Not sure if you watched Headline News this morning, but they’ve put all the trees in a tree museum, and are charging the people a dollar and a half to see ‘em. I don’t know about you, but in this economy that’s a hell of a bargain! Finally, something cheap to do, you know? And here’s some more depressing things to kick off your week. Hope your Monday sucks! FEH!
Love of House (Not the Hugh Laurie fan-fiction site)
You know today’s November 16th, right? And you haven’t bought anything for your kids for Christmas yet? Well, better luck next year because “Love Of House” is all that’s left on the shelves. Ironically, “Love of House” was deemed too grammar impaired for even Toys R’ Us to carry. At any rate, have fun explaining to your kids that “Mini Lordliness” is really what they wanted, not a PlayStation 3. This all reminds me of that Bootleg B-52′s song “Love Of House Shack” that this toy set inspired
Shown: Asian Fred Schneider sings the hits. He added, “The Love of House is a Mini old place where Lordliness am getting together. Love of House, baby, yeah.” [saaaad trom-booonnnneee!]
This stern warning accompanies a thrift store window we used to frequent (we frequented the window, not the store).
“Ok,” we “will” put “all” our “clothes” on “hangers!” Jesus “Christ” don’t have a “shit fit” about it and “scare off” your “fucking” customers! NO EXCEPTIONS! [sad "trombone"!]
Did I ever tell you about the time I sprinkled 8 bags of cocaine on a personal pan pizza and ate it in under 10 seconds? Wouldn’t you know, THIS is the first and last thing I remember seeing? A cross between Super Mario and that kid from The Grudge? [pants-pissing trombone!]
I pulled over from the highway just to take this picture. I hope you’re happy. If Subway restaurants hadn’t been ruined for you before with their slimy, lukewarm deli meat, disgustingly kemp countertops and prep areas and irritating jingles…consider this your wake up call. I’m a Quiznos man now. [sad trombone!]
I eat a lot of fast food. Lacking the foresight to make a documentary about it, I make no money off these culinary adventures, and therefore remain poor. And then I eat more fast food.
The closest place to me is Arby’s, which has a Machiavellian pricing scheme designed to confuse you and strip you of every last beefy cent. Their recent $5.01 combo campaign (AKA, the “oh, THAT’S why no one dines at Arby’s…we’re fuuuuuuckkkking exxxxxxxxpenssssssive!” campaign) has finally come along to supplant their failed “Arby’s gives me a boner” campaign:
I, for one, am all for the $5.01 new deal. Until last week, Arby’s deals were thus:
ME: I want two Roast Beef Sandwiches
CASHIER: That will be $8.
ME: For two sandwiches?
CASHIER: It’s cheaper to get the FIVE for $5 deal
ME: I don’t need five roast beef sandwiches. Can I just get four roast beef sandwiches and substitute a fry for one of the beefs.
CASHIER: Nope.
ME: Fine, give me five roast beef sandwiches for $5, instead of two sandwiches for $8.
CASHIER: Thanks! And here’s a coupon for $1 Roast Beef sandwiches, Limit 200 sandwiches.
ME: [stabs self to death, causing a big scene and spilling my innards as far from the mop bucket as I can, so that everyone will be staying late tonight]
NOTE: This is an actual $%^!@ coupon I got today. Don’t know if it works outside the Springfield area, but you should try it out and let me know what happens. Also, I swear to god i’m buying 200 sandwiches, and if they can’t produce them all i’m going to court.
There are lots of embarrassing pictures of me all over the internet. It just kind of happened….It just kind of happened as soon as I scanned them in, and put them everywhere online. My brother is the exact opposite of me in many respects: he’s well-respected for things like “business” and “trying to be a good person.” I have failed—FAILED, I say—on both counts. So since it’s my brother’s birthday today, I’ll bring him down to my level: here’s there embarrassing pictures of him. Actually, two are kind of awesome. Ok, and they’re not that embarrassing. I couldn’t do that to the guy. I might need a character witness in court someday. Can’t burn that bridge. Happy birthday, man.
Sig Heil Splinter!Wasserchildkroten aufgeZOGEN und SLAUGHTERED in DER TECHNODROME!
One of the best cakes of all time. Look at that thing. Mom had a Super Mario cake mold and I really wish we still had it. This is before it was cool to make “geek cakes.” The only thing is, my mom used to put all these cakes on top of that cardboard-covered-in-foil thing, and I would cut a piece and bite down hard on foil EVERY TIME. I believe this cake is the first time that happened. To this day, I look at the bottom of my cake pieces before I eat them (not kidding).
My aunt had these nightgowns that we insisted on wearing at sleepovers because they had cartoons on them. I found out years later that A). Boys should not wear Snoopy and Smurfette nightgowns and B.) My aunt isn’t a fan of little boys. She likes little nieces and was never big on little nephews. So she was more than happy to let us saunter around in these (This is EXACTLY the backstory to Sleepaway Camp, by the way). By the time I had figured this out, the damage was done: I was a full-blown transsexual with a Brainy Smurf fetish. My brother developed a phobia of sitting on top of giant strawberries. Thanks alot!
Now that he’s thoroughly shamed, please visit my brother’s website at least, and get yourself a big mouthful of Foil Super Mario cake: www.bluefuego.com
Ok, I take that back…world’s worst name for anything food related.
Say what you want, T-Balls gets some great online reviews. And by great, I mean “great” reviews of their “food” on the “internet” about “Chicago Style Hot Dogs,” (according to these reviewers).
This first review was obviously written by an alien, who walks among us trying our flavors and customs for the first time.
Shown: Nick Chaney and friends trying out “cheeze poppers” and something called “colloflower”! And what’s this “GYRO” you speak of? TAKE ME TO IT!!!!!!??!
This review also reveals that the owner of T-Balls is actually a guy named Tom Ball, which makes this restaurant: A.) totally literal, and not at all about the game of Tee-Ball like I thought it was and B.) worthy of ridicule for it’s willful exclusion of the possessive apostrophe.
Also, If my wife ever asks me to go to a hole in the wall called T-Balls, she’s usually not talking about a restaurant…
Ok, I can’t tell if this lady is being sincere or just an asshole. Unlike this guy…
Ok, I may or may not have put that review up. I realize those are my only two options. Speculate as you must.
For years, people have been telling me, “Hey Ward, go eat a big bowl of cock soup.” So I finally took it upon myself to do just that—cook a giant bowl of authentic Jamaican flavoured Cock Soup with my Sous Chef Cricket the Cat assisting in the cooking. Bon Appetit!
