From Quiet to Chaos, 2011
Crayon on glass, with drapery overlay
Interpretation/Critique: Clearly, the artist was trying to convey a sense of desperation and mayhem as one makes the transition from a quiet, self-reflective night to a day lived outside oneself, bringing all of one’s inner turmoil out into the light for the rest of the world to see. It’s a bold work, especially considering the dangers the artist himself faced in its creation, working in secret under the constant threat of time out.
Bunny Beheading, 2011
Found objects
Interpretation/Critique: This piece speaks out against the commercialism of Easter. A painful reminder of the tragic (yet ultimately uplifting) story of Jesus, the artist’s subtle message encourages the viewer to quietly reflect upon the true meaning of the holiday.
Le Tour Eiffel, 2011
Mixed media, sculpture
Interpretation/Critique: The linear quality of this work makes an immediate impact, as the artist juxtaposes a well-known tourist attraction against a faceless would-be observer of the world. The cross-contour lines create a visual flow to the top of the tower, but the jarring presence of a headless, unclothed figure and its precarious hold on stability remains the focal point. It is a study in frustration: making the long, difficult climb to the apex, only to find the hard-earned view obstructed by one’s own lack of vision and/or sanity.
Eggroll, 2011
Performance art
Interpretation/Critique: The effects of this bold exercise are two-fold: the audience experiences a sense of innocent fun through a the laughter of a child, while at the same time receiving a visual representation of the limitations placed upon that child by parental rule enforcement and societal expectations.
Barbie Body Gone, 2012
Found objects, plastic/cloth
Interpretation/Critique: This work represents the meaninglessness of everyday chores and the desperation one feels when presented with such menial, tedious tasks. A decapitated doll’s head is carefully placed inside the folds of dirty laundry; its sad presence conveys a sense of hopelessness, as a beautiful girl experiences finality inside a chore that can never be completely final.
Damages, 2012
Performance art, human form/bandage
Interpretation/Critique: There is a subtle macabre quality to this work, but the artist manages to convey the suffering without gory representation; the pain of the piece is tempered by a feeling of tenderness and care that transcends the work’s darker elements. Furthermore, the bandages’ brighter, more pop-art quality adds both confidence and whimsy, leaving the observer to feel sad, scared, loved and entertained, all at the same time.
Don’t Lose Your Marbles, 2012
Mixed media, leather/marble
Interpretation/Critique: The simplicity of this piece really draws the viewer in. The placement of the marbles into the couch rivets is a logical use of the existing pattern, and the color of the couch creates a warm, almost organic effect to contrast against the metallic essence within its folds. The artist is clearly taking control of the space here, and there’s a threatening tone to the work, as if to say, “Sit on this couch only if you want a marble up your ass.”
Soft Knob, 2012
Mixed media: wood/plastic/panty liner
Interpretation/Critique: This piece conveys a much stronger sense of uncertainty than the artist’s other works; it’s also more functional, although that may not have been the intended effect. The artist seems unsure of himself as he explores possible uses for this particular media. The softer elements of the liner balance against the hardness of the wood and metal, establishing an unexpected aesthetic effect but also creating a feel to the doorknob that is surprisingly pleasing to the touch.
A Day in Little Bean’s Life, 2011-12
Photographic collage
Interpretation/Critique: The artist’s haphazard approach to photography suggests chaos, drama, wonder, friendship, love and fun as he explores four different scenes from a child’s-eye perspective. Capturing elements of his own closely-guarded life, the artist offers a rare glimpse into his private home and his own unique perspective of the world around him.
Fuck You, Mom, 2012
Found object
Interpretation/Critique: This piece is the most bold of the series, and also carries the most obvious message. The sense of rage and revenge is powerful; there is no assumed facade as the artist responds to an imposed bedtime with a work that says, simply: “Fuck you, old lady, AND your stupid $350 glasses.”
Tags: four-year-old masterpieces, I am SO full of shit, Somebody took WAY too much art history in college, yes he really did that
Dear Esteemed Members of the Former High School Asshole Association:
As President of the Former High School Nobody Association, it is my job to maintain an open line of communication with your leadership regarding our mutually accepted Former Asshole-Former Nobody Post-High School Code of Conduct (COC). Specifically, I’m required to monitor and report possible violations of the rules set forth in the COC’s Chapter 7: Interactions. Since the reunion of 2010 we’ve seen a significant increase in co-mingling between our two groups, which we consider a positive step; but these increased levels of interaction have also resulted in some violations of Chapter 7 that must now be addressed.
At present, our membership is concerned with activities falling under the purview of Article 43: Encountering Former Nobodies Who Are Now Somebodies, and Section 2 therein: Pretending It Never Happened. Upon review of these guidelines, you’ll find that Former Assholes are required to acknowledge the damages to ego and reputation their previous dickishness may have caused to their Former Nobody counterparts; furthermore, Former Assholes are strictly prohibited from making false claims to friendship with a Former Nobody during the formative years.
As you know, Article 43 was originally added to the COC because, with the passage of time and distance from the hostile High School environment, Former Nobodies are statistically very likely to become (a) more successful, (b) more attractive, (c) more intelligent and (d) much more interesting than Former Assholes in later years. This shift in balance has resulted in a number of recent Former Asshole-Former Nobody encounters that our members have reported as troubling, uncomfortable and, in some cases, deeply unsatisfying.
We’ve been asked to remind you that Article 43 clearly states:
“It is acceptable for a Former Asshole to represent himself/herself as heroic, kind, sweet and/or loved by all throughout the high school experience, when dealing with other Former Assholes and those in the outside world (see Chapter 6: Post-High School Denial). However, when encountering a Former Nobody (or his/her known associates), it is strictly prohibited for a Former Asshole to pretend to have been anything other than a total prick in high school.”
Section 2 further clarifies the rules governing Former Assholes in these instances:
(1) You may NOT drop the name of a Former Nobody-turned-CEO to your co-workers or management, particularly if a relationship with said Former Nobody will benefit your own corporate standing in any way.
(2) You may NOT attend the performance of a Former Nobody-now-popular entertainer and claim to be an “old friend from high school” within earshot of other audience members.
(3) You may NOT arrive at a Former Nobody’s best-selling book signing and request an autograph denoting you as a “good buddy”/”old pal”/”BFF.”
(4) You may NOT attempt to “friend” an admired target on Facebook based on your mutual friendship with a Former Nobody.
(5) You may NOT use any form of social media to share anecdotes, photos or other evidence of a Former Nobody’s undesirable status during High School, especially when accompanied by your own fond memories of that experience (“Hey, [Former Nobody], remember how funny it was when we pantsed you in the Home Ec hallway in front of that pretty cheerleader? Didn’t you get suspended for that? Hahahaaaa!”) or lack thereof (“Everyone says [Former Nobody] was in love with me back then, but I really just had no idea! I thought those puppy dog eyes were just his normal look!”).
If a situation occurs that is not specifically addressed in these guidelines, Former Assholes are encouraged to consider the Golden Rule and apply common sense.
While both associations acknowledge a Former Asshole’s right to grow as a human and evolve into a Non-Asshole Citizen, we also must respect the right of each Former Nobody to enjoy his or her hard-earned success without disregarding all the High School Bullshit he or she first had to endure. To this end, we must also remind you that, according to both Sections 3 (You Dished It Out Now Take It) and 4 (Suck It Up, Be a Man), every member of the Former High School Nobody Association is now entitled to act like a complete and utter dick to an individual whose Asshole status in high school caused the member (or other members) duress of any kind.
We hereby request that the relevant articles and sections of the COC be re-stated to your membership, with your firm acknowledgement of their authority. Moving forward, any Former Asshole found to be in violation of these guidelines will be considered in breach of our agreement, and therefore subject to the consequences set forth in the COC’s final chapter. Possible penalties include harsh fines and/or karmically returned wedgies, damaging gossip, rolled eyes, bathroom wall graffiti and a general shithead attitude from former recipients.
Thank you in advance for your cooperation. We look forward to continued peaceful relations between our two groups.
Sincerely,
President and Proud Member
Former High School Nobody Association
Tags: I crack me up, no one else will get this, too much time on my hands
It started as a little pile
A tiny pile of dirtied style
To wash it would just take a while
A very short, short while.
But my life was busy, so
I let it grow, even though
I needed clean and folded clothes
I really let it go.
The family just kept adding more
The hamper spilled out on the floor
Still, I refused to do my chore
That useless, boring chore.
And so, the pile became a mound
60 pounds, five feet around
At least four feet from top to ground
A real impressive mound.
And THEN it grew into a hill
A silly hill, like Jack and Jill
It grew into a silly hill
A silly, scary hill.
The hill became a mountain then
Tall as Big Ben, and without end
Tall as a stack of a thousand men
Remarkably tall men.
It grew so tall, it blocked the sun
And without sun, life was no fun
It must have weighed at least a ton
At least a goddamned ton.
Not one clean thing, not anywhere
Our drawers were spare, our closets bare
Not a single pair of underwear!
Not one clean thing to wear.
I fell into the pile one day
Was it foul play? I couldn’t say
But I was trapped, to my dismay
Like a needle in some hay.
No help, my husband shook his head
“Tough luck,” he said, as I begged and pled
He and my son just left instead
They left me there for dead.
I began to suffocate
A slow heart rate left me sedate
I swore I could see heaven’s gate
I knew death was my fate.
In my last hours, I felt contrite
“If I’d known, I really might
Have separated darks from white,”
I thought, with sad hindsight
I made one last stab to survive
I kicked and cried, and wished, closed-eyed
That all those clothes were washed and dried…
And then I fucking died.
Death By Laundry
It started as a little pile
A laundry pile of dirtied style
To wash it would just take a while
A very short, short while.
But my life was busy, so
I let it grow, even though
I needed clean and folded clothes
I really let it go.
The family just kept adding more
The hamper spilled out on the floor
Still I refused to do my chore
That useless, boring chore.
And so, the pile became a mound
60 pounds, five feet around
At least four feet, from top to ground
A real impressive mound.
And THEN it grew into a hill
A silly hill, like Jack and Jill
It grew into a silly hill
A silly, scary hill.
The hill became a mountain then
Tall as Big Ben, and without end
Tall as a stack of a thousand men
Remarkably tall men.
It grew so tall, it blocked the sun
And without sun, life was no fun
It must have weighed at least a ton
At least a goddamned ton.
Not one clean thing, not anywhere
Our drawers were spare, our closets bare
Not a single pair of underwear!
Not one clean thing to wear.
I fell into the pile one day
Was it foul play? I couldn’t say
But I was trapped, to my dismay
Like a needle in some hay.
No help, my husband shook his head
“Tough luck,” he said, as I begged and pled
He packed and le
Death By Laundry
It started as a little pile
A laundry pile of dirtied style
To wash it would just take a while
A very short, short while.
But my life was busy, so
I let it grow, even though
I needed clean and folded clothes
I really let it go.
The family just kept adding more
The hamper spilled out on the floor
Still I refused to do my chore
That useless, boring chore.
And so, the pile became a mound
60 pounds, five feet around
At least four feet, from top to ground
A real impressive mound.
And THEN it grew into a hill
A silly hill, like Jack and Jill
It grew into a silly hill
A silly, scary hill.
The hill became a mountain then
Tall as Big Ben, and without end
Tall as a stack of a thousand men
Remarkably tall men.
It grew so tall, it blocked the sun
And without sun, life was no fun
It must have weighed at least a ton
At least a goddamned ton.
Not one clean thing, not anywhere
Our drawers were spare, our closets bare
Not a single pair of underwear!
Not one clean thing to wear.
I fell into the pile one day
Was it foul play? I couldn’t say
But I was trapped, to my dismay
Like a needle in some hay.
No help, my husband shook his head
“Tough luck,” he said, as I begged and pled
He packed and left the house instead
He left me there for dead.
I began to suffocate
A slow heart rate left me sedate
I thought I could see heaven’s gate
I knew death was my fate.
Finally, I felt contrite
“If I’d known, I really might
Have separated darks from white,”
I thought, with sad hindsight
I made one last stab to survive
I kicked and cried, and wished, closed-eyed
That all those clothes were washed and dried…
And then I fucking died.
ft the house instead
He left me there for dead.
I began to suffocate
A slow heart rate left me sedate
I thought I could see heaven’s gate
I knew death was my fate.
Finally, I felt contrite
“If I’d known, I really might
Have separated darks from white,”
I thought, with sad hindsight
I made one last stab to survive
I kicked and cried, and wished, closed-eyed
That all those clothes were washed and dried…
And then I fucking died.
Tags: I'm writing a whole book of this stupid shit, Laundry kills
1. Completed Phase One (and only Phase One) of Operation: Finally Clean Out My Ridiculously Overcrowded Closet. This basically involved yanking out random items to create a precariously tall pile on the floor of my already-inconveniently small bathroom, where they still sit, threatening to collapse at any moment, while I start-and-don’t-finish tons of other unnecessary projects in a desperate effort to avoid Phase Two.
P.S. Napoleon the Asshole has since peed on this pile. Awesome.
*******
2. Spent hours browsing the Amazingly Sick World of the Internet for my contribution to this year’s Jett Superior Annual Ornament Exchange Extravaganza. Considered, but ultimately rejected:
The winner?
Happy birthday, Jesus!
*******
3. Co-opted my child’s modeling clay to make this:
And this:
For absolutely NO REASON whatsoever.
*******
4. iTunes playlists. MYGODWITHTHEPLAYLISTSALREADY. Will someone please stop me?
*******
4. Made this:
So a day later, after “breakfast,” I could have this:
“Mommy, can I have a Christmas cookie?”
“Hey! Did you hear that? I think Santa might be on the roof!”
“Mommy pleeeeeze I want one of the Christmas cookies!”
“What Christmas cookies?”
“The ones we decorated last night!”
“I have no memory of that at all.”
“Mommy, come ON! We made cookies and I waaaaannnt ooooonnnne!”
“Okay. I was trying to avoid this, but you leave me no choice. Honey, I’m so sorry to tell you this… but Santa’s reindeer came in last night and ate all the Christmas cookies.”
“But reindeer only like carrots and apples!!”
“I can’t explain it, honey. I tried to fight them off, but they’re really tough and those horns are no joke.”
“Mommy, stop playing around! Reindeers don’t like Christmas cookies!”
“Well, maybe they changed their minds, OKAY?? SHEESH! Why don’t YOU try yanking some fat dude and his huge sleigh filled with tons of toys around the ENTIRE WORLD all night and see how YOU feel about carrots and apples THEN, HUH?!? Maybe they need a little sugar to keep them going, did you ever think of THAT, Mayor McKnowseverything? Huh? GOD you’re so greedy. STOP RUINING CHRISTMAS!” (burp)
*******
4. Wikipedia Fuckery. This very nice young lady recently wrote an appeal to her fellow Wikipedia users, encouraging them to donate to the site to keep it up and running so the millions of people who benefit from its existence could continue to enjoy it.
I’m pretty sure she had no idea that her picture would then appear *right* over the name of whatever entry a user was reviewing. And I’m definitely sure she never imagined that some asshole like me would come along with a Looming-Deadline-and-Problem-with-Authority-and-Terribly-Self-Destructive-Tendencies, find her looking unreasonably happy about whatever I decided to type into Wiki, and then spend hours channeling an inner 11-year-old boy:
*******
5. Wrote this shitty post.
| IF YOU… | I WILL… |
| Hold the door open for me… | Thank you profusely. |
| Do NOT hold the door open for me… | Thank you anyway, with dripping sarcasm. |
| Tell me what to do… | Take great pleasure in doing exactly the opposite of whatever you just said. |
| Tell me I can’t do something… | Prove you wrong. |
| Cut me off in traffic… | Wait until I’m next to you again, then casually scratch my nose… with my middle finger. |
| Ask me what time it is… | Answer with either, “MILLER TIME!” or “Time to make the donuts.” |
| Become famous simply because you have big tits, a big ass, big hair or big money… | Never never never watch you on TV. |
| Apologize with sincerity… | Accept, no questions asked. |
| Break my heart… | Eventually get over it, but never really recover completely. |
| Make my son cry… | FUCKING KILL YOU, then hate you forever. (Adults)
Imagine FUCKING KILLING YOU, shoot hate daggers at you with my eyes, then hate you forever. (Five-year-olds) |
| Insult me… | Pretend it doesn’t bother me, go to the bathroom and cry, then avoid you like the plague. |
| Ignore me… | Make a complete fool of myself as I try desperately to prove that I am worthy of your attention. |
| Are too nice to me… | Be suspicious. |
| Intimidate me… | Talk reallyreallyfastaboutnothing and make a lot of unnecessarily loud, stupid jokes, then admonish myself for WEEKS for being such an ass. |
| Compliment me… | Feel uncomfortable. |
| Send me to voice mail… | Leave a very long, rambly message wherein I repeat myself at least seven times, then finally identify myself just as it cuts me– |
| Make me laugh… | Love you forever. |
| Marry me… | Never leave you. At least, not for 15 years so far. |
| Are my friend… | Be your friend for the rest of my life. |
| Hurt one of my friends… | Come at you like a fucking spidermonkey on crack. |
| Play “She’s a Maniac”… | Dance like a maniac. |
| Play “The Safety Dance”… | Do the Safety Dance. |
| Play country music… | Complain. |
| Play anything by Duran Duran… | Bitterly recall (again) the story of how I was unceremoniously tossed out of the Duran Duran fan club at my school in the 5th grade. |
| Play anything by Aretha Franklin… | Sing along loudly, and badly. |
| Unfriend me on Facebook… | Gasp, feel hurt, get mad, then block your ass forever even though you’ll never notice or care. |
| Leave a comment on this post… | Like you. |
| Give me a deadline… | Wait until the very last minute, then totally freak out and stay up all night to get it done, acting like a total asshole to anyone who dares to talk to me while I’m on deadline. |
| Drive past a cemetery with me in the car… | Inform you that people are just DYING to get in there, then laugh hysterically. |
| Announce a great success… | Be genuinely happy for you, but inside feel sad and terribly insecure about my own future. |
| Create something beautiful… | Fall in love with your talent and never forget how amazing you are. |
| Cry… | Cry. |
| Fart… | Laugh. |
| Fall down… | Laugh, then ask if you’re okay. |
| Ask me what I’m making for dinner… | Laugh, then hand you the folder with the take-out menus. |
| Fire me from a job I hated anyway… | Watch the traffic report every morning from my couch, in my pajamas, then laugh and laugh and laugh because I know you’re in it, and thank the universe that I don’t have to work for such a shitbag anymore. |
| Ask me what I’ll have to drink… | Feel pressured to decide then just say Mexican Martini even though I don’t really want that. |
| Serve me three Mexican Martinis… | Tell slurry stories with WAY too much information, yell inappropriate things at other people in the bar, show my underwear and probably fall down. |
| Slow dance with me… | Step on your feet. Apologize profusely. Repeat. |
| Leave the TV on with The American President, Blind Side, Ocean’s 11 or anything with Cary Grant playing… | Stay and watch it all the way through the credits, even though I’ve already seen it a million times. |
| Leave the TV on with any of the Twilight movies playing… | Watch the whole damned thing and hate myself EVERY SINGLE SECOND OF IT. |
| Rush me… | Leave the house without anything I actually need. |
| Tell me you need me… | Be there. |
| Say anything during a home improvement project about caulk or the size of your hose…. | THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID. |
| Ask me if something is wet… | THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID. |
| Talk about putting something in your mouth… | THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID. |
| Discuss getting a piece of something… | THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID. |
Tags: Avoiding another deadline, I don't know why I wrote this
One of the things they don’t tell you before you have a kid is how your television will ultimately become an indispensible lifeline while simultaneously destroying all your values and everything you hold dear. Nickelodeon will eat your soul, then barf it up and leave it on the floor so later when you walk into the living room, you’ll slip in it and fall face-first into a pile of your own barfed-up soul, while those little iCarly assholes look down and mock you from your flat screen.
iCarly assholes
Seriously. I just want to watch a little SpongeBob, IS THAT SO WRONG?!?! Sandy and Squidward are the shit, but they come at much too high a price.
The price of Justice, that is. VICTORIA Justice.
Victoria Justice
Just look at that picture. Are you kidding me right now? That so-called high school chick is early 30s if she’s a day. I don’t care WHAT Wikipedia says. She’s groomed within an inch of her life and wears hooker shoes (on trend? whatever. shoes like this are made for a ho and everyone knows it)
Ho shoes
and every 10 minutes she shows up, 50 inches tall and all ho-like in HD, to make me feel dirty and completely suck all the entertainment value out of awesome shows like FanBoy and Chum Chum and The Mighty B.
And now my 4-year-old son dances to My Best Friend’s Brother like he’s on fire, WITHOUT IRONY, and I’m pissed as hell.
YES, I could change the channel. YES, I could turn the TV off. But then I would miss out on moments like this:
(SpongeBob bouncing ball against wall repeatedly)
Mr. Krabs: What did I tell you about bouncing that ball, boy?
SpongeBob: Ummmmm, that you like it very much and I should keep doing it?
And that is simply unacceptable.
By the way, if you’re reading this right now and feeling smug, thinking, “Well, it’s your own fault… I never let my kid watch TV. We don’t even own a TV. My kid only reads books and does flash cards. And my kid could read by 18 months and cries when we turn off the NPR” — Well, yeah. Fine. You’re a better parent than me. But you’re also an asshole, and your kid’s probably an asshole, too. So unless your asshole kid knows the words to Big Time Rush, shut your asshole mouth. It’s MY turn to be superior today. Kapeesh?
Big Time Rush assholes
Anyway, my point is, everyone on Nickelodeon is an asshole. And I want my son’s soul back. And mine, too. Because I just caught myself Freaking the Freak Out, complete with dance steps.
Fuck you guys. Just fuck you.
Each one of the terms below has been used to find my blog in recent weeks, through Google or another search engine. I have categorized them for your easy reference. You’re welcome.
Before you browse, though, let me just clarify: EACH OF THESE WAS, AT SOME POINT, TYPED INTO A SEARCH ENGINE BY A HUMAN (OR POSSIBLY ALIEN) ENTITY SEARCHING FOR STUFF. And they found my blog. In some cases, I was probably exactly what they were looking for… in others, I can only imagine their tremendous sense of disappointment when they realized this wasn’t actually a web site dedicated to boobs, dildo helmets, midget porn, flexitarianism, unibrow fetishes, gray squirrels or Jesus.
But I am grateful to them all for visiting, even if it was just for a moment. And I hope the ones searching for answers find them. (Particularly that one whose boobs apparently smell like old fruit. Good luck to you, friend.)
———–
Category 1: Welcome to My Life
- showing boobs to random strangers
- Jesus wants to screw me
- what do you wear to a sex toy party?
- “too lazy to pluck my unibrow”
- oh yoo hoo, has anyone seen my sanity?
- my dumbass wife loses her keys all the time
- about what my husband doesn’t know, the musical
- I’m funny….but only in my head.
- like to fuck with my husband on facebook
- nobody gives a shit
- bag of poop on fire
- valentine’s day is a bullshit holiday
- how do I get people to follow my shitty twitter account
- i hate the slowcooker
- i can’t stop buying shit
- blog about boogers and drugs and shit and stuff
- I do most of my thinking while other people are talkng
- i’m so confused
- im like jesus only sexier
- WHY ARE People fascinated by me
Category 2: Awesome Typos and Misspellerings
- grose vigina dieseses
- lemon tree very petty
- letters to my grandson for conformitation
- celebrity dutchbags
- happy walentine day
- goodbuy hug
- me in my underware
- geneticly engeneered giant cockroaches
- pictures of ponytales
- vaggazling
- cokkaroaches!!!
- some bith unfriended me
- coachroaches have fangs?
- what does whale viginas smell like?
- sweet litter to my son
- the musical fruitey blog
Category 3: The Wiener Obsession Continues
- WEINER POOP
- PICTURE OF A WIENER DOG BEATING UP A CAT
- weiner gum
- wieners for sale in venus
- big weiners
- WHY DOES WEINER DOG LOVE ME SO MUCH
- PICTURES OF STUPID LOOKING WEINER DOGS
- I hate weiner dogs theyre so mean
- weiner stuck in sleeve
Category 4: Who ever said romance is dead?
- ohmygodiloveher
- what is love? apparently I don’t know
- romance makes me angry
- how i fuck on my vacation trip
- is it safe to suck a penis
- unibrow fetish
- im gay because i love cock
- 1 800 dildo
- may I suck your Breasts
Category 5: My midget friend will be so happy to know he’s still relevant
- naked midgets
- how to get midget friends
- midget in a refrigerator
- where is some good midget porn
- midgets standing in giant panties
- i need a midget
Category 6: There’s some really weird shit happening out there with forks
- what are all these tiny forks for
- what it means when all the forks missing in your house
- where do my forks go? they just disappear
- Don’t use forks
- I only want to buy forks
- gnomes stealing forks
- fork porn
Category 7: People with real problems
- i’m in a musical and my bangs get sweaty
- i hate when people say tgif
- what ate my underwear bed bugs
- insicure about my unibrow
- nothing says evil like assless chaps
- Albuquerque hard to spell
- i kind of think I want a dildo
- my chiropractor makes me feel weird
- is makeup made of ground up cockroach wings
- my head is unusually small
- Why does my boobs smell like old fruit
- people make fun of my underwear
- that bitch Karen
- i love facebook yet i hate it
- you can’t always be the cats ass
- how do I buy my wife new boobs
- why did you buy a bag of shit
- can you rock the ponytail man
- how can i get 35 bucks
- how can i get my therapist to talk to me
- why wont a dildo go in
- “I don’t think I can hold it”
- accidentally gave boss porn
- My head is shaped like a weiner
- what is this in my underwear
category 8: Covering all the (totally random) bases
- flexitarian lesbian
- girl farts and sneezes
- twisty mustache and sunscreen
- purple sweater blowjob
- poem for kitchen towel of the month
- cannibalism is the new black
- shamu sucks boobies
- cowboys suck dolphins are awesome
- Feather-haired douchebags
- dildo helmet rock climbing
- Flexsexual
- shel silverstein was a very busy dude
- ryan seacrest has a small head
- billy ray cyrus huge mullet
- assholes and bubblegum
- sweating plastic pants for husband
- kitchen sink
Tags: cokkaroaches!!!, good luck with your sweaty bangs, what is happening in the world?, You guys are all awesome
Me and Client, 6 months ago
ME: Hi, Client! Here’s your stuff!
CLIENT: This is great! You’re the best writer and editor I’ve ever seen! Will you marry me and have little badass writing and editing ninja babies?
ME: Actually, no.
CLIENT: Oh, well. I knew it was a longshot. I’ll just go ahead and pay you through Chase’s Online QuickPay system instead.
ME: Great! Thank you!
CLIENT: No, thank YOU. For being so amazing and fabulous and doing work that brings tears to my eyes.
ME: Um, yeah. You bet.
Me and Chase Bank, the next day
CHASE: Hi! You have money! You’ll have to set up an account through our awesome QuickPay system, but don’t worry. It’s super easy and convenient and once you sign up angels will sing and candy will fly out of everyone’s asses, and the world will be filled with shiny rainbows and things that smell good.
ME: Well, that just sounds wonderful! Here’s my information!
CHASE: Oh, sorry, we’ll need a little more than that. You’ll have to create a username and security passcode.
ME: Sure, I can do that. How about this username?
CHASE: No, that one’s taken.
ME: Oh, okay. How about this one?
CHASE: Nope, taken.
ME: Hmm. This one, maybe?
CHASE: Dude. NO.
ME: Dammit! Tell me what I should pick then!
CHASE: Well, I’m pretty sure the only usernames that aren’t already taken are the really shitty ones that no one else wanted. Why don’t you try one of those?
ME: Okay. LickAMonkeysAss?
CHASE: Perfect! Okay, now all you need is a security passcode.
ME: Okay. How about this one?
CHASE: No, that’s too short.
ME: Hmm. What about this?
CHASE: Too long.
ME: Um… this one?
CHASE: No, you have to include at least one number, one letter, an asterisk, ampersand symbol, grandmother’s maiden name, the date of your first period, SAT score and the initials of the first guy you ever slept with. But it can’t be more than 32 characters.
ME: Oh. Well, I guess okay… Here you go.
CHASE: Terrific! Also, now that we have your email address you can expect almost-daily emails from us about bullshit that you will never need or want.
ME: (awkward pause) Can I have my money now?
Me and Client, 6 months later
CLIENT: Hey, thanks for doing more work for me! You’re really, really awesome. Like, really. Like, the best writer and editor I’ve ever seen or heard of. You’re like David Sedaris, but with a great rack. I’m kind of surprised you haven’t won a Pulitzer yet, or been asked to pose for Playboy. I’m going to nominate you for both tonight, but in the meantime I’m sending you some more money. Through Chase QuickPay, like before. Okay?
ME: Sure, that’s great! I can‘t imagine anything going wrong with this scenario!
Me and Chase Bank, yesterday:
CHASE: Hey! Remember me?
ME: Of course I do. Even if I wanted to forget you I couldn’t, because of the ridiculous number of emails you send me daily about shit I have absolutely no interest in whatsoever. Do you have my money?
CHASE: Yeeeoooouubetcha! Go ahead and log in and it’s all yours! All we need is your username and security passcode.
ME: Ummm….
CHASE: You DO know your username and passcode – RIGHT?!?!?
ME: Well…
CHASE: Surely you’re not so stupid that you would have created a username and security passcode six months ago and not be able to remember it now.
ME: (giggling) Hey, don’t call me Shirley!
CHASE: (not laughing) Not kidding.
ME: (looking sheepish)
CHASE: God. What an idiot. Let’s start slow. Try to remember your username.
ME: Okay… hmm… is it this?
CHASE: No, really. TRY.
ME: Okay. This?
CHASE: Are you fucking with me?
ME: No! I’m really trying but this is hard!!
CHASE: (snickering) That’s what she said.
ME: Hmm… I’m pretty sure it had something to do with a monkey’s ass…
CHASE: Look, obviously you’re not taking this seriously. I’m putting you in time out.
ME: No, wait! Please! How can I get my money?!
CHASE: Well, okay. It’s actually really easy. Just enter your username and security passcode.
ME: But I don’t remember my username and security passcode!!
CHASE: Oh. Huh. I guess you could go over here and enter some information to retrieve it…
ME: Great! (clicking over to new useless Chase web page) Okay, here I am! Can you help me? I can’t remember my username and security passcode.
CHASE: Sure, we can help you! All we’ll need to retrieve your information is your username and security passcode.
ME: (confused) But I don’t remember my username and security passcode.
CHASE: Oooooohh…are you sure?
ME: Yes, I’m sure.
CHASE: Well, then it looks like you’re pretty much fucked.
Me and Chase Bank Customer Service, phone call this morning
CHASE: Hello, thanks for calling! Just enter your Chase account number and we’ll be glad to connect you with someone who can help you!
ME: Um, I don’t have an account with Chase.
CHASE: (stone cold silence)
ME: But I still need help! Can someone help me? Please?
CHASE: (haughty tone) One moment.
(shitty hold music)
ME: (waiting)
(more shitty hold music)
ME: (more waiting)
(Michael Bolton)
ME: (considering murder)
(J. Lo)
ME: (considering suicide)
CHASE: Hi, how can I help you?
ME: Hi there. Listen, I don’t have an account with Chase but—
CHASE: Wait — you don’t have an account with Chase?
ME: No, but I—
CHASE: WHY don’t you have an account with Chase?
ME: Because I bank somewhere else.
CHASE: So, you’re not an account holder?
ME: No, but I—
CHASE: Hold, please.
(Enrique Iglesias)
(Michael Buble)
(Kenny G)
ME: (sharpening large knife to stab self in eye)
CHASE: Okay. Before we begin I should warn you that this call may be recorded for quality purposes. It may also involve tragically horrible customer service that will not actually help you in any conceivable way.
ME: Huh. Okay.
CHASE: So whassup?
ME: Well, I need to log in to get my money but I can’t remember my username and security passcode.
CHASE: Oh, is that all?
ME: Yes! So there’s an easy solution?
CHASE: No.
ME: Really?
CHASE: Really.
ME: So you’re saying there’s absolutely NO WAY, AT ALL, for me to log in to get my money that someone already paid me.
CHASE: Well, you can create a new account, I guess.
ME: Great! Let’s do that!
CHASE: Okay, you’ll need a new email address.
ME: But the money was sent to me using THIS email address.
CHASE: Yes, but that email address already has an account.
ME: But THAT’S where the money has been sent! To THAT account!! Which I now cannot get to!
CHASE: (silence)
ME: Well… okay… I guess let’s use this other email address.
CHASE: Got it. What bank account would you like to use for this email address?
ME: The same bank account I used before.
CHASE: Would you like to open a Chase account?
ME: No, I’d like to use MY bank account.
CHASE: Yeah, you can’t do that.
ME: Wha– Why?
CHASE: That bank account’s already been assigned to another email address.
ME: But that is my bank account. I don’t have another bank account.
CHASE: You could always open up a new Chase account!
ME: I would rather be fed to wild boars and then cut from their bowels and set on fire than start a bank account with you.
CHASE: Well, then you really are fucked, aren’t you?
ME: This is crazy! Can I talk to a supervisor?
CHASE: No.
ME: Can I talk to someone in QuickPay?
CHASE: No.
ME: CAN ANYONE THERE HELP ME GET MY MONEY?!?!?!
CHASE: No.
ME: I hate you.
CHASE: (evil smile, twisting mustache)
ME: I really, really hate you.
CHASE: (hangs up)
“What we need is a BIG day of prayer!”
Shouted Governor Perry with flair
But Rick, I’ve no doubt
That we’re in this damned drought
Because Jesus hates you and your hair.
Tags: If you're not in Texas you won't get this, Limericks are awesome, Rick Perry is stupid
THINGS I IMAGINE MYSELF DOING WITH THE $100 BILL I JUST FOUND
1. Purchase a large collection of inappropriate, offensive t-shirts. Wear a different one each day to daycare pick-up.
2. Search iTunes for the word “douche” and download every item with that word in the title until money runs out.
3. Professionally photographed Facebook profile picture, wearing a ball gown, tiara and elaborate up-do, looking severe.
4. Prominent gold tooth.
5. Finally find out what happens in the Champagne Room.
6. Take a random homeless guy on a sunset river cruise.
7. $100 reward to the first person who can guess what’s in the box.
8.Cock fight.
9. One-hour limo ride to any place that’s one hour away. Call mom to pick me up.
10. Start with a fifth of Jack and a carton of Marlboros, and see where the night takes me.
—————-
THINGS I WILL ACTUALLY DO WITH THE $100 BILL I JUST FOUND
1. Pay Sprint $100.
2. Still owe Sprint $84.
