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burntees.com
Canucklehead
Collegehumor
Daily Gut
Deadspin
east village idiot
Great White Snark
Hoop
I Dislike Your Favorite Team
I’m A T.V. Junkie
kneecapped
New York Shitty
notoriousapparel
Pissed and Petty
Rock Me TV
Rum and Popcorn
Scissors Happy
The Back Of Your Head
The Big Lead
The Everlasting Funstopper
The Grand National Championships
The Hot Dog Truck
The Quest for Comedic Stardom
The Sauce Blog (FUSE)
The Triumph of Bullshit
These Are Me Thinks
This Girl Called Automatic Win
Too Much Nick
TopTee TopList
TrailerSpy
Unknown Highway
Well Whiskey Friday
Thank god Apple sent me an email reminder to seek out the nearest Apple store to shell out $500 and ludicrous phone charges on a new iPhone today. I hadn’t heard anything about this phone. Eff you Apple and your spam. You should know better that people hate junk mail seeing how you’re so intuitive and all.
More Mac Week 2007!
iPhone Mad Libs!
iTool
MadTV Spoof
(No Ratings Yet)
Loading ...I wrote earlier how I was looking forward to the first iPhone mugging. I had know idea it was going to happen on live television. The “mugger” actually goes for the reporter’s microphone, but other sources are reporting it as an iPhone mugging. Well, now it loks like they’re taking it back. Anyway, here’s the video. First one quick comment: People who have issues with Fox News stop harassing them. If you have problems with the channel don’t watch it, don’t let them play victim by attacking them, and don’t give them the moral high ground. Just ignore Fox News, they’re preaching to the choir anyway, so don’t worry about them. Tangent over. Here’s the video.
(1 votes, average: 10 out of 10) Loading ...-The grand finale for Mac Week ‘07 has arrived! The Contemptster of the Day, Mac Devotee, will surely be standing smugly in line at an Apple store near you! Also, keep checking in because we’ll be debuting brand new hilarious features in the coming weeks.
-The wildly popular Friday blog series, Premature Exasperations, drops today. It’s content is as unexpected and shameful as a high school pregnancy! Also, scroll down the main page for recent blog entries. Keep checking in during the day for updates. To catch up on past blogs, scroll all the way down on the main page and click on More Contemptster Blogs.
- Get your two cents in for this week’s poll question which asks, “Will you be buying an iPhone?”
-Misery loves company so tell us what you have contempt for. You can comment and vote to your heart’s desire below all blogs and Contemptsters. If you’re feeling extra participatey, submit your own content from vids to pics to original blogs and we’ll post them, give you credit and link to your site if you have one.
-Visit us on Myspace. Feel free to leave comments, videos, pics and feedback.
(No Ratings Yet) Loading ...In honor of the release of the iPhone, this week’s Premature Exasperations thought it would be fun to play Mad Libs. Mac adds an “i” before any word or product and it REVOLUTIONIZES them. Let’s see what zaniness ensues with “i” addition in:
iMad Libs: An Early Adopter’s Quest for an iPhone
By Bryan
The iRon Sheik going off!
(2 votes, average: 10 out of 10) Loading ...Yesterday was a big day for us here at Contemptster because we were featured on the front page of Shoutwire and TorrentSpy. Because of this we received over 1000 hits for the first time in site history. Considering we had a little over 7,000 total hits in the three months prior it was a pretty good day. I think we even made 19 cents in advertising. So thanks for all who “shouted” up our Pseudo Punk Contemptster. If you want to Shout it go here.
(No Ratings Yet) Loading ...Kill away boys. Kill away.
(No Ratings Yet) Loading ...There’s a guy who’s been standing in line since 5AM Monday morning for an iPhone. Here’s the link to the site documenting this idiocy. And here’s a link to the video interview of the man. This video is a must watch. A few things that stand out are:
1)He’s not the sharpest tool in the shed. Oh, he’s a tool alright, but he’s more large mallet than hedge shears if you know what I mean.
2)He’s a Yankees fan. First this disaster of a 2007 season, and now you have this idiot representing you. He does sound slightly smarter than Johnny Damon though, but that’s not saying much.
3)He doesn’t own an iPod or a Mac! He doesn’t even seem to know much about the iphone.
I’m going to quote a guy I read in the comments on Gawker the other day, “when is that asteroid coming?” Not soon enough.
(1 votes, average: 10 out of 10) Loading ...We’re taking a break from Mac Week 2007! for a minute in order to preview Fucking Bitch Week 2007! coming to your screens later this summer. Our whey protein guzzling contributor Bryan submitted this Hardball segment with Anne Coulter. Anne is her usually arrogant, obnoxious self as she argues with John Edward’s wife.
As much as Anne claims she hates Hollywood, she sure has mastered the Hollywood Boulevard Hooker Chic look. It looks like she even borrowed Tom Cruise’s sunglasses from Rain Man. It’s a sweet get up to be sure, but it doesn’t steal the show. No Bryan’s 20/10 vision caught something else in the background around the 1:30 mark. Check out the woman in the G.O.P. female uniform: white pantsuit and pearls. True, the G.O.P. may be against smuggling illegal aliens into the country, but what’s their stance on smuggling raisins? Or maybe it was the cold shrill of a voice emanating out of Anne Coulter nasal passages that brought things standing to attention.
(4 votes, average: 9.5 out of 10) Loading ...
What’s a Tuesday without Toolsday? I say Tuesday would be the second day of the shit work week without Toolsday. Luckily, my steal trap of a brain remembered that today is Tuesday as well as Toolsday so we won’t have to think of the horrible possibility of a Tuesday without Toolsday until I almost forget to post a Toolsday post next Tuesday. Wow, I shouldn’t have done that last bump of speed. The first four were tight, but that fifth, DAMN!
Anywho, it’s Toolsday and seeing how it’s Mac Week 2007! and all today’s Tool Room inductee is coming from the world of Apple. Hot off last summer’s three month long advertising blitz/one week stay in theaters bomb, Accepted, your Tool today is one Justin Long.
Justin Long was conceived during and his name inspired by the Tampa Bay Buccaneers 1977 season. His parents, rabid Bucs fans, knew they couldn’t name their son Thirdin’, so they settled on the more “accepted” name of Justin. Summers in Rangoon, luge lessons, and all of a sudden Justin was all grown up and (cough) Waiting… to hit the big time. Some dodgeball here and a tour de force performance in Wake Up Ron Burgundy there, and his big role finally came a callin’ – Apple shill. With his barely-there, midnight shadow facial hair, a “where the fuck do I know that guy from?” popularity, and hooded sweatshirts galore Justin made for the perfect corporate mouth piece.
Justin’s about to hit it big with his performance in the soon-to-be summer blockbuster, Live Free or Die Hard. Not since Rob Schneider teamed up with Jean-Claude Van Damme in Knock Off has a sidekick been so out classed by his leading actor, but that’s a burden Justin will have to bear. But his biggest offense, the one that lands him here in the Tool Room, are his smug I’m-better-than-you, typical-Apple-superiority-bullshit advertisements that air every five fucking minutes on TV. You’re a Mac, I KNOW I FUCKING GET IT! But you’re also becoming the bane of my television viewing. Although, is Apple hiring you back?
Welcome to the Tool Room Justin. If Apple doesn’t want you, we sure as heck do. Stay cool brova!
Previously on Mac Week 2007!
Intuitive iPhone Features
Why I Hate My iPod
MadTV Spoof
(1 votes, average: 10 out of 10) Loading ...
I know we’re calling this week “Mac Week 2007!” even though we’re really talking about Apple, the company, not Mac the brand. So when we talk about the iPhone which is made by Apple, but isn’t a Mac, it still qualifies for “Mac Week 2007!” discussion. Does that make sense? That just goes to show you, as fucking brilliant and intuitive Apple is, they can’t brand without confusing the shit out of you.
Speaking of intuitive and of the iPhone can we talk about some of the intuitive features on the iPhone? For example, if you want to make a call you hit a green button that says, “send” and to hang up the call you hit a red button that says, “end”. Green means go, red means stop, send rhymes with end. Genius. Also, if you want to use email on the iPhone, you go to a section called “mail”. That’s beyond genius. That my friends is fucking genius, they dropped the “e” and everything. The iPhone makes phone calls. They named the thing what it is: a phone. No more calling them “cells” or “mobiles” like the convoluted PC dominated world would have you. Nope, phones are once again called phones. Thank you, Apple.
With intuitive design like this, who cares that you’ll constantly be recharging your batteries to make calls, watch movies, search the web, and listen to music. Who cares that the batteries on iPods sucks my left nut? My friend last night made a good point. With your iPod you can send it in for a week of service to fix the inevitable battery issue, but go a week without your phone? Yeah, exactly, who cares about that too? Sign me up because iPhones look cool and I’m going to look even cooler using it. I’m also looking forward to the first attempted mugging for my $500 dollar device that I openly use carefree on the street of New York City. This is going to work out well for everyone I can tell.
Yes, this is a picture of a Mugged Marcus Garbage Pale Kid.
More Apple in the News:
iPhone to cost you a shit load of money in service charges. (Yahoo!)
Fox News is looking for an angry person to talk shit about the iPhone. They must have lost my number. That, or Gutfeld black listed me for previous cracks. (Gizmodo)
The Mac dude’s blowin’ up (The 9)
Previously on Mac Week 2007!:
Why I Hate My iPod
(1 votes, average: 10 out of 10) Loading ...
Macs are so intuitive. Who cares that the mouse sucks and only has one button because “right clicking” is soooo PC. Did I mention Macs are really intuitive?
Macs are the best computer for photography, graphic design, and video. Any true artist owns a Mac. And by “true artist” I obviously mean the type of artist who has enough parental and trust fund support to afford a $3000 dollar computer, plus that sweet-ass apartment in the Lower East Side.
Macs are also super intuitive, but I have to come clean, I don’t know what intuitive means. I think it means “any idiot can use it,” but I’m not sure. Intuitive.
Interests: Pointing out people’s flaws, gadgets, coffee
For more pop-culture parasites, click here.
While you’re there, give the Star Wars Fan a wedgie.
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I saw this article on Rolling Stone’s website, about how iTunes is now the third largest music retailer in the country. However, if this fantastic New York Magazine article proves true, iTunes could be outdated in a matter of years (months?) Of course this doesn’t matter to me because my iPod, all of three years old, is currently broken…for the fourth time.
After three days of ownership my iPod wouldn’t respond or turn off on my commute home. By the time I made it home to reset the little fucker, it was almost too hot to touch. One year later, again commuting home, I watched in horror as one by one my songs were deleted in front of my eyes. I felt like Ed Rooney watching Feris Bueller’s absences tick away. Then a few months later, after repairing it and restocking it with songs, they were deleted again. Currently, my iPod makes horrible grinding noises when I try and turn it on, and then gives me the “sad” iPod face.
Three years, four BIG problems, and this doesn’t even include all the times the battery just decided to crap out and not work for a day or two only to start working a few days later. Reliable my iPod is not. This is why I won’t be running to the Apple Store to buy an iPhone, well, unless I smash it.
More Contemptster Mac Week To Come!
Previous:
MadTV Steve Jobs Spoof
(2 votes, average: 9.5 out of 10) Loading ...It’s Mac week here at Contemptster! Yuppies, hipsters, gadget-heads, Mac aficionados can you feel it? History will be made this week with the release of the $500 iphone. That’s right, on Friday at stores near you and on Sunday morning in Lost & Found boxes everywhere; the iphone will finally be unveiled to the public. We’ll have more on Apple and the iphone as the week progresses but here’s a video from MadTV to kick start the week.
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The Sex who? Piss-tols? Never heard of them. Punk music isn’t about rage, anarchy, politics, or youthful expression. It’s about cute boys with spiky hair and arm bands playing music you can dance to. Punk music is about 20-year-old guys with meaningless sleeve tattoos and t-shirts featuring bands I’ve never heard of. The Buzzcocks, that’s a silly name. Most importantly, punk rock is about changing your hair color, lip rings, and, best of all, shopping at Hot Topic. Oh, there’s my mom’s Benz. Gotta run.
Fav Bands: Simple Plan, Good Charlotte, Justin Timberlake, Blink 182 (old school), Sum 41
Click here to play Punk-O-Matic!
For more everyday assholes, click here.
While you’re there, discuss the finer points of being a tool with the Hipster and the Poseur.
(20 votes, average: 9.35 out of 10) Loading ...Roger Clemens went a strong 4 1/3 innings last night in what is becoming the greatest free agent signing of the season…and for many seasons to come.
(2 votes, average: 10 out of 10) Loading ...Summer is starting and sex is in the air. In this week’s Premature Exasperations Bryan looks at the alluringly shameful aphrodisiac trade.
Powering up with Puma Pricks!
By Bryan
Remember a time when erections MEANT something? It was about the pure, uninhibited excitement only a woman or man or horse could give you with a coy glance or hoof stamp depending on your preferences. These days people are all juiced up and every sexual encounter has to have an asterisk attached. In this post-Viagra world, geriatrics are performing ungodly feats in the bedroom, sure, to great ratings, but its all smoke and mirrors and whips and chains. Some young Casanova prospects start in high school, looking for that extra libidinal edge in their chase for Wilt Chamberlain’s record of 20,000. Wilt did it gracefully, naturally and probably raw dog on the floor.
Fine, I can accept Viagra as an aphrodisiac. It works and helps people sweatily jackhammer away at each other for hours. What I will NOT accept any longer are hack, exotic aphrodisiacs that cause undue harm to animals and extort people out of money all in the name of boners. Casanova was said to eat 50 oysters a day to help in his conquests. That was in the 18th century. How is it that three centuries have passed and people still pay top dollar for inane sexual enhancement products?
This week an Alaskan man was just arrested for selling seal penises to Asian tourists for $100 a rod. People need to stop buying seal penises. That goes the same for tiger dicks too. Seems easy enough, but if no one buys them then the result is a seller with either a stockpile of really gross dildos or the gigantic problem of female seals and tigers in heat knocking down the door. No penis pusher wants that.
In another case, an Australian man took oysters a step further this month by infusing them with Viagra. He hopes to sell Viagra oysters in the Asian market and says that “it really works.” Of course they really work! Heck, why not take it another step and sell Viagra infused Viagra—it’s all the fuck without the shuck! Wilt would be so ashamed.
Let’s just give up this romanticized notion of aphrodisiacs and get back to good ol’ fashioned freaking. The idea of natural aphrodisiacs is rooted in the Doctrine of Signatures which basically says that everything in nature has been marked by God in a way which reveals its intended use. Under this notion, carrots, ginseng, reindeer antlers, rhino horns and the Grand Tetons are all candidates for ingesting. People pay top dollar for this phooey, especially those cultivated from animals.
Stop spending money on it and these eccentricities on the market will go the way of the Dodo dicks. Or don’t stop and they will go the way of the Dodo dicks. Either way something has to go the way of some Dodo dicks and ideally it will be the marketing of animal genitals rather than the animals. I can only dream of a time when Viagra is the staple of forlorn lovers, tigers roam free with swinging fifth legs, and the ghost of Wilt Chamberlain keeps his record safe from doped up lovers by adding conquests from beyond the grave.
(5 votes, average: 9.8 out of 10) Loading ...
Look, I’m hard, I’m rich, and I’m young. I’ve earned the right to wear more jewelry than the Princess of Wales. I’ve got ice in my teeth, three carats on my pinky, and 500 diamonds on my necklace. Next week, I get back my custom tiara. That’s right. Tiara. It says “Ice Rocka” and I’m gonna blow minds with that shit. So civil wars and atrocities are funded by diamonds. I don’t give a fuck. Think I’m smart enough to care? It’s all about me, my fragile ego and showing off my money. I’m classy like that.
For more contemptible public behavior click here.
While you’re there, hitch a ride with the Guy Who Drives a Car with a Booming Sound System.
(5 votes, average: 7.6 out of 10) Loading ...Holy shit, does Perez Hilton still have a blog? I haven’t heard about him for months. Oh, look he’s still outing gay celebrities, that ugly little scamp. Tonight, Yahoo! asks a question no one cares about: do the opinions of fucking asshole fame whores matter? Of course not Yahoo! See Jackson, Latoya. Or Bag, Douche.
Perez is clearly going for “lesbian chic” with his new look.
(2 votes, average: 9 out of 10) Loading ...A few weeks back I was making fun of Greg Gutfeld, the host of Red Eye on Fox News. A writer from the site The Daily Gut commented on the article and we had a friendly back and forth. Well, being the quick witted lad that I am, I finally realized the The Daily Gut is Greg GUTfeld’s website. You’ve got to wake up pretty early to fool me. What did I go and do? I burned a bridge that’s what I went and did.
If you haven’t seen Red Eye it’s a “pop culture” talk show that often features bloggers as guest commentators. Yes, it’s come to that. The abundance of crap television has expanded so much that bloggers, the catfish of the media food chain, are now valued guests. Well, I’d like to throw my hat into the ring. I could use the extra $50 dollar appearance fee and Olive Garden gift certificate.
Red Eye features one gabby host, three in-studio guests, and two guests via satellite all with the purpose of droning on about the “issues of the day” like Paris Hilton and blah blah blah. Well I’ve watched the show and six people isn’t nearly enough. I’m throwing my hat into the ring. Straight off my eloquent and not nervous at all appearance at the Brooklyn Blogfest I think I have what it takes to be the keystone seventh Red Eye commentator.
Here are the Red Eye guest qualifications. Qualification that I have pretty well covered:
1. I’m really, really pleased with myself. If there’s a hallmark for the Red Eye guest, it’s an inflated sense of self. I have it in spades.
2. I think I’m funnier than I am. If Laurie Dhue can crack and laugh at her own jokes, so can I!
3. I have knee-jerk reactions to all stories Muslim.
4. I need to be famous.
5. I’m available.
So here I am Red Eye. When your director is just itching to cut to one more camera, one more guest, and when that millisecond of silence creeps into the show, I as the seventh commentator will fill that void. With my enormous ego, somewhat witty and clever jokes, an “all Muslims are wacky” mentality, insatiable ambition for the spot light, and a blank calendar it’s clear that this is what I was born to do.
Here’s a clip from Red Eye. Sometimes it feels like an SNL sketch. They keep cutting to guest, after guest, after guest. I keep waiting for them to cut to some pimply-faced kid via his webcam.
(1 votes, average: 9 out of 10) Loading ...Don’t Just Take Our Word For It has been on the shelf the last few weeks, but now the feature with the clunkiest title on the intersphere is back. We’ve been tinkering with the formula a.k.a. haven’t been able to search as many sites as we’d like, but here’s your weekly contempt filled links.
This Is What We Do Now
I wish we had thought of a “Friend Who Constantly Bugs You To Go See His/Her Show” Contemptster, but this post pretty much sums it up.
These Are Me Thinks
In this day of cleaner and greener auto alternatives we can all learn a lesson from Captain Obvious.
Les Misc
This looks nothing like the Flavia machine in our office. Quite frankly, the thought of “tasty coffees” pouring out of a Flavia machine turns my entire world upside-down, because that shit is swill.
[redacted]
This has nothing to do with contempt; this is just one of the few blogs that makes me laugh out loud or LOL. I’ve never ROFL because of this blog, but, hell I haven’t ROFL in years. Once you get to be a certain age ROLF just isn’t an option any more. What with the sciatica and all.
(No Ratings Yet) Loading ...Submitted by Crazy Carl Himself
Let’s see… I banged your roommate, your roommate’s best friend from home, all of your housemates, your best friend from home, my brother’s best friend, and three of his other friends (in what they described as the best gangbang ever), my ex-boyfriend, my ex-boyfriend’s best friend, your ex-girlfriend’s ex-boyfriend, your neighbor (and his best friend from home), your brother, and 14 guys I have met from Myspace. I also gave a blowjob to my professor, 2 members of the football team at that frathouse, and a 17-year-old boy asking for directions. Oh, and I also had anal sex with the person I know you secretly hate most in the world. And that’s only this semester.
Am I forgetting anyone? Probably. But, I am fully aware that I have not banged you. We have such a great friendship, and I just wouldn’t want to ruin it by making you a little happy by sexually satisfying you. There is no one else in the world that I can discuss the intricacies of a Todd Solondz film with, or the meaning of a Russell Banks novel, or quote the Family Guy and Goodfellas with. But all men have dicks. That is why I can’t possibly fuck up our friendship by fucking you. As a sharp female with a great understanding of men, I am certain that by screwing everyone on the planet in the world except you, this friendship will never end.
I would love to tell you I’m sorry that I have made you feel pathetic, and have made you second guess yourself by not sleeping with you. I would love to tell you that I feel bad that all the other girls we know think you have the HIV because you are the only male I haven’t fooled around within 100 miles of here.
I would love to apologize for destroying your self-esteem and game by not at least giving you a blowjob after we together polished off a bottle of Tequila while discussing how men mistreat me and use me for sex . But I’m not sorry. I have needs, too. I’m terribly sorry that our needs clearly do not coincide.
By the way, is your roommate’s dog around?
To meet more relationship losers, click here.
While you’re there, see if you can survive the night with the Scary Sexer.
To read more musings by Crazy Carl Himself, click here. Email the man at CrazyCarlHimself@gmail.com.
(9 votes, average: 8.67 out of 10) Loading ...What a day. O’Donnell! Hasselbeck! Sutcliffe! Hillary! Bill! Bad Divers, and the Popes who condemn them! Who will live on in infamy and immortality in the dreaded Tool Room? Let’s break this thing down, as Nick Bakay would say, “scientifically.”
There are four Tool Room criteria and each inductee must represent at least one. Here are the criteria and the Tools that qualify:
Oblivious (Dog Owners, Rude Concert Go-ers)
Egocentric (Public Marriage Proposal Guys, Purse Men, Canary Couple, Label Makers)
Trashy (Massholes, PDA Barfly)
Fucktarded (VCAST Fall Out Fan Boy, The Founder, Whiney Sopranos Fans)
Here’s the breakdown:
Rosie
She’s obviously egocentric. Oblivious? Not so much. Although she did think that “Riding the Bus with My Sister” was a quality career choice, but I blame her ego for that more than anything. Trashy? Video blogging while drinking aside still a “no.” Fucktarded? Again, her performance in “Riding the Bus with My Sister” proves that she definitely isn’t “arded” in any form. Just a horrendous and possibly offensive actress.
Tool Room Criteria: 1 of 4 (egocentric)
Rick Sutcliffe
Rick’s not oblivious, he just needs to know when to shut his mouth. Egocentric? He was a pro athlete so his ego is probably off the charts, but he doesn’t come across too bad. Trashy? He has a blemish of appearing on TV drunk at a baseball game, but he wasn’t working that night and who doesn’t get drunk at baseball games? Fucktarded? His jokes are fucktarded, but he’s not.
Tool Room Criteria: 0 of 4
Bill Clinton
Egocent…yes. Oblivi…no. Tras..yes. Fucktar..no. Let’s face it, who cares about his flaws. Bill Clinton is the man.
Tool Room Criteria: 2 of 4 (But who the fuck cares?)
Hillary Clinton
Egocentric? Abso-fucking-lutely. Oblivious? Yeah, if she willingly thought acting out a Sopranos finale parody was a good, dignified idea, her head is in the clouds. Trashy, not really, but she has put up with a trashy husband for many, many years in order to benefit her career, making her trashy by association and motive. Not fucktarded.
Tool Room Criteria: 3 of 4 (egocentric, oblivious, trashy)
Bad Drivers
All of the above, but God will deal with them harsher than any Tool Room can.
Tool Room Criteria: in God’s hands.
Elisabeth Hasselbeck
Egocentric? Yes, anyone who regurgitates their idiotic opinions for millions of fools everyday is an egomaniac. I don’t qualify because we reach tens not millions. Oh, and our reader(s) isn’t(aren’t) a( ) fool(s). Almost slipped up there. Obliviousness? Uh, yeah. Have you listened to the woman? If she wasn’t a fourth place finisher on a sophomore season of a reality game show I could care less what her opinions are. She’s lucky she has that going for her. Trashy? Not really but she did go to Boston College which is no ringing endorsement for class so let’s count it. Fucktarded? You can’t spell fucktarded without Hasselbeck, or so she says.
Tool Room Criteria: 4 of 4
So there you have it. Elisabeth Hasselbeck, welcome to the Tool Room. Not to fear, I’m working on my “forgiveness process” and other lawyer-ed up terms of reconciliation. Until then enjoy!
(3 votes, average: 10 out of 10) Loading ...First Israel and Palestine, now this:
As if things couldn’t get worse the “power of forgiveness process” (third item) has shut down between Rosie O’Donnell and Elisabeth Hasselbeck. Yup, the former host of VHI Stand-up Spotlight and the former fourth place finisher on the second season of Survivor are no longer, GASP, friends. Who wants to raise children in a world like this? Will they ever kiss and make up (easy Rosie, figure of speech)? Certainly not until they are offered millions of dollars to star in a reality show together, tentative title: Viewers are Assholes, Fuck You All.
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I’m starting to wish I never lived to see the YouTube Age. Sure it was great when it first began: weatherman follies, entire Simpsons episodes, Stephen Colbert roasting George Bush. Simple times, those. Innocent turning-a blind-eye-to-copyright-law times.
Now we have to deal with politicians using this medium to announce important political reform, bringing a voice back to the people, reconnecting with the millions of citizens who feel disconnected with government their campaign songs. As you may have heard, Hillary Clinton announced her new campaign song via a Sopranos finale parody. Not since I Love Lucy has a married couple produced the comedic electricity of Bill and Hillary Clinton. Take a look for yourself.
I have so many questions I don’t know where to start. How do they have time to do this? They paid to shoot and edit this? Wait, they did this? Do they have to pay Journey to use that song? Is it a good idea to allude to a shady, maybe assassin when you’re running for president? Can you even write that sentence without getting anal probed by the Secret Service? If Hillary is Tony Soprano does that make Bill Clinton A.J. or Carmella? Why does Hillary’s attempt at levity make me yearn for Al Gore’s wooden man impression of 2000? Does Hillary smoke a pack of Winstons and down a fifth of Makers every day? By the sound of her voice I’d say “yeah, she probably does.”
More important, will other candidates follow her lead and reenact other HBO series finales? Will John McCain drive cross country listening to Sia in his Toyota Prius Straight Talk Express foreseeing the future? Will a sad and lonely Fred Thompson finally get together with his long time on-again-off-again lover on the streets of Paris and make a happy return to New York City? Will Rudy Guiliani regenerate by sucking the life force out of a corn field? What, none of you watched Carnivale?
Anywho, the possibilities are endless. The days of Lincoln-Douglas are long over, and thank god for that. Eloquent discussion that takes its audience seriously is so boring. I want more mindless humor from my politicians. It’s not like we have a war going on or anything. Oh, wait.
Well, that’s not partially Hillary’s fault, she didn’t vote for the thing. Oh wait.
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The Vatican released a list of “Ten Driving Commandments” today that should cause any bad driver, old driver, and cuts you off and drives insanely slow driver to reach for the rosaries.
Here are a few examples:
2. The road shall be for you a means of communion between people and not of mortal harm.
5. Cars shall not be for you an expression of power and domination, and an occasion of sin.
10. Feel responsible toward others.
The last one rings true to me. It reminds me of that dickless mini-van driver (oops, road rage breaks a commandment) who slammed on his breaks while merging onto the BQE the other day. It was a merge not a yield. The lane was open, but he just slammed on the brakes. We managed to stop in time, but the guy behind us took off our left side bumper. The mini-van just drove away after finally getting comfortable with the speed and merging patterns of the highway, unconcerned with the accident he just caused. Good for him. At least I can rest easy knowing there’s a place in hell for that driver.
(1 votes, average: 10 out of 10) Loading ...During a pitching change in the ninth inning of last night’s Red Sox vs. Braves game on ESPN, Rick Sutcliffe could sense the time was right. There was a lull in the action and he had gone roughly .5 seconds without speaking. Time to fill the dead air, open the bag of bad jokes and drop some comic knowledge on populous. The Braves have suffered some injuries this year, but in this game they scored nine runs and were wrapping up a blow out win. Just stating this fact wasn’t enough, instead Sutcliffe goes with the line you know he prepared before the game:
“The Braves this year have had more MRIs than RBIs.”
Wait for it. Wait for it. Ha! Good one Ricky. Who needs Jay Leno and Craig Ferguson when we have Rick Sutcliffe wasting away in a three man booth on Monday Night Baseball? Dude should be headlining Caroline’s or at least have an unwatchable movie or TV series. I hear they hand those out at LAX to anyone with a SAG card and a blue collar.
I would have embedded the drunk Rick Sutcliffe video, but the gutless lawyers at Google took it down. Apparently they didn’t have the expressed written consent of Major League Baseball. Only the implied oral consent available on international waters. So instead, here’s a baseball edition of “Will It Blend” from the makers of Blendtec. Blendtec, for when you really need to dispose of a body. Don’t have room for those industrial slicers? Tired of rusty hack saws? Tarps just hide the problem! Get Blendtec today!
For more on awful announcing check out Awful Announcing. How’d he come up with that name? Sorry, bad jokes are catchin’
(1 votes, average: 10 out of 10) Loading ...
I’m not sure how comfortable I am admitting this, but since no one’s reading here goes. I don’t listen to “popular” music on a regular basis. I wake up to talk on my clock radio — the only radio in the house. I don’t usually watch MTV — not that they ever play music. And I make no effort whatsoever to keep up with it — because it mostly sucks ass. However, I recently got a car and have reconnected with the crapfest that is commercial radio. Radio in New York City is god-fucking-awful, even with KROK rising form the pitiful ashes of Free FM, but when I drive I listen to the radio. So there’s the set up. I don’t listen to popular music. I don’t think I’m too good for it or anything; it just doesn’t matter to me.
A couple weeks ago I was driving and caught the end of a song. I liked it. It was a nice female vocal and the song had a catchy hook. After it was over I didn’t think about it again. That was until last week when I heard the song once more, this time from the beginning. I said to myself out loud like I do when I drive alone “hey that song isn’t too bad. I wonder who sings it.” Then, on Saturday, I was driving and the song graced my radio for a third time. I listened to it and may have even turned the volume up a notch or four. I still had no idea who sang the song, but now I really wanted to know. Who was this amazing talent and what does the rest of her music sound like? Could this be the next Fiona Apple?
Well, I just remembered to Google the lyrics in order to find out who this marvelous singing sensation is, definitely buy all of her albums, and maybe find out if she’s playing any dates in New York this summer. The results shook me to my very core. I had to go on Yahoo! Music and watch the video just to be sure.
Fergie “Big Girls Don’t Cry”
Fer-fucking-gie. To think I was making fun of Bryan for listening to Sarah McLachlan.
(1 votes, average: 10 out of 10) Loading ...
Ever since Kyle Smith came on as the second banana movie critic at the New York Post he has caught my eye. First, raising a red flag when he reviewed “RV” calling it funnier than “National Lampoon’s Vacation.” Always the contrarian, Kyle Smith emits a douchebag aura that frustrates me to no end. In his review last week for the seemingly awful “Fantastic Four: Rise of the Silver Surfer” (which, for some reason made $57 million last weekend) Smith comes up with this little gem:
“Fantastic Four: Rise of the Silver Surfer,” the silliest sci-fi movie since “An Inconvenient Truth.”
Dude, Kyle, you’re right on man. Global warming, schlobal warming! That bullshit is so fucking popular right now I mean fuck it, it can’t be true. Liberal media, kooky scientists, Al Gore sponsored agenda and shit. Fuck that man. Make up your own mind. Who cares about “science” and “facts” because global warming is total crap. And if the temperatures are rising and the ice caps are melting it’s just a cycle of life. Definitely not caused by man. Keep fighting the good fight Kyle. Global warming awareness has gone too far. Fucking Hollywood! Fucking Jake Gyllenhaal out running an ice storm and shit! I mean an ice storm! It’s supposed to be global warming right? Hummers for all dude. And your master stroke, making light of global warming and it’s potential to alter climates, sink islands, displace millions, and cause famines in a lame-ass Fantastic Four review. GENIUS!!
To Smith’s credit he does slam the movie pretty good. When he’s talking about how “square” the movie is by avoiding the word “stripper” Smith makes this excellent point:
“When I was 10 and saw the PG-rated “Bad News Bears,” I received valuable tutelage in creative swearing; today’s youngsters are so protected from adult language at the movies that they are forced to turn on their TVs.”
This rings true. If “24″ were made into a movie it would struggle for a PG-13 rating in my opinion. So maybe he isn’t all bad, although with a photo like that he’s doomed to appear on Dude Lighten Up Thursday.
Gawker has a little biography on Smith that they posted after his dubious claim that Michael Chabon’s new book is anti-Semitic. So if you want to read more on Kyle Smith check this out.
(1 votes, average: 10 out of 10) Loading ...
Dude, I totally forgot to shower today… and for a week before today. I was going to, I swear, but there was a Growing Pains marathon on and, well, you can do the math.
My armpits smell like cheese and microwaved vomit, not that I notice anymore. But really, in today’s workaday world, who has the time for all this bathing? Studies say that most people spend up to ten years of their life in the shower when it’s all added up. TEN YEARS! I could go to med school and become a doctor in that time! I could become a black belt four times over! I could really DO something with my life. Instead I’m content to spend all that extra time standing next to you on the subway or bus, driving your cab, or cornering you around the office. See you soon!
For more everyday assholes, click here.
While you’re there, strike up a conversation with B.O. Guy’s close friend Ass Breath.
(1 votes, average: 6 out of 10) Loading ...The championship of golf is this weekend at the U.S. Open in Oakmont. In this week’s Premature Exasperations Bryan exposes a particular commercial looking to transform the image of golf apparel. These ain’t your father’s old golf balls!
Bleeding Raw Balls are Made to be Pounded
By Bryan
The above commercial wildly overestimates the amount of masculinity involved in the sport of golf. This is more a comment on the ridiculous lengths advertisers will stretch to sell a product, rather than a dig at golf.
However, a recent New York Times article about man boobs helps support the claim that golf is a rather doughy sport:
“Plastic surgeons in the United States suggested that the rise in popularity of professional golf may have also contributed to public awareness of gynecomastia [man boobs]; several prominent popular players have slightly enlarged chests.”
Perhaps this theory carries more weight than Phil Mickelson’s bra. Maybe not. However, the very mention of it points to golf’s dearth of testosterone. Jon Daly recently got slapped up by his wife. There’s nothing funny about domestic abuse, but there is something somewhat erotic about John Daly’s man boobs slapping his wife’s udders as they spar in some battle for mammary supremacy. No other sport makes me kind of wonder if the athletes’ boobs look better than their wives.
This brings me to this ad. Why does a finesse sport like golf need to be injected with Ultimate Fighting appeal? The golf balls are sold in the back room of some shady butcher shop off of skid row. When did golf balls equal street cred?
“Yeah, I had to kill a hooker and mainline an eight ball to get these.”
“Wow, they must be good!”
“Oh they’re the best. I bought them from a butcher, so you know they’re good.”
Ok, ok, I can get past this because the butcher recognizes the golfer as a repeat customer, which explains how he gets to the backroom and passes the jaguar named “Scratch” that guards these balls. That still doesn’t explain why there’s a JAGUAR CHAINED UP IN THE BACKROOM! The last time I followed a butcher into a backroom where a jaguar was chained up, I remember seeing a lot less golf balls and a lot more chloroform and forced sodomy.
Our golfer protagonist finally gets the balls and once on the course, he hits a soaring drive that doesn’t even make it into the hole! Not only that, but the ball begins to bleed. Why do I want a ball that can’t fly true and bleeds every time I hit it? Blood trails are great for things like finding an ovulating woman but not so great on a golf course—too many questions. Considering the source, these balls undoubtedly have HIV or at least Hepatitis. Compound that with a possible needle habit and these balls may not make it through two holes! Slazenger, I’ve had little luck with bleeding balls in the past, and I’m not about to hop aboard that train once more in the name of street cred. I’d sooner motorboat Tim Herron before jumping through hoops astride a cat of prey for your hardcore balls.
(6 votes, average: 9.83 out of 10) Loading ...I love my kids. I do. It’s just that I hate when they whine, cry, talk, eat and sleep. Does that make me a bad parent?
Maybe I don’t have the temperament to have kids. Don’t get me wrong I’m not neglectful or anything like that. I make sure they’re fed and watered. It’s just annoying that they act so damn childish all the time. And talk about needy! What about my need not to wipe anyone’s ass except my own?
I always see parents hugging their kids and telling them how great they are. What’s so great about them? When my children can read or draw better than me then I’ll be impressed. Until that time, I figure I’ll just focus on their shortcomings so they cultivate a solid foundation of resentment, not unlike my own.
Likes: Casual sex, negative pregnancy tests, Melrose Place reruns, child leashes, exposing Santa Claus
Dislikes: Broken condoms
Want more everyday assholes? Click here!
Don’t forget, every bad parent was at one time a New Parent.
(No Ratings Yet) Loading ...I read this review on Menu Pages
“We arrived early and spent some time with the exceedingly accommodating maitre d’ in choosing an isolated quiet table. He and the entire staff were as nice as could be, extraordinarily so. We were given menus, but not the $35 prix fixe menu, which I then asked for. Had I not known that such a menu existed, I would have been stuck with the a la carte menu; bravo to and thank you Menu Pages. My wife’s appetizer was shrimp and scallops, which was just fair. Mine was lentil soup, which was mediocre, like out of a can. Her entree was sea bass, which was spoiled, and which we sent back. Mine was a vegetable risotto which was fair. I asked that it be kept warm until my wife’s replacement entree arrived. When it came back, cheese had been added and the dish microwaved, resulting in cheese soup. I sent it back and received a normal replacement. We send back dishes about once a year; returning two in one night is certainly an all-time record. My desert was a raspberry chocolate mousse which was barely worth eating. When we left, the maitre d’ asked if everything was OK, not having been told about the spoiled fish. Apparently the front room and the kitchen do not communicate.”
There’s an epidemic running rampant across the internet: amateur food critics like the guy above. Buddy, no one cares about your culinary opinions. I don’t give a shit about your refined palate that is so sophisticated it can determine canned lentils from fresh lentils. I call “bullshit!” to your claim of sending food back only once a year. Someone featuring your magnificent taste buds must send back dishes all over town. Well, your taste buds and the fact that you’re a douchebag.
(4 votes, average: 9.75 out of 10) Loading ...
There is no bigger throwaway phrase I have heard in New York as “Only in New York!” Bandying this phrase about is equivalent to haphazardly saying, “The puppets have come to life, and they know where the knives are!” It should only be used if you truly mean it.
Recently, I overheard two stooges passing a bright, scrolling text banner outside an office building.
One informed the other, “Only in New York!”
When did New York become the sole location for bright lights and 1980s technology? The subsequent gentle ribbing and slight chuckle only made matters worse. I wanted a cab to pin them into the building and a pigeon to let loose from above all while an impromptu mariachi brother performance blindsided them for money.
“Only in New York!”
Speaking of which, here are some other things I’ve encountered that are reasonable candidates to elicit the phrase “Only in New York”:
- The East River
- A transvestite wearing a Yankees hat in the Meatpacking District offering HJs for pizza
- The Hudson River
- A mustached lady in a Knicks jersey singing Amy Grant karaoke in the subway.
- The Statue of Liberty
- A bearded male jogger wearing sneakers, a pink silk nightgown, a walkman and a Mets hat
- The Empire State Building
Sure it sounds like a lot of landmarks, gender confusion and sports team loyalty, but that’s what New York is all about! At least with the above list you’re telling the truth when you make the claim, “Only in New York!” I don’t go to Milwaukee, see a cow and say “Only in the ‘Waukee!” Now, if I milked a cow, deep fried the milk and cow, and ate it with fried cheese on top while wearing a Brewers hat, then I’d use the phrase, but that isn’t the case I’m proposing.
(4 votes, average: 8.5 out of 10) Loading ...You didn’t think I’d forget Toolsday did you? Well, you probably did, but here I am at 11:50 PM. I think it’s pretty obvious who’s getting sent to the Tool Room this week. That’s right, whiney Sopranos fans. Welcome to the new and improved Tool Room losers. Will I ever let you out? I doubt it, but don’t stop…
(1 votes, average: 10 out of 10) Loading ...CBS5 is reporting on one of the greatest and strangest news stories ever: The Pentagon confirming that it considered constructing a gay bomb. A bomb that would unleash hormones that “turn” the enemy homosexual and overwhelm their brains with the need to have sex. W.O.W.
We’ve been trying to get some activity in our comments section without much success. We’ve even tried bribing. Well, lets see if we can do an easy/bad/dumb “gay bomb jokes” thread in the comments.
I’ll start first:
Ironically, the bombs were going to be dropped from the The Enola Straight. Cue drums. Your turn.
(4 votes, average: 7.75 out of 10) Loading ...Just a quick follow up on the Sopranos Finale post yesterday. I was shocked that the ever-so-classy New York Post was again attacking the Sopranos series finale on its front page today filling the “news article” with quotes from angry “fans”. My favorite people are the ones who claim to have wasted eight years of their lives watching the show. Please people, you wouldn’t have done anything other than drool uncontrollably and pick your noses with that time anyway. I have a suggestion, why don’t these people write a television show, have it produced, gain acclaim for changing a genre, and then end the show any fucking way they want?
But why all the anger from the New York Post? Could it be because David Chase only granted this interview The Star Ledger? Perhaps, because it’s a great article and interview with David Chase that provides some great insight into the final season and words from Chase that, surprise, he wasn’t trying to piss off his whole audience. Anyone who’s frustrated with the finale should read this article if you haven’t already.
(1 votes, average: 1 out of 10) Loading ...This is a reader submitted contempt from LovelyJMB. Submit yours here.
The gap between rich and poor is growing as fast as our economy and nothing foresees this disparity narrowing. CEO salaries are skyrocketing into nine figure platinum and diamond studded parachutes. Tax breaks for the wealthy have left the middle class to shoulder the load, even as wages stagnate and benefits disappear. Pensions? Not economically viable in the age of the global work force and unions have been asked to give them up in recent collective bargaining efforts. Health plans are at risk too. The richest one percent owns 40 percent of all property in this country as 36 million people, 13 million of which are children, live below the poverty line.
It’s times like these when I thank god for the $70 “Sweet Meats” stuffed meat set. Everyone knows that well designed play foods are all the rage, but wooden fruit sets and toy sushi are so ’06. Now meat’s on the menu! Step up to the butcher’s block and supply your spoiled kids with the feeling of working a blue collar job.
(2 votes, average: 9.5 out of 10) Loading ...Babe, just stand outside the fitting room and tell me what you think of the outfits I picked out. K? And be honest.
Is this cute?
Does it bring out my eyes?
Do you even know what color my eyes are?
Oh, yeah?
Then what color are they?
WRONG!
I like this shirt, do you?
Do the sleeves make my arms look pasty?
Is this belt too leathery?
Does this dress make me look like my mother?
Do you think that’s a problem?
Are my knees puffy?
I don’t have cankles, do I?
Do these jeans make me look too ghetto?
Is this head band slimming?
Do I have back fat?
Be honest.
Oh never mind, I changed my mind. I’m not going to buy it.
Unless you think I should.
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Contempty says: Ladies, ladies! Enough is enough! It’s not your fault. We understand that you are inundated with unrealistic depictions of femininity at all times. It is truly unfair because the vast majority of you are oh so fine. However we simply cannot satisfy the ravenous craving for approval that society has burdened you with. When you come out to do your little twirl and start the questioning, we may be saying, “You look great, honey,” but all we’re thinking is, “She has a vagina. Hooray for me!”
Why drag us into these clothing stores so that we have a front row seat to witness your various self-esteem issues? We see you soliciting bitchy stares from other women who either totally wish they had your body or are so glad they don’t and it makes us uncomfortable. Now THAT is unfair. Also, every time you go into the fitting room the hot chick at the register winks and flashes a boob at me. Oh well, guess you can’t bring me there anymore. And speaking of unfair, I’m looking at you, Women’s Clothing Stores. How come you all don’t at least have seats for the poor guys forced to absorb the relentless barrage of questions that would bring a CIA interrogator to his knees? SWEET JEBUS! Throw us a bone! Supply a couch, a Playstation and ten issues of Penthouse and all is forgiven. |
To meet more relationship ruiners, click here.
While you’re there, try to talk some sense into No BJ Policy girl, would ya?
(2 votes, average: 8.5 out of 10) Loading ...SPOILER ALERT – If The Sopranos finale wasn’t important enough for you to watch last night then you don’t really deserve a spoiler alert, but here’s one anyway. I’m talking about the series finale of the Sopranos.
The Sopranos came to an end last night and the vast majority of those who watched are bitching and whining about how it ended. Boo-hoo, too fucking bad for you. I took a quick scroll through the HBO Sopranos messages boards and it is jam packed with people crying about canceling their HBO, calling David Chase a cop-out, overall confusion because they thought their cable when out as the show cut to black, and saying they wasted the last 10 years of their lives. Ha ha, cry me a river.
I liked the finale. Was it the greatest ever? No it wasn’t. The finale was a microcosm of the whole series. Great at times, but often disappointing. Regardless, the show is always well done, acted, and watchable with some of the best characters ever put to tape. That was the finale. That’s the Sopranos.
I’ll leave the analysis to others (I’m in the “he got whacked” camp) but David Chase was in a no win situation, and I think he provided the audience with everything we needed in the finale. And if you weren’t prepared for disappointment it’s your own fault. You were living in a fantasy world richer than The Sopranos.
(4 votes, average: 7.75 out of 10) Loading ...All right, put everything on. Now! I know we just undressed, but you need to put the band-aids on all of the places I marked with a red pen. Good. Now put on the rubber band. Yep, you know where. There ya go, triple loop it. Get a snug fit around there until it feels like the circulation is becoming weak. Great, now that you have it around your finger, you’ll remember to let me put one around your testicles later.
Here’s the drill: every time I let you inside me, I’m going to need you to scream, “Just like a band aid!” and pull out really fast. Then tear a band aid off—follicles and all—and put it on my body. Once the band aids are covering me, we’ll take my dog for a walk in the park.
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Contempty says: Scary Sexer, you put me in a most awful quandary. Perhaps I’ve just met you and your games seem novel and terrifying, but who am I to stave off intimacy in any of its forms?
Maybe I feel uncomfortable and you’re too new a partner for me to be completely honest. I don’t want to seem too closed off to new ideas, but why can’t you just sex me up sitcom style? Making me give you head while you rabbit punch me and tell me “Munch n’ Crunch, bitch!” is intimidating. Perhaps you could pat instead of punch or scream the occasional words of encouragement. Scary Sexer, you make me feel so fragile. Scary Sexer, you make me long for the less frightening days on my own of autoerotic asphyxiation with an anaconda. |
To meet more relationship-related butt holes, click here.
While you’re there, try to get some beauty sleep next to the Imsomniac Bedmate.
(4 votes, average: 9.25 out of 10) Loading ...Just caught an article on the Fox News website about two Alabama senators fighting on the Senate floor. A Republican punched a Democrat, and Fox News doesn’t seem too upset about it. I love how they blame the words spoken (by the Dem), not the guy who threw the punch (the Republican). Wonder why? Actually, it sort of looks like an I Can Has Cheezburger photo.
Here’s the link to the article about the Alabama senators fighting on the floor of the senate. And here’s my favorite quote:
“I was raised in the woods of Arkansas and people don’t say that about your mom,” Bishop said.
Bishop is from a long, distinguished line of Sasquatch.
(1 votes, average: 9 out of 10) Loading ...This week’s Premature Exasperations looks at the seedy underbelly that is John Basedow’s fitness celebrity. With the recent launch of Basedow’s FitTV, Bryan tackles the subject along with the implications of Basedow’s growing fitness empire.
Self-Indulgence Made Simple
By Bryan
I don’t want to sound like one of those elitist infomercial fans, but I’m going to come right out and say it: I’ve been on the ground floor of the John Basedow Experience from the beginning. If you’ve ever had the opportunity to own a television you have undoubtedly caught one of the ads for his “Fitness Made Simple” videos. If you have not seen this, trust me when I say he is a most self-absorbed product hawker to ever proclaim himself a fitness celebrity.
Richard Simmons is a fitness celebrity, but is past his prime. Simmons is like crack, used by the old, dried up, and hopeless, while John Basedow is the smooth Studio 54 coke of a youthful, idealistic generation. He claims that “there are no tricky dance moves and no high impact gyrations,” meaning just a pure cardio rush without the Simmons impurities and hot pants testicle flashes. As a side note, what fitness regimens employ “high impact gyrations?” Obviously he must be thinking of those hard hitting naughty acts transpiring behind closed bedroom doors. Wink, wink, you know what I mean. Sex with rhinos.
Basically, Basedow makes a living by posing like a lifeless wax figure in uncomfortable looking positions while doing voice-overs about how his simple plan can transform your body. From what I gather, the Basedow body of your dreams can be yours with a mix of awkward side turn poses and looking in the mirror for ten hours a day. I mean he really bastardizes pose downs. It’s like a sick mix of Lou Ferrigno meets the Kama Sutra.
His visage appears blank and zombie. Some fitness nuts will say that a body is built in the kitchen, and Basedow appears to have done this. Like Frankenstein’s monster, Basedow appears to have literally built himself using the body parts of deceased celebs that he stores in his freezer. How else can you explain a heaving rack like Anna Nicole, biceps like Gordon Scott, a neck like JonBenet Ramsey and abs like Brad Pitt. That’s right, Basedow got to Brad. Talk about a fitness celebrity! If that wasn’t enough, his brunette hair recently changed to blonde plugs undoubtedly plucked from Leonardo DiCaprio’s head after a covert red carpet and GHB operation.
Fitness celebs—they’re just like us!
As if having ads for “Fitness Made Simple” airing between 8 and 27 hours a day wasn’t enough, Basedow has recently launched John Basedow TV. Finally, an outlet for viewing webisodes of Basedow where he can truly cultivate his “celebrity!” Until now it has been all fitness, but these webisodes are sure to change that! These self-indulgent clips begin with him mentioning that he was the Salutatorian of his high school and a news reporter in college. Essentially you get a portrait of Basedow as a pathetic, goal oriented person who could never quite get over the hump. He was never valedictorian and never a college newspaper editor. Time to hit the gym!
It should have ended there. Basedow’s foray in internet television shows him doing all sorts of crazy things, like being mobbed by 12 year-old girls at a mall, interviewing on AM radio stations, recycled footage of being mobbed at the same mall, buying a dog, recycled footage of mall mobbing, interviewing on AM stations, and of course recycled footage of being mobbed at one mall. All of this spliced with Basedow pose down pics!
If this didn’t build his ego up enough, he also tries to humorously insert sketches relating his awesomeness to fitness to either try and motivate or further his AM radio career. This one titled, “Schipperke Vice” is about him foiling a villainous pizza man while his dog watches. It was produced by the Truman Middle School A/V club, and I think you can really appreciate their effort. A special thanks to the drama teacher for giving coaching tips to Basedow.
Is this serious? This man’s career is sustained on teen girls fawning over his abs and ironic frat guys drunk on whey protein and smarminess. This needs to stop or Basedow will make a movie. Nothing will be worse than having him premiere some film where he reenacts every Arnold Schwarzenegger role and hands out free t-shirts featuring his abs (they exist). After the disturbing blood bath of Kindergarten Terminator Twins is over, the world will be left with no more sun since Basedow’s head will surely eclipse our closest star.
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Phew! Woo-wee! That was a close one. My grip is just acting up again because I’m afraid I’m All Thumbs today!
(Applause)
Boy, I’m such a clutz-o, but with my zany comments I’ll totally redeem myself. When I break a vase, I’ll still put a smile on your face. I’m transforming the way people make costly fumbles! I drop stuff so much I could have a soap opera called “All My Thumbs!” My self-deprecating taglines turn fuck-ups into cut-ups!
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Contempty says: So you’re not coordinated. Lots of people drop things. But you didn’t hear the Enola Gay scream “I’m All Thumbs” as it flew over Japan. Just drop shit, accidental or intentional, with dignity and don’t say something stupid. Hell, monkeys should be so lucky with hands full of opposable thumbs! Next time you drop that gravy dish or baby, do it with some grace and a little respect for primates. |
For more everyday assholes, click here.
While you’re there, high five Mr. Collar Up.
(3 votes, average: 7.67 out of 10) Loading ...These are links to blog posts and other sites that caught my eye in the days between episodes of Hells kitchen and So You Think You Can Dance. I like to call it Don’t Just Take Our Word For It.
1) Hey you fucking slackers, get your Azingear. WARNING: May cause minor pain…rarely results in fainting…and may cause a decrease in semen.
2) Backne, meet neckne. He means business.
3) I’m sure many of you know about a site called I Can Has Cheezburger, sometimes referred to as “lolcats”. For those who don’t, it’s a ridiculous site consisting of funny pictures of animals with poorly written commentary in an IM dialect. It’s all the fucking rage and a brilliant idea. Here we are slogging through our convoluted site everyday, and these guys just throw up some cat pictures with insane captions and they get hundreds, if not thousands, of hits per day. Pure genius. I thought it couldn’t be topped until a read lolyankees, a site that was launched by the East Village Idiot. EVI, I offer my lolyankee to you:
4) I think the first warning sign was when these guys started calling their pitching rotation “the cipher”.
5) First, how does Curt Schilling have a blog that’s better designed than ours? I like to picture him copy and pasting HTML code to his Word Press template on cross country flights. Second, is there a better term than “get-a-lifers” to describe the schmoes who comment on his blog? No, I think “get-a-lifer” pretty much sums it up.
And finally a video
6) Why work, struggle, and pay taxes to support a country that makes these people stars? Anarchy under a system of violent warlords is a better world than one where people care what Dina Lohan has to say. Seriously, Somalia turned this bitch away! Nuclear (nucular?) winter is a better world than one where Billy Bush is placed in front of a teleprompter. I can go on.
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(1 votes, average: 10 out of 10) Loading ...Thank you President Bush. I guess we have to start worrying about Russia…AGAIN!
(No Ratings Yet) Loading ...“Yo, goin’ dumb hyphy style for real, son! Thizz’n and perkin, scrappers gas-brake dippin’ with some rippers from Yay Area. Yee, motha fucka! Ghost ridin’ the whip with stunna shades ‘bout to roll up into your livin’ room and fuck shit up! Keepin’ it real pumpin’ Mac Dre from Oaktown to Vallejo, mowin’ down trees, puffin, sippin, thizz’n, straight trippin’ up retawded kids, losin’ my load, while I ride my car down the side of the road.”
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Contempty’s Hyphy to English Translation:“Hey gentleman, I’m participating in hyphy recreational practices. Listen, friend, I’m being serious about my activities. I’m going to drop some Ecstasy, get drunk, drive real fast down the road in my four door sedan, and alternate between stomping on the gas and brake pedals in the accompaniment of some young ladies, who enjoy premarital sex from the Bay Area. Definitely, fellas! I’ll don a pair of aviator glasses, proceed to put my Toyota Camry in neutral, and walk alongside it so it appears as though it is driving itself, at which point I’ll lose control of the car and literally smash it through the side of your house and “fuck shit up” [have premarital sex with your wife and dog]. I’ll stay true to hyphy culture by loudly playing my musical preference, Mac Dre, in my car stereo whether I hang out in Oakland or Vallejo, while my magical, self-driving car crashes into trees. I’ll smoke marijuana, drink more alcohol, take more Ecstasy, and literally trip mentally handicapped children that manage to not get run over by my apparition driven car that I stand atop whilst ejaculating on aforementioned Bay Area ladies.” |
Find out what everyone is so pissed off about - check out the Middle Aged Mom Who Dresses Like Her Teen Daughter
For more pop-culture atrocities, click here and also check out Star Wars Fan and Myspace Whore.
(6 votes, average: 8.83 out of 10) Loading ...
Why can’t some people just let sleeping dogs lie? In this case why can’t some people just let my boring, ill advisedly purchased hermit crabs molt under sand without giving them a name. I’ve had these two crabs for months, and I have yet to name them.
So what? Well, this does not sit well with those who feel the need to put labels on everything.
“You should name them, you should really name them. Aw, you should name them something funny like Claws or Bronson PINCHot”
Screw you. I’m not giving them some bad pun name just to impress people. Their molting magic or nocturnal activities should amaze enough. Plus, I can’t even tell them apart.
These are the same people that NEED to put labels on a person’s relationships, jobs, and religious affiliations.
“What do you do?”
”Well I work in the film industry where I prepare men to get ready for scene work”
“Oh, you’re a Fluffer?”
“Well not exactly…go fuck yourself! I’m technically a stylist as well so don’t judge me!”
Just let things exist as they exist. No need to define them with some imperfect category or title that may misconstrue. Hermit crabs will be the same yawn-fest pets whether they have names or not, and your relationship will still be basically monogamous whether you call it “dating” or “going steady.”
Just cool it with the labels and focus on the qualities of something. Stop being such a control freak, label makers! Rejoice, all you labelers, for now you have a new label of your own: Tools.
(3 votes, average: 10 out of 10) Loading ...Toolsday will come later today, but first, here’s a Donkey Kong Cereal commercial to satiate your Contemptster needs. The voice over in this ad is so ridiculous I can’t stop listening to it.
(1 votes, average: 9 out of 10) Loading ...Damien Hirst, the most over valued artist in history, unveiled his latest creation; a platinum cast of a human skull encrusted with 8,601 flawless diamonds. The cost of the piece is only 50 million pounds, but at that bargain price Hirst has some conditions,
“’It would be sad if it ends up in a vault somewhere that nobody sees. Obviously I would like it to be on display. If anybody buys it, I would make that part of the conditions,’ he said.”
Well Hirst is in luck because according to various news sources this morning, Hirst is very close to finding a buyer.
Who could this buyer be? They would have to be tremendously wealthy, but also have a taste for displaying gaudy platinum and diamond jewelery.
Hot off his $400 million Vitamin Water payout I say it’s 50 Cent. Well maybe not.
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It’s no secret that guys love big boobs… and my milkshake brings allll the boys to the yard. Of course by yard I mean me—a T&A Theme Park that takes up more land than Disney World and where the Magic Kingdom turns into a water ride if the right Prince enters.
Ooh, I’m bringing sexy back-fat back. Don’t hate ‘cause of my dangerous curves. Guys love it when I wear shirts that are way too tight. It doesn’t matter that my gut is spilling out of the bottom like some kind of saggy “Total Recall” 3rd tit. If I stick half a hot dog in my belly button it’ll look like a nipple and they can eat it afterward. Or I can. Can you size zero bitches do that?
Did I mention I have big tits? ‘Cause I do. I earned this body with a strict diet of Ring Dings and abandonment issues.
For more everyday assholes, click here.
While you’re there, reunite with Guy Who has to Point Out that You’ve put on Weight, one of our many user submissions from Crazy Carl Himself.
(1,452 votes, average: 9.9 out of 10) Loading ...Something tells me that Philip Wellman of the Mississippi Braves didn’t like the call. I think it’s when he pretends the rosin bag is a hand grenade that tipped me off.
(No Ratings Yet) Loading ...With the NBA playoffs ramping up, arenas are abuzz with basketball fever. This week Bryan takes his Premature Exasperations to the cheap seats and encounters the worst kind of fans.
Don’t Talk to Strangers, Me
By Bryan
I went to a college basketball game by myself a few months ago. The only other time I’ve been to a basketball game alone was the time I went to see Varsity Blues alone and drunk, and thought it was a basketball contest. This time I was missing part of the equation—the fun one. The Mr. drunky-pants wants to see alls of ya’ naked variable.
With the alone factor still intact, I found my upper-deck seats, and settled in for the game. The game took place in the glory of a quarter-filled Madison Square Garden with almost every fan sporting their respective team’s colors. I could not foresee any reason for someone wanting to strike up a conversation with me. My clothing certainly did not betray any clandestine collegial loyalty since I wore very neutral colors right down to my sock, jock, and Gods of The Rock (The solid white colored book I was reading at the time about prisoners who wore neutral colored uniforms).
My flawed vantage point for seeing fellow fans revealed its impairment when I belatedly noticed a family of four sitting right behind me. This seemed odd since there appeared to be so many open seats so, logically, my odds for not having neighbors seemed favorable. Like a cosmic game of Battleship I had a near sinking, which is bad, but of course, not nearly as bad as a direct hit (stranger sitting on your lap). My first thought, “Oh man, there goes my idea of subtly eating food off of my lap instead of using a plate.”
Well, lap eating was the least of my worries.
Maybe it was my clapping or my slightly noticeable arousal whenever my team did well. Whatever the case, the mother honed in on it and struck at halftime.
[Tap-a-Tap-a]
“Excuse me, but are you a fan?”
She pointed gleefully at her team’s sweatshirt. I craned my neck all the way around to try and avoid opening up my body to her as a sign of friendliness.
“Yep.”
“Well when did you graduate?”
Disaster averted. All I had to do was say the year, and could still maintain a body forward position. I felt like The Exorcist.
“Oh, well my daughter and son, here, also graduated around that time,” she said with a sweeping introduction of her two kids and husband.
Well, time to open up the body since I was developing a neck cramp, and my lap food and lap crumbs were all gone.
“Nice to meet you.”
A greeting could not have been delivered slower or with more portent than if it was the initiating line in a snuff film.
First, she handed me her RE/MAX business card. Perhaps as a way of proving that she was who she said she was from Southwest Virginia? Maybe she wanted to sell me real estate in a town 500 miles away? That’s just realtors. They’re shifty.
“Oh, thanks. Yep, it’s you!”
“Yep it sure is!”
Her picture made her hair look a lot higher than in real life. The lady in front of me had happy eyes, but the person on the card had the dead, glassy stare and 1954 haircut that only a RE/MAX card can provide. Who’s the real Sue T. Mays?
She revealed herself as a mix: a savvy business lady and networker as well as an embarrassing mother.
“Why don’t you sit up here with us if you’re all by yourself?”
The quick excuse portion of my brain must have been on strike. Oh, but a scab crossed the line.
“Oh, ok.”
Scabs deserve no respect from management or fellow workers.
After stumbling to crawl over the seats, she let me sit in between her and her daughter. My lonely days appeared to be ending. The daughter looked kind of hot in that homely sweater sort of way. The son and husband sat at the far end and barely spoke. They had respective looks on their faces that said, “Why?” and “Did I accidentally just adopt another son?”
I say “another” since she quickly divulged that her son was adopted. How fun! Out of pure impulse and awkwardness, I asked the son, “So, what’s that like?”
Why would I ask that?
I even adjusted my speech to try and make it more comfortable and appeal to their genteel, southern side: “Tell me about it, that coach is a heel, and the only heels I like are the ones at the end of a loaf of bread, thank you very much.”
It worked too well. Sue got too comfortable. She recounted all of their tourist trips to New York like the one about how they ended up in a rather hairy, Harlem situation when they got lost and had to “ask one of those thug looking types for directions.” Thankfully, no one was hurt. Or who could forget the nautical tale of sorrow and redemption about going to the restaurant, Blue Fin, and realizing the crab was sold out, but then the waiter finding a stash in the walk-in fridge. Crab was enjoyed by all! Needless to say, the waiter got a 20% tip.
In a way, I think she made an effort to pimp me out to her daughter. Her daughter, with hair so fine and blonde and a sweatshirt so baggy and mysterious, sat beside me with skepticism. Sue told me her daughter’s situation in Atlanta.
“She’s down there and loves it. She says it’s a little different than college but she’s gettin’ used to it.”
I turn from my right side to my left in order to see the daughter.
“You gettin’ used to it?”
“Yeah.”
Continuing to talk as if her daughter did not exist to my left, Sue said, “There was a scare for her down there a few weeks ago when a guy was caught with a knife.”
“Wow a knife?”
“Yep, it really makes you think.”
“Yeah.”
(Silence…racking my brain for something…)
“Weird, uh, yeah, funny you should mention that because I actually saw a girl on the subway once with a knife, and she was using it as a bookmark.”
“Oh?”
“I didn’t know whether to be terrified or turned on.”
“oh.”
I missed most of the second half for this? So I could have forced conversation? She could have at least bought me a beer or some popcorn because, for the love of Gilbert Gottfried, this felt like work. 
At the end of the game they informed me that they would be sticking around for some of the second game in the double-header. I decided to jet.
“Welp, thanks for bringing me into the family fold.”
“Oh if you’re ever in our area, give me a call,” she politely offered.
I wanted to call her that night, two hours later, and see if she would freak out.
“Ok will do!”
I then stood up, walked to the area of seats 50 feet away, and sat by myself to watch the second game in plain view of Sue. Not only would she have had to stand up to talk to me again, but I’d be able to see it coming.
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Don’t mean to brag, but I was always the king of Trivial Pursuit back in high school. “Who is Vasco Da Gama?” Maybe it’s because I’m such a book worm or because my parents are just super open-minded and exposed me to so many different things. “What is Trinidad and Sebago Shoes?” But, I mean, you’re smart, too. “What is the Book of Deuteronomy?” Huh, thought you
would’ve gotten that since you came from such a religious background. Remember when you thought it was an apocryphal Biblical text written by either “Dude or Ronomy.” Yeah, everyone, he really thought that! “Who is Joey Chestnut?”
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Contempty says: What dyslexic planner invented this game where answers are given first? I spent an entire half hour trying to answer my friend’s “questions” while he watched Jeopardy in the other room.
You know what they say, “Jeopardy knowledge and a 20 will buy you a tape recorder so you can listen to yourself say things.” Who issued that insecurity badge? Does it finally give you clearance to enter the hallowed halls of the Tournament of Champions with the likes of Michael Falk, Robin Carroll, and Michael Dupee? What a murder’s row of quiz masters! With every correct answer be sure to put one tally in the “Life Validated” column. Answer: “A person afflicted with this causing them to blurt out things with a disregard to others.” |
For more everyday assholes click here.
While you’re there, why not holla at the Poseur?
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