Archive for ‘Just Plain Bitching’

October 29, 2011

Pop Music That Sucks: “I’m Yours”

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.

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September 2, 2011

Too Old For This Shit

Where the shitnipples did I put my trunk?


I turn 40 in just a few months time. People tell me this means I’m now officially a Grumpy Old Man. I always used to mock the idea that you could only be Grumpy, or indeed Old, once you passed through the mystic portal of fortyness. I’ve been Grumpy since I was 11, when I used to tell my fellow pupils to go buy a brain, or tell adults who insisted on being cretins to go and boil their head. In a vat of Sulphuric acid, if I remember correctly.

But that’s the point. I’m no longer sure I remember correctly. This isn’t a creeping senility, or a momentary lapse of memory. This has been happening on a daily basis since my 35th birthday. Halfway through sentences. Halfway through journeys from one room to another. It’s like someone’s hit me with a baseball bat and I’m in a bit of a daze. I’ve always been known by friends and my wife as Memoryboy, for my freakish ability to remember the most arcane details about things, people, situations. Now I can barely hold a coherent thought from one end to the other.

Goddamnsonofabitch. I know there were other examples of the kind of mental decay that’s been visited on me in the last few years, but I can’t remember now what any of it is!

Oh… that’s right. My wife, stifling giggles, has just reminded me that loud noises… hell, even moderately quiet noises… now make me jumpy. Boy that was fun on Halloween. It was even more fun on Guy Fawkes Day – a kind of 17th Century “Hang A Terrorist” holiday, celebrated to this day by setting off random fireworks. Every banger, whizzer and colour-splashing crack of thunder saw me wince, or cringe, or shift involuntarily out of the way. It’s like my body is trying to tell me something, if I could only remember what it is…

It’s like something has clicked over in my metabolism. I’ve worn slippers without irony. My hands and feet are starting to get inexplicably cold for longer periods of time. Young people have been annoying me since I was one of them, but now,  it’s as though the last remaining drops of patience in my soul have been poured out, I want to tell them, as I did as a child, how insane and pointless they are.

Naturally, given the world we live in, I’ve been shouting at the TV for some time now, but I’ve graduated… I used to only shout at the easy targets – the politicians telling us they know what they are doing, the adverts that dared to tell me – short, fat, balding, greasy, hairy-arsed and clueless me – that I’m “worth it too.”

But now it’s everything. Every advert, every programme, every ridiculous flickering parade of mediocrity that passes for entertainment in the arena of the damned. I shout. I point, like that makes some miraculous difference and makes my rage more valid somehow.

The button has clicked over in my brain from “Thirtysomething, clinging to patience and humour and some desperate hope that advertisers are aiming even vaguely at me” to “Bath-chair.” Like I’m suddenly this old and scowling bastard, in my slippers and my Grumpy Old Man face. If I had a stick, I’d hit people with it. In fact, the only reason I’ve refrained from buying a stick is not to get arrested. And somehow, all of a sudden, the fact that people deserve a damn good stick-whacking has become the height – the very pinnacle – of logic and good sense to me. I’ve become my Gran! And suddenly I’m right, they’re wrong!

I feel the gaze of all the proper Grumpy Old Men upon me now, and they are smiling grimly, as though they have been watching my progress and now are happy to call me one of their own. As though they’re telling me “You see? You were always Grumpy-in-waiting, but now you have the urgency, the forgetfulness, the inexplicable back pain – don’t mention it, you’re welcome… Now you are truly one of us, My Son.”

Don’t mess with me. I’m getting too old for this shit.

July 8, 2011

Inappropriate Restaurant Music

edited by ANDREW HICKS and J.MIZ

Riots break out at KFC during Tuesday Two-Play day on Sirius XM's Michael Bolton Radio channel.

I’ve worked in restaurants for more than six years now, and as a music junkie I’ve always paid close attention to the music played in the dining room for the customers. I believe the music played in a restaurant is a vital component to creating a good mood in customers. Restaurants should play fun, upbeat, popular music that is considered to be tolerable by all people. These playlists are corporately compiled to be played in restaurant dining rooms, yet they frequently play the most bland, depressing, out-of-place, truly fucking shitty music that does NOT set the mood for fun.

Exhibit A for my argument: Tom Petty. You would think, Oh, a nice, light rockin’ Petty song would be good for a restaurant. My only question is, why the fuck would you play “The Waiting (Is the Hardest Part)” in a restaurant where food takes forever? You’re already pissed off, then you hear a song that reminds you of how waiting too long to fill your stomach with delicious food sucks ass. Then, after a shitty meal you hear multitracked voices chanting, “HEY! Don’t come around here no more!” You know these customers are thinking, That’s a great idea. I’m fucking NOT coming around here no more!

Another song that has royally pissed me off is Chris Rice’s “Lemonade.” Now, I listen to modern rap, and those ballers aren’t half as pompous as Chris Rice. His song is nothing but boasting how life handed him lemonade, instead of lemons from which to make lemonade. Which means his life has been easy as shit because he is a trust-fund baby. He is, and always will be, rich and “happy.” He will never have to work, or MAKE LEMONADE FROM LEMONS like the rest of us.

By the way, Chris Rice, your lyric, “Thanks for the happy ending,” is a punch in the face to all those average human beings who just waited 45 minutes for their hot-wing appetizers to come out. They already endured all that Tom Petty. Now, when they leave, they hear a song about a guy who is having the best life anyone has ever had ever! Whoever picked this song to be played during dining hours at a restaurant is a huge dick!

Other “Horrible Mentions” in the Inappropriate Restaurant Music category go to: John Mayer, “Waiting For the World to Change”; Michael Jackson, “Man In the Mirror”; and Bryan McKnight, “Back At One.” Those three songs, back to back, are enough to make me stab a random person in the face with a fork. And guess what? A restaurant customer’s silverware rollup comes with two forks! Since this trio of crap music comes from the iPod playlist of a fauxhawked douchetard bartender at my current place of employment, maybe the customers should fork-stab him! Then maybe he won’t play the same iPod playlist every night. (I mean, seriously, this dillweed never hits the “shuffle” button).

It would be kind of cool to see a depression-induced mass suicide during the dinner rush, due to the back-to-back playing of “This Year’s Love” by David Gray and any REM song. Maybe the restaurant people would finally say to themselves, “Shit! Mass suicide! Maybe we should rethink our music playlist!” Then the playlist-making bartender would reply, “Nah, let’s go the safe and easy route, add a little Yanni and take away their forks.”

June 10, 2011

That’s Not Funny…

Print it out and sign it, you unfunny twatwaffle.

… according to PAUL LAO
edited by WOO

[Editors Note: This piece, while containing plenty of humor, is more of an advice column for those striving in the Stand-Up comedy arena. We could all use advise from one who has been around, and we all know Paul Lao has been around!] 

I have been doing stand up for 8 years and I know how to spot a hack, a train wreck, a complete waste of time.  Here is (from my findings) what I consider to make one suck at the hard art:

1. Don’t hate fuck the crowd.
If you think this is going to go well because you shocked the crowd with a raping grandma’s corpse joke while curb stomping a baby, then guess again.  Also don’t talk shit about the venue, the owner, the staff, and the audience.  You are there to make people laugh. At least start with a welcome and a smile before you decide to fist them with no lube.  Wait for them to wrong you then come down on them with furious vengeance.

2. Don’t dress up and make a joke about it.
Resourcefulness is a very admirable attribute when we think of a hero.  And what’s worse than to give him/her a situation that they are completely prepared for?  Diehard would have sucked if John McClane had the Ironman suit.  I have seen guys wear Hawaiian Shirts, 3 piece suits, hats of every genre, t-shirts, props glued to their chest, a doll house on their head, and a guy who slammed his hands on his shorts and popped red fake blood onto the floor.  If you make a joke about a circumstance that you put yourself in you will not get any laughs because the surprise isn’t there.  Or the punch is going to be weak if they see it coming.  Comedy is about misdirection and an awakening of the mind.

Do material about the body you are born with, and how you deal with it.

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May 30, 2011

Nursery Rhymes Are Stupid

by WOO

What is this one really about?

Ring Around The Rosies

Ring around the rosies
Pocket full of posies
Ashes ashes


Twinkle Twinkle Little Star

Twinkle twinkle little star
How I wonder what you are (You just said it’s a star, dumbshit!)
Up above the world so high
Like a diamond in the sky (Diamond? Have you taken geometry? You already said it’s a star!)
Twinkle twinkle little star
How I wonder what you are (Didn’t I just tell you?!)


There Was An Old Woman

There was an old woman who lived in a shoe
She had so many children, she didn’t know what to do
She gave them some broth, without any bread
Whipped them all soundly, and sent them to bed


There was an old hood rat who lived in the ‘jects,
She had eight children for the welfare checks
On the first of the month they ate upper class
by the 15th the kids whined about hunger, and mom beat that ass

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May 6, 2011

Moron moves

Not as unpleasant as moving.


I’ve never had a prostate exam or root canal, but I’ve moved residences plenty of times. I imagine moving to be the most unpleasant of the three. At least you get drugs with the root canal. At least the prostate exam is over in minutes. When you move, you’re dead sober, and you have that metaphorical finger in your ass for weeks.

This was my biggest move yet — moving out of a four-bedroom house — and it made even my minor flaws become glaringly obvious, to the point where my wife and I were either having a hard time getting along or just plain not getting along. Worse, moving made me stupid. Here are some high(low?)lights:

  • Our plan was to get rid of as much stuff as possible before the move. I spent hours going through old boxes of personal stuff, downsizing papers and movies and CDs. The things I went through represented probably 1 percent of our total belongings. We still have a ton of secondhand furniture and duplicate junk that the time crunch forced us to move with us anyway. I could not see the forest for the trees, and speaking of which, I probably did not need to waste time digging up and moving all the trees from the old house, as the new house already has trees. What’m I gonna do with all these extra trees?
  • When gathering a handful of trash from the car with car keys in hand, I threw the whole pile of stuff in the trash, keys included. Next morning, exerted all kinds of time and effort looking for the keys, then thought, What if the keys are in the trash? Then thought, Nah, I couldn’t possibly have done something that stupid. Then thought, Better check anyway. Found them under a used, grounds-filled coffee filter. Then thought, I certainly could and did do something that stupid.
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April 23, 2011

Simple English

by WOO

  • Shouldn’t words look more like what they are? Shouldn’t Mirror be MirrororriM?
  • “I” before “E” except aft… No! FUCK YOU!
  • What do you have to do to make the sound “onomatopoeia”?
  • I don’t use no double negatives just for the attention.
  • There are English words meant to confuse because they’re all alike in their sound.
  • If you have more sense than a gnat, you would know when to use then.
  • If I see another person refer to multiple homicides as a “cereal” killing I am going to serially rape them in the earhole.
  • You cannot graduate an entity. You graduate FROM it. The same goes for released. You don’t graduate college, and you don’t get released prison. You graduate from college, and are released from prison.
April 16, 2011

WTF Facebook Friends

by J.MIZ
edited by ANDREW HICKS

WTF Facebook Friend #1
Thank you, Father God, for all my blessings and being able to see my baby even though my baby mama was trippin. Don’t forget, FB peeps: Ladies Night tonight! All u sexy bitches get in with no cover if you show your titties! Happy fifth birthday, Brianna! Daddy loves you!

WTF Facebook Friend #2
I really need to lose weight. I need motivation!
[NOTE: Friend #2 is checked in at Golden Corral. Alone.]
“Biggest Loser” finale is on tonight! WOOHOO! Note to self: Don’t forget to pick up that sheet cake. Mmm, cake…

WTF Facebook Friend #3
I love my kids sooooo much! Today, my daughter brought home the cutest finger painting! Fuck these kids! All they do is fucking eat, scream and shit!
[NOTE: Friend #2 and her “boo” are currently checked in at Margaritaville.]
W00t! Tequila, bitches! FYI: Amanda’s recital is at 8 am tomorrow. Open seating. Hope u can make it!

WTF Facebook Friend #4
I’m so tired of my stepmom bitching at me for drinking all the orange juice! My name was on it, bitch! 420 = jointnificent! Can somebody drive me to anger management tonight? Why is it I can never hold on to a girlfriend for more than 3 months?

WTF Facebook Friend #5
Why did this happen again? How can you say that? I’m at a loss! Why? When? Where? Who’s responsible for this?!

WTF Facebook Friend #6
Did you see the forecast? o m g! WEATHER! omg omg omg! WEATHER!

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April 14, 2011

This Week in J.Miz

by J.MIZ
edited by ANDREW HICKS

This Magic 8 Ball told Michael Jackson to marry a woman twice.


Been at the bar for less than an hour. Already got my first walk-by farting. Oy vey, it’s gonna be a looooong night! Fuck you, beer specials! Give that guy’s ass some Binaca!

Magic 8 Ball says, “You’re gonna go get pisto with some Mexicans.” Indeed, Magic 8 Ball, indeed!

I am thankful for civil intellectual debates and for my mom not raising more racists in this asshole world.

I asked God for a new lease on life, but I didn’t pass the credit check.

As I become friends with more comics and writers, we seem to all have cats. I think this is because there’s no tougher customer than a cat. Those pussies don’t laugh for shit!


Do people actually dish wash their dishwasher-safe sex toys?! “Honey, where’s that Pyrex didlo?” “In the dishwasher next to the sippy cups!”

Even over the ruckus across the hall, where Young Jeezie is obviously performing live, I can still hear the guy next door peeing. Jealous?

I think the neighbors are playing that new game Meth Lab Hero.

I’m always looking to spin and feminize cliche jokes. That being said, who wants to play, Just The Tit?

Botchy circumcision! The writing’s on the ball!

The last time a guy told me he had dick for days, I didn’t see him for like a week.

This is something I can’t stress enough, having been fucked is no excuse for being fucked up.

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February 24, 2011

An Hour Left!


Has this happened to you? You’re watching a movie. You’re enjoying it, you’re entertained, you think it’s winding down, you go to check the timer on the DVD remote — and there’s AN HOUR LEFT!

You knew it was a 150-minute time commitment. You feel like you’ve already invested that much. Now you’re trying to figure out what could possibly still happen to these characters in this movie. Will they introduce a long-lost relative? Is the main character going to get cancer? Is it about to turn into a musical?

My favorite part of a long, epic movie is always the first half. I love the epic setup. I usually had my fill in the VHS days right around the part where you switched to Tape 2. I never got to Tape 2. I’d be talking about one of those movies with someone like, “Yeah, Schindler’s List was awesome.”

They’d be like, “What about the part where they were slaughtering all the Jews?”

“What? Don’t remember that part. Are you sure we were watching the same movie? The movie I was watching was this great cinematic exercise where they were setting up a cool black-and-white factory.”

February 21, 2011

Top 5 Biggest Wastes of Resources in Recent History

edited by ANDREW HICKS


Knows what's best for you.

As if we need to add more drama to politics, endless actors feel it necessary to literally broadcast their opinions.  These opinions are inevitably laced with uninformed, fruity bullshit and are always overly dramatic. Last October, for example, Rob Reiner called everyone who didn’t support certain social changes and additions “Nazis.” Seriously?

So, because I don’t want to endlessly support some good-for-nothing leech through welfare and/or healthcare, who incidentally also begs me to trade his food stamps for cash at my local grocery store (yeah, pretty sure I already paid for those with my tax money, sport), then uses any cash he gleans from some poor schmuck on drugs, cigarettes, alcohol and cell phone minutes to call the baby momma he’s not supporting, MY character and political view are now comparable to those of a 1940s fascist dictator who wanted to wipe an entire race off the face of the planet just for shits? Yeah. Thanks for trying, but, no.

Really, Rob, shut the fuck up. When these dummies weigh in on our political climate and certain hot-topic issues, I enjoy their performance of their actual jobs a little bit less. They should just stick to what they know: acting, directing, performing, writing, collecting sick amounts of money at my expense (although not at my tax expense, thank Christ), and snorting amounts of coke worth enough to rebuild Haiti from its next disaster.

4. THE TIGER WOODS [or insert most recent celebrity here] AFFAIR

I. Don’t. Get it. What the fuck happened to a celebrity’s right to cheat? Okay, now, I know he’s a public figure with lots of little children who look up to him and want to be just like Tiger someday, but really, what the hell is going on here? We take a sick amount of interest in the private lives of our celebrities but then are genuinely amazed when one them does something that, oh my God, is just like every other celebrity.

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