weekly wtf - is that a cold sore on your lip, or are you just happy to see me?

I have no more words for everything that is in this fucking article.

w.t.f.

it's funny the things that you come across...and when.

if this shit doesn't give you goose bumps, hurry and get your ass to the morgue before you start stinking up the joint.

living for real.

why women drive like crap: an exposition

so the short answer is because they don't have penises. (is that the plural of penis? peni? never had to refer to a group of them before.) anyway, so yes women drive like crap because they're missing that little (or big) member between their legs.

think about it. having a penis teaches guys all kinds of useful things that translate into being better drivers. first and foremost it teaches us to control speed and proximity. these are the two main culprits contributing to women driving poorly. you have all seen the women who feel slighted on the freeway and speeds up for about a hundred yards until she's in the ass of the car in front of her, then has to slam on the brakes. she will often repeat this maneuver over and over again for god only knows what reason. well i know! it's because she has no penis. just think about how women have sex. it's "slow, slow, slow. harder, deeper, faster, faster. slow, slow, slow. faster, faster, faster." that's exactly how they drive. there's no rhyme or reason to it. no particular cadence. just pure id.

now on the other hand, think about how guys have sex (the good one's anyway). we have to pace ourselves. we have to be in tune with our surroundings. we can't just go ramming away at whatever is in front of us, with no regard for the speed that the given situation may call for. if it's a tight squeeze we have to carefully pick our way through the terrain. if the road, or girl, happens to be wide open, then we can swerve about with little worry of having an ill times accident. you see, our penis have taught us lessons.

it is true enough that not all men are good drivers. i have often wondered if they are also poor lovers, or possibly just lacking in adequate genitalia. however, i would argue that even the smallest penis is still larger than the biggest clitoris, giving men, at the very least, a substantial head start.

how much is your sanity worth?

so, black president, blah, blah, blah. here's the fucking news of the week. there was a plane crash...in a river...and people fucking lived. are you serious? i know these people must be wondering what they've gotta do to get famous. i mean, any other week and they are national heroes or some shit. but not this one. this one they only get five minutes on the today show and then kicked to the curb. oops.

so today i hear that the airline sent them each $5000. which got me thinking, would i knowingly subject myself to a plane crash if i knew i was going to live in order to make $5000? i mean hell, if you were GUARANTEED that you weren't gonna me maimed or any shit, would you do it? it's really just like a roller coaster on steroids at that point, right? so here is what i've come up with...no. hell no. first off, i already hate fucking flying. i try telling myself that i can't die in a plane crash because my cousins inventing the fucking airplane, but that really doesn't give me much comfort. and i always do the baby check when i get on a plane, hoping that god wouldn't crash one with innocent babies on board. but then i think about all the babies that die everyday in car crashes, or even in the damn hospital before they get some boob action from mom. and on top of that i figure i've done enough dirt in my life to outweigh the pureness of a new born. so i'm fucked. but yeah, 5 g's would be nice. but i just know that shit would fuck me up for life. i think i'd probably throw up just hearing the word plane after that. even if people were just saying "plain bagel." or "let me explain." and besides that i really don't want to go through the rest of my life remembering the last time i shit my pants. call me crazy.

so yeah, thanks mr. airline exec, but you can keep your 5000 bucks. now you want to put a few more zeros behind that shit, and we might have something to talk about.

french kiss(off).

have you ever noticed that when you have a bad experience with sumthin or someone everything you come across seems to remind you of that bad thing. well, she's from france.

weekly wtf - my president is a fucking ninja!

so while last week was a tough call on what should make the weekly wtf, this week was absolutely NO contest. i'm sure everyone has seen this footage of soon to be ex-president bush getting moccasins hurled at him. this is the funniest shit that i've seen since star jones did that interview talking about how she shed that extra person she was carrying around by eating salad. riiiiight star. but, being the observant fellow that i am, getting the ninja shoes of death thrown at you is not nearly enough to earn the distinction of appearing in my blog. so what has earned baby bush this honor, you ask?

one, for someone who has tried and failed on countless occasions to throw a baseball 60 feet without skipping the fucking thing across the ground like a rock in huck finn, this dude dodged those damn shoes like he was auditioning to be neo's dad in the prequel to the matrix.

second, WHERE THE FUCK WAS THE SECRET SERVICE!?!? those cats must have been up for a damn week smoking that iraqi goodness! i didn’t see one of them show up until both shoes were thrown (homeboy had to reach down and take the second one off, mind you), and some REPORTERS tackled the assailant. if that doesn't convince you that everybody is done with mr. bush i don't know what will. And THEY WERE SHOES PEOPLE! i'm no physicist, but i'm pretty sure bullets travel faster. get on your jobs fellas.

third, all i could think about after was obama on the phone getting the names of every last agent on that detail to make sure none of those motherfuckers got within 100 miles of protecting his black ass.

i loooove l.a. (not really. but this was almost worth the trip.)

so one of my childhood friends and i have been working on hanging out for a minute now, but to no avail. she's in showbiz down here in lala land (of course) so she's been too busy for her little buddy that she used to let glue dry on her hands with. but at last she invited me to a little soirée that she was attending so that we could hang out, catch up, all that jazz. so i get the invite, don't think much of it, i'm just excited to get to see big al after all these years. (small footnote: my friend is gorgeous. which is only applicable when mixed with being in los angeles, and apparently i should have guessed sumthin like this was going to happen.)

she tells me that the shindig is at "this guy’s house." again, i don't think much of it at the time, just figuring that this is some friend with a nice place that she's borrowing for the night. so i get to the spot and it turns out to be a pretty substantially pimped out pad. yawn. panoramic view of l.a. double yawn. art from the l'oeuvre, pictures of him and some of the biggest celebrities of all time. triple yawn. ok, i'm lying. all this shit was impressive. it made me rethink girls getting randomly sexed up by c-listers. i mean, this guy was 80-years-old and if he would have agreed to pay my rent for a few months we might have been able to work sumthin out.

all that being said, it was still just a house with a view and some cool pictures. but the next thing i know this guy is talking about a date that he went on when he was younger, with a girl by the name of marilyn monroe. MARILYN MONROE!?!? are you serious???? which i would have certainly thought was a load of crap except for the fact that he had a picture of him and lana turner having drinks. so yeah, i mostly can't describe how fucking cool it was to be in the presence of someone who had been in the presence of marilyn. all i can really say is that shaking his hand made me somehow feel as though i was touching...well, it was fucking cool.

ummm. errrr. uuhhhh.

did ricky martin come out of the closet, and i missed it? last i heard he was trying to convince people that he was hopelessly in love with this beautiful, giant-sized, spanish blonde...who was, let's be real, a little on the masculine side. i saw an interview with the two of them once, and never for a second doubted that if they were really together, ricky was livin' la vida loca at the business end of her strap-on while he washed the dishes. so anyway, fast-forward to today and he's on the cover of spanish people magazine holding his twins without a mother in sight. now when was the last time you saw a famous doting father on the cover of a magazine with his newborns, and the baby mama was nowhere to be found? hell, didn't britney and kevin even do a spread together?

so i do a little investigation, cause i'm about giving me faithful readers the down and dirty details, and i find out that these little latin l'efants (sorry, ninos doesn't start with an 'L'.) were born to a surrogate mother. seriously!?!? ricky, can i call you ricky? you want me to believe that not only were you madly in love with some hot spanish dominatrix, who according to you, you couldn't be with for some mysterious reason. but now you're telling me that you couldn't find some chick willing to have your babies without a contract? come on man, I KNOW 10 GIRLS WHO WOULD HAVE YOUR BABIES! you mean to tell me that you don't know a few???? so all this leads me back to my original point, did ricky come out of the closet and i missed it. it's cool ricky. we'll all still love your little hip swivel, even if you're gay. (oooopps! i just threw up in my mouth a little.) just stop lying to me!

weekly wtf - video edition!

so it's been a doozy of week already, and it got me thinking about what to do for this installment of weekly wtf. i mean i had planes killing families in their home, moms throwing "hooker parties" and having their sixteen-year-old daughters as the appetizer, and one of the more mundane but nevertheless newsworthy stories or the week, a governor selling a senate seat in order to get his wife on tv or some shit. with all of these tasty morsels to choose from i decided to go another way. one word: oprah. two words: oprah's fat ass is fat again. (ok, that's like five words.) so the weekly wtf is this: how in the hell is oprah getting fat (again) newsworthy. and not just newsworthy but HEADLINE newsworthy. i pulled this from CNN's homepage for god's sake. granted, a friend of mine would point out that CNN reports on britney spears too, but come on. the woman has been fat her whole life. i'm SURE she was a fat ass baby. sometimes she's less fat, but still...always...fat. let's stop being surprised by the obvious people. until then, enjoy ms. winfery in her 1980's splendor. love those pants girl! there's even a little tina and cher for all my queens out there!

fat. skinny. fat. skinny. it's like a jenny craig flip book!

if it's good enough for the kids on 90210...

so there's sumthin like 3 billion people in the world right. and being that i'm a hopeless romantic i believe that there is only one of them that is truly the right one for me. that girl who i'm going to meet and just know on the very first date that she is the one i want to spend the rest of my life with, raise a beautiful family with, and share all of the world’s blessings with. that said, i also believe that there are about 500,000 girls that could give me a really amazing orgasm...i'm just saying!

having come to this realization i really don't see what the big issue is about dating a girl whose friend you've dated. i mean, the girls i date are pretty. it follows then that they have pretty friends. which leads to a high probability that i would be interested in dating them as well. i really don't see what the big deal is. my friends are more than welcome to help themselves to any of my discarded slags. i'll even tell them which ones like a little scoop in the poop. (that was gross. i apologize.) but seriously, this thing we call life is about trying to be happy right? and while i don't believe in trying to reach said happiness by any means necessary or anything, i do think that we owe it to each other to lend a helping hand and give our friends a little "vaya con dios" if they wanna bang our ex's. i mean if i want to get at your friend there is a pretty good chance that...i'm just not that into you. :)

besides, this thing about completely de-animalizing (not a word) ourselves is such a crock! at our essence we're just monkeys with clothes. and since that is a biological fact, my personal belief is to stop pulling the wool over our own eyes and realize that this whole "you dated me so all my friends are off limits" shit just isn't natural. i mean, papa bears run through ALL the mama bears in their hood. why is it so "ugly" for me to do it?