Sometimes when I’m having a particularly shitty day, I wish I could just float away on a cloud of sweet, sweet angel dust. But I don’t mess with that shit anymore. Because of Helen Hunt:
I also don’t chase tornadoes nor do I fuck Jack Nicholson because of her.
She’s a smart lady.
Although as an adult I have on occasion been known to do liquor, and even toke. Hey, everybody does it.
Well, everybody who’s anybody.
Remember Steve Austin?
No, not the wrestler “Stone Cold” Steve Austin. I mean the real Steve Austin. Colonel Steve Austin, The Six Million Dollar Man. The six million one dollar bills man. Or the two million three dollar bills man to a crazy man, man. Either way it was an astronomical amount of money back in the days of 35 cent packs of cigarettes, 57 cent gallons of gas, and 2 dollar hookers. Legend has it that the original title of the show was actually “The Three Million Two-Dollar Hooker Man”, but the FCC objected to it because they suck balls.
He was really luckin’ fucky that these neanderthals had the technology and the capabilities to repair him, too. We’re talking about the dark ages when people carried around simple pocket calculators that couldn’t even make phone calls or surf internet porn, and they deciphered the time of day based upon the suns placement in the sky. These cavemen didn’t just fix him either, they made him better than he was before. Better, stronger, faster, harder, girthier. Maybe not harder and girthier….Maybe just harder. But that’s not for me to say. That’s for Farah Fawcett to say, and, well…. you know….
Anyways, My point in this rambling is I don’t believe the Six Million Dollar Man would be nearly as impressive nowadays for the following reasons, which I would like to introduce into evidence as Exhibit A, if it pleases the court….
Yaaaaayyyyyy China!
May you not get so drunk,
That you act like a punk,
Turn into a dick,
And get violently sick,
May you not get so shitty,
You’re unable to stand,
And if ye be English,
Get the fuck off my land!
The 80’s were a time of social awareness. Awareness that the world was starving. Well, parts of the world were starving. My part of the world was busy fucking their own faces with McDLT’s and Frusen Glädjé . But make no mistake about it. People were starving, way over…. there. Starving for food and water. Actually probably thirsting for water. But definitely starving for food. And apparently also starving for heavy metal. Fabulous follicles, flexible fingers and fierce falsettos joined forces at just the right time. An all-star cast of hair metals greats, not so greats, and who-the-fuck-are-theys came together to put their collective faux snake-skin cowboy boot down, and scream in a melodic sing-song fashion, “Were not gonna take it anymore”. After a loudly vehement protest from lawyers representing both Twisted Sister and Atlantic Records, they changed the lyrics to “We’re Stars”. The record was released worldwide to great fanfare, garnering rave reviews from both music critics and the listening public alike. It went on to become the number one selling song in the history of recorded music, and is generally recognized as the reason why hunger has been eradicated from the face of the planet Earth.
Don’t thank me Africa. Thank Ronnie James Dio.
Too late.
When I was a kid I was confused about where babies came from.
But then I watched this, and it all made sense……
Sometimes I wish I could talk to animals. Scratch that, I already can talk to animals. I really mean I wish that animals could talk to me.
I don’t mean all animals. I don’t need squirrels bugging me with their day-to-day problems. Going on and on about the lack of good quality nuts this harvest season or how hard it is to find affordable daycare for their little baby squirrel babies. I don’t need stray dogs coming up to me on the streets looking for a handout or maybe asking me to “adopt him“, pleading with me to “give him a good home”, in order to “save him from certain death”. But I say no way.This is America, Scrappy-Doo. Get a job.
I wish my animals could talk to me. I have cats. Well, I have my wife, and my wife has cats. Or my wife has me, and my wife has cats. Either way, this equation equals me having cats. (Damn algebra, I’ll never understand your wicked ways!)… I say cats because it’s more than one cat. If it was only one I would just say cat. Not cats. Which is why I said it plural. I don’t want to say how many cats we have because I don’t want to be labeled as just another beautiful, sensitive, thoughtful crazy cat lady/man/boy with haunting blue eyes and an almost insatiable hunger for knowledge and thirst for Crystal Light iced tea.Yeah, it is delicious, and only 5 calories per serving. Say what?!… So let’s just say that we have more than one cat but less than a million and one cat(s).
I wish these cats could talk to me and tell whats going down. The oldest one is 10 years old, and the youngest one is 10 months old. Theres a lot of tension betwixt felines in my house and it’s because of the generation gap. The oldest one would say, “Please kill that little shit, I hate his stupid cat face. I’m just chilling out, trying to watch my stories, and this dickhole’s trying to play a game of full contact slap-tickle-fuck with me. But full contact slap-tickle-fuck ain’t no game, yo!”” Well said older, wiser cat. Well said indeed…..The younger one would say something like, “meow”, ’cause he’s kind of dumb. Then we’d sit around talking shit about all the freeloading stray dogs begging for spare change in the street and we would laugh at them. Then they would inevitably claw me and I’d bleed, and then I’d cry. But they would still be laughing. Laughing at me. That’s why I hate them. They laugh at me while I bleed and cry.
And I just want to know…. What the fuck, cats?
What the fucks this cat thinking?
Sometimes in life, you come across an invention that makes you think, I wish I thought of that. This is one of those things for me. I had a vaccum. I had hair. I had little to no self-respect. But I didn’t do it , and then some other hooker-bitch did it. They made millions of dollars off of it too, and they are still selling them today. That’s right, you can still purchase a brand new, factory sealed Flowbee in this, the two thousand and twelfth year of our lord. Holy shit indeed! I’ll admit I tried the thing once and it did make my hair less long, while also giving me the sexy feathered bangs that all growing boys secretly crave…. Now I know you might be thinking, ” But I have no formal cosmetology training, there’s no way I could possibly cut my own hair, by myself, in the privacy of my own trailer/van. Naked and all methed out like I usually is.” Hey I hear you, buddy. Listen, I would strongly suggest you at least wear cut-off shorts and a muscle shirt, and maybe do it when you’re feeling a little less methy. Safety doesn’t take a vacation, you know? Yeah you do. Everything you need to know about the how-to’s of this dynamic home haircutting system can be found in this two and a half-minute video. Actually it can be found in the first twenty seconds of the video, but it’s worth watching the whole thing for the extremely helpful insider tips like, “If you want an efficient fast haircut, cut it all one length”. Gee, thanks for showing me the fucking way, Flowbee-Wan Kenobi.
May the force be with you…..
Lynda Carter was Wonder Woman, and vice versa. Wonder Woman aired on ABC from 1975 to 1979, and it made Lynda Carter a cultural icon. Those were turbulent times, the 1970’s, with the Vietnam War coming to its conclusion. The Equal Rights Movement was in full force. Roe v. Wade (1973) gave women the right to a safe and legal abortion, although if a woman wants to get a safe illegal abortion I say that should be her right too. Just stay safe ladies, that’s all I ask. Could you do that for me? Pinky swear?…. Whicheverways, ABC smelt the emotional bouillabaisse that was a brewing in the proverbial witch’s cauldron. They said, “You know what? Americas feeling kind of angry, and the dickless people are acting like a bunch of dicks. What if we made a show about an American super lady superhero who fights crime and we show the world that ABC is the network that says, Hey sexy smart beautiful sexy lady babies, we know what you’ talkin’ ’bout! You’ve been oppressed for too long and it’s time a woman shows the world what she’s capable of when given some spandex, a lasso, and an invisible plane.” ABC must have really loved America.
Or maybe they just loved boobs.
One gallon of Coors Light! Only $80 here! Infidel!
The price of gas keeps climbing higher and there is a real sense of outrage going on in this country. How can this magical fire-water that propels my futuristic steel chariot at ridiculous speeds cost almost four dollars a gallon? Is it because we purchase a majority of it from people who despise us and our sultry, sexy ways? It could be. Is it a government conspiracy, another way for “The Man” to keep us down? It’s possible, I guess. Is it because of the declining value of the U.S Dollar in an extremely volatile, ever fluctuating global economy? You’re asking the wrong dude about that. I ain’t no ergonomics major. But I do know this. Four dollars for a gallon of gasoline doesn’t seem as unreasonable to me as this….
If you go to any sporting event or concert and purchase a beer it’ll run you 7 or 8 dollars. One beer…. Just one…. Seriously, how the fuck can you sell one single solitary wobbly pop for that much scratch and not get shot in the face by angry townspeople? Or at least get popped in the snotlocker by one angry drunk. Do you know how much a case of beer costs? Just shout out a number off the top of your head. No, not seven hundred dollars. That’s ridiculous…. No, not eight hundred dollars…. You’re going in the wrong direction…. Wow, you are surprisingly bad at this game. (Don’t worry, there are other things you do well. Many things, in fact. Napping comes to mind, you’ve always been the best napper.The way you keep your eyes closed and shit, without moving…jealous)… Were talking like twenty to thirty dollars tops for a case of beer. I’m not talking about your fancy handcrafted imported beers, infused with boysenberries and unicorn tears, by the way. I’m talking regular old Bud, Bud Light, Coors, etc….It’s blatant economic chicanery of the highest order, and it needs to be stopped forth-with, good sirs and beautiful lady-madams. It’s bad enough you just paid $40 to park and forked over $300 for nosebleed tickets to have a fun night out with your family. Now you have to drop at least another Franklin to get properly shit faced like the good lord intended you to do at a public event with your sweet little beautiful baby childrens in tow. And God forbid if your better half is an alcoholic too. That can get super spendy. Good thing kids don’t need to eat.
So you can fill up your gas tank or you can drink a six-pack at the game. Either way those gassholes at OPEC still hate you and wish you would die, you fornicator.
But I still love you. That’s gotta count for something, right?
Bill McMorrow 