Monday, September 20, 2010

The Event

   So if you live under a rock, as apparently I do, NBC's new flagship show The Event debuted tonight and I had no clue this was happening until maybe 40 minutes before. As I was sitting here wasting my night away anyway, and all my summer flicks are on holiday, I decided to give the show a go in hopes of finding a new distraction. I guess the easiest way to talk about the debut episode of the we-need-to-pick-up-what-we-lost-when-Lost-ended show is to summarize it. I admit, I missed the first twelve minutes, but this apparently didn't hinder the show at all - here goes:
   Start with Guy on island with girlfriend all shaky and trying to propose, suddenly some girl is drowning and can't be saved by a guy with an arm cast! Proposer man jumps into the ocean and saves her. Now we're all drinking on the beach rehashing good ol' times of when this rando girl was drowning, everyone's friends, and then the soon-to-be-fiance girl gets a phone call. Her parents! They haven't talked to her in a while! Now everyone's drunk on a boat! Now all of the sudden our original proposer man is on an airplane with a gun and a guy is pointing another gun at him. Now the plane is crashing! Now they're on the beach again! But this time we see the parent's perspective of the phone call, they hang up and for some reason the parent's daughter (fiance's sister?) get's kidnapped, but not actually kidnapped, the kidnapper goes inside and shoots everyone! Now we're on a boat again and the proposer man thinks he and his fiance are in a room, but they're not! She's not there! He's just nuts, so he runs away from a security guard and calls...the airplane that he's on? Now we're back on the airplane and it's crashing and the pilot locked the cabin and there's military jets and inexplicably they can't function correctly and crash...or something, and here's where it get's good.
   Suddenly the President is in a house. Alarms begin to ring. In a house. It's a house with alarms, and they're ringing. Secret service men who were just chillin' in the garden come running in and whisk the President to his limo where his wife is waiting and they all turn around TO SEE A FUCKING AIRPLANE DESCENDING UPON THEM. Flash back to the plane, which is still crashing, and our main man is all "BRO DON'T CRASH THE PLANE!", because apparently he knows the pilot, but pilot bro is all intent on crashing that plane. Flash back to the President once again running to his limo and getting in AND THERE'S THE FUCKING PLANE!!!! DRIVE AWAY MOTHERFUCKER, but they don't drive, they just gawk, our President just gawks at an airplane heading straight for his fucking convoy and ya know what happens? Do ya? THE PLANE DISAPPEARS. Poof. There's some awfully animated green wormhole lookin' thing and then plane is gone. Next some dumbass security woman says "There's something I didn't tell you" and the Pres is all "!?!?!?" and she's like "yeah" annnnddd end of episode.

   WHAT THE FUCK. I bet you the plane disappeared into Lost and that's how all that jazz started. Ya know what I'm going to do? Start a show. It's going to be about trains. Trains heading straight for black holes. And the train's can't dodge the black holes because trains are on tracks. Everyone on these trains will be like "WHERE DO THE HOLES GO?!" and when they come out on the other side they'll be confused because the scenery will be slightly different. Everyone will get off the train and say "Where are we??" and the truth will be they're all in Tennessee. But they started the trip in FLORIDA! Spooky. In the end these black holes just conveniently lead to other portions of tracks elsewhere and the whole plot is actually just an elaborate scheme by the American money machine to make rail use quicker and simpler but you'll only find that out after six seasons of shitty plot twists and tons of conspiracy theories.
   Fuck, bring back summer TV.

Monday, August 30, 2010

Listen Up

   Hello there, yours truly, Desmond, here. I realized something last night that I've always hated but never really talked about. Now, when I say "always hated" I mean from every depth of my soul, with every inch of my moral being I cannot stand being called cutesy names by waitresses or the like. What do I mean, you ask? Well say you sit down to get, what you hope, is a non-confrontational, easy, tasty meal and you get that jovial waitress who utters the "whahht can Iuh git ya, Hun?" Hun can be substituted by honey, sweetie, baby, cutie, etc (basically nouns with "ie" at the end) and it just makes me want to declare marshal law and let everyone know the following: I'M NOT YOUR FUCKING SWEETIE, NOR BABY, NOR 'HUNNY'. I'm not even part of your FUCKING FAMILY. So don't you treat me like that, Doris.

A still from some fucking show called "Lie To Me" from an episode title named "Honey" (no joke) See how pissed that guy is?
   All I want are some baby back ribs and a coke, not to be lambasted with your need to talk down your nose and make yourself better than me because I'm literally shorter than you while in a booth. You're an asshole.

Missed Connections

I was the pleasantly full guy in the green car. I was still enjoying the Burger King double cheeseburger sitting in my stomach. You were the cunt-ass jack-hole in the shitty van. I wanted to conveniently pull forward out of my parking spot instead of annoyingly (not to mention more dangerously!) reversing into potential oncoming traffic. Or an old woman with a walker. Or a small child with a puppy. You get the point. But you were against it. You, madam, said "nay; you will not pull forward. Why, yes...I do see that you're already in your car, in motion and about a quarter of the way out of your spot. Don't worry, I also see the 3 other spots that are just as easy to get in to, directly next to this one. But, because I am a douchebag, I'm going to FUCK YOUR DAY UP!"

(Exact artist's rendering)

My glare didn't seem to stop you. Or phase you in any way. It actually looked like you were dazed off in your own little world, reminiscing about the time when people liked you and you had friends; back before the daddy issues and acne. It was a good thing I noticed that you were an uber-bitch and was able to hit the brakes before you drove through me. I hope you enjoyed your parking spot. I also hope you choked on your salad that you got, along with your apple pie and large coke, because it's "healthy".

Really hoping to see you again!
Dr. Jones

Tuesday, August 24, 2010

Rex and the Stair war

   I once had a friend named Rex (his actual name). Rex was pretty nuts. When I say pretty nuts, I mean he regularly ate trash, could throw up on demand, would start fights to see if people would do anything about it, and drew his form of art on just about everything, including himself in tattoo form. Rex wasn't exactly bad off financially, I mean not rich but not poor, but he loved living a true "punk rock" life style - and he did it well.    One day in high school Rex came up to me and decided to try and start a fight. As I sat on some stairs by myself eating a shitty lunch Rex came up and pushed me around, so I pushed back and punched him. We became friends pretty much the next minute. Rex loved to do insane things. Soon after we became friends Rex decided he didn't like the people that sat beneath us on the stairs, on the sides of the stairs, and basically anywhere within his eye shot. These kids were interesting, but not offensive, really. They wore capes, casted spells, played a lot of hacky sack, sat in the rain, danced in the rain, probably loved in the rain and were just a little different (but who in high school wasn't, right?) So what was Rex going to do with his disdain for these creatures? Well he threw milk, chicken nuggets, and general debris in their direction hoping that they would get the point and leave. They didn't. This escalated into basically a gang war at my high school between these bottom of the stoop children, and my rag-tag band of punk-wannabe high stair sitters.

   One day a member of the opposing side decided he'd had enough and retaliated by throwing a chicken nugget back over the ledge where Rex had just decided to dispose of his meal, and this didn't bode well with my group of Sid Viciousi (plural like octopi). The details of what happened next are a bit hazy but Rex may have leaned over the ledge and threw up on some people, or he may have grabbed some trash and thrown it on them. Either way, some kids got doused with some nasty shit.
   Now, as in the professional artist rendering above you can see there were statistically outnumbered somewhere in the range of 500 to 1. So next thing my lucky band of bandits knew we had the entire school descending upon us (not really, but Pokemon, dungeon and dragon and Magic fans are intimidating). I think at this point we devolved into name calling, got broken up by someone, and everyone went to class covered in mustard. Or stomach acid and bits of Lucky Charms, but who's counting?
   Anyway, shortly after that our stair incident the rivalries went quiet, but before we go I'd like to have a caveat about good ol' Rex. One day Rex and I were walking around a scenic district in our town and Rex found a porno mag. After perusing the magazine for a few minutes and realizing it was all old ladies, Rex promptly found a parked car, put it under the windshield wiper, threw up on the magazine and car and walked away..
   Nice kid, that guy.


Friday, August 13, 2010


This blog seems like it's becoming a letter forum
for things that Dr. Jones and I dislike. Well, in keeping
with that, I'd like to write something to my new next
door neighbor.
Now, I'm out of state now and again, and out of
town pretty often, so when I came home one
weekend to find that new neighbors had moved in,
well, it seemed like the normal turn around for this
house (seriously, new people move in like every 3
months). So, I'll set the scene: this backyard has an
old 1930s car frame, a huge, I believe unusable boat,
a half-pipe, and a bunch of cages. And a dog. So after
skeptically scanning this new neighbor's possessions
I walked back in my house and forgot about them.

That brings us to right about 2am when I'm startled
awake by the sound of COCKAFUCKINGDOODLEDO,
MOTHERFUCKER. A fucking rooster. Who the FUCK
owns a rooster in veritable suburbia!? These people
do. Remember when you were a kid and you had that
little spinner toy that as you spun it it made different
animal sounds? Remember the rooster? It wasn't that
obnoxious, was it? Remember eating Kellogg's corn
flakes and learning that rooster wakes everyone up
all jovially on the farm at the crack of dawn so that
little Billy can go milk the cows, or trim the corn or
some shit? It's all lies. All fucking lies. This rooster
sounds like it's one day away from dying and it's
cockadoodles are more like an asthmatic attempt at
imitating a farm animal.
Oh, and that crack of dawn shit? Yeah, that's a total
fucking lie too. This abomination screams murder at
2am, 5am, 9am, etc. One could guess this is probably
due to the fact that this animal is kept in a cage. In
the middle of a yard. Where our local raccoons and
foxes more than likely come to the edge salivating
for some food. I'd freak-the-fuck out too, but that
doesn't excuse this.
I'm generally a pretty crafty guy when it comes to
telling people I'm pissed off but I've been trying and
trying to figure out a way to let this neighbor know
that this bird is one step away from being my next
dinner. I think I may leave them a note tonight - I'll
let ya know if I do.

Thursday, August 12, 2010

Another Letter

Dear trash man,

I, like many sane American citizens, enjoy sleeping. I enjoy it so much that I do it daily. Shocking, I know. Again, like many people, I am usually partaking in this sleep activity in the first few hours of the AM. Mainly, 6:45am. You, however are not sleeping. No sir. You and your monstrosity of a garbage eating robotic death machine on wheels like to come play a fun game of Piss Off the Neighborhood at 6:45am. Fuck you.

What is the purpose of going through to collect trash at such an early time? Why not pick up your treasure trove of disgustingness at a later hour? Perhaps some time in the noon to 4:00pm time frame, when normal American citizens are at work, and not having visions of sugar plums dancing in their heads (who the fuck dreams of sugar plums? What the hell is a sugar plum?!!).

Don't get me wrong, I am unendingly grateful for the under-appreciated job you guys do; without it, our garbage would be collecting in thousands of small piles instead of one gigantic decomposing heap. I just think that it could be done at a later time in the day.

Providing you with a job since 1989,
Dr. Jones

(By the way, this is a sugar plum...I think)

Wednesday, July 28, 2010

Juicy Asses

Excited about that title? Don't be. Unfortunately, this post has nothing to do with J-Lo, Beyonce, Jessica Biel or Shakira. I'm sure everyone has seen it; the old/fat/shapely woman with the sweatpants on that have the words "Sexy", "Juicy", "Bootylicious", or some other word that obviously does not describe your wrinkly, fat-pocketed ass.

I really don't even feel comfortable reading words off of hot girls asses, let alone having to physically walk from one side of you to the other in order to read the 4 letter word that has somehow managed to completely wrap itself around your derrière. It is in my opinion that there should be both an age AND weight limit on this type of clothing, which includes more than just the pants. For example, a woman in her mid to late 60's came in to my place of employment earlier this week wearing a bright yellow spaghetti-strap shirt (no bra.......) with the word "SEXY" bedazzled into it. Did you just gag? I thought so.

Obama, get on it.

- Dr. Jones

Monday, July 26, 2010

An Open Letter to Eminem

This is an open letter to one of the most annoying human beings on the face of planet earth: Eminem.

   Dear Eminem (AKA Marshall Bruce Mathers), let me first start off by saying how much I love hearing your shitty songs on the radio. Every time "Not Afraid" or something similar hits the airwaves, I know it's time to change the channel. It's like the DJ just saying "you should definitely turn the dial now, I'm about to play some REALLY shitty music". So, thanks for that, Marshall. But let me actually get on with this.

Eminem inexplicably lighting dynamite.
     I feel the need to write you and say that I am ridiculously fucking sick and tired of young girls and the occasional dumb guy telling me how great you are: "Eminem is like, SO GOOD. LIKE, he got over all those problems and now he's NoT aFrAid!" WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU HAVE TO BE AFRAID OF? BEING A MILLIONAIRE?
   Ok, now I admit when I was a child I went out of my way to get some album of yours, which my Mother and Father promptly returned; and I'm 109% sure that that was the best parenting move of my parents entire life (and not letting me purchase Hot Topic pants with chains all over them, but that's another fucked up story). Anyway, I could see your appeal then: white rapper against the world, a fucking shit-ton of issues to get past, a divorce (or something), a daughter you couldn't have, way too many Mommy issues, blahblahblah. Well, this is 2010, buddy, and by now you've cleaned out your closet, got some custody of that daughter, and adopted a few other kids - oh and you're more famous than you've ever been. So what the fuck is your appeal right now? I guess my better question is how are you still angry? Or afraid, for that matter? 50 Cent got shot 9ish times and you don't see him all afraid of shit. In fact, he's reinventing himself to be an actor..or something to that effect. But, I guess I'd be pretty pissed off if I had a ton of money, my own record label, and an untouchable career too.
  Wait a second, NO I WOULDN'T. I'd fucking love it. My rap songs would be all: "I got a ton of money. And I really love honey. And I can afford honey because of all this money. The sun is sunny! Woooo!" And people would blare my music and be like "He's appealing because he's so happy but he's rapping! It's such a new concept!"
 But then I'd probably get addicted to coke or something and start writing some dark songs and I'd just be normal. Maybe that's what happened to you, Em? Are you addicted to the rock? C'mon Marshall, this is a safe place, you can admit it here.

-Your friend, and certainly not concerned fan, Desmond

Saturday, July 24, 2010


Ever been stuck? Happened to me.

So, when I was 4, I had a birthday. Did you have one of those? I did. My 4th birthday was at McDonalds (don't ask why...I never did). The playground at this particular McDonalds had a barred fenced around it...quite prisonesque...a good place for a 4 year old.

Anyways, things got carried away. I'm not completely sure how, but my head ended up in between the bars. This would be a good time to tell you that I have large ears.

Not me (poor baby), but you get the picture. Anyways, my head got stuck. Not like, "Hey, stick some butter on his head, we'll slide him out". No. More like "Hey! FUCK! Call the fucking fire department, this child is stuck."

I like math...lets do some.

Not the best equation, but you get the picture. In order to avoid all the screaming and lawsuits, I'll skip to the end. McDonalds employees had to actually do work and call 911. head (ears) was (were) stuck SO bad, that the mother fucking fire department had to come and CUT THE BARS in order to get my head out.

New question...ever been traumatized?

Happened to me.

- Dr. Jones

Tuesday, July 20, 2010


I've just figured out that I have absolutely no idea how to iron. Honestly, I thought it was just heating up something and running it across fabric. That is what it entails right? Ya know, I once told a girl who was complaining about not having a hair straightener that she should just warm up two bricks and run her hair between them. Same idea right? I mean, it seems like it to me. Anyway, I digress, seeing as I'm running out of clothing for my job i figured I would iron the clothing that I've left wrinkled for the past two weeks. So, in my ever macho mindset, I grabbed the iron and immediately began running the metal up and down my clothing. So what was the effect? Well, I now have flat, wrinkled clothing; and I'm utterly baffled. I think I spent twenty minutes heating up my clothing for no reason. Congratulation, hot triangular piece of metal: you've beaten me tonight.

- Desmond

Monday, July 19, 2010

Is This Real?

Apparently Kim Kardashian went to the beach...sometime. And damn. That ass seriously has to be photoshopped, right? I'm surprised the photographer caught the orbit.

The hilarious What Would Tyler Durden Do has the original story and photos: LINK!


Wednesday, July 14, 2010

Adventures In The Mange

Dear mangy cat (letter #2):

Cat, we've been warring for the past two months and, though I've written about your exploits previously, it seems you've given me more room to write. In our last adventure you proved how overwhelmingly dumb you are and, though I fucking hate you, I rescued you from a locked basement. Today you proved just how fucking idiotic you actually are.
After a long work day I came home and sat down to mindlessly wander the internet for a few hours and unwind. Let me set the scene: Where I'm staying right now, there are couches in the shape of an "L". In the middles of these couches is a chest. This chest has a large drawer for shit in the center of it but I've only ever seen it open once...until today. Today I found the drawer gaping wide open as I sat down, so naturally I slammed it shut, sat down, and became useless for a little bit.
Useless, that is, until I felt the chest begin to shake and rattle. I figured maybe my legs were tired and were twitching so I ignored it and continued to read up on Lindsay Lohan..or something. Then it happened again. So, I touched my legs, thinking I was dieing, and became scared when I had no symptoms of death. That is, until I heard a pathetic MREEEOOOOOEEOEOWEWOWOWO :(:(:(:( accompany all the shaking from the chest. I realized quickly that somehow this fucking dumbass feline had put itself inside of this drawer. So, I laughed, left my feet on top of the drawer for a second, and then decided to rescue this fucking animal for a second time.
So here comes the reveal: I pull open the drawer and this animal slowly emerges from behind the drawer, gives out another sickly MREEOOOW and bolted away. I haven't seen the animal since then. I fucking hate this cat.

Note: This isn't the cat, but it might as well be.


Sunday, July 11, 2010

You've Forced My Hand

This is it. This has gone too far. Mustaches. Mustaches, you've forced my hand; I don't like you. Not many people do like you. No man should have a furry man lip. Admittedly, I haven't shaved for a while and I've got a 'stache right now, but he's joined by his partner in crime THE BEARD. Thus, I don't look like a totally idiotic fucking stuck up prick who has nothing better to do than comb muffin crumbs out of his inevitably crumb prone mustache. Seriously. I feel like I've been plagued by mustachemen lately. My first run in came while browsing the aisles of the shitty American Apparel, where I was attempting to differentiate between what was for men and women. This ventured was thwarted simply as all their clothes apparently are made for baboons. Luckily I found a placard that would send me in the direction of men's clothes..until I looked at it and saw THIS:

NO. Nooooooooo. No!!! Kill it. Kill it now, and kill it dead. When i saw this abomination staring back at me all glinty eyed and wanting I left. Immediately. You need to do the same if this situation occurs. My second mustache mishap furthered this awful situation when I logged onto the news to simply see what was happening around our beautiful nation and planet and THIS was staring back at me!
IT COVERS HIS ENTIRE MOUTHAL REGION. One can barely call this a mustache. It's like a facial Great Wall of China. And all it's keeping out are any ladies that might talk to him.
to add a third degree of wicked, the problem gets worse. A while ago I saw a man with a handlebar mustache. It very much resembled this:
And when I say "very much so resembled", I mean it was basically this fucking 'stache. So, I inquired to the man about the creature which graced his lips and to my query he skillfully replied: "You too could grow one of these with some time and effort" and then he stroked the 'stache blissfully. I wish I could make that up but it's true. That moment I saw death; and it was a hairy mustache.


Wednesday, June 30, 2010

Babies vs Sun

 Your baby is going to drown, ma'am.
This morning I was sitting in traffic and I realized that something kind of annoys me. I began to realize this the other day exiting the supermarket but only today did this hateful thought come to a head. So, anyway, I saw this lady the other day leaving the supermarket with a stroller. The moment the stroller hit the sunlight the lady flipped out and ran to the front of it where she began pulling, struggling, I mean with all of her might, panicking to get the sunshade on the stroller over her baby; as if 35 seconds in the sun would have cooked her little potato. This began phase one of my "hating babies when they're outside" rant. Now don't get me wrong, I hate babies constantly, but let's get to phase #2 of this. This morning, sitting in traffic, I see a typical commuter car, ya know, boring, 4 door, blah color, and it had a sunshade stretched across the entire back window, a !!BABY ON BOARD!! sticker, and a sunshade on each window for the back seats. Are you transporting a fucking vampire child? I understand Twilight: Eclipse came out last night but C'MON PARENTS. Let's look at the facts here: 1) Your baby has a natural defense against sunlight: skin. 2) tan is sexy. 3) Don't you want a sexy baby? Talk about early grand children. When I saw this lady flipping shit trying to cover her baby at the supermarket I also witnessed her husband just kind of standing next to her with a "Who fucking cares" look on his face. And I think that's how it should be; your baby will be fine. Shit, my parents put me in an audition for Armageddon when I was a baby, which was sunny as shit, and I'm just peachy. Ok that's a lie, I wasn't a baby in 1998, but if I was, I'd have been on fucking sexy tan ass baby.


Monday, June 28, 2010

Miley Cyrus...yup, I said it

I'll get straight to the point. Miley Cyrus is 17. 17 is almost 18. And yes, I think it's time. I'm beginning the Miley Cyrus Countdown! 147 days until America's newest pop-superstar gone actress gone crazy (Brittany Spears?) is 18 and off on her own. I don't know how exactly that's going to go, but if she's already doing slutty things like these two videos, who knows what's going to happen once she's allowed to do that without being bitched at.

Here's something that I've recently deduced; Miley Cyrus=Hannah Montana (her Disney show character). Now, let's do a little switching around...stick with me.

((Miley Cyrus) - Cyrus) + Montana = Miley Montana
Do the same sort of math for the other name;

((Hannah Montana) - Montana) + Cyrus = Hannah Cyrus

Honestly, that was completely useless and annoying, but you see what I was getting at. Hannah Cyrus is a typical, unoriginal highschool girl's name. Miley Montana, however, is a low-class stripper's name. What I'm trying to say is that Miley Cyrus has 4 different alter egos! American popstar, Miley Cyrus; Disney role model, Hannah Montana; Unoriginal girl, Hannah Cyrus; and finally, wild stripper, Miley Montana. Take a wild guess as which one comes out once we hit that 18 mark.

Honestly, due to my short attention span, it's highly doubtful that I will ever bring up the countdown again. However, archive this post until a year or two after this little teenie bopper turns 18 and see how correct I was.

-Dr. Jones

Saturday, June 26, 2010


Dear really mangy cat that lives here,

Hello to the cat I have dubbed "Mange Cat". I know you're old as fuck and probably knew King Tut. I know you don't like me. I know you've considering cutting me open at least four times. And I know you almost died tonight. How do I know this? Because you were locked in a fucking basement for an entire day. What did you do when I came to save you out of your self preservative hibernation state? You got angry and ran away. I just saved your fucking life, mange cat! Sure, I could have chuckled heartily, even chortled, at the fact that you, my closest enemy sans NINA, had been locked underground for the foreseeable future, but my nice human demeanor caused me to save you. I guess that's why I'm a human and you a fucking cat. Fuck you, mange cat.


Thursday, June 17, 2010

It's Petpeeve Time Again

Here's two things that really bake my onion. I don't know if that's a saying or not but they fucking piss me off is what I'm getting at. No need for namby pamby word fodder here I'm going to get right to it.
Let's set a scenario: I'm anywhere, ANYFUCKINGWHERE, and its quiet. So, I decide to break the silence and play some music from my phone or computer when susie-mcfucking-sings-a-lot decides that's her favorite song ever, regardless of if she's ever heard it before, and starts harmonizing and humming along. HHMM hhmm HHMMM YEAH YEAH OOHH LA! Listen, Susie, I put this band on to hear them; not your fucking squawk box that you've so graciously honed while driving your Honda civic from stoplight to stoplight. And in the off chance that Susie can actually sing, one has to be subjected to her fluttering her voice like some first rate, teenage performing arts center opera act. Don't sing along to my fucking songs, Susie!

Second: So today I go into a restaurant and behind the counter the employees are speaking another language - no problem - until one of my "going to lunch buddies" decides she could converse just perfectly with them too. So she just jumps into their conversation HOLA!? COMO ESTAS PORQUE PERO Y TU? BIEN!!!!?!
See the problem I have with this is it is implicitly impossible to simply converse at random with someone in another language from a girl-to-guy (or vice versa) stand point. It's just idiotic public flirting that I can't understand and I don't like this. So this display of flirting devolves into choppy sentences and eye winking. If you're going to fucking flirt don't do it over my sandwich that you're creating. So everyone leaves, the guys staring, and girls a twitter about their interethnic flirting. Fuck you all, make my sandwich.

Monday, June 14, 2010

Nina Love

Dear Nina Love,
Fuck you.
I've never met you, and I hope I never do
When you cut me off in traffic without once using your hands on the steering wheel it was a feat
Meeting you was very far from a treat
I don't give a fuck about your big gestured exclamations
Fuck rhyming. Don't you ever get in my lane again, you bitch. 
Had you only noticed my over zealous taunting and middle fingering
I hope a hand grenade roles under your car.

Saturday, June 12, 2010

If you know me, you know that I have a completely irrational (fake) hatred of the British and more so of the Canadians. This soccer game that is currently happening is the perfect fodder for other people like myself to come together and hate the British. I don't care who wins or loses this game (because I know we'll win), but it's making some great talk. So, I didn't write this article - but I wish I did..It's pretty much verbatim how I would have written a "How to Hate England" guide. So, from I give you the guide on "How to Hate England":


Friday, June 11, 2010

So I have a very good friend living in Britain right now, and he loves the idea of being British and Britain as a whole; so I enjoy patronizing him constantly about it. I'm never super serious about it, and neither is he, so it usually becomes some funny FaceBook posts that our friends end up giggling about. Well today one of his British hooligan "friends" decided it was time to pay America back for winning that Revolution a while ago. Here's how to actual conversation happened:

My Friend (We'll call him Dennis): Tomorrow's World Cup predictions: Mexico and South Africa is going to be a tight one, but I'm pulling for the hosts. Uruguay to shock France.

Random Dude #1:  I'll say the same.

Desmond: Oh and America over England, you FUCK.

Desmond: And by over, I mean dangling our huge sized American ballsack in their prissy little tea gobbling mouths.

Angry British Guy #1: Hey Dennis. I didn't know you kept company with brain dead, no nothing, uneducated fools. Unfortunately he is the role model for why Americans are so hated around the world. Plenty to say about subjects he knows nothing about, He needs to stick to sucking dick and dribbling cum from his huge big mouth.

[ouch dude, hitting home with those British slams. So I politely replied:]

Desmond: Firstly, sucking dick and dribbling cum are American past times, don't you EVER question our way of life! We're a PROTEIN RICH COUNTRY, MOTHER FUCKER. Sadly, I've never heard of education and have no idea how to be literate; man, you've pegged all Americans there. Also, you're completely right about me knowing nothing about your 'subjects'. I didn't even know soccer was a game until 2 hours ago. I still don't even understand what fUtBoL is. Some kind of fake fairy game, right? Anyway, I hope you have a wundaful Briish day acroos da pund and smile when 'Merica wins the little ball in net session.
(oh and by the way, that last sentence I was typing with your accent. Because you guys have a hilarious accent. I'm seriously jealous, girls love it).

/and end quotation.

Making fun of the British is a daily adventure of mine. It's seriously a lot of fun, try it sometime - you'll feel unrightfully American, and that's a feeling we all can use. And just to bolster said feeling, take a look at this new Dodge commercial and sit back, crack a beer, and blow something up:

But let me be serious for a sec, I barely follow soccer, I think it's a great sport, I just never know when to watch it, but I'll always back our team and I really hope they win. We play Britain first tomorrow which is not going to be a simple game. Let's hope for the best, I'm confident we'll do well: Go 'Murica!

Wednesday, June 9, 2010

Crude Humor

First off, that title made me laugh my ass off. In light of the environmental disaster that has taken over the Gulf of Mexico in the past month, I've decided that the best way to make it through this tough time (besides actually plugging the well; that's obviously beyond our intelligence) is by laughing about it. BP has gotten a ton of shit about the spill, some of which has actually turned out to be pretty humorous. I've taken the liberty of finding some of the best satirical, comedic and parody pictures on this vast stretch of tubes we call the internet...the one thing the oil can't destroy.

What do people hate? If you said "Being attacked by killer bees while picnicking in the woods", you were correct. If you said "Oil leaking endlessly into our oceans", you are also correct, and more on topic. Well done. What do people love? Tetris and comic strips are the two correct answers here.

Sticking with the old-school video games, some brilliant mind decided to change up the water level from Super Mario Bros. for a modern day world. I bet that little gold box would jam up that pipe quite nicely. BP is saving that idea for next.

This one is fairly clever, although a bit childish. Pretty self-explanatory.

For those of you that don't know much about it, there is actually a satirical Twitter account that was formed shortly after the spill that was impersonating BP. This last picture cracked me up. I HATE Twitter, and will probably never have an account, but this was kind of a "Fuck You" to BP.
The Twitter account can be found here: It's actually funny as hell.

This one is actually just clever as hell. I found a lot of political cartoons about the situation, most of which kinda sucked and lacked humor all-together. This one made me smile a little bit though.

Obviously, comedians around the globe now have material to last them for a good while. Many of the jokes that have been tossed around are actually even worth repeating.

"Scientists say they have developed a car that can run on water. The only catch is, the water has to come from the Gulf of Mexico." -Jay Leno

"The BP president said yesterday that the company would survive. That's like someone running over your dog and saying, 'Don't worry, my car is fine.'" —Jimmy Fallon

In all seriousness, hopefully we will soon be able to find a definitive solution to this situation and begin to take on the massive job of clean-up. This is not something that is going to go away anytime soon. It will take continuous work over the next few weeks, months, and even years in order to get the Gulf and all of it's animal inhabitants back to a stable living environment.

On a happier note, this is why you don't play video games with your girlfriend. I'm just glad she didn't see the steak knife on the table!
-Dr. Jones

There's Only So Much I Can Take


I don't mean what the fuck is this guy, I understand he has issues, I mean what the fuck is this blowout hair. Seriously!? I only had to google the word "blowout" alone to find this shit. Now, I'm an avid user of hair product. I put some paste in now and then and like to have a little purposeful bedhead so I don't look like some boring cubicle worker, but WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?!
See, here's why I'm perplexed today. Strolling through my local convenience store today looking for some new hair stuff (due to the fact that after 5ish months of use I finally ran out), I get stuck behind a guy that seriously had the atrocity above sculpted into his scalp. Seriously? I quickly realized I was in a bad place when I noticed that probably 34.8% of the people around me had the same hair "style". Now, 34.8% may seem like a trivial number; but it was scary as FUCK. So, I'm searching for some hair shit when I realize that there's nothing. NOTHING. It's all been bought, or just doesn't exist. Maybe they were trying to dissuade this kind of customer..I don't know, but I finally found something that worked and promptly left the place before someone decided to grind upon my celestial body.
So on my pissed off ride home I got to thinking. Guidos; this is not the first time we've blogged about you, and with the Jersey Shore tryouts in Florida happening this week neither has America.
But I think it may be a good thing to have these creatures go to the tip of America. See here's my theory.
Unless you've been counting on a nuclear war and living within a bomb shelter for the past seven weeks you will be well aware there is a massive oil leak within the Gulf of Mexico spewing McBillions of gallons of oil into the ocean. It sucks. And they're beginning to predict that there's a distinct possibility that the oil could enter some tidal stream and end up on the east coast like this:
Fuck that shit, dawg.
Now, you see, it's my theory that if we drop of The Situation and basically all those American Heroes from Jersey Shore into the tip of Florida they will be 98% likely to use the oil in the gulf for their hair needs. See, the typical American Guido needs a metric shitton of oil as shown by my methodically researched graph here:
So it just makes sense to send these already iconic human beings to go and save our beautiful country from the thing they love most: ridiculous amounts of oil.
Now, through a rigorous process of testing and algorithms I've determined that the before and after data of the Jersey Shore team's effect upon the Gulf oil spill would look exactly, EXACTLY, like this:
So I think it's a good thing the Guidos have moved south. We'll see improvement shortly, I believe.

Fuck, what am I saying, these blownout motherfuckers are annoying. Go stick your head in the Gulf and see what happens. Ugh. The only thing that can cheer me up right now is this video. I don't even remotely understand it but it brings so much joy:

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

Becoming Reliant

We as a people are becoming way too reliant on technology in order to complete normal, everyday tasks. This has become so clear to me as of late, because my medieval, dinosaur of a laptop has finally kicked the proverbial microchip bucket and gone to meet it's maker (Bill Gates?). Luckily, like BP has graciously shown us repeatedly in the past few weeks, there is a back-up plan for everything. This is all being written from my nifty little Blackberry, currently my only source of contact with the electronic outside world. In fact, I just took a pause from writing this to reply to an email I received.

This whole situation got me thinking; what is the actual scenario that would arise if technology were to suddenly die on us? I'm pretty sure there are a couple different ways this could happen, allow me to enlighten you.
In order of least-most probable in my mind:

1) Technology becomes so advanced that it creates a functional mind of its own and we are unable to control it. Nanobots are going to be a main contributor to this situation.

2) Some country in the impending WWIII will create a weapon (some sort of massive EMP) that will be able to wipe out an entire nation's electronic capabilities, therefore, essentially all of it's technology. I'm sure however, that something will go wrong, creating a huge chain reaction that will end up wiping out the entire worlds technology. That is why WWIII will be won by the country with the most rocks.

3) Another Y2K...but not Y2K. This situation is actually factual, and is going to end up happening in the year 2038...hence the name "Unix 2038". This is essentially the same scenario as Y2K; clocks rolling over incorrectly and all that jazz. This is supposed to take place on January 19th, 2038, for all Unix based systems. The problem lies in the fact that all these system's clocks and timers have been run in binary since 1970. At 3:14 (am?) on this date, the binary will have completed it's cycle and start totally 1970.
This can be fixed fairly easily, but I'm sure it's going to cause a huge scare, just like Y2K.

4) This one is also very real. It doesn't have too much to do with technology as a whole, but with the global internet. IP addresses, those little fingerprints for your desktop, laptop, iPhone, Blackberry, Furby, Tamagotchi and whatever else connects you to the interwebz (obviously the last 2 were jokes) are individual codes, unique to each device. The scary part is...we're running out of them! It is estimated that by September of 2011, we will run out of available IP addresses, and no new devices will be able to connect to the internet.

So now you know my fears. This means that you should probably stock up on anything with an IP address, so that the slackers that know nothing about it will be left with nothing. If they didn't know about it ahead of time, they obviously didn't use their interwebz correctly anyways.
-Dr. Jones

Friday, June 4, 2010

Make Sure Your Pets Are Safe

What would you do in a disaster? You'd run for fucking safety is what. What would your pets do? They'd quiver in the cage that you forgot to unlock as you selfishly ran to save your human life in the immediate crisis. I say this because it seems like no one cares about their pets. Do you know why I know this? Because today I saw an entire pamphlet on what to do with your pet in case an emergency evacuation happened.
Wait, what?
No, yes, you read that correctly, an entire piece of literature devoted to informing one on how to save their animal in a crisis. WHY IS THERE A PAMPHLET FOR THIS?! Earthquake? Grab your fucking dog under your arm and get under a table. Flood? Grab your fucking dog and climb a hill. Tornado? Grab Dorthy and your fucking dog and hide in a shelter. Missile barrage? Grab your fucking dog and use it's laser eyes to shoot down that fucking airborne threat. Julia Roberts? Grab your fucking dog and startle her. Firestorm? Grab your fucking dog and Lassie your way through that shit 'til you're safe. Matrix? Grab your fucking dog, take the blue pill, dissolve the red pill into your dog's water, and trip out.
What I'm trying to say here is this: Yes it's a great idea to inform people on the proper etiquette of rescuing your pet in an evacuation, but if you can't muster the brain capacity to put your tiny dog into a little carrier and safe it from rising waters, or to get your big dog to go somewhere with you, you shouldn't be owning pets.

Tuesday, June 1, 2010

I know Dr. Jones just posted a bunch of his anti pet peeves but here'
s one real pet peeve of mine: people substituting curse words with
nonsense words.
Example: "Oh shittake! I missed our turn."
Come on now, if your going to waste an entire syllable to go out of
your way and attempt not to curse then just don't open your fucking
What I want to hear: "Shit! I just missed our fucking turn! Shitfuck!"
Now, this isn't to say I enjoy hearing people use profanity, but I get
irrational rage when people substitute.

Desmond: They're thinking about nuking the oil spill pipe
Dr. Jones: Would there be any negative effects? It would probably kill a
lot of animals.
Desmond: Oh def. There's a big I think beluga whale and some huge
eating fish breeding ground near south of there. It'd prob kill them
Dr. Jones: Fine. I hate belugas.
Desmond: They're a national treasure
Dr. Jones: Bullshit. They are not a movie starring nicholas cage. They're
a whale that can turn their necks. Whales can't turn their necks.
What are they then? They're demons.

Sunday, May 30, 2010

Anti-Pet Peeves

Everyone has at least some sort of pet peeve…something that totally
infuriates them, often for no logical reason. I have recently made a
list however, of my top “Anti-pet peeves”. These are things that
happen on occasion that make me feel like unicorns exist and North
Korea isn’t going to destroy the world.

1) Changing lanes without hitting a reflector
This has been a favorite of mine since before I was even able to
drive. When you think about it, it’s totally nonsensical, but I love it.
(After actually looking recently, I realized that it’s actually not too
difficult to miss a 2 by 3 inch rectangle, spaced out at least 2 car
lengths, with 6 inch tires.)

2) Sunny rain
Rain comes from clouds. Clouds block out the sun. How the FUCK can
it be raining so hard, and still be completely sunny?!?!!? Simple

3) When rappers completely change the phonics of the English
language in order to rhyme 2 words that aren’t even close
Jay-Z has his masters degree in this art. I’ve never understood how
somebody can rhyme the words “Car” and “Tomorrow”. He makes it
work. Another recent example that I heard is (Vince)”Carter” and “

4) When I go out to get food and the person that serves me/hands
me my food is of the same ethnicity as the food I’m about to inhale
It’s like the mascot for the restaurant is there! For example, a
hispanic woman serving me food at Taco Bell, or a black guy giving
me food at KFC. Or, a redneck woman taking my order at Cracker
Barrel. Can’t beat it.

5) When I see two semis close to each other that are carrying
rivaling products
For example, a Publix truck and a Winn Dixie truck next to each
other on the interstate. Or a Bud Light and Coors truck. It may just
be my simple mind, but I always expect them to suddenly switch in
to Transformer Mode and start a bad-ass robot brawl in the middle of
the highway.

There you have it…things that make my day better. I’m pretty
simple to please.
-Dr. Jones

A Quick Exchange

So in talking with my brother just now, via the interwebs because I’
m thousands of miles away, we got to talking about Megan Fox not
being in the next Transformers (3). Well, mindlessly surfing the web
I came across this little gem:

Turns out Heidi Montag is trying to get Michael Bay to cast her in
the next movie. I told my brother this and got possibly the best
reply ever:

“right off the bat you know she’d be good because the amount of
plastic surgery she has had done could create the plot twist that she
is actually a transformer herself”

But seriously, who knows what’s under all that bodywork.


Have you ever heard someone say ‘man, these walls are thick. You
could have sex with a rhino and no one would ever know. That’s
how thick these walls are’? No, you haven’t. But I’m sure you have
heard someone complain about how thin a wall is as they stealthly
listen to the forplay happening next door. Think about it - that’s all
I’m saying, think about it.


Ok I’m currently somewhere over South Carolina and I’ve realized
how great it is to have good headphones. A while ago I went on a
search for a good pair and everyone told me to buy this brand
Earcandy. Now with the brand’s hip grafitti packaging and lingo, I
was hesitant to buy them but man I’m happy i did and this leads me
to now. I love flying but something always worries me: babies. I’m
not a fan of babies, not whatsoever. Currently one of these
creatures is sitting to my right attempting to scale the great
mountain that is the seat In front of it (no idea the gender of this
monster). So what is I assume the mother allows this kid to climb
and then throws a blanket on him. Come on lady!! You’re going to
make that baby explode! But you know what, with little speakers in
my ear canals I can’t hear a sound. I’m merely an observer of this
ongoing struggle beside me. Man, babies.

Some of my Thoughts

So while putting up the Christmas tree ornaments today I was
wondering about something. Ornaments. Do you think that while
people manufacture Christmas ornaments they take into account the
weight load upon the Christmas tree branch? Think they wonder
how much bend their ornament will put upon that branch? Think
there’s an entire division of “Christmas tree stress testers” working
on this? Also, ever seen a Christmas tree catch fire? They blow up.
Not literally, but they go up in like five seconds. Who ever decided
to put little hot lights on our indoor explosion trees? Ya gotta
wonder these things.

Only Scholars in this Town

So a testament to the overwhelming intelligence of citizens in my
fine town, I just listened to a man yell at his baby who was running
away from him. The baby’s name; Namibia. Like the country. I’d run
away from you too if you named me that.


So while washing my car today I realized the foamy soap at the car wash was pink and smelled like bubblegum. What’s the reasoning here? Why should the exterior of my car smell of delicious gum? Whatever the reasoning, I’m pretty worried to drive by the multiple elementary schools in town for fear of some Dawn of the Dead bubblegum chase scene in which I’m forced to take action. That totally defeats the purpose of cleaning my car if I have to mow down little kids to get away because of the delicious smell.

Also, while continuing to clean the car in my driveway (in which i parked..get it?) This song came on overly loud through the speakers:
It’s Christmas Eve and I’ve only wrapped two fuckin’ presents
It’s Christmas Eve and I’ve only wrapped two fuckin’ presents
And I hate, hate, hate your guts,
I hate, hate, hate your guts,
And I’ll never talk to you again,
unless your dad will suck me off
I’ll never talk to you again
unless your mom will touch my cock
I’ll never talk to you again
ejaculate into a sock
I’ll never talk to you again,
I’ll never talk to you again

It’s Labor day and my grandpa just ate seven fuckin’ hotdogs
It’s Labor day and my grandpa just ate seven fuckin’ hotdogs
and he shit shit shits his pants.
He’s always fuckin’ shittin’ his pants
And I’ll never talk to you again
unless your dad will suck me off
I’ll never talk to you again
unless your mom will touch my cock
I’ll never talk to you again
ejaculate into a sock
I’ll never talk to you again,
I’ll never talk to you again

Nice. Thank you Blink 182 for that gem.

Guidos and Guidettes

These people have to be actors. That’s what I’m telling myself so
that I can swallow this show Jersey Shores . So this is The Real World
with a more narrow focus. I legitimately think I lost some braincells
while watching. Though, I’m pretty sure the American dream can
easily be rounded down to living in a big, free, house while working
in a t-shirt joint that clothes you in shirts a size too small. Pretty
down with that dream. Oh no, apparently they’re ‘letting loose’, it
looks like an exorcism. I need to go some shots to get through this.

I’m sure I’m losing man-points for this…

So, on an hour and a half drive through a bear (and no doubt, zombie)-infested forest, my magical shuffling music box decided to play
Mmmbop by Hanson (don’t even bother asking why that’s on there, I
have no excuse for my actions, all I can do is beg for forgiveness).
Anyways, I decided to listen to the whole song (I know, mistake
number 2), and I came to realize that NOT ONE word in that song is
intelligible! How was that song so popular?!??!? They sound AND look
like girls, and their lyrics resemble to random babbling of an infant!
Yet for some reason, I still have yet to remove it from my library…
-Dr. Jones

Death in a bottle

Never EVER drink a diet coke that’s 6 months expired…
-Dr. Jones


We have started a blog. For some reason we laugh a lot, please laugh with us; not at us, we’re fragile.

Here we go.