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20th Century Fox Flute Edition

This 20th Century Fox Flute Edition video is guaranteed to make you laugh. It falls in the “So bad it’s amazingly hilarious” category.

As soon as I heard this masterpiece I was immediately transported back to elementary school, when I was forced into taking up the recorder. I played the shit out of that stupid piece of plastic, torturing my parents with warbly renditions of Three Blind Mice, Hot Crossed Buns, and other old time tunes that no body wants to hear – even if they were played perfectly. The harpy-like screech that came from my beige flute wrecked havoc on my poor dog Tara – who I’m sure would have bit me had she not been incapacitated by the shrill whistle. Bless her soul.

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Screaming Sheep Video – Real? Fake? Still funny…

This is the funniest damn screaming sheep video I have ever seen. And that’s no bullshit – mostly because I’ve never seen a screaming sheep video before. I’ve heard some say it’s fake or a hoax, but honestly, I don’t give a crap. It’s amazing, and I want that sheep. Pixar should do a damn film based on that sheep. That sheep should be in a spin-off of the Babe movies.

Anyway, why not double your pleasure with this extra dose of screaming sheep action – I call it, Screaming Sheep Redux. I don’t know if the animals are cousins, the same sheep, or they just share a vocal coach. Probably Christina Aguilera.

McDonald’s Chicken McNuggets and My Fat Ass Fund

McNuggets Make You Fat & Delicious
McNuggets Make You Fat & Delicious

Biting into the hot, tender Chicken McNuggets while on my late lunch break a few days ago was a magical experience that transported me back to my childhood. When dipping the nuggets in the green lidded sweet ‘n sour sauce containers I made sure to cover every square centimeter of nugget in the sticky sweet sauce. The nutritional value must have been akin to dunking a stick of salt encrusted lard into liquid caramel. But I enjoyed every morsel.

Why was I eating this nasty little guilty pleasure? It’s a pleasure that I hadn’t indulged in for years – but perhaps that was mostly due to the fact that I’m convinced a nugget I bit into back in ’94 was a deep-fried human toe. Basically I chose the meal because it was a quick food alternative to my workplace cafeteria – nutrition be damned. But, equally relevant, I just can’t afford to eat anywhere pricy in my current economic situation. And according to new studies, I’m not alone in whoring out my nutritional health during this economic downturn. In fact, with families making less, they’re eating out at fast food restaurants more and more, earning McDonald’s a healthy profit over the past few quarters. Healthy being an ironic term. I pondered this fact as I sat and felt the future-fat gravitate towards my belly, ass and currently-dormant man boobs. Dollar menu, anyone? Continue reading

Online Dating Photos: A Picture is Worth a Thousand WTFs!!

Online Dating Photos - WTF Are People Thinking?
Online Dating Photos - WTF Are People Thinking?

Online dating sites, once holding the stigma of being a bastion for pervs and desperate fugly folk, have now entered the mainstream. If you’re not actually using a service like Match.com, LavaLife, or eHarmony, you probably know someone who is. Or perhaps even more likely, you’ve cruised the sites in voyeuristic glee, mocking people’s profiles in passive aggressive tirades

I participate in this exact activity that I have described. I cruise the singles sites, looking for easy targets to make fun of or ogling women well out of my league. One thing you come to notice if you spend much time on these sites is the variety of online dating photos potential daters have selected for display and I have to say, if I were taking this whole Internet dating thing seriously, I would have some serious qualms with some of the profile pictures that daters have chosen. In fact, there are quite a few categories of photos that have made me wonder WTF are these people thinking? I plan on outlining those particular photos in this piece. Come along for the ride…

Continue reading

Advancement in Men’s Underwear: The Male Answer to the Pushup Bra

This shit is so good it doesn’t even require jokes…

I was looking on the Internet for some underwear, because I’ve squeezed all the life out of my current collection and it’s getting time to replenish the stock. So I type in ‘men’s underwear’ on google.

The first thing I see is this men’s underwear blog, so I figure I’ll check it out and read up on the trends. In my experience, ladies like a man in nice undies. Bill Murray’s character in Stripes, a lovable-loser/ladies-man, is one of my heros and there’s this great scene when he’s walking through the clothing supply line after joining the army and the supply guy asks him: “Boxers or briefs?” Murray replies, “Do you have anything in a low-rise bikini…mesh, if possible?” He also says at one point, “Chicks dig me because I rarely wear underwear and when I do it’s usually something unusual.” Words to live by.

Besides, I figured that maybe in my research I’d find some new idea in underwear that trumped the boxer-brief hybrid, maybe the joxer – boxers with a built in jockstrap for sports. [I admit, I’d thought of that idea before, but couldn’t manage to raise sufficient venture capital.]

Anyway, back to the blog. The first entry I read referenced this underwear with a built-in ‘ball lifter and cock-ring.’ Ball lifter? Cock ring? Obviously, I had to click the link, if only to satisfy my mind which was agonizing over this feat of garment engineering. It was definitely a WTF click, and well worth the index finger exercise.

I’ve provided a link to the website it led me to – a self-proclaimed ‘gay underwear’ manufacturer – describing this male-enhancement technology. And trust me, it’s worth the read. [Oh, and I didn’t believe there could be such a thing as ‘gay underwear’, but this is, admittedly, pretty fucking gay. ;-) ]

But first, a quote to whet your appetite: “For some men, their balls act as a natural step-ladder…”

—> http://http://wildmant.com/shop/balllifter.cfm <—

And here is – drumroll – the ‘ball lifter.’ [By WildmanT]

ball-lifter

So basically it is a pushup bra for your dick and balls. An interesting concept…that I wouldn’t be caught dead in. However, as the text on the site states, men have actually been using plastic codpieces for a while now, and I’ve heard of this for male underwear models.

Most guys have had the experience of buying some underwear that seems to have a yard of extra fabric for the crotch area. Unless you’re packing a boa constrictor that you can coil into a ball, you will never fill up that space, and so that’s why male models will use the prosthetic. It’s how they achieve that bulge that looks like a boob in a tube-top.

It’s like those silicone chicken cutlets that girl’s stuff into their bras for a more ‘full’ look. [On another note, there are these microfiber underwear you can buy that are virtually pouchless and make you look like a eunuch. And in the words of Paris, that’s not hot.]

The reason why the bulge keeps on growing is because gay men are the only ones designing men’s underwear. So they have naturally created the demand for something unrealistic, just like straight-guy created comic book vixens with gravity defying double-D tits. And just like lingere manufacturers who have created the push-up bra so that women can live up to these fantasies, gay men have also created the solution for their own battle of the bulge: the Ball Lifter. This particular underwear manufacturer has an even more advanced model called, ever so discreetly, ‘The Protruder.’ Funny how I spent my entire adolescence trying to avoid having a ‘protruder’…at least in public. Every school dance was another chance at humiliation.

As with the chicken cutlet, one must wonder at the repercussions of actually interesting a member of the opposite sex while wearing this apparatus. Just as I’m sure a girl would be mortified if a guys’ hands slid under her bra in the heat of passion and then recoiled in horror holding a jiggling flap of silicone, how would a girl react if she stripped off your underwear in ravenous lust and found you wearing the Ball Lifter. What would she say? If you had to speculate, would it go something like this…

“WHAT THE FUCK is that?! Is your dick depressed?”
“Um, no…why?”
“Because it looks like it’s trying to hang itself…”

I can’t know for sure if this is what would happen…but you can be sure I’ll never find out…

Or at least I’d never tell.

[As a caveat - ladies, don’t feel bad about the cutlets. I’m fine with them. As long as your boob has a nipple, I’ll probably like it. Besides, if it makes you feel good and look better in a particular top, I'm all for it. And I promise not to stuff them in my Speedo the next time I head to the local pool to do some laps.]

Clay Aiken is gay! And the sky is blue! And the grass is green!

If he were a ‘super gay’, now that would be a story…

So I saw on the news this morning that Clay Aiken has officially come out of the closet. Is this really news?

I will try not to make a joke about the “microphone” in this photo.

*struggling* argh… ok, I’m good.

But seriously, this is a very duh moment. I think even People magazine, which is featuring him on the cover this week, knew it was pretty obvious for a storyline. And so they decided that it wasn’t enough to say “Clay’s Gay!”, but decided that since he also has a new baby it was okay. Because then in terms of celebrity trash news math: Newly Gay Fizzling Pop Star + New Baby = Cover Worthy Enough For A Slow Week.

Honestly I was expecting more for this story to make the cover of People Magazine or show up in TV headlines.

Maybe a story like “I’m Super Gay,” an article revealing that Clay Aiken is so gay that he can fly.

Or that Clay Aiken is so gay he has the power to turn straight men into ad hoc homos, like Chris Kattan’s Mango character on SNL.

Or that he is a Gay Midas, and everything he touches turns to gay.

Now that would be interesting and newsworthy! Not this Captain Obvious bullshit.

But rather, Captain Gay Pop Star!

Gay superpowers – they’re no joke. In fact he alluded to them in his hit song “Invisible” for which the chorus goes:

clay aiken gay people mag cover

“If I was invisible
Then I could just watch you in your room
If I was invincible
I’d make you mine tonight”

For a second just ignore the creepy, perversely voyeuristic overtones of the lyrics and think: Is Clay foreshadowing something here? Is this the real news? Clay is not just gay, he has the power to turn himself invisible? And invincible? Like he was wrapped in an impervious pink kevlar body-suit? Being a pop star would be such a great cover story…

Screw American Idol – this shit is huge! Ambiguously Gay Duo move over, the Obviously Gay Solo is here to save the world! But that’s just my speculation. I’ll let you read between the panty lines.

Infomercials and a Penis Pump Approved by Medicare

For me, Infomercials are a love/hate relationship. Often they sneak up on me when I’m rocked back in a barcalounger in some sort of late night trance, one hand on my crotch, the other on a tepid beer. Seventeen minutes will pass by until I snap out of my hypnosis and think, “What the fuck am I watching?”

I’ve seen Chuck Norris pump his carrot-hued mullet up and down the TotalGym so many times that I think I’ve actually gained muscle definition. I’ve sat through so many Real Estate infomercials that I could open a school tomorrow, scamming insomniacs across the country into buying no-money-down investment strategy programs. On the technical side, I now have the knowledge to fully automate a kitchen with salad shooters, blenders, mixers, slicers, dicers, rotisseries, penny chopping knives, fat melting grills, and loaf launching bread makers. By pushing fifteen buttons I could put Mario Batalli out of a job.

Sometimes though, the infomercials offer some good, campy fun and I have to give credit where it’s due. Watching testimonials from male septuagenarians cured of erectile dysfunction by some ancient herbal remedy from Malaysia or some new fangled device ranks up there among the best. And that’s precisely why I didn’t change the channel when an infomercial for Pos-T-Vac came on the TV.

The Pos-T-Vac is touted as a non-surgical, non-medicinal treatment for erectile dysfunction. In fact, they have created a product that treats ED through a process of vacuum therapy. Okay, as the fact behind that statement sinks in, I’ll cut to the chase. The truth is, the Pos-T-Vac is a penis pump. That mid-life crisis novelty product of the eighties has finally made a comeback through clever re-marketing as a therapeutic tool for sagging, wrinkled, and flaccid phalluses.

Basically, you stick your wang in a clear plastic tube and by way of suction, blood starts flowing to your man parts. Think of it like a cock kick-starter. Or better yet, a dick-starter. I just copywrited that, so I better not see any Dick-Starters on the market this coming year. Seriously, I’ll hunt you down and beat you to death with with a cock-shaped mallet. Anyway, back to the point. Once your man-meat is full with blood and hard enough to dent steel, you put a ring around the base of your penis so the blood doesn’t slip out like air leaking from a deflating balloon. What comes next is up to the customer, whether it be chasing granny fanny in a power scooter or simply staring in amazement at the paradoxically virile monument standing proud between your legs.

What’s possibly most perplexing about this penis pump is that it’s covered by Medicare. Through research I found that hearing aids, most prescription drugs, and eye examinations, however, are not covered. So it doesn’t matter that the old man driving in front of me can’t see and can’t hear and is probably suffering from some other untreated malady, as long as he has the equivalent of a Reebok Pump for his dong, all is good. I find this to be a mix-up in priorities. But seeing what the Congressional record is on extracurricular boning activities, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.

Don’t get me wrong though, I think if people had more sex we’d be a happier nation. I’m just not sure that we’re prepared for the backlash of vacuum therapy. What backlash? The one where grey-haired men across the country begin volunteering to take over domestic responsibilities, saying to their wives with a wry grin and a twinkle in their eye, “Honey, I think it’s time we upgraded to a Dyson, don’t ya think? You know that they never lose suction.”

Plant Sex and My Nose

Allergies are killing me slowly. With each sniffle and wipe from my aloe infused Kleenex I feel the life force slowly draining from my body. Pollen floats about brazenly in puffs of dust and even giant cotton balls that take flight from our cottonwood trees. Stupid plant sex. Just seeing this stuff makes me cringe, it’s like living in a motel room illuminated by black lights – mystery spunk everywhere.

What pisses me off though is the supposedly effective theory of evolution. I really don’t understand how allergies slipped through the cracks.

I imagine my cave-dwelling Cro-Magnon doppelganger; we’ll call him Dug (‘cuz that’s how my name reads in cave paintings). Dug is a hunter, not a gatherer, basically because he has a penis so spears make more sense to him. One day Dug is out on the prowl and spots a boar. Dug smiles, baring a nightmare set of teeth that would wake a dentist in a cold sweat. But Dug is happy. He has found dinner.

The boar still has not seen him, so Dug raises his spear, obsidian tip glinting in the sun. Then out of the corner of his eye he sees movement. Dug spins his head and crouches, a sudden spike of adrenalin causes sweat to instantly bead at his temples.

Holy fuck! It’s a saber-tooth tiger.

Dug in trouble, he thinks to him self. The saber-tooth pounces on the boar, sinking its scimitar teeth into the swine’s neck, snapping vertebrae and severing arteries. Dug panics and runs for a rocky outcropping to his right that is riddled with fissures and holes, and he dives into one of the cracks and wriggles his way through a series of openings. But he has already been seen.

The padding of the tiger’s paws is amplified as the beast lopes up to the rocks. Dug obscures himself in a shadow and watches in horror as the tiger enters one of the adjoining fissures. Dug smells something funky and looks down. He has pooped. Dug thinks to him self, perhaps for the first time in all history, “I scared shitless.” He smiles at the thought. Poop is officially funny.

Time passes slowly, with Dug trying to stay as quiet as Cro-magnonly possible. Scraping sounds from claws probing the rock eventually fade away. Dug thinks he is safe.

He scales his way to the top of the fissure, noticing a pretty flower growing out of a crack. Dug is easily distracted and forgets the dangerous beast from before. He notices an appealing smell coming from the flower, bends his head and inhales deeply. Uh-oh. An annoying yet slightly pleasurable tickle forms in his nose. Dug’s face crinkles.

Ah-choooooo!!

Dug giggles. That was funny, that flower made my nose go boom, he thinks. Then he hears a roar, looks up and sees the sabertooth tiger in front of him. He smells that same funky smell from earlier. He smiles and it’s the last thought he ever has as the tiger’s two massive canine’s plunge into his skull and Dug’s world fades to black.

Now Dug doesn’t have a head. It’s a fucking bowling ball.

This all leads me back to my previous contention. How the hell did allergies make it past evolution? Hundreds of thousands of years to weed out this ridiculous over reaction of the immune system and now we’re stuck with shitty drugs that don’t really work, unless you count the fact that they at least prevent you from gouging out your itchy, watery eyes or cutting off your nose to spite your evolved, flat foreheaded face.

So that’s it. It’s not the simple degrading experience of having a botanical money-shot popped up your nose, it’s the fact that we even have to deal with allergies after all this time.

Oh yeah, and Allegra is way too fucking happy of a name for an allergy cure. Has anyone on the marketing team at Pfizer even had allergies before? How about Pistofftra. I’d buy that.