April 3, 2012

A Matter Of National Insecurity

We live in a world where bad things happen to good people. It’s also a world where good things happen to bad people.  Of course, sometimes good things happen to good people and occasionally bad things happen to bad people too….. We live in a world where things happen to people.

That’s why we must be ever vigilant, always on our guard. Statistics show that 100% of all foreign terrorists come to America through her borders. 100 percent! That’s almost all of them. That’s unacceptable.

Luckily we have Robert Michael Jack on our side. He’s the man that’s keeping the peace. So cool it, Canada.

In all seriousness this is a sketch by The Groundlings that aired on HBO‘s Sketch Pad 2. It is hysterical and is something everyone should see at least 17 times before they die. So watch it a bunch of times. But instead of just replaying the video, click on the title again. They’re called views. Help a brother out.

In even more seriousnessness, he’s watching you Le Clown.

Posted by on April 3, 2012 in Comedy, Humor, Television and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , .

10 Comments

April 1, 2012

Behind The Music: Stacy, Debbie, And Stacy

 

Things to know about this video:

  1. It’s a scientific fact that all the best lip-synching dance trios in the 80’s got their big break by auditioning for Puttin’ On The Hits at the Sunrise Mall in Massapequa, Long Island, New York….I think.
  2. Stacy, Debbie and Stacy could have been huge if Stacy didn’t have such incredible hardship remembering the fake words all the time.
  3. Which Stacy, you ask? Well that’s obvious, isn’t it? The sixteen year old one with the big hair.
  4. Debbie resents Stacy to this day because of that, but nobody likes Debbie anyway.
  5. I feel bad for Other Stacy. She’s the victim here.

Posted by on April 1, 2012 in Comedy, Humor, Music, Television and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , .

4 Comments

March 31, 2012

American Idolatry

Will sing for love, and food.

American Idol is a singing competition/television show that airs on the Fox network. You probably already know that, because I consider all of you who read this blog to be pretty savvy individuals. You possess impeccable table manners and an expansive knowledge of important current events. As well as a wide array of useless bar trivia. I wish we were on a bar trivia team together, guys. I think it would be good for our relationship. We could get shirts made up and everything. Okay, I’ll be team captain, calm down.

Anyways back to American Idol. A show that champions itself on finding the best singers in the country, nay, the world. People flock from all over the globe to different designated American cities every year to stand in line all day in hopes of becoming the next big singing sensation. Or the next big viral video sensation. A lot of people go on this show just for the chance to do something stupid and get on tv. Hey, good for them says I. Grab your fifteen minutes, Billy Hung. Some of it makes for an amusing respite from the day-to-day grind of life. “Hahaha, look at this chucklefuck singing the theme song to 9 to 5. His suckiness makes me giggle, and feel better about my more subdued level of suckiness.”

But some of these people can really sing and  get a chance to actually chase a dream and make something of themselves. They get a golden ticket, baby…. You’re going to Hollywood! Try to not get stabbed in the face or contract Hepatitis C whilst you’re there. It’s harder than you think. That place is fuckin’ disgusting. The singers go through what’s refered to as Hell Week. They have to learn some songs they might not know that well and maybe not get the 8 hours of beauty sleep that their pediatricians recommend because they have to share their free hotel room with a roommate. Although I bet any Navy Seals who see this laugh their bad-ass badasses off at that nonsense. I’ll show you pussies Hell Week!

The contestants are weaned down. Some get eliminated through horrible singing. Some eliminate themselves through mental fatigue and just quit. Some get eliminated through accidental death at the hands of American Idol producers, a camera crew, a bottle of Oxycontin and an electric cattle prod. It’s called a snuff film…. I made that last one up, I don’t think that has ever really happened. But they probably wouldn’t tell you if it did, so who knows. Mystery unsolved.

When it’s down to 10 people they all get to go on tour for the summer and be rock”ish” stars, and that’s cool. But they also make American Idol Ford commercials and that is totally uncool. Nothing makes me want to buy a Ford less than these commercials. Nothing. That includes O.J Simpsons white Bronco ride and also the fact that Henry Ford himself once called my great-great grandmother a cheap whore. True story. He just walked right into the brothel that she worked at, paid to have sex on her, had sex on her, and then commented on how surprisingly inexpensive the fee was in relation to how good she was at her job of sex taking from random gentlemen. So I guess he called her a cheap whore in a pleasantly factual way, but I’m still pissed off about it. That’s my double great gangy, and I love her!

But here’s the thing. For a show that claims to be about singing, they have a weird way of showing it. Some of the musical guests they have on are just whacktastic, as the kids in 1989 said. They have a litany of lip-synching, auto-tuned, processed, homogenized bullshit. Like this Nicki Minaj fella. Listen, if you like her that’s fine. If you like to turn up the car radio if her song comes on when you’re driving to the mall to stock up on hair scrunchies and body glitter at Hot Topic, good for you. But the thing is, she shouldn’t be on a show about finding the best singer. Period.

She never would have made it to Hollywood.

Let alone survive Hell Week.

McMorrow out!

Posted by on March 31, 2012 in Comedy, Humor, Music, Television and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , .

8 Comments

March 30, 2012

One Hit Wonderfuls

Whenever someone talks disparagingly about a musical artist being just a “one hit wonder“, I think, “What the fuck is wrong with that?”. This guy, or lady, or duo, or group, or Order of Tibetan monks wrote and recorded a song that connected on some level with a large enough segment of the population that it went to #1 on the charts, or at least the top 100, whatever. That is phenomenal, good  great for them.

What the fuck have you done? Have you climbed Mt. Everest? You haven’t? Hmm, I thought I heard that you had…. Did you circumnavigate the globe in your homemade hot-air dirigible? Not yet? You’re still drawing up schematics? Man, you’ve been working on that thing since 9th grade, step it up!… Have you adopted an underprivileged child from all seven continents? You have? Really? Are you Angelina Jolie? No way?! Wow, what are you doing here? You obviously must have found me by clicking on a link from some other kick-ass blog like Sweet Mother or A Clown On Fire. Thank you for taking the time to read the words that your eyes are focusing on right at this very moment in time, even if what you’re reading this very second has little to no bearing on you and your particular situation.

Wow, I can’t believe someone married to someone famous is reading my blog. Does Brad read it too? No, don’t tell me, I don’t want to know. I mean I do, but I don’t. You know what I’m saying? Aaahhh, I’m so nervous!

Anyways, back to my point. I would be thrilled to have a hit song. Just one would do. Here’s a couple of my favorite songs from so-called one hit wonders.

This is a classic song that is sure to make all the drunks at your next family reunion/work party/anonymous group-grope sing along just to let you know that sometimes all they can do is read a book to stay awake, too.

Seriously, if I had to be known for one thing, being the Humpty Dance dude would be pretty fuckin’ sweet…. “Oh, you mean Bill McMorrow. the dude who makes everybody at the party get up and get, get, get down(911 is a joke in yo’ town) every single time his sweet beats start bumping?”. Yeah, I’d take that any day of the week.

In my five point oh, bitches.

.

Listen, all I’m saying is you should probably get two hit singles under your belt before you go shitting on one hit wonders.

You no hit none-ders.

Posted by on March 30, 2012 in Comedy, Humor, Music and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , .

21 Comments

March 29, 2012

Are You Afraid Of The Blank?

Triskadeckahphobia- The fear of Dorchester, Massachusetts

Phobias come in all types of scary shapes and creepy sizes. These are a few of my favorites:

Arachnophobia is the fear of spiders. It’s also a movie starring Jeff Daniels. I wasn’t afraid of spiders until I saw that movie. Actually I’m still not really afraid of spiders, I’m just afraid of a whole shitload of spiders all at the same time in the same place, while I’m there too. Although I am scared of radioactive spiders, and that’s Peter Parkers fault. Damn you Spidey.

Acrophobia is the fear of heights. It’s one of the most common fears among men and women, ages born to dead. It’s easy to understand why, too. Although according to statistics that I’m making up for this, 100 percent of people polled, me, say they don’t have a fear of heights, but rather a fear of falling from heights….I hear that, me. Because regular falling sucks bad enough. But now I have to do it from way up there? Booo to that.

Claustrophobia is the fear of small or confined spaces but it should be Closetrophobia. I think claustrophobia should be the fear of Santa Claus, that fat, fake bastard. With his spying and his list making. Checking it once, checking it twice. Check it three times fuckface, see if I care. Sorry, I’m still bitter about that Atari 2600 from 1982. I was really well-behaved that year, I barely even masturbated every day and twice at night, and good ol’ Krispy Kringle pulled a no-show. Jerk. Apparently the fear of Santa Claus is called Santaphobia. But I think that’s just lazy phobia naming and I shan’t recognize it.

Ephebiphobia is a fear of teenagers. I get that. Have you seen teenagers, ever? No matter time nor place, century or continent, teenagers are weird and creepy. With their awkward limbs and faces, braces full of Doritos’ and crystal meth. Voices cracking when they talk because they’re visibly leaking puberty. Hiding their boners behind their Trapper Keeper notebooks. Asking to borrow the car to go to “Youth Group” and then taking that very same car out four wheeling to keg parties in the woods. Keg parties that are overflowing with sluts and drugs.

Afuckinstupidphobia is the fear of going to keg parties in the woods that are overflowing with sluts and drugs.

Posted by on March 29, 2012 in Comedy, Humor and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , .

6 Comments

March 29, 2012

Hey,I Get Tired Like Any Boy Does, From Time To Time, Now And Again

I'll give you a tumor if you don't go the fuck to sleep.

We send our children to school to learn things. Wait, I don’t have kids. You send your children to school to learn things. Things that will help them get through the rigors of life. Things like reading, writing, and arithmetic. Or the 3 R’s as some dummy labeled them years ago. I prefer to think of it as learning the art of WAR. Of course you’d have to juxtapose the positioning to Writing, Arithmetic, and Reading, and spell them right. But that doesn’t rhyme with “sung to the tune of a hickory stick”, so maybe that’s what that’s all about.
The thing that bothers me about elementary school, or grade school, is how they get you accustomed to things that will be stripped away from you later on in life. Things like recess, or field trips, or most of all, nap time.

When you’re a little kid just starting out in academia, you get to have nap time. Or siesta for my vato’s…How can you  get a young lad all strung out on naps when his soft, gelatinous boy-brain is just starting to develop, and not expect him to spend the rest of his life chasing the sleeping dragon? … Who doesn’t love school sanctioned nap time? Little kids don’t, that’s who. They cry and they fuss and they won’t lie still. They disrespect the time-honored tradition of peaceful slumber, as well as dishonor the memories of all the men and women who fought and died to secure them the god given right to sleep for short periods of time during daylight hours.

I personally don’t understand why we waste all this precious nap time on ungrateful children who don’t appreciate it. Allow me some nap time during a work day and I’d appreciate it all right. I’d appreciate the sweet fuck out of it, and then upon waking I would graciously thank you and probably throw in some genuine personalized compliment about how nice your haircut looks or how I would never guess just from looking at you that you were a level three sex offender. Then you would smile, which would make me smile. But then I would yawn, causing you to yawn. And then we would both laugh. Oh how we would laugh together.

Laughter is a good thing.

Napping is a good thing.

Kids are stupid.

Of course, I don’t mean your kids. They’re aces.

Posted by on March 29, 2012 in Comedy, Humor and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , .

13 Comments

March 27, 2012

Don’t Tell Mom The Babysitter’s High

The 70’s were a simpler time when there was no need for expensive quality licensed daycare centers. Television was the only babysitter a parent needed. You turned it on and sat your kid down, then you just left and went to Happy Hour. Or at least that’s what the “cool parents” did. (Dads words, and quotation marks)  Who cares if television neglected to cook you food or change your shitty diaper. It did you one better. It fed your mind, and changed the shitty diaper of your soul. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

Sid and Marty Kroft babysat me for the better part of my early years. Their shows were constantly on in my house on our old tube tv that sat on top of our even older wood-grained console tv with built-in record player and 8-track player. Oh technology, you haven’t disappointed me yet, good sir.
The brothers Kroft insist that there were no intentional drug overtones to the shows they made. I say they must have been high as fuck. “H.R Pufnstuf, can’t do a little ’cause he can’t do enough?” Puffing stuff, really? I didn’t know what that meant as a kid, but I sure as shit do now. Hey, it’s cool with me. I think marijuana should be legalized, taxed and readily available for sale at the corner store to consenting adults and any teenager who can grow a mustache. God love ’em.. So puff that stuff, H.R…. Just don’t lie to me about it, man.

One of my favorite Kroft shows was Sigmund the Sea Monster. Remember, I was a kid. A little, stupid, grotesquely handsome kid. Whenever this show was on, I would sit transfixed in front of it, basking in its unconditional Technicolor love. Oh the adventures that we went on! The theme song went “Sigmund the sea-monster and Johnny and Scott are friends” But it should have been “Sigmund the sea-monster and Johnny and Scott and Billy are friends”, because we were. The bestest of friends that only hung out one half hour per week. Our “special” time. Just some dudes chilling, wisecrackin’, drinking some ice cold Fresca and learning some valuable life lessons. We eventually stopped hanging out, but I think it’s because they transferred to a new school district. Then I got a new phone number so they must have called my old number and when they couldn’t get in touch with me they probably thought I had died. I’m sure they were pretty shooken up about that. Pretty shooken up indeed. We were that tight….Or the show might have been canceled.

When I got older I realized that Sigmund was just a big fat bud of weed. Look at his beautiful red hairs.  I knew I liked that dude.

Oh Sid & Marty Kroft, you fooled me again.

Fuckin’ junkies.

Posted by on March 27, 2012 in Comedy, Humor, Television and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , .

13 Comments

March 24, 2012

Swear Words With Friends

Agree to disagree, Words With Friends.

I was playing Words With Friends on my iPhone and it got me thinking about how pissed off Scrabble must be about this happy horse shit. Or actually how pissed off Hasbro Games, parent company of Scrabble must be. Because Scrabble is an inanimate object and can’t experience feelings. But a corporation bleeds and feels sad and/or horny just like you or I do. Not necessarily all at the same time but also not necessarily not.

Did you know Scrabble has an app? Do you give a fuck? Oh, you do? Well pretend you don’t for a second and play along. It’ll make this whole thing easier. Thanks pal…. That’s right, you don’t give a fuck, and it’s all because of the new sexy kid on the block. (By kid, obviously I mean at least 18 years of age or the age of consent in the country/state/territory that you’re reading this in. I’m talking about you, Thailand/Alabama/Narnia.)

But if Words With Friends is gonna be the new sexy barely legal bitch on the block, they are going to have to start acting like it and slut it up a bit. They need to start accepting the fact that us kids talk the way we do, and we aren’t gonna change that for all the blue ice in Walter White‘s Winnebago. Calm down Breaking Bad fans, I know it’s Jesse Pinkman‘s Winnebago, but I do love me some alliteration and I shan’t apologize for it. I’m just saying you gotta accept the fact that us youngsters like to drop some crazy lyrical flavor up in your motherfuckin’ grill  24/7/365, bitch swear words occasionally, officer. I know that you accept some swear words like bitch and shit but let’s take this where it needs to go. To the top. Or to the bottom. Yes, let us travel there. To the deep, dark bottom. It’s always more fun in the mud.So do the right thing, good web design type people and make Swear Words With Friends.

I’d buy it, and I bet a lot of other people would buy it too. HELL, I KNOW THEY WOULD. Sorry for yelling but I’m passionate about this issue. I already go out of my way and sacrifice valuable points and strategic tile placements to spell twat. Imagine if I could spell jizzmop on a triple word score? I’d be unstoppable.

And if Words With Friends won’t do it someone else should steal their my idea and make a mint off it. Someone like Scrabble. Steal it back m@&*erfuckers, and make a mint….. You’re welcome Hasbro Games.

Just give me free downloads for life and a fuckin’ back rub…. ya heard?

Posted by on March 24, 2012 in Comedy, Games, Humor and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , .

8 Comments

March 22, 2012

No Thanks, I’ll Just Take Steroids

Yeah, I wanna be this dude.

As a child I hated vegetables, or venchtibles as my brother used to call them. Hahaha, siblings.

I hated broccoli, I hated cauliflower, but most of all I hated spinach.My mother would always try to get me to eat my spinach by telling me that it would make me strong like Popeye (The sailorman, not the chicken lady) I would always argue with her, as such:

Mom: “Billy, honey, eat your spinach so you grow up to be big and strong like Popeye the Sailorman”

Me: “No fucking way, ma”

Mom: “What did you just say!”

Me: “I said no fucking way ma. I don’t fucking wanna be Popeye ”

Mom: “Whaaaaaatttt?! What, pray tell, are you saying my sweet beautiful baby boy with the bluest of eyes and most sensitive of skins, who I adore more than anything in this whole wide world. Up to, and including, your father and my other children, as well as Jesus Christ, Son of God, born of The Virgin Mary, died on the cross, blah, blah, blah, Himself?”

Me: “Ma, listen to the words coming out of my face. Popeye might be strong, but he’s also creepy as shit. He’s always twitching uncontrollably, and muttering to himself unintelligibly. Dressed in the same clothes everyday, all fucking bug-eyed and shit. He’s also a transient drifter with a horrible penchant for falling in love with two-timing skanks. Olive Oyl, ma? Seriously? I wouldn’t fuck her with your dick.”

Mom: “Sweet mother of God! Wait until your father gets home!”

Me: “What’s he gonna do, ma? Punish me for not wanting to grow up to be some crazy homeless dude with open sores and a questionable, at best, military service record? Am I going to get spanked for not eating my spinach like Popeye? Who, by the way, eats that spinach through his fucking pipe. Ma! His fucking pipe! Should I just start ripping butts at the dinner table now like you and Dad do?”

Mom: “Oh Billy McMorrow, you truly are the smartest seven-year old that ever there was. Now go make momma a highball.”

End scene.

Sorry if that got a little vulgar, but that’s how sailormen talk and this blog is nothing if not accurate.

Also, Ma didn’t have a dick.

Posted by on March 22, 2012 in Comedy, Humor, Television and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , .

13 Comments

March 21, 2012

Forrest Hemp

Momma always said “Life is like a box of chocolates. Fattening and full of a bunch of shit you’re probably not gonna like, but pretty fucking good when you’re high”

Posted by on March 21, 2012 in Comedy, Humor, Uncategorized and tagged , , , .

2 Comments