To quote Joe Rogan:

Wow, I never imagined having a reason to say that. Anyway…

You know the anti-marijuana TV ad they play now where the dog is telling the girl that he doesn’t like it when she smokes weed? Here’s what Joe Rogan has to say about that commercial. I found it to be pretty hilarious.

I ripped the following from Joe Rogan’s blog:

“Hey Lindsey, I wish you didn’t smoke weed.”

“Really? Well I wish you didn’t freak me the fuck out by talking to me with no warning. You know how to talk? How about a heads up first, motherfucker? Why don’t you start off slow, like maybe write me a note or something? How long have you been able to talk? You could talk all this time, and the first words out of your mouth are criticism? How about ‘hey, I’m your dog, and I can talk!’ Wouldn’t that be a better way to start? Right away with the complaints?”

What’s the message here? Don’t smoke weed or your dog will be disappointed in you?
The same dog that I have to yell at every day to keep him from eating shit out of the cat’s litter box? Is that really a deterrent?
I mean, it’s your fucking dog. Even little kids get to yell at the dog. The dog is the bottom of the food chain when it comes to pull around the house. Who give a fuck what he thinks.

Meanwhile, the craziest thing about the video is that after the dog is done talking, the chick just stands there and thinks about what the dog said.
She doesn’t scream, or call her brother over so he can see, or even ask the dog any questions. She just drops her head in shame over her weed smoking.
Whatever that chick is smoking, it ain’t weed, and keep it the fuck away from me.


Amber Alert

A friend of mine sent this in, so I thought I’d share. We go way back, but haven’t seen each other for years.

Anyway, it’s a dream she had. It’s fantastic. I’m going to paste it unedited:

So…I had a crazy dream about you, and I thought I would share.
We were in NY and you were trying to sell whales on the black market, and you were transporting them through flooded abandoned subway tunnels that ran under the real subways. I wanted in on the deal, but you weren’t letting me, so I kept breaking in to these seeding hotel rooms that resembled a gym locker room and rummaging through your clothing. At one point I caught up to you and the whales and I could see them through the grate in the ground and then you pointed a gun in my face and I told you you couldn’t shot me because it was my friends birthday and I had to jump out of a cake, and that they won’t pay me if I have a bullet wound. Then you took me in to another locker room type place and you and 3 other guys were playing poker and I was trying to dig through your locker while you fought with a guy about cards and you had all this whale camo…and I don’t know why it made it whale camo, but it obviously was something normal to have.
Then you got pissed that I was digging in your locker and you took me out in the tunnels (because these locker rooms were all next to the tunnels) and you were going to throw me in until flashlights and voices began chasing us. So you pulled out this pitch pipe that you would play to make the whales follow you through the tunnels and we just started running forever and voices got closer as we changed tunnels and bullets kept whizzing by and you kept shooting back, and then the tunnel ended and we had to either jump in to the hole where the whales were or get shot, so we jumped, and it was forever until we hit the water….

Woke up sweating and I mean like completely soaked.
Watch your back…the whale police are on to you…

Wow. Anyone?

The reader with the best interpretation of Amber’s dream will win a prize. If you live in NYC, I will meet you after work and buy you a drink at a location of my choosing. If you reside elsewhere, I will send you a sheet of McDonald’s or Dominoe’s coupons via the US Mail, with a hand written envelope and a stamp that I actually licked.

I don’t know which one is worse.

Giraffes Are Gangsta!

From the “Things You Didn’t Know” department:
Sometimes, Giraffes fight. Each other.

Giraffe fight!

And you didn’t believe me. Tsk, tsk.

What Have I Become?

Okay, damnit. I haven’t posted on my blog since February.

Right when I came back, I checked my traffic stats as any good blogger would.

We have a problem… besides the stunning lack of traffic. What’s the problem?

Do me a favor. Run a google search for “pooping grannies”. What’s the first result?

Yep, thanks to this post, my blog is the #1 search result for “pooping grannies”.


Wait, I think this might be something to be proud of.

This Really Happens

A story from work the other night:

Sometimes I work nights as a poker dealer. My boss’s name is Mike.

Me: Hey, Mike! C’mere for a second.

Boss: Yeah?

Me: Who’s the new girl?

Boss: Which one?

Me: The hot one setting up that blackjack table.

Boss: Which one?

Me: The one in the corner.

Boss: That’s my daughter…

Me: (silent)

Boss: …and she’s sixteen.

Me: (gulp)

A Letter From Oklahoma:

I am currently in Oklahoma visiting my family for the holidays, a far cry from my home in NYC.

The following is an exact quote directed towards me from one of my darling twin nieces, eleven years old:

“The land you live on may be worth ten million dollars, but the land I live on is worth as many bullets as I can put in the air.”

Cheers, little girl. You win.

MySpace: Telling It Like It Is

[UPDATE: Bianca has responded in the comments section of this post.]

As some of you may have seen, I recently found it necessary to put a stop to some atrocious MySpace behavior.

My lovely friend Bianca has a little monkey on her back called “the myspace bulletin”. I swear to god that this chick posts no less than 400 myspace bulletins every single day.

I decided to post my own myspace bulletin titled: “Bianca: An Intervention”.

It read:

“Though I love Bianca with all my heart:

Bianca and I have known each other for many years and we dated briefly in the 7th grade, so I feel that I have suffiencient authority to step in
and say the following:

Bianca, sweetheart. You post entirely too many bulletins. I mean, really. It’s kind of like the boy-who-cried-wolf theory, ya know? One must pick their spots carefully or one runs the risk of becoming nothing more than white noise, ambient.“

About half an hour later, Bianca fired back with a bulletin titled: “Ryan Needs More Myspace Friends”. I would post her response in its entirety, but it really doesn’t matter. You get the jist from the title.

Well, thankfully, I can address this pretty easily.

Being the open minded individual that I am, I would never immediately disregard a long-time friend’s advice as to how I could improve my life. So I went to Bianca’s myspace page and looked at some of her many many many “friends” and read what they had to say about her on her page.

Let me highlight a few particularly thoughtful entries from these “friends” that I apparently “need”:

Put on your safety goggles, readers.

In this comment, a gentleman is articulately addressing his concern regarding the quality of the comments of Bianca’s other male suitors, obviously trying to separate himself from the pack. Maybe it would have worked if it was a room full of retarded deaf mutes. But then again, some of them may be able to read lips, so that’s out. It’s on her picture with the star tattoo. This is fucking priceless.

“these fools is LAME as FUNK!!and thats all these fools about an tryin to shoot down dem stars and shoot for the stars.. as for me i am into ASTROLOGY!!soo i know my SUPA’STARS!! and uumm hmmm i see dem now… oooh eeeeeeee.. goose down blankee da best when u start gazing… hee hee hee“

This guy only confirms my position on mercy killings. If I were a doctor, I’d pull the plug on this fucktard in a heartbeat… or lack thereof.

This next comment was left on Bianca’s picture with the rabbit ears:

“HERE bunni bunni bunni!! HERE bunni bunni bunni.. shit.. what must i do to bring that bunni to smile or roll over or do a damn back flip.. and why is the bunny lookin alllllllllllll mad and shit.. HA THATS JUST TO dont have me get BUGS BUNNY ON YO ASSSSSSSSSS!! um hmmm lol“

I… I’m speechless. Really.

Last, there is a picture of my darling Bianca on her myspace page where she is donning a tasteful green sweater. I happen to think Bianca is a beautiful woman and I always have. But, regarding this last comment, all I have to say is this: With Friends Like These… (you know the rest):

“this looks like a herpes ad”

So, no Bianca. I do not think I need more MySpace “friends”. I’m perfectly happy knowing that no one in my network would tell me I look like a herpes ad.