tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-90949508745441252202024-02-06T22:34:50.153-08:00ShenanignationJack Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05728531921191476154noreply@blogger.comBlogger37125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9094950874544125220.post-76102122121284297532010-09-20T21:47:00.000-07:002010-09-26T19:42:45.719-07:00The Event<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.collider.com/wp-content/uploads/the_event_nbc_tv_show_logo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="179" src="http://www.collider.com/wp-content/uploads/the_event_nbc_tv_show_logo.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
So if you live under a rock, as apparently I do, NBC's new flagship show <i>The Event</i> 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-<i>Lost</i>-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:<br />
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.<br />
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.<br />
<br />
<b><i> </i></b><u><b><i>WHAT THE FUCK</i></b></u>. I bet you the plane disappeared into <i>Lost</i> 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 <i>tracks</i>. 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.<br />
Fuck, bring back summer TV.Jack Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05728531921191476154noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9094950874544125220.post-74224386735970622272010-08-30T17:06:00.000-07:002010-08-30T17:06:20.711-07:00Listen 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.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1qEXB-cGZbQOyjM2uOMK997RJ1Puc9_l-cz2NQlidztu2VtJW5kbp4i3PbZKYHrFRI4V9rF3hwtddI46WY6s4yZPEJxb_DPn9TVfcMSm2q0_NGwfazxb8fGTEd56teqAWY0RAbSBF24A/s1600/Untitled.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1qEXB-cGZbQOyjM2uOMK997RJ1Puc9_l-cz2NQlidztu2VtJW5kbp4i3PbZKYHrFRI4V9rF3hwtddI46WY6s4yZPEJxb_DPn9TVfcMSm2q0_NGwfazxb8fGTEd56teqAWY0RAbSBF24A/s320/Untitled.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A still from some fucking show called "Lie To Me" from an episode title named "Honey" (no joke) See how pissed that guy is?</td></tr>
</tbody></table> 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.<br />
-Desmond.Jack Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05728531921191476154noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9094950874544125220.post-31948524426491126882010-08-30T10:50:00.000-07:002010-08-30T11:18:17.609-07:00Missed ConnectionsI 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!"<div><br /></div><div>(Exact artist's rendering)</div><div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9dvFL0QiXlhFBe1kUClcVUJ3DP3XXzK4fLROnyqhWiOwif9dUsxMZnOONjM0M-g-mhjuftmo7HrTterSjWRqR1LXWdCPOQ-oFUZ6MuDm5j7sEutwNxcBvIDHWiDsk_5I8GQT2bidp8BM/s400/douchebag.bmp" /></div></div><div><br /></div><div>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". </div><div><br /></div><div>Really hoping to see you again!</div><div>Dr. Jones</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9094950874544125220.post-91789865118868485622010-08-24T20:27:00.000-07:002010-08-24T20:27:06.913-07:00Rex 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 <i>lot</i> of hacky sack, sat in the rain, danced in the rain, probably <i>loved in the rain</i> 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.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCulu89rIdeljhl2RFYyLLRoqzNblJRl9niIPpERxCcRbsE7mUoZZ2KLl1BXhYvsVPImghuD4JaMiH2it1i03vnh35_x-QjP54Ggdy2MAGwSxPrS96abQShBKIm2pmYtLSkvl91Oia-Cs/s1600/Untitled.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCulu89rIdeljhl2RFYyLLRoqzNblJRl9niIPpERxCcRbsE7mUoZZ2KLl1BXhYvsVPImghuD4JaMiH2it1i03vnh35_x-QjP54Ggdy2MAGwSxPrS96abQShBKIm2pmYtLSkvl91Oia-Cs/s320/Untitled.jpg" /></a></div> 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.<br />
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? <br />
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..<br />
Nice kid, that guy.<br />
<br />
-DesmondJack Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05728531921191476154noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9094950874544125220.post-82558664502050782442010-08-13T13:16:00.000-07:002010-08-13T14:01:53.599-07:00RoostersThis blog seems like it's becoming a letter forum<br />for things that Dr. Jones and I dislike. Well, in keeping<br />with that, I'd like to write something to my new next<br />door neighbor. <br /> Now, I'm out of state now and again, and out of<br />town pretty often, so when I came home one<br />weekend to find that new neighbors had moved in,<br />well, it seemed like the normal turn around for this<br />house (seriously, new people move in like every 3<br />months). So, I'll set the scene: this backyard has an<br />old 1930s car frame, a huge, I believe unusable boat,<br />a half-pipe, and a bunch of cages. And a dog. So after<br />skeptically scanning this new neighbor's possessions<br />I walked back in my house and forgot about them.<br /><br /><br /> That brings us to right about 2am when I'm startled<br />awake by the sound of COCKAFUCKINGDOODLEDO,<br />MOTHERFUCKER. A fucking rooster. Who the FUCK<br />owns a rooster in veritable suburbia!? These people<br />do. Remember when you were a kid and you had that<br />little spinner toy that as you spun it it made different<br />animal sounds? Remember the rooster? It wasn't that<br />obnoxious, was it? Remember eating Kellogg's corn<br />flakes and learning that rooster wakes everyone up<br />all jovially on the farm at the crack of dawn so that<br />little Billy can go milk the cows, or trim the corn or<br />some shit? It's all lies. All fucking lies. This rooster<br />sounds like it's one day away from dying and it's<br />cockadoodles are more like an asthmatic attempt at<br />imitating a farm animal.<br /> Oh, and that crack of dawn shit? Yeah, that's a total<br />fucking lie too. This abomination screams murder at<br />2am, 5am, 9am, etc. One could guess this is probably<br />due to the fact that this animal is kept in a cage. In<br />the middle of a yard. Where our local raccoons and<br />foxes more than likely come to the edge salivating<br />for some food. I'd freak-the-fuck out too, but that<br />doesn't excuse this.<br /> I'm generally a pretty crafty guy when it comes to<br />telling people I'm pissed off but I've been trying and<br />trying to figure out a way to let this neighbor know<br />that this bird is one step away from being my next<br />dinner. I think I may leave them a note tonight - I'll<br />let ya know if I do.<br />-Desmond.Jack Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05728531921191476154noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9094950874544125220.post-52918329308070165822010-08-12T09:48:00.000-07:002010-08-12T10:06:11.864-07:00Another LetterDear trash man,<div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>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?!!). </div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>Providing you with a job since 1989,</div><div>Dr. Jones</div><div><img src="http://t0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcS4BsqVzrQmiw58lN_8rBoS7mOUMSUYVrkBJkkPw0LRcHILoTc&t=1&usg=__yYPeJBp5JARQbjrGIf9B7vT8LQk=" /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>(By the way, this is a sugar plum...I think)</div><div><img src="http://t0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSolsrsg8TodQ4U8YOJfM-WIklmmbeWwTjcnDY3R-y6zNxEaxQ&t=1&usg=__A1h18MrTowy8APCliJd-rtfIP4M=" /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9094950874544125220.post-31607758118349622492010-07-28T19:31:00.000-07:002010-08-10T14:26:03.298-07:00Juicy AssesExcited 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. <div><img src="http://media.peopleofwalmart.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/07/1647.jpg" alt="1647" /></div><div>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. <div><br /></div><div>Obama, get on it.</div><div><br /></div><div>- Dr. Jones</div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9094950874544125220.post-91036631260674331232010-07-26T16:11:00.000-07:002010-07-26T19:12:38.873-07:00An Open Letter to EminemThis is an open letter to one of the most annoying human beings on the face of planet earth: Eminem.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Eminem inexplicably lighting dynamite.</td></tr>
</tbody></table> 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? <br />
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.<br />
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!"<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkQzSgHkmbL5rVhxSox75HlrUVSuIL5sgTwimdFv2Y-X6zNJrCWrZbc-z-6oMnfAexllUdbAqKdCl5paFlSeOtyhgh3Dn_ukbhY5z13X6icurGoExN7jDA9bOvjtt43A8MhEDeC0KDfgk/s1600/Untitled.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkQzSgHkmbL5rVhxSox75HlrUVSuIL5sgTwimdFv2Y-X6zNJrCWrZbc-z-6oMnfAexllUdbAqKdCl5paFlSeOtyhgh3Dn_ukbhY5z13X6icurGoExN7jDA9bOvjtt43A8MhEDeC0KDfgk/s320/Untitled.jpg" /></a></div> 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.<br />
<br />
-Your friend, and certainly not concerned fan, DesmondJack Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05728531921191476154noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9094950874544125220.post-37642329630457675082010-07-24T23:43:00.000-07:002010-07-25T06:30:09.833-07:00StuckEver been stuck? Happened to me. <div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div><img src="http://t2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcS8IMCCOCOaac7FPKYVy8nNTpUpnWbbcjCgQ81_RFllFHVGmu4&t=1&usg=__t8sTc8rvB6QQcfIx6oQL9X5rP90=" /></div><div><br /></div><div>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."<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I like math...lets do some. </div><div><br /></div><div><img src="http://t0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTXHS5F7saQsM9ozp2NqE2JZ4vwz4UyGKiO3D1aQOHNW6N2rH8&t=1&usg=__TxjIRyj2-PewOwIqO3iuu1Cv9lQ=" /> <img src="http://t0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTX3Nze6XCieGdVDFZOoUth_Uyw_UOwdiGh4Hdb5l_ZQU-ZKMA&t=1&usg=__60sSiaD6ZjNOGZrHZtwOiqeUgXI=" /><img src="http://t1.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQofFsmzMyyvxLKRSEKqPuovjRtPA8LVeCF3FRyDasOJB0JteA&t=1&usg=__fclSrYV0Tq5nen9I-Rk_2pDZZ_g=" /><img src="http://t3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQCmOpvkxFZOcWGSEugtmtmImXscxSIjLr2b6rQ3a6svN1EkYc&t=1&usg=__35n6LB34Xhw5E3TZ6SHkRs1XlzE=" /><img src="http://t0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQb0xnorSeVcRVYvhVByeopoCnB5qLy2nsV7CFBFGrqWkzWyJc&t=1&usg=__5x_3mPoy7NV2wlsHZtuq97At028=" /><img src="http://t0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQQzZfap-9da6I4VWRPalTU3SYZfs9r64bWRQUnVFkt10kz_1o&t=1&usg=__p1_ozJUu7WsDBHxpSxmxAIEDc4A=" /><img src="http://t1.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:5bONMq6C9aIyoM:l" /></div><div><br /></div><div>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. Yes....my head (ears) was (were) stuck SO bad, that the mother fucking fire department had to come and <b>CUT THE BARS </b>in order to get my head out. </div><div><br /></div><div>New question...ever been traumatized?</div><div><br /></div><div>Happened to me.</div><div><br /></div><div>- Dr. Jones</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9094950874544125220.post-69403111613057650412010-07-20T19:59:00.000-07:002010-07-24T23:42:52.248-07:00IroningI'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.<div><br /></div><div>- Desmond</div>Jack Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05728531921191476154noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9094950874544125220.post-80256413349372663652010-07-19T15:49:00.000-07:002010-07-24T23:42:21.088-07:00Is 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.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdRZ-KzWDXA8WUNw14NsnJtpIU1o1HZsMHMQANGe8INIjXkSYvQARbjjnMzh5B01b32R4BS2KoBmkVGR0Miqs2-_jTSGAOGWhGU6oVih4atQHzvay91_bnBHecCZqR0IY1knpeFZFTxIw/s1600/kim.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdRZ-KzWDXA8WUNw14NsnJtpIU1o1HZsMHMQANGe8INIjXkSYvQARbjjnMzh5B01b32R4BS2KoBmkVGR0Miqs2-_jTSGAOGWhGU6oVih4atQHzvay91_bnBHecCZqR0IY1knpeFZFTxIw/s400/kim.jpg" width="318" /></a></div>The hilarious <a href="http://www.wwtdd.com/2010/07/its-kim-kardashian-in-a-bikini-as-if-you-couldnt-tell/">What Would Tyler Durden Do</a> has the original story and photos: <a href="http://www.wwtdd.com/2010/07/its-kim-kardashian-in-a-bikini-as-if-you-couldnt-tell/">LINK!</a><div><br /></div><div>-Desmond</div>Jack Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05728531921191476154noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9094950874544125220.post-47262579318153884792010-07-14T20:32:00.000-07:002010-07-15T19:31:36.939-07:00Adventures In The MangeDear mangy cat (letter #2):<br /><br /> Cat, we've been warring for the past two months and, though I've written about your exploits<a href="http://shenanignation.blogspot.com/2010/06/cat.html"> previously</a>, 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.<br /> 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.<br /> 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.<br /> So here comes the reveal: I pull open the drawer and this animal slowly emerges <i>from behind the drawer</i>, gives out another sickly MREEOOOW and bolted away. I haven't seen the animal since then. I fucking hate this cat.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/6/9677758_7c5cf07d89.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/6/9677758_7c5cf07d89.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Note: This isn't the cat, but it might as well be.<div><br /></div><div>-Desmond</div>Jack Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05728531921191476154noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9094950874544125220.post-62484946079842240032010-07-11T17:12:00.000-07:002010-07-15T19:32:18.522-07:00You've Forced My HandThis is it. This has gone too far. Mustaches. Mustaches, you've forced my hand; I don't like you. Not many people <i>do</i> 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:<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4073/4784692360_d877633ae4_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4073/4784692360_d877633ae4_b.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>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 <i>need</i> 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!<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8JSd24seKjysA9K2lcEiGb9FLj06kvarqA6faxDwLl4or6Sc7sSghDwbA59fpmHB-0yWHnJC0FCl0VIJlZsk5xInf6BmPqR6cySDB9-5MDIUw2OLFtPU7nig0BqDhFRXe5Q6c3ATS4E8/s1600/Fullscreen+capture+7112010+63838+PM.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8JSd24seKjysA9K2lcEiGb9FLj06kvarqA6faxDwLl4or6Sc7sSghDwbA59fpmHB-0yWHnJC0FCl0VIJlZsk5xInf6BmPqR6cySDB9-5MDIUw2OLFtPU7nig0BqDhFRXe5Q6c3ATS4E8/s320/Fullscreen+capture+7112010+63838+PM.bmp" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">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.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">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:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://img.dailymail.co.uk/i/pix/2007/10_02/law1110_468x608.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://img.dailymail.co.uk/i/pix/2007/10_02/law1110_468x608.jpg" width="246" /></a></div>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.<div><br /></div><div>-Desmond</div>Jack Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05728531921191476154noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9094950874544125220.post-8391906005940279932010-06-30T13:33:00.000-07:002010-06-30T13:49:54.238-07:00Babies vs Sun<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.aqualeisure.com/site/assets/images/products/sunsmart/3244.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="289" src="http://www.aqualeisure.com/site/assets/images/products/sunsmart/3244.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b> Your baby is going to drown, ma'am.</b></div>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 <i>moment</i> 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 <i>Twilight: Eclipse</i> 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 <i>Armageddon</i> 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.<br />
<br />
-DesmondJack Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05728531921191476154noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9094950874544125220.post-35579288277094517142010-06-28T22:04:00.000-07:002010-06-28T22:23:25.634-07:00Miley Cyrus...yup, I said itI'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 <b>Miley Cyrus Countdown!</b> 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. <div><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/5GcKTyw0sOs&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/5GcKTyw0sOs&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object></div><div><object width="640" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/sjSG6z_13-Q&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/sjSG6z_13-Q&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="640" height="385"></embed></object></div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div><b>((Miley Cyrus) - Cyrus) + Montana = Miley Montana</b></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>D</span>o the same sort of math for the other name;</div><div><br /></div><div><b>((Hannah Montana) - Montana) + Cyrus = Hannah Cyrus</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>-Dr. Jones</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9094950874544125220.post-22739040585392642262010-06-26T21:59:00.000-07:002010-06-28T22:24:15.205-07:00CatDear really mangy cat that lives here,<br /><br />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 <b><i>NINA</i></b>,<b> </b>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.<div><br /></div><div>-Desmond</div>Jack Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05728531921191476154noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9094950874544125220.post-14516941398356114482010-06-17T19:14:00.000-07:002010-06-27T14:54:48.960-07:00It's Petpeeve Time AgainHere'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.<br />
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 <i>them</i>; 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 <i>can</i> 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!<br />
<br />
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!!!!?!<br />
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.<br />
-DesmondJack Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05728531921191476154noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9094950874544125220.post-64691756949010120432010-06-14T19:24:00.000-07:002010-06-14T19:26:06.353-07:00Nina Love<div style="text-align: center;"><i>Dear Nina Love,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Fuck you.<br />
I've never met you, and I hope I never do</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>When you cut me off in traffic without once using your hands on the steering wheel it was a feat</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Meeting you was very far from a treat</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>I don't give a fuck about your big gestured exclamations</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Fuck rhyming. Don't you ever get in my lane again, you bitch. </i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Had you only noticed my over zealous taunting and middle fingering</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>I hope a hand grenade roles under your car.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>xoxo-Desmond</i><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://rlv.zcache.com/i_love_nina_heart_t_shirt_card-p137828896800762780q0yk_400.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://rlv.zcache.com/i_love_nina_heart_t_shirt_card-p137828896800762780q0yk_400.jpg" width="320" /></a></div></div>Jack Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05728531921191476154noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9094950874544125220.post-44904265721332529162010-06-12T12:30:00.000-07:002010-06-12T12:30:06.932-07:00If 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 <a href="http://gawker.com/">Gawker.com</a> I give you the guide on "How to Hate England":<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://cache.gawkerassets.com/assets/images/7/2010/06/340x_englandfan.jpg" width="222" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><b><a href="http://gawker.com/5561875/how-to-hate-england">Gawker's Guide on How to Hate England</a></b></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><b>-Desmond </b></i></div>Jack Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05728531921191476154noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9094950874544125220.post-2275969737902531392010-06-11T18:19:00.000-07:002010-06-11T18:25:07.466-07:00So I have a very good friend living in Britain right now, and he <b><i>loves</i></b> 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: <br />
<br />
<b>My Friend (We'll call him Dennis):</b> 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.<br />
<br />
<b>Random Dude #1: </b>I'll say the same.<br />
<br />
<b>Desmond: </b>Oh and America over England, you FUCK.<br />
<br />
<b>Desmond: </b>And by over, I mean dangling our huge sized American ballsack in their prissy little tea gobbling mouths.<br />
<br />
<b>Angry British Guy #1:</b> 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.<br />
<br />
[<span style="color: orange;">ouch dude, hitting home with those British slams. So I politely replied:<span style="color: black;">]</span></span><br />
<br />
<b>Desmond: </b>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.<br />
(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). <br />
<br />
/and end quotation.<br />
<br />
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:<br />
<object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/St2FCxtlV7w&hl=en_US&fs=1&color1=0xe1600f&color2=0xfebd01"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/St2FCxtlV7w&hl=en_US&fs=1&color1=0xe1600f&color2=0xfebd01" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br />
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!Jack Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05728531921191476154noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9094950874544125220.post-69555880676374038142010-06-09T20:08:00.001-07:002010-06-09T21:19:18.409-07:00Crude HumorFirst 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.<div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2fB9WXmxQ4p0s3NPXLviZQeYInSPh1htE9kyyJLYoYKpIYzyoj2IMqmZM8-4kfVT4dFFxzwEpE21YxQOppO34ezEUViqg_7mb_41akgBrMWtrfuVMIVvNH6_tEc84Db1ye5sa-Z9T44I/s400/untitled1.bmp" style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 236px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480993178165195938" /></div><div><br /></div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><img src="http://0.tqn.com/d/politicalhumor/1/0/R/U/3/bp-mario.jpg" /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div><img src="http://0.tqn.com/d/politicalhumor/1/7/Q/U/3/bp-spongebob.jpg" /></div><div>This one is fairly clever, although a bit childish. Pretty self-explanatory.</div><div><br /></div><div><img src="http://0.tqn.com/d/politicalhumor/1/0/E/U/3/bp-twitter-joke.jpg" /></div><div>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. </div><div>The Twitter account can be found here: <a href="http://twitter.com/bpglobalpr">http://twitter.com/bpglobalpr</a>. It's actually funny as hell.</div><div><br /></div><div><img src="http://0.tqn.com/d/politicalhumor/1/0/E/Q/3/Carbon-Footprints.jpg" /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div><div>"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." <b>-Jay Leno</b></div></div><div><br /></div><div>"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.'" <b>—Jimmy Fallon</b> </div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>On a happier note, this is why you don't play video games with your girlfriend. <object width="640" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/0ydXbJrQ4jc&color1=0xb1b1b1&color2=0xd0d0d0&hl=en_US&feature=player_embedded&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/0ydXbJrQ4jc&color1=0xb1b1b1&color2=0xd0d0d0&hl=en_US&feature=player_embedded&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" width="640" height="385"></embed></object> I'm just glad she didn't see the steak knife on the table!</div><div>-Dr. Jones</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9094950874544125220.post-49734790671582652762010-06-09T18:06:00.000-07:002010-06-09T18:14:36.810-07:00There's Only So Much I Can TakeWHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?!!?<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://cdn2.sbnation.com/imported_assets/349294/blowout1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="292" src="http://cdn2.sbnation.com/imported_assets/349294/blowout1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>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?!<br />
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.<br />
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 <i>Jersey Shore</i> tryouts in Florida happening this week neither has America.<br />
But I think it may be a good thing to have these creatures go to the tip of America. See here's my theory.<br />
<b><span style="color: red;"><i>Theory</i></span></b><br />
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:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://wwwimage.cbsnews.com/images/2010/06/03/image6545497.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="242" src="http://wwwimage.cbsnews.com/images/2010/06/03/image6545497.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Fuck that shit, dawg.<br />
Now, you see, it's my theory that if we drop of The Situation and basically all those American Heroes from <i>Jersey Shore</i> 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:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://images.cheezburger.com/completestore/2010/6/9/129206044714390744.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="315" src="http://images.cheezburger.com/completestore/2010/6/9/129206044714390744.png" width="320" /></a></div>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.<br />
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: <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://images.cheezburger.com/completestore/2010/6/9/129206052512512150.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="315" src="http://images.cheezburger.com/completestore/2010/6/9/129206052512512150.png" width="320" /></a></div>So I think it's a good thing the Guidos have moved south. We'll see improvement shortly, I believe.<br />
<br />
<b>Fuck</b>,<b> </b>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:<br />
<object height="385" width="480"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/lwqF8LCfkWE&color1=0xb1b1b1&color2=0xd0d0d0&hl=en_US&feature=player_embedded&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/lwqF8LCfkWE&color1=0xb1b1b1&color2=0xd0d0d0&hl=en_US&feature=player_embedded&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowScriptAccess="always" width="480" height="385"></embed></object>Jack Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05728531921191476154noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9094950874544125220.post-34638266387214105852010-06-08T08:15:00.000-07:002010-06-08T20:26:38.033-07:00Becoming ReliantWe 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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
In order of least-most probable in my mind:<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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 new...in 1970.<br />
This can be fixed fairly easily, but I'm sure it's going to cause a huge scare, just like Y2K.<br />
Source:<a href="http://www.techpavan.com/2009/07/08/unix-2038-problem-details-unix-millenium-bug-year-2038-problems-solutions/"> http://www.techpavan.com/2009/07/08/unix-2038-problem-details-unix-millenium-bug-year-2038-problems-solutions/</a><br />
<br />
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.<br />
Source: <a href="http://m.cnn.com/primary/_MpYYur-id2lWW34yd">http://m.cnn.com/primary/_MpYYur-id2lWW34yd</a><br />
<br />
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.<br />
-Dr. JonesUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9094950874544125220.post-11058051695204724942010-06-04T20:06:00.000-07:002010-06-08T20:27:01.677-07:00Make Sure Your Pets Are SafeWhat 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.<br />
<b>Wait, what?</b><br />
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.<br />
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.<br />
-DesmondJack Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05728531921191476154noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9094950874544125220.post-53216454791148389532010-06-01T12:01:00.001-07:002010-06-08T22:00:15.143-07:00I know Dr. Jones just posted a bunch of his anti pet peeves but here'<br />s one real pet peeve of mine: people substituting curse words with<br />nonsense words.<br />Example: "Oh shittake! I missed our turn."<br />Come on now, if your going to waste an entire syllable to go out of<br />your way and attempt not to curse then just don't open your fucking<br />mouth.<br />What I want to hear: "Shit! I just missed our fucking turn! Shitfuck!"<br />Now, this isn't to say I enjoy hearing people use profanity, but I get<br />irrational rage when people substitute.<br />-DesmondJack Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05728531921191476154noreply@blogger.com0