Archive for ‘Fair Use’

June 28, 2011


"A Fool And His Money Are Easily Parted." Very easily, I assume, as I don't even remember having any money.

by WOO

“A House Divided Against Itself Cannot Stand.” Unless it was just a double-wide mobile home being moved.

“A Bird In The Hand Is Worth Two In The Bush.” A dick in the hand isn’t getting any ‘bush.’ That’s why it’s in the hand.

“A Leopard Can’t Change His Spots.” Which is very unfortunate for the summer fashion season.

“You Can’t Judge A Book By Its Cover.” You can, however, judge its author.

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May 10, 2011

You Might Be A Mom

edited by ANDREW HICKS and WOO

  • If your priority is on how cute your kid’s outfit looks when you take them to school, while you wear sweatpants and mismatched flip flops, you might be a mom.
  • If you carefully smooth and style your child’s hair and totally ignore the syrup you got in your own from the morning’s waffles, you might be a mom.
  • If the phone wakes you from a deep sleep at the ripe old hour of 9:30 pm, and you try to answer it by turning the lamp on and off, there’s a good chance you might be a mom.
  • If you’d need a 12-step program and hypnosis to even consider eliminating caffeine from your diet, you might be a mom.
  • If you’ve left the house with several kinds of bodily fluids on your shirt because one or more of the kids were late for some sort of sporting event, it is likely that you might be a mom.
  • If you see a brown smudge on the carpet and bend to sniff to see if it’s poop, you might be a mom.
  • If you, without hesitation, sniff the socks or crotches of pants laying on the floor of the kids rooms to see if they’re clean or dirty, you might be a mom.
  • If you have taken your finger and licked it to remove dirt from any surface, then guess what? You might be a mom.
  • If you hear the same words tumbling from your mouth that you heard from your own mom’s mouth — and you not only don’t care, but you feel like it totally makes sense (“Don’t come running to me when you break your leg!”), you’re probably a mom.
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May 7, 2011

You Might Be A Douchebag

Now here's a real fucking D-bag! How dare she win!


If you find yourself wearing your sunglasses indoors, with a suit jacket over your band T-shirt, obnoxiously chewing a stick of gum, you might be a douchebag.

If you are over 30 and still feel the need to flip the bird, throw up devil horns, or show off your Gene Simmons tongue in a photo, you might be a douchebag.

If you post a pic of yourself with a hot chick on a dating profile and fill in your interests as, sex, working out and racing up your pimped-out candy-painted Mustang, you might be a douchebag.

If you find yourself laughing maniacally, challenging an old lady with said pimped-out car at a stop light, you might be a douchebag.

If you are the type that winks at any cashier or waitress you hand your card to, you might be a douchebag.

If you are the guy doing a disappearing coin trick as your only means to connect with a child, you might be a douchebag.

Actually, fuck might, you ARE a Douchebag!

January 1, 2011

Men Of Infamy: Mr. Way-Too-Much-Lighter-Fluid Firestarter

by WOO

In this post, we give props and respect due to you, Mr. Way-Too-Much-Lighter-Fluid Firestarter. A prime argument against natural selection, that’s what you are. Armed with three cans of lighter fluid and an “America: Fuck Yeah!” lighter, you’re off to get this bonfire party started. Starter logs? Those are for pussies! Rolled-up newspaper? That’s Boy-Scout shit.

All you need, Captain Conflagration, is a bundle of those logs from the gas station, three empty beer-case boxes, that broken kitchen chair and the particle board and stickers that made up what used to be your entertainment center purchased from Wal-Mart.

You, Knight Of The Flame, marinate the wood in lighter fluid as if it were a New York Strip steak. Two bottles of lighter fluid should do; you’ll need the third for a random Hiroshima reenactment.

You lower your No Fear baseball cap to protect your freshly-grown-back eyebrows, and you strike the lighter. Away it goes, Professor Inferno, a massive fireball reaching 40 feet into the air, nearly setting alight the neighbor’s white oak. You smile brightly at your triumph, our Prince Of The Pyre. Added bonus: All the fuzzies were singed off of your Flannel Shirt.

Baron Of Brimstone, your duty is completed. We give you praise oh He Of Hellfire, for you are a man. A man’s man.