Guh-Guh-Guh-Guh

Popeye is fucked. He puts spinach in a pipe, smokes it, and apparently it makes him strong to the finish. The last time I put "spinach" in a pipe and smoked it I wasn't even strong enough to get off the couch. I just lied there weak and confused, while I gave biblical names to each of my fingers and drooled on my sleeves.

He seems to be pretty delighted after a good spinach smoke and ususally throws out a hearty "Guh, guh, guh, guh" - son of a bitch cackle. The only thing I could muster was looking over to the other person in the room and screaming at them - "Is that you who keeps spinning this place? STOP IT...Make it stop, please make it stop. What right do you have?...I wanna get off. (Whisper) What's your name? You look like a Dandy. Is your name Dandy? Huh? Is it? Dandy. It's okay if it isn't. It's okay. Have I told you lately...that it's okay." (Isn't that what people do when they get high? Jumble Rod Stewart songs and hope their peers find it endearing. No one wants to hear the shitty lyrics you substitute for the actual ones in random songs.You can't start singing Soul II Soul - "Back to Life...Back to my strategy". It's reality, not you're strategy.)

Popeye is a wreck. He's a shitfaced sailor with anchor tats and one good eye. Spinach isn't gonna help this motherfucker in the slightest. He needs to dock the boats, hang up the sails, and get his tired ass to an infirmary because it looks like he's been sailing the seven C's: Coke, coffee, crank, crack, crystal meth, oxy Contin's and creatine.

Would anyone ever wanna be on a boat with this mess. He's rummaging through your things at five AM looking for leafy greens to ingest so that he can impress some onshore cutie pies with his beefy arms and garden hose veins.

"Guh-guh,guh, where's the spinach mate".

"Popeye get your filthy paws outta my carry on bag. I'm on fucking vacation I didn't pack any spinach. What do I look like Wolfgang Puck? Now go back to sleep before I call the coast guard. You wouldn't want them to board this rickety vessel and "accidentally take a peek" in your medicine cabinet, now would you?"

"Well, Blow...Me...Down. I stands what I can stands and I can't stands no more".

"Okay buddy, that all sounds good. (What the fuck is this hack talking about?). Get some sleep, huh? We got a big day tomorrow. I'm gonna feed you some baby spinach and we're gonna go down to the car dealership that sold me a lemon so you can smash holes in hoods...how's that for zesty?"

He's gettin' up there too, and if there's one thing I know it's that people get fucking picky in their old age when it comes to food. If anyone thinks for one second that he's still stuffing plain spinach in his gullet then they got another thing comin'.

"Popeye, Popeye, the bad guys are after us! Help!"

"Sorry kid, no strength today. Not until I go food shopping."

"What do you mean just eat some spinach, you have plenty in your cabinets."

"Listen kid, you ever heard of something called a fucking salad? You want me to save your life? Then get your ass to the grocer and pick me up some dried cranberries, candied walnuts, and a light, tangy vinaigrette. You expect me to eat these green leaves dry? Guh-Guh-Guh-Get the fuck outta my face."

Rob Pattinson: Proof That The Dead Walk Among Us

If I ever meet Rob Pattison, the first question outta my mouth will be "What's Moses like? I bet he's a real sauce hound? Am I right? Am I right?"

This kid looks like he's been dead since '87. He looks like he spent his childhood in the trunk of his Uncle's car bending metal, and making feverishly fancy, hand made knockers for people with large castle like wooden doors, that his uncle could sell and turn a profit. Hey it's not a big deal, I wish for 1 second that someone would recognize a skill I had, kidnap me, make me their slave with unbearable living conditions, and use me to make some SERIOUS dough.

I just don't understand what the big selling point with this son of a bitch is. What the hell is his speech gonna be if he ever wins an oscar?

"Thanks everyone for supporting me. Thank you to my fans. And Big ups to the big guy upstairs for letting me carry on living as a ghoul even after I drowned in my own fish tank after a gnnnnarly hot pocket and cookie food coma. If anyone wants to congratulate me just come up to me after the show...I'll be the guy walking through walls..."

When Billy Boy Shakespeare came up with the term "dead as a door nail" people must of thought he was crazy. Well folks he doesn't look like such a nut job now, does he? Too bad he never saw his genius realized because it took 2 more centuries for this ghastly apparition to come along. Rob Pattinson is dead as a motherfucking door nail, and whoever put the last nail in his coffin door obviously doesn't know how to use a hammer.

I went to his gravesite the other day to drop off some flowers. There was a sign on the headstone. "Out and about, running errands. Be back around 4:30".

Imagine being the Cemetary Keeper on watch at that point. Its safe so say that you should hit up the classified ads, because if you can't do the simplest job on earth...Keeping dead bodies from walking the streets, then you belong over at Pep Boys. Not changing oil, but standing in front of the garage, handing out 10% discount cards, while people take one, wait 'til they round the corner and fling it on the sidewalk.

I Can't Hear A Word You're Saying

My hearing is fucked...And at the ripe old age of 25...ain't that a bitch (I'm trying to bring that phrase back, because when you use any slang in a sentence along with bitch you should pat yourself on the back as many times as you want. "Where's my cheddar bitch" - referring to money, "You seen my 9-milli anywhere, 'cuz I'm about the go spray lead at these bitches. Or my favorite, the variation of the original "Ain't that about a bitch." All you gotta do it change one word and it ups the quality ten-fold.) I digress per usual.

I cannot hear shit. I have been warned countless times. I've actually had my mom tell me she was warning me while I was being warned by someone else simultaneously. I had my music plugs shoved deep into my ear cavities, like pretty fucking deep, when I pulled them out they were doused in wax and a piece of dark blue glob, which I assume is a piece of my brain. I can't be sure which piece, but since I yanked it I've forgotten how to tie my shoes, dress myself, operate spray cans, and how old I am. I pretty much just walk around town naked with free flying laces, shaking and scolding a lysol bottle while I ask people to guesstimate my age.

My mother said "I'm warning you, take those earbuds out, or you'll go deaf." But of course I wasn't listening because blaring from those headphones was an Ice Cube song where was was telling me "Take these headphone shits off son, I'm 'bout to blow ya muuuhfuckin' brain up playboy." Now, I don't usually listen to my mom, but Cube is basically the Law for me, and I still ignored him. And now I am suffering the consequences.

I deal with people everyday getting increasingly P.O'd when I sound like a fucking bully who knows that the kid I'm picking on isn't gonna do shit but sit there and take his beating quietly. "What? What? What? What are you gonna do about it?". People hate repeating themselves. It's gotta be the number one pet peeve on the planet. If you don't think it bothers you give it a try and see if you don't turn into an absolute blood thirsty BEAST on your last go-round of trying to make the person hear you.

"Excuse me, do you have the time?"
"It's two thirty".
"I'm sorry, I didn't catch that".
"I said, It's two thirty".
"So sorry, but I still can't hear you".
"It's TWO THIRTY YOU FUCKING DEAF RINGWORM"
"I understand you want to keep your ring warm, no one wants a frigid wedding band wrapped around their finger. But I really need to know the time".

I mean my ears are getting to the point now where even enormous BOOMS just sound like faint scratches miles off in the distance. I'm worried that I'm going to sitting in my room fiddling with the settings on my new hearing aid and then "Ding". "My re-heated applesauce must be done. Damn that microwave is good and fast". I walk outta the room for my sauce BUT there is nothing there. I'm standing in a vast, empty desert while people run in terror, scream bloody murder, and explosions pop like bubbles as far as the eye can see. "Did I just mistake my microwave for armageddon.?" Then I'd be on the news like a retard.

"Yea so I just thought my applesauce was done. I couldn't have seen this coming".
"So what will you do now that you're the last man on the planet."
"Janet? No she's not around anymore. I don't know if you heard. I'm the last man on the planet."

Ain't that aabbbouuuttt a bitch.

"Take Out the Papers and the Trash" --How 'bout you kiss my shit...

Every goddamn household, office, or organization runs itself with the help of the daily duties of individuals. We call these duties chores. I hate chores. Fuck bedmaking, trash disposing, plant watering, and dog walking. What would you say if I told you I was never going to do any of these things again. I'm not quite sure if its the chores themselves that I hate or the assholes who take them so motherfucking seriously.

There is ALWAYS a list maker. Someone starts delegating responsibilities and there is always a pointdexter (he says) in the crowd who interrupts everything and says "Hold on, I'm gonna grab some scrap paper and write these down." (You just wanna knock them out for the nerdy way they say "scrap paper.") Then they have to tell you their "plan of attack" (Which by the way, when people say -plan of attack- in terms of office tasks and mundane administrative projects -fuck that. They aren't actually attacking anything but their own likability.) - "I'm gonna jot these down on scrap paper, then transfer them to a very big bulletin board and hang it where everyone can see."

What a joke.

I tend to completely ignore these obnoxious lists and carry on with my day in the normal, lazy, task free fashion that I've grown fond of. But it's still difficult to get some peace and quiet because the "jotter downer" will follow you around saying "But it's your day. It's your day to refill the soap dispenser. It's your day. I checked the list, it's your day."

That's when I wanna turn around, look that square square in the eye and say "No, my friend. I'm afraid it's YOUR day...(5 - 7 second pause)...to die." Then start laughing to myself. Not all evil as a real bad guy, but like a giddy school girl. Just high pitched giggles, to get him thinking that I can barely contain the excitement I have from the thought of cutting him up.

"Oh, who am I kidding, man. You're right it is my day. Here is your soap dispenser. It's full. I took care of it."

"Well thank you for obeying the list. I was just trying to make everyone's life a little easier. You'll understand one day. I actually have to use some soap right now because I just took out the trash, since it's MY DAY to do so." (Dollops some soap into his palms). AHHHHHHH. My hands, my hands are burning. You sick bastard...The skin the melting. My knuckle bones are dissolving. What the helllll have youuuu done!!!"

"Well, I filled that little guy with Hyper-hydro-cloridium-nitrate-disulfur-oxide. Highly volitile and fast acting (Cuz you always have to give at least two adjectives to describe the potion you've concocted, as a rule of thumb.) I can't kill ya, but I can sure as shit make sure you won't be making any dumb-ass lists anytime soon. Now go regenerate your skin cells, and re-learn to use your hands from scratch."

If that isn't a chore then I don't know what is.

DADDY RULEZZZ

Every Chick in this universe thinks that their dad is a BADASS. They will literally sit around in a pow-wow circle and take turns interrupting one another's "daddy" stories to strike up a convo about their own. Usually it has to do with some random creep stick they dated and how he tried to take over her life until big bad papa had to step in and set the boy straight with some hard nosed old-man (probably uncool) action. Because most dads lose their coolness around 45, unless you're like me and plan on supplying endless amounts of hard sauce, experimental drugs, broads, and safety-less firearms to all of your unique youngins.

"Now you listen up you little shit, you WILL leave my daughter alone! And I know you will. You wanna know how I know? Because if you so much as touch another hair on her head EVER-fucking-again, I swear on my mother's wind blown ashes that I will harm you in ways that will baffle scientists, and re-inspire deranged psychopaths. I will boil your teeth in a soup bowl, pour the hot enamel over my croc cock (a crocodile shaped cock, and when you finish your not done...you're dundee) and fuck your empty gums unabashedly. Am I making myself clear?" (Of course he wouldn't be a dad if he didn't ruin a perfectly good speech with the ever uncool "Am I making myself clear?")

I just don't understand how every girl can have a badass dad, when not every dad is a badass. I'm nothing even close to resembling a badass and I plan on having daughters of mine own one day (not by choice of course...Karma is a motherfucker). What the fuck kind of badass tales are my daughters going to tell around their friends.

Friend: "My dad fought in Iraq, and wears an eyepatch, and has a tattoo of the globe on his chest where the red inked continents are the ones he's already single handedly invaded, and the blue ones are the ones where he deemed the women un-fuckable and thus the country un-invadable. Like he strolled into India dressed like a Viking while everyone cringed and bowed before him.

"You're people have no need to worry. I will not be taking over this country violently...Because you're women are not slammin'."

My Daughters: "Well our dad, mowed the lawn the other day with goggles on. He was afraid of the new blade kicking up any golf ball sized rocks and hitting his cornea's. He's a very cautious man and still fucks our mom...with his t-shirt on. My boyfriend Jonas slept over the other night, and my dad doesn't very much care for him, so in the morning he cranked the toaster to full blast and burnt the shit out of Jonas's pumpernickel. 'Cuz....that's...just...the type of dad he is...bitches."

The funniest thing ever is seeing two dad's of college girl roomates interact for the first time on parent's weekend or move in day. One dad shows up with bifocals, a tucked in John Ashford, and pleats in his Docker's so sharp and pronounced like he irons them with a Blu-Ray player. Then you have the other dad walk in with flaming skulls on his leather jacket. A texaco shortsleeve name tagged "Ned". Fingerless biker gloves, a fresh gunshot wound, and a scar down the side of his face that he got in a knife fight with an Iron Chef turned Green Beret.

"Hello my name is Theodore. Have you heard about Docker's new spring line.?"

and the Beret just tugs his balls and hocks one on ted's eyeglasses. And says something ridiculously badass that I could never pull off..."Fuck you, I hate the spring."

Gettin' Your Tubes Tied Is Cool...Knot

I would strongly advise females not to get their tubes tied, for one reason and one reason only: Alot of Doctors are whack jobs who will do fucked up shit to keep things interesting while you're sucking down sleeping gas.

If, every day, you had a series of ropes at your disposal and you had to tie them together the same way every single time, you'd probably get a little bored. You'd probably start experimenting with different ties, knots, lengths, tightnesses. Have you ever seen someone try to tie a new knot that has no fucking clue what they are doing? It immediately falls apart and un-knots itself within seconds of finishing. You go to pull it tight for a grand finale, and TAHHDAAAH, its a straight piece of rope again.

What do you think a deranged M.D. would do if presented with the opportunity to either play by the book or tie your tubes in a fucking "cat's paw" for the first time. You better believe he's goin' whiskers baby. The nurse can't say shit. She can only sit there as he pulls more strings than a Yale board member. And if you think he's double checking those knots, you're dead wrong. He gonna stitch you back up real quick and act like nothing ever happened. He'll probly turn to his nurse and say "This never happened. If a word of this gets out, the next thing I'm tying up is you." She might even make a smart ass remark (one she's been waiting for her whole life. One all nurses want to use on the doctor's they slave for) "Go ahead, if it's anything like that last knot, I'll probably get loose in 30 seconds. No wonder why you wear those damn slip on penny loafers everyday, you can't tie a knot to save your life." Then she will smile and say "Damn, that felt good."

All I'm saying is just stick to condoms. Getting your tubes tied is dangerous. You think a poorly tied Lark's Head knot is gonna keep a toddler from getting through. Baby's get outta their cribs and playpens all the time. They aren't smart but sometimes they get lucky, push the right button, hit the right lever, flick the right switch and escape their holding cells. All they would have to do is tamper with that thing for 20 seconds and boom they come sliding down Vagina Drive like a spazzed out ice road trucker, with rope burn to boot. But at least he'll have a cool birth story. "Yea Jimmy when you were little, you tore through your moms slippery ropes and swung outta her snickerdoodle like a fucking baby Tarzan. That's why you're so determined to this day. You did what it takes to get yourself into this world, and goddamn it you're gonna do what it takes to make sure you're always successful in everything you do."

Better than mine: DAD - "Matty boy, let me tell you, we were at the abortion clinic 6 minutes too late. 6 goddamn minutes! Who knew they changed their hours from 8pm - 5pm to 9pm to 4pm. 6 measly minutes! That's why every 6 minutes you should count your lucky stars that you're old man isn't punctual."

Itsy Bitsy Piece of Shitsy

If we could all just take a moment to enjoy a quick read of this bogus, false, misleading, piece of crap lullaby:

The itsy-bitsy spider
Climbed up the water spout
Down came the rain
And washed the spider out
Out came the sun
And dried up all the rain
And the itsy-bitsy spider
Climbed up the spout again

WOW. I'm speechless. I have no idea how this has passed as a lullaby and helped put kids to sleep for so many years. Spiders? The scariest creatures (next to lumberjacks, and swordsmen) on the planet. There is nothing cute about a spider, even if it IS itsy bitsy. Some of the deadliest spiders in the world are fucking miniscule and leave destruction in their path the second they sink they fangs into ignorant flesh. How 'bout this for a song: "The itsy bitsy spider gave me a flesh eating bacteria. Now my friends think I'm a freak and my skin is eating itself because I picked up a small spider because a fucking bullshit lullaby lead me to believe they were harmless and made great pets. (By the way, I'm always skeptical of wahoo's who say "and the best part about them is they make great pets", when they are trying to pawn off a muskrat on you 'cuz it ate their child's left hand, and carries 54 forms of rabies.)

This song is also sending mixed signals. Everyone knows that once an insect gets doused with water, it's as good as dead. You drown the fucking critters out. Besides a tissue, and the bottom of your shoe, this is your next line of defense. You don't want a kid's first encounter with an eight legged freak to end poorly because he thought of the song: "The itsy bitsy spider climbed up the spout again" , and concluded that water has no effect on insects, it will only make them stronger and more determined.

And WHO THE FUCK CLIMBS UP A WATER SPOUT?? Seriously? A water spout? You expect us to all believe that a spider is hanging 10, or 8, on a water spout. "This spout is so gnarly braaah. These swells are epppiiicc. Oh, here comes a a giant, it's a Spidal wave. I'm gonna Blue Crush these bitches and when the fucking sun dries up the rain I'm gonna ride this spout again."

Fuck lullaby's, if my kids aren't going to sleep I'm gonna tell them they got two choices. 1. Get some goddamn shut eye PRONTO or 2. Go outside, build a water spout, climb to the top of it, and don't bother coming back in the house 'til you do. Hit the pillow or build a water spout from scratch?...That's what I thought. Goodnight children.

Hang it Up

If you're working in any blue collar industry then you probably have a locker where you go everyday to drop off/pick up personal belongings. It's probably 50 years old, rusted, and has a broken hinge that you have to hit real swiftly to get it to open...Which is something that you usually do in high school when the new girl gets the "locker that you had last year" and she is struggling to open it on the first day. A lame, cocksucker move, but highly impressive nevertheless.

Once you get this locker open, the inside of the door is littered with pictures of hot babes cut out of old porno mags and swimsuit issues. How come these old timer grease monkeys have the most outdated fucking pictures of ex-hot girls. They pretty much have gross yellow tinted newspaper clippings of Sears underwear models, where the panties come up over their belly button like their stomach is a blow up mattress and they are trying to plug the air hole before they let a teeency bit slip out. (The scariest thing ever is the swift motion you have to make after pumping something up to cover the hole before even the smallest bit of airs seeps, negating all the work you just did.) The girls they have pinned up in there have big hair and aerobic socks on, with neon scrunchies and eyebrows thicker than humidity.

Unfortunately, alot of these dudes also have pictures of their kids in there as well, which is pretty fucking disturbing. You can't accidentally position you're son's soccer portrait underneath Miss February 1986's wrecking ball clit. It's ridiculously awkward. I think you gotta wait to have kids if you own a locker of any kind. It's gotta be one or the other. You either hang your kids or you hang your hoes. Can't do both, sorry.

When your wife comes outta the delivery room with your baby girl, the first thing you gotta think of is who you are gonna hand down your nudie pics too. It sucks but you gotta make room for the baby photos, cuz if you don't your just a horny asshole and a bad dad. You gotta go into work, slowly open up that rusty tin box, take those pics down one by one, as you bid each one goodbye individually "Sorry, Mary Anne Schwartz, you always gave me something to look forward to in the morning. But I have a baby girl now, I hope you understand. You'll always be my number 1 cut out, and don't you forget it."

Give the photo a kiss and hand it over to the young apprentice who has the locker next to you. "Here you go pal, hopefully she brings you as much joy as she's brought me."-- "Um, thanks but no thanks Joe. I'm gonna put up some fucking Megan Fox pictures, you old hack. Who the fuck is Belinda Reed anyways? How 'bout you get a clue and pin up some up to date hotties."

Old or not, going from a saucy lady in a bright orange bikini to a newborn is the worst downgrade ever. Hold off on the kids if you have a locker.

Try This at Home if You Want, Who Gives a Shit.

If you've ever looked into a camera before you were about to do a remedial stunt of any kind, and said "Don't try this at home", then you are a certified tool box douche of the highest degree. You've achieved a black belt in douchebaggery, and on that note if you're actually a black belt, and not a real ninja, crime fighter, or jujitsu sense´, then you are also a d-bag. Karate should not be a hobby. It is a means of killing suckers, impressing girls, perfecting flying jump kicks, and holding a defensive pose wayyy too long after you've delivered the finishing blow to your opponent, as if they are going to leap up in one motion and re-attack...

"Don't try this at home." What a cocksucker phrase. The only solace I find in that saying is that they cannot be serious. Even though they are probably joking it still sounds pretty fucking gay. Especially when they are doing something not even remotely amusing to anyone but the stoned-out-of-their-tits crowd they are hanging with. Like, if the dude is attempting to drop 22 chips into a bowl of french onion dip at once, then shove them in his mouth without spilling a single crumb. "Don't try this at home, folks." (Laughter.)

Oh really?? Where the fuck do you want me to try it. Do you want me to eat my chips on a ferris wheel? Should I be scarfing Tostitos on my fucking hanglider? Should I be calling my buddy Jimmy: "Hey Jimbo, get the chips and salsa and meet me at George's Gorge between the highway sign and Paula's Pancake Parlor." --"But can't I just grab the snack and meet you at your house?"--"Absolutely NOT, James!"

It's no better if you say the phrase, and are actually doing something that we REALLY shouldn't try at home. Like skydiving, or uni-cycling down a set of stairs. If your about to jump out of a plane, don't think for one second that I'm planning on throwing on a tablecloth-parachute, climbing to my roof and plummeting downward. It's a no-brainer. You don't have to remind me not to try death defying stunts at my house. I don't plan on emptying out a potato sack of venomous snakes and making a grand speech before I attempt to wrangle them: "Well there 60 of you and only one of me. You have speed, poison, numbers, your asses rattle and your jaws unhinge. Pretty impressive stuff. But there's one thing you don't have...The human brain". Then I dive into the pack and have at it.

I guess what I really want is for the assholes who use this lame phrase to specify a little bit. Maybe they could at least say "Don't try this at YOUR home, kids." Parents might appreciate it a little more. Mom's gonna kill you if you attempt to back flip off the lit grill into a pool of gasoline...But if you take those shenanigans over to the neighbor's house, it's no longer her problem. Now, it's Timmy's mother's fault. She should have been keeping a closer eye on you. I smell lawsuit.

Call the cops, plead your case, have her arrested, press charges...Just whatever you do "Don't try her at home"...take her to a courtroom.