February 16, 2012

Life is Full of Choices

“Ask not who let the dogs out, but rather who locked the dogs in?”

When I was a boy, I was told by my fifth grade teacher that I would either be the President of the United States(POTUS) or I would be a bum. Well the jokes on her because I am neither. I know what your probably thinking, “But Bill, I’m sure I voted for you in the last general election and I’m pretty sure you won the popular vote”. Well the joke is now on you good sir or beautiful lady, because the popular vote means nothing. Fucking stupid electoral college. Don’t blame me, blame the Twelfth Amendment. Or you might be thinking, “Didn’t I see you begging for spare change while wearing a bathrobe outside the Piggly Wiggly the other day?” No that wasn’t me. First of all I don’t have a bathrobe. Secondly there are no Piggly Wigglys Wigglies Whatevers in my neck of the woods. Not that I live in the woods, as far as you know. Anyway I thought I could compare the two career paths and see which side of things I ended closer to. I say ended, but I probably have a few good months left in me. With that said, let the self-flagellation begin. (Editors note: I’m not talking about a particular party or a particular president, just the actual job of President)

Point #1- The POTUS rides in style. A luxury bulletproof limousine with a posse packing a pantload of power, whilst a bum usually relies on his getaway sticks as a primary mode of transportation when not riding cross-country in a boxcar. I’ve seen them congregate in groups with an undetermined amount of firepower and assorted weaponry…….Me: I drive a 2003 Nissan Altima, sans posse and weaponry. Once again, as far as you know. My car is very much like a limo…Kind of… Sort of……Not really. While not bulletproof nor claiming to be, I once had a rock or road debris of undetermined size and structure hit the windshield while driving on the highway and I emerged unscathed. At least physically. I do use my getaway sticks to work the gas and/or brake pedal based upon whether I want to speed up or slow down. Sorry, I don’t mean to get all technical on you.
Career assessment= POTUS BUM

Point #2- The POTUS wears fine suits made of fabulous materials gathered and hand-woven by only the most reliable and highly sought after child slaves that the third world can offer. A bum wears tattered old rags made of simple cottons and polyesters and/or plastic bags collected and stapled and/or duct taped together by less reliable third world child slaves, most likely hired by a temp agency. Some of them might even be from the fourth world. Face it guys, nothing is made in America anymore…. Me: I have upwards of two pairs of shoes, three pairs of pantaloons, and a veritable cornucopia of t-shirts. Some even fit me. Most of them are cotton, but I’ve been known to sport a poly-lycra blend from time to time, now and again.
Career assessment= POTUS BUM

Point #3- The POTUS makes an annual salary of $400,000. They also have their expenses(housing, travel, sexy hooker bitches, recreational drugs, ice cream sammidges, etc.) paid for while in office. They also can make quite a bit of lootcakes after leaving office through speaking engagements, public appearances, reality tv shows, and scratch tickets.I heard the President gets free scratch tickets for life in any state. I don’t know if that’s valid in Alaska and Hawaii. A bum typically makes significantly less money than the POTUS, although cashing in empty cans and stolen catalytic converters can be a lucrative enterprise on its own while also helping and hurting the environment at the same time. So it’s a Win/Win/Lose…… Me: None of your fucking beeswax dudes.
Career assessment= POTUS BUM

Point #4- POTUS lives in opulence at 1600 Pennsylvania Ave. in Washington D.C. The White House. You’ve heard of it, no? Listen, I can’t tell you 98% of my friends addresses without consulting some sort of internet search engine or using my phone a friend lifeline. But I know that fucking address off the top of my skull. I’ve never lived there or used it as a forwarding address. I may have, as a smaller pre-pubescent version of myself, sent in fake subscription cards to Tiger Beat or Playgirl magazines using that address and a fake name such as Dr. Thaddeus T. Thunderfunk, Esq. But that’s what kids do. No harm no foul, ghost of Ronald Reagan….When you think of a bum you think of a cardboard box, or a tent, or homeless shelter. I shouldn’t say “when you think”, I should say when I think. I don’t want to be presumptuous enough to put my thoughts inside your brain basket. You’re your own you. Me my own mine. But we can agree you probably can’t name a bums address. All the famous bums lived like that though, on the road, unfettered by domesticity. You know that guy from that movie, and that other dude……Me: I own a house that I live in with my lovely wife, and I can recite the address on demand. As long as I have my drivers’ license or piece of mail with me.

Career assessment= POTUS BUM

Point#5-My teacher was a bitch. I mean, I guess you could say I was a class clown. But I always hated that term because you can’t spell class clown without ass clown. I don’t want to be an ass clown, in 5th grade or present tense. But how could she tell me something like that? For making a joke? For mocking my ABC’s, my 123’s, or my do-re-mi’s? For that she pretty much calls me a “fucking stupid ass clown” (her words) in front of the entire class, the teachers assistant, and I think the school janitor might have been there too. Oh and the class guinea-pig. We called him guinea-pig. I loved him. That’s what hurt the most. Shortly after this incident guinea-pig died. Of a broken heart you ask? Maybe. Maybe it was starvation, maybe a little of both. No autopsy was performed. He went to his grave, to meet his God or Allah or Buddha or whatever deity a rodent believes in(probably Mickey Mouse) thinking that his best friend in the whole wide world was a “fucking stupid ass clown”. I live with that to this day.

But that was the ’80’s. People did all sorts of fucked up shit back then. I remember sitting in the Emergency Room having an asthma attack and my mother sitting next to me chain-smoking Pall Malls. INSIDE THE FUCKING HOSPITAL!!! Those were the times, and it was awesome. A teacher could tell a dumb kid he was on the batting end of a no-hitter and no one would blink an eye. Just put him in special ed and be done with him. Well goddamnit, I am special! I will get elected, Mrs. Whateveryournamewas. Then I’ll show you. I’ll show you all….. in my second term. Always think ahead.

Career assessment= I should have been a fifth grade teacher. In the ’80’s.

I heart you guinea-pig.

I’m Bill McMorrow and I approved this message.

Posted by on February 16, 2012 in Comedy, Humor, Humour and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , .

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February 13, 2012

I Learned It By Watching You, TV.

Some of the most important things I have learned in my forty plus years were taught to me via the magic of television. More specifically, the public service announcement. Those commercials with a purpose, designed to make you a better person than the sorry sack of shit that you are. Hypothetically speaking. Not you personally. You got it going on. You’re a winner. So I thought us winners could look back on some of these life lessons, and maybe quantify the effect they have had on all of us. Or just on me.

The thing that always struck me as funny in this commercial is that the father keeps telling his son to answer him, whilst the son is trying to answer him. No wonder everyone’s getting high in this family. There’s no communication. Just bickering, and possible child abuse. That dad’s a hot head pothead.I also think it’s a sad world we live in when a kid can’t hide his weed in his own closet without his mother going all covert ops on his shit. She’s really the villain here and we shouldn’t overlook that fact. This particular PSA has had a lasting effect on my life. To this day I will occasionally tell someone “I learned it by watching you”. Then they laugh. Then I laugh. Then we get high. Good times all around.

This is one of the most talked about PSA’s, and I get it. Hot pan. Fragile egg. Sizzling brain cells. But I watch this and I just want breakfast. Also, this dude is cooking that way too high. That’s the problem. I ordered my eggs over easy. That yolk is toast. Mmmmmm, toast. I’d like to speak to the manager please.

He-Man wants you to know it’s not okay for someone to touch your goodies unless you want your goodies touched. I want He-Man to know he should have maybe covered up a little bit  for this message, a t-shirt(with the sleeves cut off, ’cause he’s so jacked) and sweatpants or something. I also wish he told me this before that sleepover at Snake Mountain. I shan’t forget what you did to me Skeletor. I’ve also always wondered if He-Man and She-Ra banged after this. You know…consensually. By the power of Greyskull.

I wouldn’t have told Mr.Robinson (or is it Robertson, I still don’t understand him. Enunciation, Alfonso.) I broke his window. That dude was a dick. Just between you and me I heard he was known for breaking a few windows of his own, back in the day. If you know what I mean. Listen man, accidents happen. That’s why they don’t call them onpurposadents. He’s sorry,  and he apologized. In sing-song fashion. In front of his friends. Oh, I bet he took shit for that.  But Old Man Robinson/Robertson couldn’t get away with manhandling Carlton Banks like that circa 2K12 though ’cause Uncle Phil would have his ass. Also, that hug at the end went on a little too long. A hugs gotta end sometime.

 

I never saw this PSA, but I stumbled across it while finding these other videos. It’s from the 1950’s so you know this advice is meant for white straight god fearing males. Hey I don’t make the fake rules, I just enforce ’em. I have watched it a few times and I’ve definitely learned a few things.

#1-Hitch-hiking is still as cool as ever.  Sure you might get molested or decapitated, or molested and decapitated by a crazed sex killer, but gas is almost four bucks a gallon, so……..

#2- Don’t accept rides from John Waters.

#-3 Homosexuals ARE everywhere. It’s almost like they’re people. Who’da thunk it?

In closing, try to be better America. TV’s watching you.

Posted by on February 13, 2012 in Comedy, Humor and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , .

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February 11, 2012

Don’t Blink Or You’ll Miss It

Sears & Roebuck Glamour Shot, circa the Jimmy Carter administration

I am a child of the 80’s. Like most children of the 80’s I am no longer a child. I say most and not all because I don’t count those children who sold their souls to the devil in order to remain a Toys-R-Us kid in perpetuity. Technically, I am now an “Adult”. Well, not technically, more like legally. But it still feels like technically.I remember being a younger Bill, a Billy if you will. You will? You’re very gracious. I’ve always admired that about you, as well as your fashion sense. You look great too.Have you lost weight?

I remember being a little boy and just wanting to be a grownup. That’s all. I would be the best grownup ever. I would have a beard, and drive a car, and drink highballs, and smoke Winston’s. When I wasn’t smoking Winston’s, I would keep them tucked in my shirtsleeve a la Dwayne F. Schneider from “One Day At A Time“. Chicks dig that. I would live in a palatial, finely furnished house with a big yard where I would light off firecrackers at all times of day/night. And I mean I would light firecrackers in my finely furnished house. Remember, I’m the adult here. My house, my rules.

When you’re a little kid, you just want to be a bigger kid. You’re 4, you want to be 5. When you get a little older it’s all about double digits. The big One-Oh. Ten year olds want to be thirteen and cool. Thirteen year olds want to be sixteen and get their driver’s license. When your sixteen you want to be eighteen and get confused everyday. You can do all kinds of shit at eighteen. You can vote, buy cigarettes or dip (if carrying a cup of your own spit around with you is your thing, you gross fuck.), you can attend R rated movies. Or accompany a minor to an R rated movie.You can adopt a baby, run for mayor, or join the military and put your life on the line for your country.

But you can’t drink alcohol. Insanity. So you spend the next three years of your life just waiting for twenty-fucking-one.  Oh the bars, and the parties, and the other parties, and the after-parties. That was fun….. But then what? See, nobody wants to be older than twenty-one. That’s it. No twenty-one year old is sitting around thinking, “I can’t wait to be forty, or at least thirty-nine”. They’re all to busy drinking their faces off and pretending they don’t have chlamydia. Well maybe not all of them. Some of them will admit to the chlamydia. But they’ll say it’s not contagious and they’re full of shit. It’s highly contagious. We all know this, right?

Sorry, got off track there. Anyway to make a long story even longer I’m saying just be happy where you’re at because the olds gonna come and the young’s gonna go before you realize it. And that kinda sucks.

Just to summarize:
#1- I can’t grow a great big bushy beard like little Billy fantasized. And I’m alright with that.
#2- I can drive so good.
#3- Highballs are fucking gross.
#4- I’ve been known to smoke Marlboro and on occasion have been known to sleeve pocket them Schneider style.
#5- Chicks don’t dig that.
#6- While not palatial, my house is well-appointed with a very big yard.
#7- My wife would fuck my shit up if I lit off firecrackers in the house at anytime of day/night. She calls it the 24 hour rule. Hey, her house, her rules.

Posted by on February 11, 2012 in Comedy, Humor and tagged , , , , , , .

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February 7, 2012

Valentines Day

Valentines Day is almost upon us and I don’t give a shit. Hold on America, I’m not anti-love and affection. I’m not against showering a little amour on your special someone. I don’t hate chocolate. Cards can be pleasant sometimes too.

The thing that I can’t stand about Valentines Day is the outrageous fluctuations placed upon the price of roses. See, there’s a scam going on and it needs to be stopped. A dozen roses costs about $12 on any given day. Except Valentines Day week and a half. Then those same roses cost about $50. That is economically unsustainable, as well as pretty fucked up.

During any type of natural disaster, if gas stations jack up the price of fuel they’re accused of price gouging. I consider Valentines Day to be a natural disaster of love, yet no one is concerned with $50 roses?

I know what your thinking, but no, these roses haven’t been dipped in Spanish Fly, Drakkar Noir, or roofie dust to make your lady more susceptible to your wily ways. They also don’t come with a half pint of peppermint schnapps, a pack of Parliaments, and a Boyz II Men Greatest Hits cd/digital download to set the mood either. They’re just the same stupid flowers for four times the price.

And people still buy them. They don’t walk into the florist, order a dozen roses, hear the price and then tell the cashier to go fuck his or her mother and/or father, then storm out whilst knocking shit off racks and such. Or at least most of them don’t. But they should… You should…..America should.

Here’s the thing. My wedding anniversary is February 10th. V-Day is the 14th. They jack up the price of roses about a week or two before Valentines. So I won’t buy my lovely wife Nicole the roses she so rightfully deserves to celebrate another year of her not coming to her senses and kicking me to the curb. Does that make me cheap? Maybe. I like to think it makes me fiscally responsible. Should we get divorced and then remarry at a later date so as not to come in conflict with this horrible scheme that seems to be perfectly legal? Don’t be stupid. Of course we should. But we shan’t.

So I put the challenge to you, dear reader. Are you going to just sit idly by while the flower/romance industry financially finger bangs you? Or are you going to stand up for whats right and say “No,I am not okay with this bullshit” and then break shit and run out of the store with a couple dozen stolen roses?

If you choose the former, I fear for the future of love in America. If you choose the latter, can I buy one of those dozen roses off you for $12? My wife fucking loves them!

Posted by on February 7, 2012 in Comedy, Humor and tagged , , , , , .

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February 5, 2012

The Obligatory Superbowl Blog, AKA, The Obligablog

So if you have a blog, you have to write about the Superbowl. It’s mandatory. That’s what Jeeves said. I asked him. So lest I risk running afoul of both state and federal regulations concerning the world wide interwebs, let this serve to fulfill my obligations.

Superbowl Sunday is exciting for a plethora of reasons. The food, the camaraderie of like minded fans rooting together for a common goal,the name calling and inevitable tears, the drunken debauchery and fistfights. The vomit. With that, some random thoughts on the game.

#1-I think Super Bowl squares suck. I’ve never hit one, ever. I always get horrible numbers like 2-5. Then I spend the game hoping for safeties and missed extra points.I still buy them, but more out of a love for America than out of an expectation of winning.

#2-There shouldn’t be that many people in the booth for the pre-game show. Two guys used to be fine, now they have like twelve guys all pretending to be best friends, cracking up at each others horrible jokes…annoying. And how long does an ex-coach get to be called “Coach”? Is it like an former president who retains the title “Mr. President” for life?
Jimmy Johnson hasn’t coached in the NFL in 13 years, but he’s still Coach? I call bullshit on that. He should be called Jim or Jimmy or Jimmy Johnson or Jimmy John or Mr. Johnson or Mr. J Jimmy J John and sons. Or maybe Grampy. But Coach? Unacceptable.

#3-Who in the fuck is responsible for choosing the halftime performance at these shindigs? Regis Philbin? Former Supreme Court Justice Sandra Day O’Connor? Al Queda? How is it so hard to find a relevant artist to perform on the games biggest stage? Ever since the infamous nipple slip in 2004 its been a laundry list of elder statesmen,(excluding last years game with the Black Eyed Peas, who just suck. Seriously they’re like listening to someone read Dr. Seuss through auto tune.) But since that fateful night that Americas delicate moral values were violently raped by a boob popping out on live tv we have had the following…Paul McCartney, The Rolling Stones, Prince, Tom Petty,Bruce Springsteen, The Who( they should really call themselves The Twho now because half of them are dead) And the aforementioned Black Guy Peeing And now Madonna. I really hope she talks in her fake British accent. Now I consider myself a fan of most of these acts. But come on NFL. Kings of Leon, Black Keys, maybe some Florence and The Machine or Mumford and Sons. Let’s update this shit. On a related note I hear next year they’re gonna have Musical Youth playing “Pass The Dutchie”, because they must be close to fifty by now.

#4-I also don’t understand why companies pay millions of dollars for a 30 second commercial during the game when they could just put that commercial on youtube for free. That’s where it’s heading anyway. Why not invest that money back into hiring some people and stimulating this economy? Dinks.

#5- I hope it’s a good game. I hope Gronk is healthy. I hope the Pats win. I hope Belichick/Brady get their fourth ring together. I hope MHK and CLR are looking down on it all, swatting field goals wide left if need be. I hope I can make it across the border. I hope to see my friend and shake his hand. I hope the Pacific is as blue as it has been in my dreams. I hope.

Go Pats!

Posted by on February 5, 2012 in Uncategorized and tagged , .

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February 2, 2012

10 facts about Groundhogs Day that might not be facts

February 2nd marks the holiday of Groundhogs Day. In honor of this, the most holiest of days, I have compiled a list of interesting facts that may or may not be correct. Let’s call them factitious.

1…Legend has it that if Punxsutawney Phil emerges from his burrow and is frightened by his shadow, he shall retreat back into his hole and we will have another 6 weeks of winter. What legend apparently leaves out is how easy it is for thousands of screaming people to scare a fucking rat.

2…Punxsutawney Phil not only can predict the end of winter, he can also predict the end of winter.

3…Although called a “Groundhog” the animal is not considered a pork product, yet still tastes like bacon.

4…While considered a docile species, the groundhog, if provoked, won’t hesitate to fuck your shit up but good.

5…Groundhog Day comes from the German tradition that the Jews are responsible for all the ills in the world and must be eradicated for the good of the master race…. Whoops, wrong German tradition.Apologies, all around.

6…The holiday would be better if, instead of a rodent, they kept one of those hot tv weather ladies in a cage and had her come out and shake her shit around to predict the future.

7…TV as in television, not transvestite.

8…Not that there’s not hot transvestites out there.

9…I’ve said too much.

10…Doppler radar is so much more effective. It also carries far fewer communicable diseases.

Happy fake holiday fuckers!

Posted by on February 2, 2012 in Uncategorized.

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January 30, 2012

What’s a blog?

So seriously, what’s a blog? I just write down random thoughts and put it on the internet? For people to read and smugly comment, “That’s not funny, I wish someone would punch this fucking morons dick loose!”?

Three thoughts on that. Thought #1-Calm down dude, or lady dude. I mean you no offense, so please don’t punch my dick loose or hire/encourage a second party to punch my dick loose. I have a $4,000 front-end deductible on my health insurance and I’m pretty sure penis re-attachment surgery will eat into most of that.

Thought Letter B- You should probably know that this blog is intended for a mature-ish audience and salty language could be tossed about with reckless abandon. Or possibly reckfull abandon, if that is indeed a thing. Let’s make it a thing…. Our thing. Fuck yeah.

Thought Roman Numeral III-I probably should have warned you about the whorish language first and my shitty health coverage second. Hey, I’m learning. Baby steps…

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

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