Oh my spiders, you guys. IT’S OCTOBER 1ST. You know what that means…
… Halloween candy! YAAAAAAAAAY!
Fact: Halloween is the best day of all the days. Candy is the best food of all the diabetes-causing foods. Central Market is the best store of all the grocery stores in Texas. Therefore it stands to reason that Halloween candy from Central Market is the best of all the everything.
It is my great pleasure to review Central Market’s seasonal candy collection, which is what I’m about to do, in case you hadn’t figured that out.
The time has come to once again list my favorite search terms people have used to find my blog (read the first and second editions for context, if you’d like). Here they are, in all their screwed-up glory:
Rebecca Black Friday Flakes: I’m assuming this person was hoping to find Rebecca Black-inspired cereal and not dandruff. If cereal’s the case (please let it be the case), they’re in luck because I just invented some.
On this note, if you’d like to test your endurance for Friday Flakes, click here and see if you can make it to the 10 minute mark like a winner (yes, that is a challenge). I only made it 10 seconds.
Chicken Penis: Before you get all judgmental, ask yourself, do you know what a chicken penis looks like? I don’t. Most people don’t, because the rooster penis is internal, which I definitely did not learn by Googling “chicken penis” a moment ago.
I know. This is something we’re not supposed to admit. I say “we” because you do it too.
Cyber stalking. Cyberstalking. Is it one word or two? I’m going with one from here on out because… um… regardless:
Cyberstalking: America’s pastime (like it was ever really baseball anyway).
I used to think the biggest consequence of cyberstalking was being thought of as weird or creepy, or, more rarely, having the person you’re cyberstalking catch you in the act and having them ask, “Why is my name in your Google search bar?” and you’re like, “Uhhhhh I was just testing my search engine to make sure it worked” and they’re like, “I don’t believe you” and you’re like, “Well you shouldn’t be looking at my computer screen anyway” and they’re like, “That’s my computer and this is my house and how the hell did you get in here?!”
Ahem. Anyway, since I openly admit I am both weird and creepy, the stigma of cyberstalking someone (usually someone I’m attracted to) rarely keeps me from doing it. Not anymore though. Never again.
Or maybe always again.
That probably doesn’t make sense to you. Allow me to explain: (more…)
It’s the Friday the 13th miracle no one was asking for! Two blog posts in one day!
See this dress? It’s awesome, but it’s made out of something totally gross.
Find out what it’s made of after the jump.
Today is Friday the 13th, but it’s also National Cow Appreciation Day, which means free meals from Chick-Fil-A. The stipulation to the free food is that you have to dress up like a cow to get it. You can half-ass it and get a sandwich, or you can go full-cow and get an entire meal. Being poor and obsessed with Chick-Fil-A, I donned my best cowtfit and got my hooves on some delicious chicken. It got me thinking, though.
A while back, I wrote a post about fashion photo shoots on farms. It’s amazing that the world has so many crappy, pretentious farm photo spreads to offer, yet none that feature models posing as livestock. It’s a void that clearly needs to be filled, and I decided to take on the responsibility of doing so in the first ever Shit My Cake Says Photo Shoot:
If you haven’t heard about the Gummy Bear Dress, allow me to fill you in. Someone made a dress out of 50,000 gummy bears that weighs 220 lbs because they were so inspired by the awesome Alexander McQueen dress pictured below that they just had to
plagiarize recreate it in gelatin-based candies.
It made me realize that I’ve missed several golden opportunities to make my own interpretations of beautiful things out of random crap. If only the bed I made out of graham cracker crumbs hadn’t been carried away by the ants. The ants. So many ants… so many… there wasn’t time…
Oh well. The good news is, there’s no shortage of artistic people with a few screws loose who get struck by inspiration the way I got struck by a shopping cart in a Kroger parking lot
because I tried to steal an old lady’s newly bought denture cleaner so I could see what it tasted like for no reason. People get inspired all the time, and they put the products of their inspirations online:
Asian child, I will eat you. Don’t think I won’t do it.
I recently got a job at a fast food restaurant because I forgot why I went to college. The place where I work serves hot dogs, and not just any hot dogs. Delicious hot dogs (see: Figure 4). I’ve never been a huge hot dog fan (unless “hot dog” is a euphemism), but being around them constantly is making me crave them. Need them. (more…)
It’s Christmas time, so it only makes sense that I should write about last Halloween. Here’s a step-by-step guide of how to turn yourself into that herpes-infested pumpkin lady we all love to loathe so much.
…Seven Weird-Ass Costumes! A Baby Doll Limb Coat Rack, Frankenstein-esque Homemade Sex Doll, Nine Slasher Cupcakes, a Baby Doll Centipede, Creepy Easter Bunny and Human Body Part Candy Sushi!
Great boobs think alike.
“No! Don’t go in there! There’s poop!”
“What?” I asked.
“That’s The Poop Spot!” Dante screamed over the whir of his chainsaw.
“What?!” I yelled.
Dante shut off the saw and took off his goggles. He was covered in wood chips. “Kevin,” he said, “don’t go in that cave. That’s The Poop Spot.”
Today, as you fire up the grill and pop open that thirteenth beer, you may feel like reflecting on American history and saying a little prayer of thanks to the founding fathers. Don’t. The Fourth of July isn’t the holiday you think it is. I’m here to tell you the top secret history behind the Fourth that the government doesn’t want you to know.
As you may know, Benjamin Franklin was a man with syphilis who lived in America and sometimes ate dog treats. His face is on the $100 bill and he was well known for attempting to steal kites from children. But here’s something you didn’t know about Benjamin Franklin: he’s out to steal the Declaration of Independence.
Thrift stores aren’t known for having the trendiest, cleanest, or most hair-free clothes, but occasionally you can find some cool stuff in them. You can also find really ugly stuff, as evidenced by the following photos:
This negligee appears to be from Bill Cosby’s new lingerie collection, Space Pudding. It debuted at Fashion Week in the “No More Faking Headaches” tent.
Guess what, folks? Something amazing happened to me, aside from the free ounce of froyo I got at Yogurt Story the other day because I found a spider in it. (I put the spider there. SUCKAAAS!)
I got a Mac laptop!
As everyone knows, Mac is actually an acronym that stands for Magical And Cakewalk, which doesn’t make much sense, but the bottom line is that this computer is the shit (or should I say, the shit my cake says? Har-dee-har-har).
But how I came to acquire this beautiful piece of hardware is a tale of tragedy and terror.
Yesterday (or today, depending on how you look at it, since I’m writing this at 2:34 am Texas time) was Oprah’s last show. Her last hurrah. Last shebang. Last housewife lovefest. Last time to gaze at herself longingly in her dressing room mirror, which is the size of my house.
Actually, no, she’ll probably still be doing that last one.
I say good riddance, but many people are in mourning. I’d like to remind you of my past Friday the 13th post, in which I predicted the outcome of the world after this catastrophic event (hint: the outcome is destruction).
Go buy beans, batteries, baby dolls, or whatever else you’ll need to survive underground while housewives everywhere rampantly destroy the world. The Y2K stuff you never put to use will do.
You’ve been warned.
A couple weeks ago, I got a bruise so nasty it made Oprah’s face look like something that’s not disgusting. It happened when I was at work. I was outside telling my boss something (she was in her truck on a smoke break), and for whatever reason, when we were done chatting, I decided to run across the parking lot to get back into the building. I should probably mention that I was running on 4 hours of sleep for the past 48 hours. Sleep deprivation, clumsiness, my arm’s suicidal tendencies–whatever the reason, I rammed my arm into a brick column outside my workplace. And it hurt.
So that was how Shelby and I ended up walking home together, taking the back roads from the school to my neighborhood. Turned out that she didn’t live very far from me, only a few blocks away. With all the things I knew about her, I couldn’t believe I didn’t know that. Her house’s distance from mine created so many opportunities to… no, no. I was not a stalker.
I made this video for a school performance event (it was silent film-themed, sort of) to tell the audience to get the hell outta the room and go do something else for ten minutes, because it was time for intermission.
Today, I’d like to talk about something very serious. A health epidemic that has been sweeping the nation for years.
Just in case you’re in the 10% of the world’s population that has yet to see the travesty that is “Friday” by Rebecca Black, allow me to educate you.
If you thought that song “Justin Bieber’s Girlfriend” was bad, just wait until you see this—er, the thing you already watched at the top of the page. “Friday” is a song that gives old folks in their 20s like me insight into what the kids are up to these days, and apparently, 13-year-olds are up to no damn good, especially on Fridays, which, according to Rebecca, come after Thursdays (even though we all know that Thursday is actually in between Monday and Brednesday).
One man’s trash is another man’s treasure, and apparently, one man’s used gum is another man’s crucifix.
Shelby’s pre-cal class was about five feet from where we were standing, so the walk to her class was not a long one.
“Thanks for walking me all the way to my faraway class,” she said.
Loser, I thought to myself. What were you thinking? “Hey, Shelby, want me to walk you to your class that’s only a Verne Troyer and a half away from where we’re standing right now?”
“Look, what I was going to ask you earlier is if—”
“’Sup, Shelby,” Todd’s voice boomed, interrupting her. He put his meaty arm around her waist, and she immediately slinked away. He looked at me. “’Sup, Queer.”