That Sucks: “I’m Yours”

by JUSTIN CROUCH
edited by ANDREW HICKS

—

Jason Mraz never goes anywhere without his guitar, his plain white T, his hat and his facial hair.

VOLUME 1: JASON MRAZ – “I’m Yours”

I get it. This is a great summer song, by which I mean it’s got that Look At the Quasi-Homeless Man Strumming His Acoustic Guitar On the Beach-type vibe to it. It fits Mraz’s personality perfectly, in other words.

The lyrics to this shit-gem don’t make much sense. Contradictions are everywhere. If “nothing’s gonna stop you but divine intervention,” Jason, then why do you “reckon it’s again your turn”? YOU DON’T WAIT FOR YOUR FUCKING TURN IF YOU’RE DEAD SET ON DOING SOMETHING, fuckwad. Another thing, Mraz: if you ‘won’t hesitate no more,’ then WHY for the love of Jesus Jones do you sing the song SO GODDAMN SLOW?! Keep in mind, people, these contradictions are just from the first verse.

Cardinals World Series Memories

by ANDREW HICKS

—

David Freese ties the game for the eighth time in Game 6 of the 2011 World Series.

I was 4 when the Cardinals won the World Series in 1982. I have one vague memory of being babysat by my grandma while my mom and grandpa were at the game. We spent all nine innings trying to spot them in the audience shots.

When the Cardinals played seven games against the Royals in the ’85 World Series, I was 7. I have spotty, nonspecific memories of that matchup. I barely remember the infamous blown Don Denkinger call at first base in Game 6 and the drama that ensued when Denkinger was home plate umpire for Game 7. Checked out some Wikipedia just now. Turns out that, after Denkinger ejected pitcher Joaquin Andujar and manager Whitey Herzog were from Game 7, Andujar “smashed a toilet in the Cardinals’ clubhouse.” Herzog smashed a dozen White Castle sliders.

A Hairy Situation

by LOLA TUCKER
edited by TONY FYLER

—

Note to self: only ever stick one battery-operated personal device up your nose.

So I woke up in a wonderful mood this morning. Bounced out of bed, despite a rather restless night. Cleaned up the house, fed all the critters and hopped in the shower. After washing my hair and exfoliating enough to take off several layers of skin, wrinkles and dry patches, I headed to the mirror for my daily survey of the personal “real estate.”

As I turned on my overhead light, which is brighter than a solar eclipse, I leaned over to see if any new lines had appeared while I was off in La La Land. Nope, not a one. We’re off to a good start. I leaned in closer…

What the hell is that???

Closer…Closer…

Oh my God, it’s a freaking NOSE HAIR!

I started to hyperventilate.

Auction War Storage Hunters

by ERTEL GRAY
with ANDREW HICKS

—

”]I am an addict. Step One is admitting you have a problem, and that’s why I’m here. I’ve recently become extremely obsessed with the ever-expanding glut of TV shows about storage unit auctions. You know, those C-level reality shows where people haggle over one-of-a-kind items with pawn shop owners, and/or people rummage around in dilapidated barns and garages, finding rusted-out treasures that I’m told are high-dollar items.

A 19th-century steam-powered vibrator? $300. Thomas Jefferson’s giant granite dangling-cross earring, yanked from Mount Rushmore after fierce protests from Quakers? Four thousand bucks all day. A rare acetate demo of John and Yoko’s blistering 22-minute version of “I’m Henry the VIII, I Am”? Actually, there are 2 million copies of THAT garbage, but I’d still pay at least three grand for the chance to own it.

This is all my fault. I’m addicted to junk. For those who remain uninitiated to shows like “Storage Wars” and “Auction Hunters,” the premise is this — every day, thousands of unclaimed storage lockers are put up for auction. Bidding is fierce, and rivalries develop instantaneously over these storage lockers, which just might be chock-full of rarities and untold riches. It’s the ultimate in Ponzi* schemes, the rule being “buy low, sell high.”

Oh sure, there’s storage units that turn out to be a bust. Apparently, SOME people don’t feel that a damp, 8′ x 10′ concrete storage locker is the best place to keep their priceless copies of Action Comics #1 and miscellaneous Aztec artifacts. But the rule of thumb in the “Storage Wars” world is, if something has intrinsic value, you put it in a glorified carport and lock that shit up with a high-school-locker Master Lock. Then forget you owe $400 for the past four months’ rent and lose your padlocked carport altogether.

Meanwhile, think of how many actual archaeologists have given up scouring the actual ruins of some long-forgotten city whose name Indiana Jones couldn’t even pronounce correctly. Honestly, you can’t blame them. Spending months at a time in some dense jungle, amid the constant threat of attack by large primates and bot flies that lay eggs in open wounds — not to mention the oppressive “jungle stench” — doesn’t help morale. Especially after you’ve spent several months with a Maybelline rouge brush, carefully and intently brushing the faint traces of dirt, layer by layer, from a couple of shards of clay pottery. And it’s Christmas Day.

Take any archaeologist who’s been inspired to unlock the mysteries of Indy movies past, and ask that archaeologist if he or she now feels cheated for having taken that career path, and I’m almost positive the answer will be a resounding FUCK YEAH. (“I’ve been out here in the jungles of Costa Rica for four MONTHS now, and not ONE fucking Nazi! No crystal skulls!  It’s bullshit!”)

What the budding archaeologist fails to realize when he sets out on an Indy mission is that most of the good treasure has already been looted and sold on the black market. Now it’s somewhere in an 8 x 10 storage shed that’s in default of payment, waiting for some hulking behemoth of a man with head tattoos and Oakley shades to slowly bid it up to roughly $1,200 American.

So, in short, to any and all of you potential treasure seekers out there who might be reading this, give up dreams of Custer’s Gold. Put away the maps of Oak Island, and don’t even THINK about going near Fort Knox.

Bid on a storage unit.

You may end up with Lincoln’s personal stash of bukkake tintypes. Or, you might just end up with a fuck-ton of Tupperware. Either way, you played the game.

—

*Given our fascination with combining celebrity couple names, I can only conclude that — somewhere along the line — Potsi Webber and Arthur Fonzarelli, both of “Happy Days,” had a brief, albeit torrid sexual affair. The offspring, carried in Potsi’s butt for three trimesters, was the now-famous word Ponzi.

This Week in J.Miz, Volume 14

by J.MIZ
edited by ANDREW HICKS

Donkey Kong wizard Billy Mitchell can grab J.Miz's bananas anytime, or roll barrels at J.Miz, or climb ladders, or whatever the hell you did in Donkey Kong.

—

• Integrity is SO important to me, I refuse to make exceptions. Well, I make an exception for one thing and one thing only: double standards.

• As I am reconnecting with my Catholic roots, I won’t be dressed as a typical slut for Halloween. Instead, I’m going as an altar boy.

• Creative people with high IQs are often told that they’re insane and need meds. I think we just need better doctors.

• Even as a young girl, I knew I could do WHATEVER I put my mouth to.

• I think the kids on the short bus had it all figured out. I bet THEY never had to write a term paper on The Taming of the Shrew.

• It’s totally bonkers when I’m out with my boyfriend, and I decide to duck into a bathroom and have spontaneous sex, and then he walks in on it.

• Jesus loves you more when you keep it real.

• I hate men who play games. Except for Billy Mitchell. I fucking LOVE him!

• The bathroom in this Argentinian grill is so dark, I’m not sure if I sat on a toilet or a glory hole.

• My dentist told me I wasn’t flossing enough, so I bought dubs. He thought I was retarded! But it turns out I’m racist. Because he’s black.

• J.Miz doesn’t care about bitch-ass people.

• Jesus made me miss the early train today so I could ride the one with the HOT-ASS conductor. #WearingSkirtOnTheVibratingMetraRailFTW #Ahhhhhhhhhhh

• Though life is full of scary people, I do not fear necrophiliacs.

• Dear Suburbs: Yeah. We’re done. kthxbai

• I was just given the day off at the last minute. My afternoon will now be filled with naps and grilled cheeses. Oh yes, my friends. o.h.y.e.s.

• My comforter brings all the kittehs to the bed. And they’re like, “It’s betta than yours!”

• Watched a YouTube video posted by user “golum0734.” I bet THAT guy gets SHIT-TONS of pussy.

• I prefer that my sleep be man-made.

• It seems like the day after I have sex, I’m COVERED in bruises. But I think my boyfriend said it best: “Well then stop fighting back, bitch!”

• In which religious text and on what day did God say, “Let there be religion”? And was that before or after the dinosaurs were on the ark?

• Here’s a bit of an unknown fact: cats.love.ham. And BOY do they HATE rape!

• I wish anxiety would manifest in ways other than panic attacks. For instance, an urge to start a freestyle rap battle. That way you’d stave off the attack AND get mad street cred.

• You’re NEVER too old for sprinkles.

• Dear Coworker With The Shit Attitude, Like You Hate Your Job: I know about a dozen-plus people who would love ANY JOB! Maybe our boss keeps me working a lot a shifts because I’m a pleasant person who contributes, smiles and acts as if I’m not a miserable fuck. He tells me when to come here, and I come. You’re the ONLY reason your shifts are cut or you get stuck on bitch duty. Buck up, man. You’re only fucking yourself. KTHXBAI

—

EDITOR’S NOTE: J.Miz has been with WNF since Day One, and we think she’s damn hilarious. Do yourself a favor and follow @JMiz8 on Twitter. –AH