Archive for ‘Life Lessons’

January 3, 2012

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.

December 28, 2011

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.

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November 1, 2011

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.
October 26, 2011

A Hairy Situation

by LOLA TUCKER
edited by TONY FYLER

Woman with a nose-hair remover, about to stick it up her nose.

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.

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October 21, 2011

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

October 19, 2011

Get The Fuck Off Wall Street!

by TONY FYLER
edited by ANDREW HICKS

You want to hit corporations where it hurts? Make your own protest signs instead of buying the protest signs sold at Walmart.

Let’s be absolutely clear on one point – non-violent direct action is a truly kickass idea. It’s changed the world time and time and time again. It’s effective, it’s community-building and, if you do it right, it has the double-edged effect of making the forces of oppression absolutely livid while also ensuring they have no effective way of dealing with their lividity.

In essence, the key to great non-violent direct action is not so much using your opponent’s strength against him as it is making him so furious his head explodes, while you sing “Kumbayah” and eat quiche.
But let’s be clear about one other point, while we’re here. Non-violent direct passivity is just plain dull.

There seems to be a strain of really earnest hippie thinking at work in 21st century protest that makes me think the people doing the protesting haven’t actually read the manual. I mean, everything’s “plug and play” these days, so why bother with a manual, right? Your iProtest should just… work.

It’s as if these neo-hippies have seen pictures of protests from days gone by, and they think just showing up is pretty much enough to topple governments. Or change laws. Or suddenly make shitty people be just a smidgen less shitty to everybody who isn’t them.

Point of order: If the Boston Tea Party had been run in this new manner, the revolutionaries would have arrived, chanted their slogans about taxation and representation and yadda yadda yadda, and been shot stone dead, leaving the British to get on with their busy day of evil fuckery.

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October 12, 2011

My 5 Most Abused Forms of Alcohol

by ANDREW HICKS

I used to drink so much the labels looked like they were on backward.

Next week, it’ll be a year since I quit drinking. Though I am extremely grateful and proud that I’ve been able to do it, I feel like it might not be commonly known to the people in my life that I used to drink a LOT. This is a list of the top five alcoholic substances I abused during my decade of hardcore drinking.

1. BEER
To give you just a tiny idea of how much beer I used to drink, this is what my Mondays were like 9 months out of the year: Wake up around 4 pm, hungover/still drunk from the night before. Eat about ten bucks worth of Panera. Go to my men’s bowling league, where the other members of Team Ramrod and I would take turns buying pitchers of Bud Light for the next three hours. Then, it was off to the shithole bar up the street for three more hours of cheap draft beer, jukebox songs, shuffleboard games and loud, obnoxious laughter. Then we’d go to the casino, where I’d drink more draft beer until the bar closed at 3. This was something like two gallons of beer every Monday. And I didn’t take the rest of the week off or anything.


2. CHEAP WHITE WINE

Wine didn’t really enter the picture until my wife got pregnant with my oldest child. I took that old doctor’s cliche about, “One glass of wine won’t hurt you,” and ran with it. I’d buy the magnum-size bottles of chardonnay or sauvignon blanc — cheap stuff like Liberty Creek, Crane Lake, Turning Leaf and other brands that sound like names of bad apartment complexes.

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October 4, 2011

Throw Pillows A-Go-Go

by LOLA TUCKER
edited by TONY FYLER

bed piled high with throw pillows

Look - throw pillows. Purrrrrdy...


It is an ongoing battle in the Tucker household.

I’d like a bedroom that speaks to my romantic side, with deep plush carpeting that doesn’t smell like dog, and just the right mood lighting to always make me look 15 years younger. I want a vanity where I can sit and blow dry my hair like some middle-aged Rapunzel, then put on my 10 pounds of makeup. And, as the centerpiece of my fabulous bedroom, I want a bed that looks like a big marshmallow, complete with about 20 throw pillows.

My husband Bill isn’t really on board with this idea. On more than one occasion, the conversation has gone like this…

BILL: Can you please explain to me why all of these little pillows are on the bed?
ME: They’re for decoration. They are shams and throw pillows.
BILL: So I can’t lay on them?
ME: No, they are not for your head.
BILL: Okay, I give up, then why in hell are they on my bed?
ME: So the bed looks pretty.
BILL: That is the dumbest thing I ever heard. Let’s get rid of them.
ME: We can’t. They cost a fortune, and I love them.
BILL: But you can’t do anything with them. They are completely useless.
ME: I don’t care, they make me happy. Now get your fucking hands off the throw pillows.

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September 24, 2011

How To Be An Intellectual Douche

by ANNE GARDNER
edited by CHRISTOPHER WOO

  • Memorise a list of names of both scientists and philosophers and spout them off, attributing ideas and theories to them at random. Don’t forget to memorise the names of their writings and works, too. Throw in a spiritualist or two, here and there, for good measure.
  • Never admit that you’re wrong. Remember, all research and knowledge has been completed and discovered on any given subject you’ve troubled yourself to study. There will never be anything else to say on the subject. New and unique ideas are absurd, and furthermore, admitting wrongdoing would be mean utter failure and disaster to your aspirations of being a douche.
  • Don’t accept ideas from anyone who hasn’t read at least three books or watched at least five YouTube or Vimeo videos on the topic at hand. Who do they think they are to come up with un-sourced ideas? Unique ideas and new information are absurd.
  • The only acceptable selections of music for your repertoire are the classical artists: Bach, Beethoven, Wagner, Vivaldi, Mozart (of course, since your mother has been playing it for you since conception), Shubert, Dave Matthews, Chopin, Coldplay, Litz, and Brahms. Anything else is simply unacceptable “noise.”
  • Two words: Vegan Starbucks. It’s your new diet! The more coffee and smoothies the better. A smoothie is your new chicken soup. It is good for the brain – and the soul. Any coffee that costs less than $4 per cup is downright offensive. For our aspiring douches across the pond, Earl Grey is also acceptable. Also, remember: meat is murder. Need I say more?
  • Meditate daily on the magnificence of your own existence and that it was formed from nothingness and chaos. Soothe and pacify your errant original thoughts through daily meditation. Be sure to reflect on the curiousness that is your navel in the true style of DalaiLamaGhandiDavidLynchBuddhaDrPhil .Repeat this mantra until your mind is quieted: ad nauseam, ad nauseam, ad nauseam.
  • If you don’t have one, purchase a thesaurus, or utilise any available – either online or Microsoft Word. Make sure before you engage in philosophical discussions, to thoroughly analyse and formulate your opinions, picking out any simplistic or crude verbiage. A thesaurus (along with your already vast knowledge of what Hawking, Darwin, Aristotle, Plato, and Ron Paul has to say) is your most important tool in intellectually blowing the minds of your soon-to-be followers.
  • In a discussion, whether in person or online, choose the elite few that have adhered to these rules and become their yes man. Agree with everything they have to say. Come to their defence when attacked. Hone that relationship and mold it into your very own circle jerk.
  • Look down your nose at everyone. Lift your head up high and gaze with eyes half-closed down at the peons who dare to think their intellect could even begin to compete with yours.
  • Finally, have some self-respect. That good for nothing job of yours is getting you nowhere. They aren’t utilising your skills at that desk job. And management is too remedial to realise that you are brilliant. Quit that job and ride your bike over to the nearest Starbucks and apply. Surely there you will be recognised by the working stiffs for your intellect, as you make their morning venti, bold, half-caff with cinnamon dolce and room for cream. Stimulate them, not just with their morning brew, but with your mind. There is no greater calling.
September 2, 2011

Too Old For This Shit

Where the shitnipples did I put my trunk?

by TONY FYLER
edited by CHRISTOPHER WOO

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.

August 30, 2011

Cleanup In Aisle 6

by ERTEL GRAY
edited by TONY FYLER

The first public performance by many famous women comedians was done in the supermarket checkout. (Pictured above: Elayne Boosler, Paula Poundstone, Betty the Checker.)

It started off like any other trip to the grocery store…

The week leading up to this trip, I spent in preparation. Long, sleepless nights spent staring intently at a blank notepad, a pencil resting uselessly by its side. Frustration builds up quickly when you’re in a creative rut, and in this sense, I was no different from my writing forefathers. Hemingway, Wilde, even Danielle Steele had their creative wheels stuck in the mud, so to speak. But it didn’t matter to me, for I knew inspiration would come. And it did. I finally picked up the pencil.

Soon, my empty page was full of ideas, which I had honed down to a razor-sharp comedic timing. Rough lumps of comedy were honed to fine, crystalline diamonds, in search of the perfect setting. I knew where to put the jokes in, I knew what jokes I wanted to use. Heck, I even cut material that on any other week I would have gladly used! After all that preparation, I had the material that THEY would remember me by.

You see, I’m a comedian. But I don’t work the circuits, and I don’t do open-mic nights at PJ’s Chucklehut, or the Laff Emporium. I’ve got a racket all my own, and I aim to keep it that way.

I work the checkout lines at the grocery store.

Oh sure, my sets are only as long as it takes the cashier to ring me up, but boy… I leave ’em laughing. And I’d imagine that the cashier thinks quietly to herself during her pre-designated ten-minute break, “Geez, that guy was on FIRE today! A regular Gallagher, minus the senseless destruction of fruit! God, I wonder WHAT he’ll come up with next week!” She’s a fan — even Ray Charles could see that.

This week, I had my A material. I figured I’d start light, with some easy observational humor (checkout lines are FULL of observational fruit, just waiting to be plucked and devoured), maybe work in a few sight gags (a la Carrot Top) with the items I’d buy. I mean, why ELSE would I buy a can of whipped cream, a bunch of banana and a box of condoms?! Or a 30-pack of Coors Light, a jar of Vaseline and a rather large cucumber?

Then, when I had them in the palm of my hand, that’s when I’d spring it on them. Bam! Topical humor: “Geez, what is up with Obama these days?! I mean, come on!” (I actually don’t have a joke prepared for this… I don’t follow the politics too well.)

This would be the set they remembered me by. I could hear them talking about me long after I’d left… this was to be my Citizen Kane!

“Hi… you find everything okay?” Debra asked me. Way to serve up that softball, Debra. You’re about to be part of comedic histo– “Oprah Magazine, huh?! Every time I come in here, she’s on the cover! Is she really that egotistical?!”

Who said that?! I thought to myself. It’s brilliant! Why didn’t I ever notice that before?!

“And what is up with all these rag mags?! Bigfoot spotted on top of Loch Ness Monster with Elvis?! Who reads this crap?!”
This son-of-a-bitch was barging in on my act! And worse than that, he was doing a damn good job of it, too! I craned my head over the candy rack separating lanes 5 and 6 to see who was performing. Apparently, I wasn’t alone on the checkout-line comedy circuit.

I became flushed with panic and started grasping at straws: “What is up with that hairdo, Debra… Oh no, I didn’t mean… I’m sorry. No no, I wasn’t insulting you… Fuck me! Oh no… I don’t mean you Debra, not literally… look, what… where… Paper or plastic… save a plastic tree?” Ugh! God! I’m bombing, and I can’t stop the freefall!

“Would you like a bag?” she asked him. And, with perfect comedic timing, he replied “Oh no, I left her at home!” Bam!

“You son of a bitch!” I cried, as I lunged over the candy rack between our lanes. “This was MY time! I was supposed to be the star!” I picked up a giant jar of pickles and brought them down on his head repeatedly, in a murderous rage.

After the trial, and the sentencing (14 to 30 years, if you’re wondering), I did a lot of soul searching. And finally, I decided to give up my dreams of comedic stardom. Daily mouth rapings will do that to a fella.

I still observe things in my own weird little way, though. Sometimes I even get a chuckle out of my cellie, but mostly I keep them to myself. After all, it’s kinda hard to talk with your mouth full.

NOTE: This is the first post edited by WNF senior contributor Tony Fyler. Be sure to congratulate him on his promotion next time you see him at the water cooler. -Andrew J Hicks.

August 17, 2011

This Week in J.Miz, Volume 11

by J.MIZ
edited by ANDREW HICKS

  • Dead Elvis jokes: Too soon?

    Today marks the 34th anniversary of me still not giving a shit that Elvis died.

  • A white kid’s rite of passage from childhood to adulthood, is the first time they say “fuck” to their mom SUCCESSFULLY.
  • I broke up with my ex like 3 months ago, and he’s STILL sending me dirty texts! I FINALLY told him, “Dude, if I didn’t cum by now…”
  • Glee makes my vagina seal shut.
  • Cats are horrible at handshakes and hugs.
  • Anytime somebody tells me, “I’ll pray for you!” I think, “OH FUCK! To YOUR God?!”
  • I’ve finally had it with guys talking to me like they’re 12. So I just dumped my boyfriend. After I dropped him off at day camp.
  • If I had a dollar for everytime I heard “Cherry Pie” last week, I’d be a HORRIBLE stripper.
  • I only hook up with guys who are AT LEAST 23. It used to be 25, but I recently had a birthday.
  • I miss living alone. And by living alone, I mean masturbating.
  • The best thing about quitting drinking was all the free time I suddenly had. To do cocaine.
  • I REALLY love cake. And by “cake” I mean “oral.”
  • Weaves are now considered fashionable. I doubt white people thought that a few hundred years ago when it was called “scalping.”
  • I once broke up with a guy when I discovered he had a small penis. In his mouth.
  • Sometimes I worry I’m OCD. Wait… Sometimes I get worried that… FUCK! Wait… I often worry… DAMMIT!
  • I’m going to open a cupcake shop and name it Curvez. #FirstOneIsFree
  • I believe sex is the HIGHEST expression of love. For sex.
  • When ever somebody acts like a bitch to me, I assume she’s in heat. So I hump her leg.
  • It’s hard to watch people drink themselves to death. So I do my BEST to encourage them. To drink alone at home.
  • I’m not laughing AT you, I’m laughing WITH you. As soon as you start laughing.
  • When I attempt to have a conversation with somebody who then has nothing but Bible citations, it reminds me of my mom: “BECAUSE I SAID SO!”
  • Whenever I watch Unsolved Mysteries, I wonder who the fuck abducts women and children THAT ugly.
  • I wish the weather was ALWAYS like this. #WhiteGirlThoughts
  • The last time a chick tried to get me to gossip, I IMMEDIATELY walked away. And talked shit about her.
  • I like big cocks and I cannot lie. #SirDicksALot
  • Love is like laryngitis. They both start with “L.”
  • I’ve had boyfriends that I LOVED. And I’ve had boyfriends that I’ve LIKED. More than loneliness.
  • Thunderstorms make me wet.
  • Jesus may be my co-pilot, but Satan is CLEARLY my navigator.
  • “Mo’ money, mo’ problems.” –St. Francis of Assisi
  • Some people are born who are good at EVERTHING they do. Then there are those who aren’t me.
  • You know you live in the hood when the car alarms stay on beat with the radio.
  • I never hit snooze because I fear commitment. I prefer that my tardiness be spontaneous.
  • People think I commit a lot of sins because I don’t have God. I just know that I don’t want to be an old person who is always cold.
  • It’s very difficult to explain why I enjoy being single to people who are in relationships. Especially if they are my boyfriend.
  • I’ve always wanted to have children but have never wanted to keep them.
  • I HATE hypocrites. That being said, I love you guys.
  • What do illiterate people do while they eat their cereal?
  • I have often been called a “slut,” but I prefer to think of myself as a “people pleaser.”
  • I wish my boyfriend made me want to cum as hard as I want to go.
  • Any urban squirrel’s pole work could put even the BEST stripper to shame.
  • I only date guys with long hair because I like my boyfriends unemployed or “working in entertainment.”
  • I’m either getting a huge zit on my forehead or my skull’s about to release the Kraken.
  • Safe words are for pussies and quitters.
  • My boyfriend recently started refusing to wear a condom. I sat him down and explained how that makes it unsafe to assume this may be his baby.
  • You ever get that “pee your pants” feeling, just following peeing your pants?
  • My boyfriend is always encouraging me to try new things. So I did. And he was RIGHT! HIS cock IS bigger than his brother’s.
  • I can hear my roommate moaning in the next room. It’s making me EXTREMELY excited. That the cyanide’s FINALLY working.
  • I will listen to what you do, not what you say, the moment you get to fucking off.
August 11, 2011

The Way Of The Toddler

The best thing since the last Good Charlotte album.

by TONY FYLER
edited by WOO and ANDREW HICKS

[This week, London and several other cities in the UK erupted into riots and looting. Tony Fyler was there. In his reinforced bunker. Waiting for it all to be over.]

As London and a handful of other British cities put out the fires of this week’s rioting – just in time for Parliament to re-open and the whole thing to kick off again – some of the teenage looters are coming forward to explain why they did it.

“It’s our way of expressing our rage at the authorities,” they’ve said. “We’re showing the police and the authorities we do what we like! Nobody listens to us! Well, they’ll listen now!”

Excuse freaking me, but isn’t that called “being a teenager”?

And correct me if I’m wrong, but being a teenager is an excuse for slamming doors, feeling like nobody understands you, writing maudlin poetry, getting more sex than is good for you, not getting enough sex to be good for you, puking up alcohol in your neighbor’s rosebush, going on an occasional demo and then growing the hell up and realizing what an idiot you were. It is not an excuse for beating people up, breaking into shops or burning down your cities!

Pull that shit at home and the Supernanny’d have you on the Naughty Step before you could say, “I didn’t ask to be born!” Now, suddenly, because you’ve gotten together with your buddies and torched some stuff, we’re supposed to take you seriously? Reeeeeally doesn’t work that way. Put down the matches, Inferno Boy, you’re just a bunch of emo kids with hoodie hair!

Of course, there’s been a lot of talk about the economic deprivation of these times feeding into the rage. ’Scuse me? Number one, you’re a teenager, you haven’t done anything yet that warrants a word like “rage.” Number two, yeah, everyone’s poor, what’s your point? “Oh, but all the rich kids have the coolest toys, and it’s not fair that I don’t have them, so I’m gonna smash things and shout and take what I want, cos that’s fair then!” Whatever happened to, “You can’t have it ‘cos it costs too much, now sit down, shut up and play with this cardboard box”? The sense of ‘outraged’ entitlement is never pretty and never persuasive. How about this – quit your bitchin’, get a job, save up your money and buy whatever the hell you want! Simply “not having stuff” is no good reason to take it from somebody else.

There’s also been talk about the sense of disenfranchisement felt by “the youth.” Well again, let’s look at some facts here. You’re teenagers, you can’t be disenfranchised – most of you haven’t even been enfranchised the first time yet! Honestly, the National Health Service no longer provides the quadruple irony bypass needed to be able to listen to a 14 year old talk about how he doesn’t have the rights and respect he deserves without throwing something at the TV screen. You don’t have rights? How about we talk again when your balls drop or your tits emerge. You don’t get enfranchised untill you’re 18. ‘Till then, our house, our rules, put down the freakin’ gasoline. You’re not disenfranchised, you’re a goddamned teenager.

Oh, and while we’re talking about disenfranchisement, in the last election in this country, nobody – but nobody – voted for a coalition government. So I’ve got news for you kids: being technically enfranchised is no guarantee of getting what you want anymore. The government that nobody voted for has gone on to make the most savage cuts in a generation to healthcare, education, wages, unions, the lot.

So y’know what? We’re all pissed off. But there are ways of doing things. Your way is the way of the toddler. In fact, hell, we’ve had to keep the courts open for extra hours to process all the toddlers who’ve been involved in this lunacy, so how about this for a punishment – make ’em all walk around for one day dressed in romper suits and diapers, with pacifiers in their mouths. If you’re going to act like toddlers when you can’t have your impulses satisfied, we get to treat you like toddlers. Fair?

I think most of ’em would rather die.

The way grownup people deal with things, by the way, has been shown by the crews of volunteer street cleaners that have emerged. Ordinary people are responding to the damage of their community by cleaning it up, even though they had nothing to do with causing the damage. There have, of course, been groups of vigilantes ganging together to actively fight the looters. But the most telling report about them is that, in most cases, “the group of men had been gathering in local pubs since about 2 pm.” These are not proper grownups either; these are drunken morons. They have their own version of the Naughty Step – it’s called Their Lives.

Oh, incidentally, much has been made of the “trigger point” of these riots – the death of a young black man at the hands of the armed police officers. (Yes, really, we do have them over here now.) This would be fair enough if, a) it was news that the police were useless at identifying targets. It isn’t – they shot an unarmed guy stone dead on the Tube just a few years ago because he was wearing a duffle coat when it was hot. This new man, Mark Duggan, was at least armed, so the idea that the officer thought there was a threat to life at least gains a little credibility. And, b) more young people weren’t killed every year by other young people with knives and guns than are killed by the police. Bottom line, it’s sad that he died, but claiming his death was the trigger point for these riots is disingenuous given the stated motivations of the looters themselves. These riots were sparked by opportunism, a misplaced sense of entitlement and the chance to nab an iPad 2 in the melee.

You lot, Naughty Step, NOW!

August 5, 2011

This Week in J.Miz, Volume 10

by J.MIZ
edited by ANDREW HICKS

  • Don't let this old dog's air of sophistication fool you -- there's crack-cocaine in that pipe!

    If you walk a mile in a man’s shoes, that’s NOTHING compared to a man walking a mile in my “fuck me pumps.”

  • Sticks and stones may break my bones, but I have a motherfucking chainsaw.
  • As a child, I always wanted a lot of pets. Just not from my uncle.
  • All empty relationships can be aided by a full bottle.
  • You can’t teach an old dog new tricks, but he will VOLUNTARILY do anything you want. Once you get him addicted to crack. #PearlsOfWisdom
  • I caught my boyfriend trying to cheat on me with a hooker! I was FURIOUS that’s how he found out about my new job.
  • In regard to my sex life, I am a proponent of the “buddy system.”
  • When I found out my boyfriend had another girlfriend, I felt REALLY bad. For her.
August 2, 2011

Famous Literary Quotes

by ANDREW HICKS, WOO, ERIC DOHMAN and TONY FYLER
edited by ANDREW HICKS

“The horse owned the feed silo that the chicken ate from, the chicken would wash the car of the sheep. At one point, the donkey decided to vote Republican.”
-George Orwell, Animal Farm

“I wouldn’t call it a sex toy per se, but it does have all needed parts, my dear.”
-Mary Shelley, Frankenstein

“That’s what I have: Up Syndrome!”
-Chris Burke, My Name Is Not Corky

“YORK Jeff 2591 Hicks Pike 48791…………….414 234-03​36.”
The Real White Pages, Madison, Wis.

‎”I gave Bernie Leibowitz a toy airplane for his tenth birthday, and he never wrote me a thank you note. Who doesn’t write a thank you note? A Jew, that’s who!”
-Adolph Hitler, Mein Kampf

“At Christmas party, drink one bottle of gin and gently place breasts on copy surface. Press 100 then start.”
-Xerox 914 Operating Manual

read more »

July 29, 2011

Stereotypes

by ERTEL GRAY
edited by ANDREW HICKS

On the next COPS: "Ma'am, step out of the cooler. Ma'am... step out of the cooler."

Have you ever run into people who actually FIT a certain stereotype? Like the archetypical redneck, aka Guy Voted Most Likely To Be Arrested on COPS While Shirtless in a Pair of Cutoffs, Cigarette Dangling From His Thickly Moustached Lips, Spreadeagle in a Stained La-Z-Boy Recliner With a Glazed-Over, Not-Shocked-in-the-Least-To-See-the-Police-Within-the-Confines-of-His-Modular-Home Look in His Eyes?

Or perhaps you’ve borne witness to the dumb, post-high school jock who STILL insists on calling you Squirt Stain 15 years after he supposedly “caught” you masturbating onto a urinal cake in the boys bathroom, when all you were really trying to do was zip your pants up?

I have, and boy, it ain’t pretty at all. I should also state for the record: Arizona Jeans are shoddily crafted.

read more »

July 27, 2011

This Week in J.Miz, Volume 9

by J.MIZ
edited by ANDREW J HICKS

[Do you follow J.Miz on Twitter? That’s where she’s been writing her best shit the past few weeks. Do yourself a favor, catch the J.Miz wave early. and follow @jmiz8 on Twitter. You’ll be glad you did. –AJH]

  • Normally, I'd make a smartass comment, but instead I ask, How awesome is this picture?

    Nothing tickles Jenny more than people talking in third person.

  • As I walked across a bridge, I passed a guy riding his bike across, drunk. I tip my hat to you sir! #MadSkillz
  • I have a Christian friend that is SO devout, he often REFUSES to covet his own wife.
  • I have a friend who says her anxiety feels like the moment before the first person dies in a horror flick. I’d like to sympathize, but I’m not black.
  • Don’t sweat the small stuff. Guys with tiny penises usually have MUCH bigger issues. #PearlsOfWisdom
  • After chopping my hair off this last time, I decided to grow it out. I got tired of people wondering how long my boyfriend’s been gay.
  • I love making myself “to do” lists, because nothing is more important than prioritizing my failures.
  • One of my worst characteristics is losing things. It all started with my virginity.
  • Donut holes are puzzling. Don’t average donuts come WITH a hole? Why does no one find this suspicious? Who is that ball trying to fool?
  • I just LOVE the feel of my boyfriend’s sweatshirt, up against my inner conflict with stealing.
July 23, 2011

17 Promises

by LOLA TUCKER
edited by ANDREW HICKS

Jesus was totally going to come back in May, but he got stuck attending a wedding he’d forgotten to put in his Outlook calendar. (“Save the date, Jesus!”) So Our Lord has rescheduled his appearance — he’ll be back October 21st this time. I have less than three months to get myself rapture-ready, and I’m going to take it seriously.

I promise to:

  • Not sweat the small stuff. Instead, I will obsess only about really BIG shit that has not yet happened.
  • Stop comparing myself to skinny women under the age of 30. Instead, I will only compare myself to overweight women over the age of 50, which will lead to a healthier level of self-esteem.
  • Spend more time with family, right up to the point where they become completely intolerable.
  • Not let my ass become the size of a truck. The size of a bicycle is my limit.
  • Not spend more than one hour a day on the Internet. Of course, I’m not much of a clock watcher, so that one is a bit of a crap shoot.
  • Work with neglected children, namely my daughter.
  • Stop sending my husband text messages while I am talking to him on the phone.
  • Give up at least three clothing items whose year of origin was 1986-93.
  • read more »

July 21, 2011

Share Your Toys

Clifford braces himself for another love attack from a marauding 1 year old.

by ANDREW HICKS

Much of the tedium in parenting comes in the little moments. They’ll always need their diapers changed, they’ll always need to be fed, you’ll always have to clean up after them. And so on. But sometimes, those routine activities can produce a satisfaction that spreads across the spectrum of human emotion. I had one such unexpected reaction a couple nights ago.

My wife had bought the kids a set of four plush toys, characters from “Clifford, the Big Red Dog.” These are my 2-and-a-half year old Sarah’s new favorite toys — she calls them her “puppies,” and she makes sure they travel with her to every room in the house. Meanwhile, Silas, the 1 year old, just really likes Clifford. Specifically, he likes to grab Clifford by the neck, crawl on top of him and roll around while chewing on whatever plush protrusion is near his mouth.

Silas was in the middle of his Clifford Love ritual the other night when Sarah decided to take the big red dog away from her brother. We’ve been trying to teach Sarah to share her toys — and have instituted a zero-tolerance policy — but to this point, we’d been met with defiance and old-fashioned ignoring of instructions.

read more »

July 17, 2011

This Week in J.Miz, Volume 8

by J.MIZ
edited by ANDREW HICKS

J.Miz will watch your brown baby for half-price, but he has to bring his own smokes.

  • I’m often told to think before I talk by people who talk.
  • I prefer casual sex. Formal sex is way too uptight.
  • This 5-year-old kid just offered me a dollar for ONE cigarette. I was speechless when I thought about how DISGUSTING my profitability index was going to be.
  • My favorite part of summer is when the stores put their racks outside for sidewalk steals.
  • Vegans are incapable of having beef with anyone.
  • My second favorite sex position is called the Don’t Be Boring.
  • I was going to have a yard sale for some extra cash, but it seemed too much like share cropping.
  • I stand up against the ideals of Hitler one hair coloring and spray tan at a time.
  • I wish I could remember what my friend said heroin is like. But I was WAY too distracted by the crack I was smoking at the time.
July 13, 2011

Devil’s Guide to the 21st Century, Part 2

by TONY FYLER
edited by ANDREW J HICKS


[EDITOR’S NOTE: Tony Fyler presents the following definitions with respectful acknowledgment to the great journalist Ambrose Bierce, who wrote the original Devil’s Dictionary in 1911. Read the first part of Tony’s brilliant invective here. -AJH]

Altruism: Self-interest in full camouflage.

Astrology: Entrail reading’s less socially awkward cousin.

Atheism: The understanding that there is no grand plan for human existence. Life has about as much meaning as the existence of Brussels sprouts, so everything we do is ultimately, in the long term, pointless. Still, you’ve got to laugh, haven’t you?

Baby: A young human. Also a term misapplied to fetuses, embryos and even blastocytes by those who seek to deny a woman her reproductive rights. The proof of this misapplication, of course, lies in the fact that humanity has bothered to come up with entirely different words for these different stages of life. By “pro-life” logic, teenagers too should be considered babies, and it should be illegal to destroy them. Clearly, that way madness lies.

Beck, Glenn: It is commonly believed that there are only Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. This is the result of a transcription error in the King James Bible. In reality, there are Five Horsemen – War, Famine, Pestilence, Death and Hysteria. Anyone who has watched Glenn Beck’s show knows that the Fifth Horseman is already here. Of course, most people who have watched Glenn Beck’s show rather wish that the Fourth Horseman had preceded him.

Creationism: Proof that evolution does not necessarily select for intelligence.

read more »

July 9, 2011

Can I Write My Jokes in Peace?

by PAUL LAO
edited by ANDREW HICKS

Newman and Ms. Swan have a glorious message to share with you, unprompted, in the mall food court.

I was sitting in a comfortable wicker chair at the Irvine Spectrum with my comedy buddy Ryan Papazian. We were working on standup bits at the Red Rock Bar. I was in good company, and the jokes were starting to flow out. We analyzed Ryan’s routine about his problems with girls. Add this. Leave this out. Maybe if you use an act-out or use this type of voice. The beginnings of a productive afternoon were underway. We were sitting in public, though. When you sit in public, people can approach you for absolutely no good reason.

Enter the odd couple. He wore a powder-blue button-down shirt and khakis, and he also looked just like Newman from “Seinfeld.” She looked like a Filipino Ms. Swan (from “MADtv”). They approached us as if they knew us, asking, “So what do you guys think of this May 21st business?”

Oh, the Rapture? That’s nonsense. I don’t care. I am an atheist. That’s what I should have said. Instead, I answered thoroughly and seriously, and so did Ryan. We talked about the mass manipulation and misallocated funds of the Mormon religion and the guilt builders of the Catholic religion. We chastised the Saddleback Church for spending 4 million dollars on a basketball court and Crystal Cathedral Ministries for declaring bankruptcy to the tune of $48 million.

read more »

July 6, 2011

This Week in J.Miz, Volume 7

by J.MIZ
edited by ANDREW HICKS

A Hispanic Fourth of July celebration includes ornate costuming, delicious carne asada and absolutely no gunfire.

TUESDAY

  • My name is Jennifer, and I am addicted to introductions.
  • Anything over six degrees of Kevin Bacon would be entirely too hot.
  • Modern vernacular has made it so I cannot be merry and carefree without being homosexual.
  • My new boyfriend kept yelling out other girls’ names during sex. I FINALLY sat him down and said, “Look, What’s-Your-Name…”
  • I considered formally calling myself “agnostic,” but I’m still on the fence.

 

MONDAY

  • This July 4th, I will remember our forefathers and all those who have died in the name of pyromania.
  • Spending the day barbecuing, enjoying the sun and drinking good wine makes me grateful for the little things, like being white.
  • Fourth of July reminds me that I truly am free… to dress like a proud American slut.
  • I love living in a Hispanic neighborhood during Fourth of July! The smell of carne asada, the mariachi music, the knowledge that those noises in the distance are fireworks, not gunshots. Because Mexicans stab each other.
  • If I ever started doing heroin, I’d go to rehab immediately. I don’t know of any other place so full of people who would help me get more heroin.
  • There are times I have to dumb myself down or, as I like to call it, be a man.

 

SUNDAY

  • I’ve decided to keep a safe distance from my boyfriend until he can love incommunicably.
  • Every time I wish on a star, I realize how insignificant it is to wish on stars.
  • I like my boyfriend like I like my coffee: First thing in the morning, hot as hell and then out of my sight for the rest of the day.
  • I have yet to fuck the couch in my new place, but it seems like a nice enough couch.
  • I finally decided to say yes to my boyfriend’s marriage proposal! That’s how much I love open bars.

 

SATURDAY

  • At Walmart, I was next to a guy in a riding cart. Mentally, I began to race him. I won. Nice try, Americans with Disabilities Act, but functioning legs are still better.
  • According to the CDC, unprotected sex may result in chronic, terminal acronyms.
  • My boyfriend is a real stickler for me using forethought in my word choices. So I always stop and think seriously before I call him a bitch.
  • My younger boyfriend gets sick over the age difference. I’ve learned nothing helps his huge headache more than two “big boy” asprins.
  • I will not say “fuck you,” but I will say “fuck thee.”

 

FRIDAY

  • I’ve thought about getting a second cat, but I don’t want to be known as the “lady who loves cats.” Instead, I got a rooster.
  • I don’t know about you, but techno music speaks to me. It’s in my ear, saying, “I’m an awkward, middle-aged white guy in a suit, drinking vodka and Vitamin Water.”
  • My boyfriend and I have opposite sleep schedules, but we accept it. A small thing like that isn’t enough to break us of our respective cocaine and Xanax habits.
  • A career in stand-up would greatly interfere with my current one, which is fundamentally based on “lay-down.”
  • I completely understood my boyfriend’s Oedipus issues the moment I saw the way he interacts with his mom as she blows him.
  • Have you ever smelled so bad you had to admit it publicly on the Internet?
  • I haven’t heard from my boyfriend today. Duct tape is AWESOME!

 

THURSDAY

  • I always wanted to date an amputee with a speech impediment so he could tell me he “nubs” me.
  • The only issue I have with my childhood is them calling it “rape.” Do you know how long it took me to seduce my uncle?!
  • Society sends too many mixed messages to women. We are pressured to have children but are arrested if we borrow them.
  • Like a sand through the hourglass, a teeny tiny grain of cock. #GuysIDoNotMiss

 

WEDNESDAY

  • Einstein proved that elevated clocks move faster due to less gravity. Addicts have proven that, when they are truly higher, gravity has flavor.
  • To those who don’t find humor in scientific jokes: I’m sure Jesus loves the shit out of you.
  • Friends do not let friends buy coke at full price.
  • My boyfriend’s bachelor’s in theater direction was useless until he found work in the porn industry cock blocking.
  • No matter how many times you change the lie, it still doesn’t become the truth.
  • My boyfriend is so dumb and naive, I have him convinced < 3 is a math equation I post on facebook to my gay best friend Steve.
  • My boyfriend commited suicide on my last birthday. I know, I know. You’re thinking, how will I EVER get a better present than that?!
June 29, 2011

Intolerance is Genetic

by RICHARD WENTZ
edited by ANDREW HICKS
 

Everett recounts the events of his trip to San Francisco via cordless phone.

I don’t make the following statement lightly — intolerance is genetic. Submitted for your approval, my supporting life experience:

It had been a couple of years since my mother married her sixth (yes, sixth) husband. This new guy, Everett, was exactly what my my mother wanted: someone whom she could physically overpower and be intellectually superior to. She got what she wanted, clearly.

My mom and Everett came to visit my wife and me a couple years back. We planned a day trip to San Francisco, spending the entire drive explaining to my new backwoods stepdad that the city was teeming with people who had different beliefs and lifestyles than his.
 
In the course of conversation, Everett was dealt fair warning that San Fran was, in his words, “infested with the gays.” He made it clear he wouldn’t start a fight, “as long as no guy tries to touch my cooter or my pooper.” This seemed unlikely to happen unless we ran into a relocated hillbilly with an inbred-papa fetish. Or just some hyper-liberal with a fetish for forbidden fruit. Once this was settled, we addressed my apparent lifelong misunderstanding of what exactly constituted a cooter.
 
We arrived in town, and took a walk along the wharf. About seven minutes in, Everett exploded in emotion: “OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD, LOIS ANN! DID YOU SEE THAT?” Everett had spun around and was vigorously pointing at a biracial couple who stood just a few yards away. Needless to say, they heard his exclamation.
 
“What?!” my mom asked, clearly alarmed.“Those two fellers just kissed!”

So over walked Marcus and Darren, the biracial gay couple. Marcus was an extremely well-defined black man — 6 feet, 4 inches of pure muscle. His main concern was figuring out why this scrawny Howdy Doody doppelganger was wagging his hate finger at him and his partner.

Marcus, my wife and I addressed Everett in overlapping phrases.
MARCUS: What exactly is the problem?
MY WIFE: What is your problem? (Her first words to him since the trip began, by the way.)
ME: Dude, calm down. (I was personally hoping to avoid getting my ass kicked by Ebony and Ivory.)

That guy just kissed that guy,” said Everett, balancing his hate finger between the two like a metronome.“Everett,” I began calmly again, “we told you that could happen. This is the most gay-friendly city in the world.”“Oh, I’ve got no problem with the HOMOsexuals.” Everett replied.

“Then what’s the issue?” My mother was clearly bothered.

“I don’t mind if one feller wants to kiss another feller, but that feller’s BLACK.” Everett’s finger had landed on Marcus, clearly for the last time.

Mixed-race ass beating, here we come…

Marcus spoke again, in a voice that showed more control than his throbbing neck and forehead veins. “You are okay with two men kissing, but not if one of them is black?” He turned to me and said, “Tell me you aren’t related to this guy.”“No, this is my mother’s husband.” I spun around to implicate my mom in her poor choice of men, but she and my wife were nowhere to be found. They must’ve made the quick decision to do some bargain shopping somewhere more peaceful.
 
I quickly explained our visit to him, emphasizing the fact that you can take the hillbilly out of the holler, but you can’t eliminate the brain-drain of many generations of inbreeding. Everett stood there nodding his head in agreement, not knowing exactly what my multisyllabic words meant but certainly realizing I was insulting him for the sake of saving his ass.
 
In the end, Ebony and Ivory decided it wasn’t worth it and strolled off toward a more tolerant corner of the wharf. Had we been trapped in a sitcom, they would’ve each given Everett a sloppy kiss before their departure, but in real life, no one wants to kiss that dude but my mom.
 
She’s still married to Everett, and there’s still plenty of pictures from our San Francisco trip. In the background of just about every picture, there’s an attractive biracial gay couple in the background, holding hands, kissing or otherwise clearly indicating they’re there, queer and proud of it. Everett, for all his prejudice, can’t stop progress.
June 26, 2011

Dear 16-Year-Old Self

by ALLISON STEIN and THE WOMEN OF WNF
edited by ANDREW HICKS

Dear 16-year-old self: You're gonna grow up to be Demi Moore in overalls.

Dear 16-year-old self:

  • Your brother’s obsession with hand lotion is NOT because he has dry skin.
  • Just because you don’t have boobs yet doesn’t mean that you wont have D’s later on in life. But your boyfriend who told you, in the back seat of his mom’s car, that his small penis is going to “get bigger” when he reaches full-on adulthood… well, that kid is sadly mistaken.
  • Penis is nothing to be afraid of. It is to be mastered and conquered, and with that comes immeasurable power.
  • Weed isn’t that bad, and your mom will never notice. Just try it.
  • You know how you wanted to get your period so you could be a real woman? Yeah, it sucks, don’t it?
    read more »

June 25, 2011

Devil’s Guide to the 21st Century

by TONY FYLER
edited by ANDREW J HICKS


[EDITOR’S NOTE: Tony Fyler presents the following definitions with respectful acknowledgment to the great journalist Ambrose Bierce, who wrote the original Devil’s Dictionary in 1911. -AJH]

A: Indefinite article. (See also: “Sarah Palin’s Brain.”)

Advertising: A subtle combination of lies, damned lies and statistics.

American football: A good run, ruined.

Axis of Evil: A collective term for the nations of Iran, Iraq and North Korea. Any student of geography or geometry of course knows that these three countries do not form an axis of any kind. If using straight lines, they are at best an Angle of Evil. If curves are allowed into the proposition, they become an Arc of Evil. Both of these more accurate terms, however, were discarded as being insufficiently terrifying.

read more »

June 22, 2011

More Pearls of Wisdom from J.Miz

by J.MIZ
edited by ANDREW HICKS

  • This season's trendy sheep costume for wolves includes fully functioning facial features and 400-threadcount Egyptian cotton.

    When life gives you lemons, rub one out and take a nap.

  • A wolf in sheep’s clothing should not be feared. Rather, it should be revered as nature’s most fabulous tranny.
  • Every cloud has a silver lining that will turn your neck green.
  • It’s only after walking a mile in another man’s shoes that you can truly realize, that guy’s a prick!
  • Two in the bush is worth one in the stink.
  • There’s more than one way to skin a cat, but most are illegal except in the Appalachians.
  • It takes a village to run a brothel.
  • When you wish upon a star, God kills a kitten somewhere in Iowa.
  • The straw that broke the camel’s back was a fat woman named Enid from Queens.
  • “It’s not the size of the boat, it’s the motion of the ocean,” is a stone cold lie.
  • Music calms the glowsticked raver.
  • The family that prays together is not that different from Jonestown.
  • Man cannot live on meth alone.
  • “See no evil, speak no evil, hear no evil,” is why good hookers are expensive.
  • Tomorrow is a new day for life to kick you square in the dick.
  • Don’t bite the hand that feeds you, unless of course you’re a cannibal.
  • The first step is admitting that you’re powerless over assholes and need to find new friends.
  • If at first you don’t succeed, try roofies and KY.
  • Time waits for no man, and sadly some men don’t wait for you to cum.
  • Certainty? In this world, nothing is certain but HPV and porn.
  • Putting all your eggs in one basket is basically what goes on with Mormons and the British monarchy.
  • All that glitters can be found in Lil Wayne’s closet.
  • Love thy brother as thyself. Dutch Rudders do not make you gay.
  • Spare the rod and spoil the woman, because dildos are so much better.
  • Don’t count your chickens before you make an omelette.
  • Where two or more are gathered in my name, that is a J.Miz fan club.

EDITOR’S NOTE: Read the original “Pearls of Wisdom from J.Miz” here.

June 19, 2011

Daddy Lessons

by WE’RE NOT FUNNY
edited by ANDREW J HICKS

"Yeah, yeah, I'm lickin' your balls..."

[EDITOR’S NOTE: On this Hallmark holiday that finishes a distant third to Valentine’s and Mother’s Day, the fathers on the WNF staff have united to share a few words of (mostly immature) wisdom to all the dads and expecting dads who might be reading. Which probably won’t be many, given that our readership demographic is 91% female since Friday’s “Shit Bags” post. Also, a couple of our contributors who don’t have kids felt the need to contribute anyway, proving they don’t pay a lick of attention to instruction. I’m just desperate enough for material that I’m using their jokes anyway. Happy Father’s Day, everyone! –AJH]

DADDY LESSONS

  • When the labels say “Keep out of reach of children,” remember your children will be able to reach about twice as far as you think they can.
  • Any time you change a diaper, you’re engaging in a delicate game of Russian Roulette. Maybe not this time, and maybe not next time, but one of these times, you’re gonna get smoked.
  • You will think your kids are awesome. You will think everyone else’s kids suck. This is how the other parents feel, too.
  • When potty training your toddler, you will have to juggle the actions of wiping your little one’s bum and preventing the dog from eating baby poop.
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June 16, 2011

This Week in J.Miz, Volume 6

by J.MIZ
edited by ANDREW HICKS

If the J.Miz's Cougar Pops truck is a'rockin', it probably means the nearest high school has let out for the day.

WEDNESDAY

The next time I see cupcakes in a bar, I’m gonna start punching white people.

About to go from living solo to cohabitation. I am beginning to realize the necessity of censoring my flatulence.

My guy friend was saying how awesome the Jedi mind trick would be for getting laid. Then I realized, I have that! It’s called a vagina!

I’m so committed to being a cougar I bought an ice cream truck that only plays “Milkshake” by Kelis.

Sobriety’s made me socially awkward. When I go out I still pretend to drink, I act wasted, and I walk home shamefully the next morning.


TUESDAY

When I see a fat kid with fat parents, I feel bad. I mean, those poor parents are stuck having to love a fat kid!

No matter who you are, what you do or what you think, you do not have haters. You’re not that important. To anyone. That is all.

I’ll know I’ve hit rock bottom when I fuck a ventriloquist, a guy who does impressions or that dude who wanted me to call his cock a “crank.”

My mom is always stealing my lighters. I hate it! And besides, at her age, she should really stop smoking crack.

My cat just pooped on my futon. I was angry until I did some quick math and figured out that, long term, it would be more cost-effective than using kitty litter.

 

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June 9, 2011

Pearls of Wisdom from J.Miz

by J.MIZ
edited by ANDREW HICKS

  • Tell ya who Nancy Reagan DIDN'T "just say no" to -- Frank Sinatra. Bow chicka wow wow!

    If at first you don’t succeed, try something you don’t suck at.

  • To thine own self be true, but lie to others so you look better.
  • What goes up must defy physics, so catch that shit, exploit it, and sell it by the gram.
  • That which does not kill us only proves it’s a pussy.
  • Misery loves hostages.
  • Those who see the glass as half-full are optimists. Those who see it as half-empty are alcoholics.
  • Just say no way am I passing up free drugs.
  • He who laughs last is retarded and didn’t get the joke.
  • Rome wasn’t built in a day, because they didn’t have enough Africans and Jews.
  • Silence now has less value than gold.
  • If you love somebody, set them free. If they come back, they obviously didn’t hear about your new boyfriend.