Posts tagged ‘Tony Fyler’

January 9, 2012

Facebook Statuses From ’80s TV Characters

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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

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.

read more »

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.

read more »

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.

read more »

September 3, 2011

Song Challenge 19: Adult-Contemporary Guilty Pleasures

edited by ANDREW HICKS

Chicago's "Look Away" video: Hot chick. Fiery explosion. Still somehow boring.

ANDREW HICKS
Okay, I’ll go first. One of my guiltiest of guilty pleasures is Chicago‘s “Look Away.” It’s a Diane Warren song, even (that lady has written some of the worst pop ballads of all-time and become a billionaire in the process), and I love its maudlin gaudiness. The video, on the other hand, looks like an awful version of the depressing first half of a Folgers commercial with pyrotechnics tossed in.

ANNE GARDNER
What does “adult contemporary” mean exactly? Music that appeals to adults or music made by adults? Or both?

ERIC DOHMAN
Any music where you can replace the word “baby” with “Jesus” and it still sounds like it fits.

T. ALLAN CHRISTOPHER
The narrowed-down definition would be: music by people our age for people our age. However, you can look at “past adult contemporary” music as well, which was music for peers in that time period. Think of softer, more R+B-driven non-bubblegum pop. Michael Bolton, Kenny G, Amy Grant‘s secular stuff, Elton John, Billy Joel, etc.”

ERIC DOHMAN
“Look away, Jesus, look away…

read more »

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 23, 2011

Know Your WNFer

by ANDREW HICKS

Image by Eric Dohman.

We’re closing in on our 250th post, with 9+ months of near-daily fresh comedy under our collective belt. And now we finally own WereNotFunny.com, for at least the next year or two. So what better time to acquaint yourself with the WNF Crew? In-depth individual profiles and a multipart Ken Burns PBS documentary to follow.

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WE’RE NOT FUNNY STAFF LIST

ANDREW HICKS — Editor-in-Chief/Co-Founder

It’s not so weird that I’m writing about myself right now. I’ve been writing about myself online in one form or another since 1995. I blogged the Year in the Life of a Nerd journals before the term “blogger” existed. Then I went and got drunk for like 10 years. Then I went and met my beautiful wife and had a couple beautiful kids. Got sober, started writing again and, for the first time, got myself an ensemble of Midwest comics, essayists and regular old bantering friends and friends of friends. Started organizing and editing our various words and ideas into blog posts.

REQUIRED READING: Love Letter to Phil Collins

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T. ALLAN CHRISTOPHER — Associate Editor/Co-Founder

T. Allan, to quote the Wu Tang Clan, is “the Osiris of this shit.” No sooner had I said, “I wonder if we could get some people together and start a site where we post daily solo pieces or group conversation highlightsor whatever the F we want,” than TAC set about getting a site up and running, for us to play around with. T. Allan is an active administrative and creative presence in our Facebook material-gathering groups, he takes care of a post or two a week for me, and every now and then we get him to write us a full solo piece, when he’s not busy working on this blog or this blog. As an aside, T. Allan Christopher has formerly written under the pseudonym Woo.

REQUIRED READING: Haiku News

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J.MIZ — Creative Coordinator/Co-Founder

I’d been on Facebook for about two months when I noticed J.Miz leaving astoundingly funny top-of-her-head comments on a mutual friend’s statuses. I sent her a friend request, we started bantering, and immediately there was a symbiosis of humor, mischievous fun and shared cultural references. Facebook got five times more entertaining when I met J.Miz. Once Woo, J.Miz and I got together, the comic chemistry was intense and immediate. Keep in mind, J.Miz had never considered writing comedy or really thought she was funny. Now she constructs and spits out jokes like a one-woman one-liner factory on Twitter. She’s given our writing group all kinds of concepts and premises to work from, and she’s helped me out of more than one creative jam. J.Miz has also brought WNF a healthy handful of like-minded contributors, and she’s proven effective at squeezing solo pieces out of existing contributors.

REQUIRED READING: WTF Facebook Friends

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TONY FYLER — Twitter Editor/Senior Contributor

Fyler is a fiercely intelligent, incisively witty writer from Great Britain or Wales or Ireland or something. His areas of interest include politics, theology (particularly, lack of) and the occasional off-the-wall food, sex or miscellaneous sociological joke. Oh, and he also fronted the money for our WereNotFunny.com domain, after I procrastinated and made excuses about being broke. Fyler’s not getting a penny of that $19 back, either.

REQUIRED READING: Devil’s Guide to the 21st Century

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MICHELLE DEE — Facebook Fan Page Editor/Senior Contributor

Mrs. Woo has been around since the beginning and has possibly posted more WNF links to Facebook than anyone on this list. Around 28 percent of times the “share” button is clicked on Facebook, Michelle Dee is the culprit. Michelle recruited WNF staple contributors Fyler, Allison Stein and Eve Ventrella. She also runs our Facebook fan page, so next time you see the word “afraid” spelled with two F’s in your news feed, address your letter of complaint to Michelle Dee. Who will write you back within three business days with the one-word response, “Haytchoo” and an ASCII-text middle finger.

ಠ_ಠ

Required Reading: Possession 101

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ERIC DOHMAN — Senior Contributor

Dohman distinguished himself in the WNF group immediately upon being discovered and added by J.Miz. Not everyone knows how to take Eric, and others think he traffics too heavily in dick and poop jokes. To me, Dohman is a solid, insightful, even innovative comic voice on most every topic he touches. High brow, medium brow, low brow and lower brow. Dohman also has graphic skills and has come through with the (still too few) image assignments we’ve given him. “But Andrew,” you say, “I thought you steal all your art straight from Google Image.” Well, that’s mostly true, but we’re gonna lean on Dohman more and more heavily in the very near future. He just doesn’t know it yet.

REQUIRED READING: Santorum Shit Bags

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ANNE GARDNER — Senior Contributor

Anne is a lady whose path I crossed briefly at the age of 18 and reunited with thanks to the magic of Facebook. She’d leave a sarcastic comment here or there on my statuses, and when WNF came into being, I invited her into the group. A.G. has maintained a presence ever since, contributing one-liners to group pieces and writing her own solo articles. And she has an infant at home and everything.

REQUIRED READING: Facebook-Baked Glee

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ERTEL GRAY — Senior Contributor

I found Ertel via Facebook one day while bored and searching for an old Dana Carvey SNL sketch called “Lyle, the Effeminate Heterosexual.” Ertel had posted the video on his wall at some point. I friended him on the basis of that alone, but I had no idea how completely and instantaneously Ertel would fit in with the WNF Crew. Funny dude, Ertel Gray, and I think he knows even more obscure ’80s and ’90s pop culture than even I do.

REQUIRED READING: Reg Strikes Back

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PAUL LAO — Senior Contributor

Paul lives in California, so we almost always publish whatever he sends us.

REQUIRED READING: 9 Demons of the College House Party

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There are a dozen other current contributors I rely on for material. Many of them are Illinois comedians — Andrew Cline, C.J. Dodd, James Draper, Scotty Harris, Ryan Krause, Probably Matt Linville, K.B. Marion, Drift Roberts, Saracakes (who also spent many hours legitimizing WNF’s Twitter feed) and Emily Toops. Another, Lola Tucker, joined our ranks after reading and enjoying the WNF blog.

Two others — Buddah Eskew and Inscrutable JeffRey Trotter — are no longer writing for We’re Not Funny but have some great stuff scattered throughout our archives. I also want to thank Saracakes for her many hours of work editing and posting to our Twitter feed.

I want to thank everyone mentioned above for loaning us some of their time and creativity. And thank YOU for reading.

August 18, 2011

“You Are Currently Held In A Black Hole”

by TONY FYLER
edited by T. Allan Christopher

Hello? Anyone there?

I knew we should never have hired THIS guy!

If I’ve learned one thing this week, it is this: Don’t mess with web developers, they’re more powerful and more stupid than they know…

It was a Wednesday morning. Katie, our conference organiser, bursts into the office, all frantic energy and hair, and says, “We’ve got a bloke who can’t use the conference booking system on our website!”

“OK,” I said, “what’s up?”

“He’s from Germany,” she said.

“What?”

“He’s from Germany…”

“Ohhhhkay…”

“Apparently, Germany’s not listed as a country on our system,” she explained.

“Oh.”

“And it won’t let him be from anywhere else, ’cause his address details and phone code don’t match any other country…”

“Well of course not, he’s in Germany.”

“But he can’t be in Germany if Germany doesn’t exist. You can’t be somewhere that’s nowhere, and of course, you can’t be anywhere else, ’cause you’re in the country formerly known – and indeed currently known to most of the world – as Germany.”

“Tricky, I admit.”

“So we need to rebuild the Rhineland.”

“What, just you and me? I’m kind of busy this morning…”

“Dumkopf! Get on to the developers, and get on to them now, tell them to reinstate bloody Germany, so our bloke can officially be there.”

“Yawohl Frauleinn…”

August 16, 2011

Devil’s Guide to the 21st Century, Part 3

by TONY FYLER
edited by ANDREW J HICKS

[EDITOR’S NOTE: Tony Fyler presents the following definitions with respectful acknowledgement to the great journalist Ambrose Bierce, who wrote the original Devil’s Dictionary in 1911. Click here to read Fyler’s previous Devil’s Guides. –AJH]

Agnosticism: Theological bet-hedging.

Airplane: The dream of gods and heroes, an airplane is a magical conveyance that allows man finally to achieve the goal of flight. So magnificent is it, in fact, that it requires the invention of a special device – the airline – to turn it into a soul-sucking cavalcade of human misery. 21st century airlines are very good at their job.

Alcohol: Evolution’s accelerator pedal.

Bank: A legalised consortium of thieves, scoundrels and extortionists which, against all the laws of mathematics, collectively manages to achieve a moral standard somehow lower than any of its parts.

Baseball: The least imaginative use ever made of a baseball bat.

BFF (Best Friends Forever): A promise made by people too shallow to understand that “forever” extends beyond next week.

Capitalism: Economic system that gives the rights of personhood to corporations and the rights of deities to currencies, in the belief that money, if sufficiently worshipped, will reproduce.

Catholicism: Pyramid scheme with pointy hats and promises.

Celebrity: Egomaniac with entertainment value.

Chocolate:  Throughout the whole of recorded history, mystics, alchemists and other assorted hippies have searched and toiled and sweated to discover the distilled elixir of life. Now available at Walmart.

Cocaine: Sugar for those with more money than sense.

Coalition: System of government specifically designed to ensure nobody gets what they want. A finely-tuned misery engine, in essence.

Communism: Economic and political system based on the idea that many idiots are better than one.

Compromise: A 21st century notion by which everybody loses. Originally the invention of desperate parents of multiple siblings, it was never meant to be taken seriously by anyone over the age of 8.

Credit Card: A plastic lie which guarantees not only its own discovery but also its own punishment.

Cynicism: Accuracy.

Debt Ceiling: The economic value of exactly how much sincerity can be forced into this statement: “The check is in the mail.”

Ecology: The idea that extinction should be avoided at all costs. Currently unsupported by large groups of people who appear to believe that, so long as everyone else dies first, they win.

Fashion: A subtle co-mixture of style and stupidity.

Fast Food:  If you watch chimpanzees eat, several facts become apparent. They eat with their hands, grunt and squeal unintelligibly and will, if the occasion demands it, happily ingest a mouthful of feces. The theory of evolution claims mankind diverged from his chimpanzee cousins some 5-7 million years ago. Fast food restaurants prove that the theory of evolution may not be all it’s cracked up to be.

Gym: A voluntary torture chamber.

Gymnastics: Sadomasochism with a scoring system.

Homeland Security: The notion that the nation can only be truly safe once everyone’s under suspicion.

iMac: The supermodel of computers – very pretty to look at but functionally illiterate.

Infomercial: An extended commercial. Strict linguists are now demanding these be referred to more accurately as “bullshimercials.”

Islam: A relatively immature religion, currently going through its teenage phase of slamming doors, yelling “I never asked to be manifested!” and killing thousands of people for no readily identifiable reason. Many Christians look down on Islam for this kind of behaviour, almost as if the 15th century never happened. Or the 16th century. Or the 17th, come to that.

Journalism: An alternative to earning an honest living.

Looting: Revolution for personal gain.

Microsoft: The ultimate profanity. Known euphemistically as “the M Bomb,” it is generally only used when all other linguistic ordinances have been exhausted. Sadly, the nature of 21st century work means the M Bomb can be heard in every office in the world on a daily basis. Usually around two minutes before an important deadline or meeting.

NASCAR: A popular motorsport, the chief attraction of which appears to be the opportunity to watch hillbillies explode into greasy balls of flame.

Nouvelle Cuisine: The Emperor’s new dinner.

Novelist: A professional liar.

Olympics: The celebration of a collection of sports that no one gave a flying 50-yard fuck about for the past three years and 50 weeks.

O’Reilly, Bill: Proof that 3.5 million people can be wrong after all.

Philosophy: The contemplation of the universe’s navel, and the investment of serious time and effort in trying to describe the fluff found therein.

Ready Meals: Food that should come with a handful of barbiturates or a shotgun to take the taste away.

Resumé: A structured lie.

Romance: Man’s most effective sexual lubricant. Also, in the long run, his most expensive. It is possible there is some sort of mystical connection between these two facts.

Search Engine: Device that makes actual searching entirely obsolete. Should more accurately be described as a command engine. Or a genie.

Sobriety: State of being which allows one to see things as they actually are. The history of mankind has been one long flight from such a ghastly prospect.

Staycation: The fashionable name for sitting your poor ass on the couch.

TiVo: Device that allows you to record television programmes you didn’t care enough about to watch and store them so you can not watch them over and over and over again.

Twitter: Website where those who can only be interesting or funny for 140 characters or fewer are the most successful.

Walmart: Ultimate 21st century practitioner of the Find The Lady trick, the “lady” in this case being sweatshop production labor, de-unionised store labor, minimum-wage exploitation and shoddy product quality. But ooh, look, sneakers for a dollar ninety-five. How do they do that?

WMDs: Weapons of mass destruction. In the 21st century, these were discovered to be not only invisible but actually nonexistent.

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 10, 2011

Celebrity Baby Names

  • Soupy Campbell, drag queen child of pie-in-the-face comedian Soupy Sales, launched his own line of soups and was promptly sued by Campbell's.

    Jesus Jonas

  • Peanut Eminem
  • Honey Fetchmea Colbert
  • We’reNot Stefani
  • Ginger Bush
  • Penny Cash
  • Rivers Cruise
  • HorseBefore des Cartes
  • Bronx Mowgli Staten Island Baloo Simpson Wentz
  • Tuch Downs
  • Charming Prinze Jr.
  • Iceberg Hardto Portman
  • Waylon Palin
  • Dee Thatcher
  • Forever Winehouse
  • Anal Spice
  • Dora Gore
  • Upper Downey Jr.
  • Tiny Danza
  • Bea White
  • Soupy Campbell
  • Favor Trader
  • Googoo Gaga
  • Illiterate Letterman
  • Ben Itration Affleck
  • Double Depp
  • Sponge Werthers
  • Imasofuckin Hammer

CONTRIBUTORS: Justin Crouch, Michelle Dee, Eric Dohman, Tony Fyler, Andrew Hicks, Eve Ventrella and Woo

edited by ANDREW HICKS

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 28, 2011

The Forgotten Parable

by TONY FYLER
edited by WOO 

[Editors Note: Words of Our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ here contained in red.]

And after Jesus and The Twelve had been in Jerusalem some days, they stopped one night, to rest themselves and wipe away the cares of the day in wine and bread. And being men of many stations and minds, the conversation then fell off, and all was quiet, each avoiding the other’s eye. And Simon Peter, who never could abide a silence, addressed the Lord, saying:

“For God’s sake, let’s liven it up a bit. Rabbi, tell us one of your stories.”

But Jesus did refuse him, saying,

“You’re kidding, right? Healing lepers not enough for you now?”

“Yes but-”

“Raising the dead?”

“It’s a showstopper, to be sure. I just asked if-”

“If I wouldn’t mind doing half an hour? What do you think this is, dinner theater?”

And Simon Peter was chastened, and said no more. But the Lord looked upon him with compassionate eyes, and sighed.

“One more then, just for you,” said the Lord, and Simon Peter’s heart was filled with joy.

The Lord paused for thought, and all eyes were upon him.

“Consider the dinosaurs…” he said. “They neither toil in the fields, nor do they-”

“The what?” said Judas Iscariot, interrupting.

The Lord turned to him, and his face was wroth.

“The dinosaurs,” he said again.

“What about them?”

The Lord sighed.

read more »

July 22, 2011

Toy News

by JAMES DRAPER, TONY FYLER and ERIC DOHMAN
edited by ANDREW HICKS

creatively conceived by JAMES DRAPER

THIS WEEK’S TOP NEWS HEADLINES FROM THE TOY WORLD

  • Fans shocked when Slinky comes out of closet totally straight
  • World Champion Memory player loses game somewhere in house
  • Panel of small children judges box “better than the toy” for 97th-straight year
  • GI Joe takes advantage of DADT repeal, says he’s now free to be himself on front lines
  • Mr. Potato Head’s parts stolen; crestfallen kids’ toy left with blank look on face
  • Weeble shot in ass, wobbles, falls down
  • Teddy Ruxpin confirms worst suspicions, slaughters family while singing happy songs
  • Big Wheel has tires chewed up by neighborhood dog, develops traction
  • Red Rider production line halted after child shoots eye out with BB gun
  • Legos Eggo’d
  • Slip ‘n Slide launches “Lay Down ‘n Nap” toy for elderly
  • Thomas the Tank: “I’ve always dealt with body image issues”
July 20, 2011

New Facebook Slogans

Facebook - Because you can't throw a sheep on Twitter.

Facebook – Share the stuff you care about with people you mostly don’t.

Facebook – When the world needs to know you’ve farted, accept no substitute!

Facebook – Yep, I still have only one black friend.

Facebook – Porn intermission.

Facebook – Accidentally letting your boss know you think he’s a douche has never been easier.

Facebook – Proving one good profile pic can make any woman popular.

Facebook – Where attention seeking mothers come to ignore their kids.

Facebook – Dear stalkers: You’re welcome.

Facebook – Where you can pretend you have 400 friends.

Facebook – Check out these ugly people’s ugly kids!

Facebook – It’s on the computer, so it looks like you’re working!

Facebook – Answering the question, “Whose birthday can I not give a shit about today?”

Facebook – Where socially anxious people can still be social.

Facebook – Completely obsolete since 2013.

read more »

July 16, 2011

Lost Rock Concept Collaborations

edited by ANDREW HICKS
creatively conceived by ERTEL GRAY and SARACAKES

Metallica scores movie starring Kermit and Miss Piggy: MASTER OF MUPPETS.

Woody Allen writes lyrics for Madonna album: NEUROTICA.

Courtney Love and Jonathan Davis hit the road: THE KORN/HOLE TOUR.

Stevie Nicks and Lindsey Buckingham’s album tribute to dance fads: FLEETWOOD MACARENA.

On the road with Styx and The Stones: THE WE’LL BREAK YOUR BONES TOUR.

Snoop Dogg’s long-awaited children’s album: HOW MUCH IS THAT DOGGYSTYLE IN THE WINDOW?

Britney Spears covers Pink Floyd: COMFORTABLY DUMB.

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 20, 2011

Rapture 2: This Time It’s Personal

by TONY FYLER
edited by ANDREW HICKS


So where were you for the Rapture? Check this out for big hairy man-balls – not content with the whole “meeting Jesus in the clouds” thing, I got on a plane over the US and flew up to meet the dude at the Reality Turnpike.

Nothing. Nada. Not so much as a sacred sandal. Which leads me to a question: considering all the vast wealth accumulated by churches that follow the guy’s alleged teaching, has anyone thought about buying Jesus a really kickass alarm clock? Because he seems about as reliable as a twentysomething stoner after a major bong sesh. Hmm… note to self: contact Mel Gibson re: The Return of the Christ, starring Seth Rogen…

Dude, where's my apocalypse? DUDE!

Anyway, so there I was, thousands of feet in the clouds, waiting for His Nibs to make an appearance, and of course, abbbbbsolutely nothing happened. Well, technically, a couple of people tried to kill themselves or their loved ones (the logic of which is what, exactly? Avoiding the lines at the Pearly Gates?), but other than that, the world – just like Jesus – missed the memo that it was Game Over, and kept turning as previously advertised.

read more »

June 3, 2011

Dear Ex: Anonymous Kiss-Offs

edited by ANDREW HICKS
creatively conceived by ALLISON STEIN

Dear Ex: You were not as attractive as I led you to believe.

Dear Ex: Thanks for all the child support. You’re not her father.

Dear Ex: I feel like I can tell you now — you don’t have to pray about EVERYthing. Pretty sure you’ve got the green light from the Almighty if you wanna have a popsicle.

Dear Ex: I’d undercook your meat sometimes.

Dear Ex: I still laugh my ass off that the guy you married after me turned out to be huuuuuugely gay. Not mature, but funny as hell.

Dear Ex: Weekday daddy busted a jizzload on your side of the bed.

Dear Ex: I made out with your mom more than I made out with you. And she was better at it. But that’s no secret.

Dear Ex: Remember how I said you were the best sex I ever had? The only orgasms I ever had during our marriage were the ones I gave myself. Thanks for nothing. Love, Me.

Dear Ex: I could tell you were not a habitual marijuana smoker when we got high and you spent the next two hours scratching down your entire body while singing a song called “Itchy Time.”

Dear Ex: Your brother used to try to have sex with me every time you weren’t home.

Dear Ex: I find it completely hilarious that I actually slept with more women than you did, and they were better in bed.

Dear Ex: I still get good laughs telling people how, every time you saw a stray dog or cat walking on the side of the road, you would stop the car, pull over, throw open the passenger side door and yell, “Go home! Go home! Go home, doggy! You have a home! Go there and be safe!”

Dear Ex: Your mother doesn’t love you. She told me once she wished you’d never been born.

Dear Ex: We might have worked out if we hadn’t been so hopelessly incompatible in bed. We made the best of it, but in all fairness, your squeaking noises during sex ruined the mood. Also, it would have helped if your dick stayed hard the whole time.

Dear Ex: Dental hygiene is important. Brush up!

Dear Ex: I used your toothbrush to clean the sink. Every time.

Dear Ex: I fucked a random Italian man the night before our wedding.

Dear Ex: Your hair is not growing back in. Not even a little, so stop spending the equivalent of the national deficit on Rogaine. You’re fucking bald.

Dear Ex: Remember that night you were so drunk, but you swore we had sex? We didn’t. I had sex with your best friend. You watched from a chair in the corner, holding your dick in your hand.

Dear Ex: If I’d known when I left that you’d become an evangelical Christian… nah, screw it, I still would have left.

Dear Ex: I appreciate you staying in contact with me for seven or eight years after I broke up with you, saying you always wanted to be friends. I do find it curious, however, that since you’ve married that doctor, I haven’t heard a single word.

CONTRIBUTORS: Allison Stein, Lola Tucker, Andrew Hicks, J.Miz, Tony Fyler, Woo