what the hell else are you gonna do with your time?

Archive for the category “inspirational”

Honey and Flies: What’s the Point


You’re all familiar with the following saying:

You can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.

The suggestion here is that you gain more by being nice to people than by being rude.

But this is the question I have for you: why do you want to catch a bunch of flies; you can’t do anything with them.

You can’t train them to do anything, they’re completely stupid.

You can’t eat them: you get wing stuck in your teeth, they have limited nutritional value, and they taste like fly.

And once you’ve got flies stuck in your honey, the honey is ruined. Ten seconds before that fly landed in your honey, it was prancing around on a disease ridden pile of dog crap.

Do you really want to walk around all day being all flowery and nice to people if your reward is a bunch of stupid, disease ridden, dog crap prancing, insects that taste like fly.

Let me give you a quick heads-up about people: people suck.

It would be a different story if you could train flies to attack people that suck. I’d be all for throwing the honey around then.

Until then, I think I’ll just stick with the vinegar.


Moses: now there was a dude who knew how to use flies.


Sick and Tired

glaring look

“What’s wrong with you?”

I am sick and tired of people who think they are better than me.

People who think they are better than me just because they don’t eat crayons–there’s no law against eating crayons.

Do you know what all serial killers have in common: they don’t eat crayons. They occasionally eat people, but never crayons. Would you prefer I went around murdering people? I’ll bet you would, because you’re all judgy.

I’m sick and tired of people who think they are better than me just because they’ve never slapped a mime in the face–there’s no law against slapping mimes in the face.

Okay, there is a law against slapping mimes in the face–but there shouldn’t be! When did this country become the type of fascist police state where you can’t slap a mime in the face?

I’m fed up with those of you who think you’re so superior just because you’ve never licked a toad then urinated on a police car. Police cars are inanimate objects: they don’t care if you pee on them.

The police officer gets a little angry–the toad was furious.

And so what if I like to spend my evenings sitting in a dimly lit room, chugging bottles of Orange Jubilee Mad Dog 20/20, eating from a tub of mayonnaise, with the B-52’s greatest hits blaring at full volume on the stereo as I fingerpaint pictures of giraffes and other even toed ungulates on the walls. (Sometimes I do it dressed up like a rodeo clown.)

There’s nothing weird about any of that…except for listening to the B-52’s–I shouldn’t do that.

Think about this: if I didn’t do weird and unspeakable things this blog wouldn’t even exist.

You’re right–I should probably stop.

mad dog 20/20

Perfectly paired with Crayola brand dandelion crayons.


To Be or Not to Be–Bitten by a Horse

horse bite sign

Something occurred to me the other day: I’ve never been bitten by a horse.

Although I had never contemplated the ramifications of being bitten by a horse, or the ramifications of not being bitten by a horse, my life suddenly seemed vacant and purposeless.

Is it possible I’m missing out on something due to my lack of an equine chomping experience?

I sought out information from a blog post about raising horses and it seemed to indicate that you really don’t want to be bitten by a horse.

Note: If you ever need information or entertainment of any type, always go to a blog first; blogs are written by highly intelligent individuals with perpetually minty fresh breath.

I found the following phrase:

But, what starts as cute and innocent nibbling on a sleeve can evolve quickly into ripped clothing, crunched fingers, bruises and teeth marks. So if you have a young horse, don’t allow it to explore you with its mouth.

Interesting advice.

Note: I was considering making a joke here about a girl I once dated, but I just recently got the last lawsuit cleared up.

I may be overthinking this entire horse biting thing, and overthinking things is not an activity to which I am prone.

I was bitten by a dog once and I have to admit: it wasn’t as enjoyable as you might think. I would even go as far as saying it was unpleasant.

I was almost bitten by a goat once. The goat didn’t actually come near me, but he a look of no-good in his eyes. It was unsettling.

I’m beginning to think I should put off any attempt to be bitten by a horse.

If through the course of a normal day’s activities I should happen to be bitten by horse, then fine, but for now, I won’t go looking for it.

I will keep you updated.

Mr. Ed horse

Mr. Ed: his comments are biting.

Farewell Sweet Dandelion

dandelionsDid you know the Crayola company is retiring Dandelion from its 24 pack to make room for a new color?

I know!

Dandelion was the best tasting color in the 24 pack.

I mean, Carnation Pink is pretty good and Indigo is alright (although it’s a bit nutty for my taste) but they certainly don’t have the robust flavor of Dandelion.

Brown and Green are just disgusting and I don’t even know what Cerulean is.

Only weirdos eat Gray and I am no weirdo.

Violet-Red is edible, it’s definitely tastier than Red-Orange. But then you walk around all day with Violet-Red lips and you look like a tramp and I am no tramp.

I guess I’ll be forced to eat plain Yellow or maybe White–what a sad day.


Farewell sweet Dandelion.

Final Note: I wonder what color they will replace Dandelion with. I hope it’s not some shade of Purple; I hate Purple–Purple is so smug.

You Did What to That Earwig?


Back off Japanese scientists!

So I read the following statement on the internet:

Japanese Scientists discover when you pull off an earwig’s penis, another just pops back in its place.

Despite the infallibility of information found on the internet, I decided to find out if this is true.

Don’t worry–I didn’t pull any penises off any earwigs. Frankly, it seems like a really weird thing to do.

With all of the wonders in science and nature and the mysteries to unravel, why would a group of scientists spend their days pulling the penises off earwigs?

A group of scientists from Belgium attempted the same experiment with hippos. The results were varied: some of the scientists were trampled to death; others were simply maimed.

I found the following passage at The Japan Times:

Males have two, extremely long penises (sometimes longer than their bodies). The female has only one reproductive tract, but it is also very long, a convoluted tube. Sometimes during copulation, the male’s penis breaks off from his body and is lost inside the female. This is not as disastrous as it might be, because, Japanese research suggests, the male can simply use his spare penis.

Males have two, extremely long penises (sometimes longer than their bodies).

I think I’ve found my answer to why Japanese scientists are pulling the penises off earwigs: jealousy.

smug hippo

“Don’t even think about it; did you see what I did to those Belgian scientists?”

Love Hurts, but Not as Much as a Stab Wound

love hurts

I felt it was time to re-post these beautiful and poignant words.

I wrote this during a period of deep personal healing…but mostly I was drunk.


Christmas and Rutabagas


It’s Christmastime again: the perfect opportunity to brighten the spirits of a loved one with the gift of the rutabaga.

What’s so special about the rutabaga you may ponder–what isn’t so special about the rutabaga is my response.

  • They can be roasted.
  • They can be baked.
  • They can be boiled as a flavor enhancer in soups.
  • They can be boiled as a flavour enhancer in soups in Great Britain. (You wouldn’t believe how much tastier the soup is with that extra U in the word flavour.)
  • They can be thinly julienned as a side dish, in a salad or as a garnish.
  • They can be thinly julienned and used to cleanup oil spills in the driveway.
  • They can be mashed into a paste and used to degrease engines.
  • They can be mashed into a paste and used as a beautifying face cream. (It won’t make you more attractive, but it will cover up your butt-ugly face.)
  • You can make rutabaga ice cream.
  • You can make a rudimentary boiled rutabaga stew that was a staple of famine ridden Europe during the war and pretend you’re living in famine ridden Europe during the war–because pretending is fun.
  • You can chuck them at Kayne West’s head. (It’s such a huge bloated target.)
  • You can chuck them at the heads of people you’re ambivalent about.
  • You can chuck them at the heads of people you like. (The thunk of a rutabaga bouncing off a human skull is surprisingly satisfying.)
  • You can fill your child’s stocking with them. (But ensure they’re fresh; they can attract flies.)
  • You can use them to attract flies.
  • You can carve them into lanterns as was the old Irish tradition.
  • You can carve them into lanterns and chuck them at Kanye West’s head. (Hopefully the beginnings of a new tradition.)
  • And finally, you can make the traditional Finnish Christmas dish Lanttulaatikko.
rutabaga dish

Lanttulaatikko is a delicious Finnish Christmas dish–you can also chuck it at Kayne West’s head.

Addendum: Don’t make rutabaga ice cream…it sucks.

Black Friday: You’re not Doing it Right

black friday

If you haven’t been bitten in the face, you’re not doing it right.

Black Friday: the day even genteel old ladies become MMA cage fighters.

Remember: if you have to commit a few misdemeanors and a stray felony or two in the act of acquiring Christmas gifts, it’s perfectly justifiable.

If you’re not engaging in activities that are at the very least, ethically and morally dubious, you’re heart just isn’t into it.

It’s called Black Friday for a reason. It’s not called Rosy Red Cheery Friday, you pansies.

If you’re not out there causing pain, you’re not doing right.

I have a few helpful tips for Black Friday:

  • The first item in your shopping cart should be a meat tenderizer–you need quick access to a weapon that you can later claim to the authorities, was just an item on your shopping list.
  • Beware of air flow before pepper-spraying a fellow shopper/combatant, you don’t want any of that stuff drifting into your own eyes–it really stings.
  • When grappling with an elderly person over an item, don’t hold back just because they appear to be having a heart attack, in my experience they are faking it at least 38% of the time.
  • Don’t be influenced just because a mother is with her child. That child is either a prop meant to endear sympathy, a diversion to distract you, or it’s an attack dog that she will sic on you the moment you get to close to an item she is after. (Little kids are vicious and they have really sharp teeth.)
  • Bite wounds from small children should be attended to immediately–you have no idea what kind of diseases those filthy little potato-faced brats have.
  • Finally, before wrapping a gift intended for a loved one, be sure to remove the price tag or any blood spatter that may be on the item. It’s just rude to give a gift with the price tag and or incriminating DNA still on it.

Remember: the important thing about the season is that you get what you want at the expense of your fellow man.

Final Note: make sure you keep the receipts; that gift you stabbed another human being in the face to get, will likely be returned.


And you’ve cleaned the blood from it, it makes a great gift.

Vogon Poetry, Now Fourth Worst in the Universe

hitchhiker's guide

Do not let this Vogon read you his poetry.

Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy is quite clear on the point that Vogon poetry is the third worst in the universe:

“Vogon poetry is of course, the third worst in the universe. The second worst is that of the Azgoths of Kria. During a recitation by their poet master Grunthos the Flatulent of his poem “Ode to a Small Lump of Green Putty I Found in My Armpit One Midsummer Morning” four of his audience died of internal haemorrhaging and the president of the Mid-Galactic Arts Nobbling Council survived by gnawing one of his own legs off. Grunthos was reported to have been “disappointed” by the poem’s reception, and was about to embark on a reading of his 12-book epic entitled “My Favourite Bathtime Gurgles” when his own major intestine, in a desperate attempt to save humanity, leapt straight up through his neck and throttled his brain. The very worst poetry of all perished along with its creator, Paula Nancy Millstone Jennings (Paul Neil Milne Johnstone) of Redbridge, in the destruction of the planet Earth. Vogon poetry is mild by comparison.”

It is my endeavor to make it the fourth worst poetry in the universe:

There happened a witch who lived on a hill,

of diminutive size, but enormously shrill.

Unpleasing her countenance: all icky and warts,

when wickedly she cackles, how it twists and contorts. 

Her stench so loathsome like eggs and arm pit,

one whiff and you vomit in your mouth just a bit.

Small animals would flee, never again to be seen.

At least they weren’t trampled, as they well could have been.

Her sisters she’d gather, all cellulite and hate.

They would cackle and hiss and brag of the children they ate.

And eat they did much in their murky morass,

they had thick chunky thighs, like a hippo’s fat ass.

“We will taunt, we will curse, as well we see fit,

with toil and trouble and all that other Shakespearean shit.”

Their husbands did cower in a bleak silent hell,

for their wives weren’t just ugly, they’re mean as all hell.

But for these poor ladies, all their efforts did fail.

In the end it’s the hero who will always prevail.

Now the creatures just hide in a dark and dank place,

chugging Coors Light and shoving fudge in their face.

Does this tale have a moral, I don’t know it just might,

but probably not: I’m not very bright.

And now Vogon poetry is the fourth worst in the universe. Thank you.

Have a happy towel day and please:towwel day

My Sincerest Apologies

sea monkeyA few months ago I detailed how distraught I was after discovering I had missed National Toothache Day.

This pales in comparison to that oversight.

Yesterday was National Sea-Monkey Day.


What the hell? It feels like I just woke up on December, 26th and thought to myself: it feels like I missed something yesterday–why do I crave eggnog?

Sea-Monkeys have been such a huge part of my life and this blog. I even wrote an entire post about how Sea-Monkeys are preferable to my aunts and uncles.

(But to be fair, a rotting bloated corpse infected with Ebola is preferable to my aunts and uncles.)

I’ve laughed with Sea-Monkeys. I’ve wept with Sea-Monkeys. I can’t think of a single important event in my life of which Sea-Monkeys weren’t an integral part.

(Except maybe when I lost my virginity–there were no Sea-Monkeys involved with that–I’m not a weirdo.)

Sea-Monkeys are fantastic companions:

  • They’re great listeners.
  • They almost never interrupt you.
  • They don’t hog the bathroom–they go right in the bowl.
  • They never take the last beer.
  • They laugh with me, not at me.
  • They hate mimes as much as I do.
  • They never touch the remote–they’re happy with what I want to watch.
  • They never get anchovies on the pizza–anchovies are their natural enemies.
  • They’re really into William Blake.
  • And if for some reason they do act up a little, I can just leave a bottle of cocktail sauce by their bowl. They’re brine shrimp–they get the picture.

I want to extend my deepest and most sincere apologies to all of the Sea-Monkeys out there: I will never let you down again.

Final Note: There is absolutely no truth to the rumor that I once guzzled a bowl of Sea-Monkeys on a drunken dare. It is a heinous fabrication of the worst kind. A vicious, nasty, horrible, deliciously salty lie.


The anchovy–natural enemy of the Sea-Monkey.


Post Navigation

%d bloggers like this: