What's in a Name?

While Delilah Dandypants might not be the most traditional name for a young sprout, it’s far better than the misspelled chaos that the majority of these sticky wildebeests scribble on their tax returns. At some point during wrapping Christmas presents and attempting to spell the ridiculous names my hoodrat cousins have chosen for their genetically misfortunate children, I realized that euthanasia is the answer. After cursing my family members for claiming “Eyeziyah” and “Kai-Lin” are real names, I came to the realization that I cannot have the only idiotic relatives choosing to name their children obnoxiously inappropriate things. So, I did some research and I would like to present to you, some of the very common, yet completely unfortunate names of the next generation.

      1.       Such a heavenly name:  Nevaeh. The dyslexics already know this one. Hint: It’s Heaven backwards. Seriously. First, this name just sounds stupid. Then there’s the fact that ‘heaven backwards’ seems like a fucked up thing to name a kid, no matter how much of Lucifer’s blood flows throughout its creepily small body.  Do us all a favor, if you want to somehow tie your child to heaven, get the little fucker baptized or take it to church, make it wear a cross. DO NOT spell heaven backwards and call it a name. Get real.

      2.       Attack of the Blood Suckers:  Unless you’ve been living in your own version of the girlbunker for the past four years, you are aware that vampires are taking over the world. I’m strangely okay with this, but that could be because I don’t mind biting. However, one of the newest trends in baby naming  is to name the little leeches after fictional leeches (unless Edward really is real). Two of the more popular vampire names are Bella and Sookie. Bella is fine. Sure, sure your bundle of joy is über beautiful and naming her Bella ensures she’ll never forget it, yayayaya. BUT, SOOKIE?! Glory be to Zeus what the hell is happening?  Reasons Sookie is a terrible name for anything other than sexy ass Anna Paquin’s fictional dingy waitress character:

a.       It’s spelled SOOKIE. Pronounced SOOKIE. Enough said.

b.      Sookie is doing some VERY dirty things with those vampires. Personally, I’m a fan. But for a baby? Stop it.

c.       Once again, SOOKIE.

      3.       Fucking stupid: These names are by far the most idiotic, foolish names EVER. If you ever meet a child with one of these names, smack it. Then smack the parent. They will all know why. Beach. Wmffre. Fable.  No, those weren’t random words, those are names. Of children. In America.

I need to go kill myself. Obviously, the world is ending soon; no one named Fable ever made a good life choice. 

I Turn My Back to the Future

It has recently come to my attention that I hate my job. Not only do I despise the land of the technicolor cougar, but the leopard print blouses, overly tanned, overly exposed flesh that now resembles worn leather, and wide, vacant eyes make it terribly difficult to accomplish anything except feelings of pity and dread. Due to the fact that I cannot stand one more day in Menopause Mansion, not to mention the fact that 24 is the new 40 and my days are numbered, I have decided to create 3 possible future plans for myself. Delilah has become…a planner.

1.      A cross-country adventure with my giraffe sidekick, Carlito: We would cruise around the U.S., spend some time in Mexico on a deserted beach, head up to Canada to get some maple syrup and a hockey player, maybe make a few friends along the way (Herman the Beluga Whale and Elmer the baby moose, to be exact). However, it wouldn’t all be fun and games. As a former flame swallowing, embezzling priest with the Guatemalan Circus, there are some questionable characters after my lovable pal. This means that we often have to wear disguises and use accents so we are not recognizable and easily identified.  It’s a life on the run, slowly. Ahh, just my speed.

a.       Pros: This would be an amazing adventure. I would have awesome animal friends, which has always been a dream of mine.

b.      Cons: Carlito does not exist…or if he does, and I really hope he does,  I am yet to find him. If you see him please contact me ASAP. $$$$REWARD $$$$

2.      Join a cult and drink the kool-aid: I’m sure I could find some creepy hippie types hanging out in the desert out west. Maybe I’d get to renounce all my earthly possessions, or better yet sign them over to a ‘spiritual leader’ named Eli so he can further our cause and decide what to do with my things (pocket the cash and wait till mass suicide day). I could spend my days sitting on the peace rock, finding my inner light and learning how to follow it. Then one day Eli would announce that it was time we all followed the way of our hearts to a land greater than this one. We’d gather at the peace rock, Eli would pass out the koo-koo-kool-aid, we’d join hands, slurp down the crazy juice and die. Eli would break out in dance (hip hop, he’s cool like that) and skip away to claim all of our things.

a.       Pros: I don’t have to worry about what to do with my stuff AND no more job, just reflection.

b.      Cons: I like running water, shaving, internet, and Subway. Cults usually make you chant things, I don’t like group activities. 

3.      Learn a unique skill and cash in on it: My first choice: dragon trainer. I’d get a castle in the hills of some unknown European country, fill it with gothic style things, lots of deep reds and gaudy golds and a moat and drawbridge just because. I would have my own herd of dragons (I’m not sure what a group of dragons is called, but herd seems appropriate). There would be fire-breathing dragons, dragons with talons and swinging tails, and of course, gentle dragons (think Puff the Magic Dragon). It would take lots of effort and quite a few dead geese (treats for my dragons), but I would teach my dragons to fly, attack, sit, and most of all, play hopscotch. Eventually, I would become famous for my ability to turn even the most hostile dragon into a lovable pet AND feared attackdragon. People would come from all over to have me train their dragons. Money and fame would be mine!!!

a.       Pros: Cash. Lots of it. And fame and cute little dragons.

b.      Cons: It seems like a lot of hard work, dragons aren’t known for being cuddly. Plus, having a gaudy castle really isn’t my style. Oh and dragons aren’t real…bummer. 

Hmmm….it’s not looking great for my alternative life plans. I might have to stick to the semi real job and girlcave for now. Poor Delilah.

Thankless Thank Yous

 With Thanksgiving on its way here, it is once again the time of year to remember why we are thankful. There are lots of reasons I’m glad to be a pilgrim person, mainly the lack of “flows like river” nickname, healthy immune system, awesome weapons, and the fact that I still own my land. But, there are a few more and in the spirit of the holidays, I’d like to share. 

       1.       Electric Shock Therapy: Because sometimes a taser just isn’t strong enough. 

       2.       SIDS: If you are one of the thousands of lucky women to win the “It was too late for an abortion” lottery, you know exactly what I’m talking about. Nothing is more thrilling than walking into baby Tina’s room with a vicious hangover only to discover she’s no longer breathing. AHHH big sigh of relief. You can once again sleep till noon. 

       3.        Car Horns: Sometimes the only way to convey someone’s horrible driving skills is with the obnoxious honk of a horn…accompanied by a rude gesture and LOTS of cursing. I was never a fan of the horn until a horrendously long trip to DC had me driving around for 2 hours to find a parking spot. It was at this point that I realized honking the horn is the BEST way to annoy the fuck out of someone. Annoying people is at the top of my list. I like it. It brings me joy. Not to mention the fact that the batty old bastards still on the roads have terrible vision and hearing. The only way to communicate with these half dead wrinkled robots is with a LOOOOONNNGGGG horn honk. Be sure to point at them while you do it, otherwise they will swear it’s someone else. Sneaky senile things.  

       4.       Illiteracy: When I hear of these awesomely accurate statistics that state “Nearly half of Americans can only read at a 5^th grade level” I get SO excited. And so do the politicians. Nothing like a bunch of literate citizens checking up on how you spend their tax money or making sure you follow that pesky constitution. Why does illiteracy get me going? I get to hear LaQueefa stutter through her welfare application which is more than entertaining, reading a bunch of Facebook posts where then/than, your/you're, and their/they're/there are all mixed around makes me feel intellectually superior, mocking dumb people is funny.  Plus, book prices should go down since the demand is so low. No wonder Borders closed. 

       5.       Herpes: I like to think of these festering sores as a constant reminder of the bad choices drunken morons make with one another. Nothing says I remember my one night stand quite like a genital blister. It’s the ultimate souvenir. 

       6. The spike in the suicide rates: Because the world is overcrowded and if you can't survive the holidays with your family you will not survive a verbal lashing from Delilah and are therefore not worthy of life. Thank you for doing us all a favor and can I have your piece of pumpkin pie? 

These are just a few of the reasons why I am thankful this holiday season. So many more…perhaps I’ll update this again soon…

Home-o-phobic

I have come to the conclusion that I am a fucking masochist. Such harsh words for a Dandypants, but it’s true. At  an age so cripplingly close to maturity I sometimes consider myself an adult, I am living at home. With my family. In the same room I grew up in. Obviously things aren’t going great. While this is semi normal for my generation of nitwits and this less than stellar economic funland, I, Delilah Dandypants, am appalled. I am an exasperating, people hating, masturbating loner. This means I don’t like people and I especially do not like my family. Here’s why: 

      1.       Privacy Acts:  Nothing kills my desire to diddle my skittle more than hearing my mother’s piercing voice holler “DellllllliLAH!” She always gets louder at the end. Don’t ask me why. While I too am a screamer, mine tends to be orgasm induced and something tells me my mom is not tasting the rainbow while washing dishes. Maybe if she was she wouldn’t be so hard pressed to scream my name…that would be awkward. While the yelling may be annoying, I find that the walking in my room without knocking is the most egregious offense. These knuckle walking beasts have the audacity to barge in my room while simultaneously knocking. Who the fuck does that? The courtesy is that you knock BEFORE turning the doorknob to enter. Everyone knows that, even the sheep. Apparently these baboons missed that day at ChimpRanch. As if these two complete invasions of my implied right to privacy weren’t bad enough, I would have to say that my chimpfamilee using my room as a hotel while I am gone is probably the worst of it. They don’t even have the courtesy to rent it out by the hour to hookers and johns and the occasional goat. Nope, they let random relatives whom I despise enjoy the luxury that is the girlbed. It’s a privilege that shouldn’t be taken lightly or cheaply. Dumbass devilmonkeys.

      2.       Noisemakers: While it might not be obvious from my general disdain or chatty nature, I like a quiet atmosphere. Super quiet. Maybe some music in the background or the buzzing of a random tv show. That being said, I DO NOT find young couples arguing, dogs barking, men screaming, weights dropping, alarms blaring, or drunks laughing to be sounds of entertainment or relaxation. Therefore, I disapprove of all sounds. Yes, I am serious. My Chimp Family Robinson does not seem to understand this. Oh and their favorite time to yell or cough or breathe? Delilah’s naptime. While I tolerate the constant interruptions to my day, I will not stand for naptime interruptions. In fact, I’m considering purchasing a taser. Chimps beware; I’m not against animal testing. 

     3.       DramaRama : I live with teenage mutant ninja monkeys. They are overly sensitive, easily offended, and full of useless opinions. Basically it’s like living with forty five 14 year old girls who all dated the same guy and he gave each of them Chlamydia. Only the girls would probably befriend one another at some point and stop arguing and name calling. Euthanasia would be the Delilah friendly thing to do. I only wish Jack hadn’t gone to live on the farm…

    I need to move the fuck out. This place scares me. 

Christmas Can Suck It

Christmas is December 25^th. Christmas is always December 25^th, even in a leap year. So, why the fuck is Christmas attacking me? Between the Christmas anthems (which I actually like for about 3 days) and the oodles of red and green paraphernalia stacked on the shelves of every store Christmas is out in full force – on November 11^th. WHY?! While I love getting presents, in the past few years I’ve come to hate Christmas. Big fucking surprise. Here’s why: 

      1.       Salvation Santa:  In about two weeks there will be a Salvation Army Santa outside of every mall and Wal Mart. This middle aged white man, who is NOT Santa, will ask you for money to put in his little collector thingy. He will ask you for cash when you go in the store and when you leave. It’s like paying a fucking toll for shopping. He will also ring a bell in your face in the most annoying manner. I see you. You don’t need a sound effect, I’m just ignoring you. If you decide not to give him money for one of a gazillion valid reasons, he will inevitably shame you with a cold stare or a “Happy Holidays.” Well guess what, it would be happy if you’d stop begging on the streets. And what does this tell kids? (Yes, Delilah’s worried about the children.)That Santa is a beggar and the only way he can afford to give them and all of their friends presents is if we give him money? What happened to the slave elves working away in the North Pole? Their little sausage fingers gluing toy trains together. I swear, you let one fucking elf be a dentist and look what happens, the whole system falls apart. Personally, I’d rather see a dirty, drunk Santa. You know what I’m talking about. The skinny crackhead who dresses up as Santa to take pictures with the kids and get some extra cash. You always see him wandering the streets the next day with his filthy Santa suit and 40 in his hand. That’s what Christmas is made of…shattered dreams and a dirty Santa.

      2.       Holiday Spirit: I hate holiday spirit. Mainly because Holiday Spirit implies happiness. I think not. Who the fuck is happy? Do you see happy people running around Toys R Us on the 23^rd while trying to find a Tickle Me Elmo? NO. People are not happy about the holidays. Christmas means stress and money and family and a whole basket of awfulness. Yet somehow here we are: grimacing through yet another washed up pop star’s version of “All I Want for Christmas,” smiling politely and thanking Can’t Bake Carol for the fruitcake, re-gifting last year’s stone waterfall, and  wishing we could shoot the caroling, money seeking kids between the eyes and run away to Fiji. Maybe that last one is just me….

      3.       Decorations: It’s just extra work. Let’s be honest. First there’s the whole tree thing. If you get a real one you need to go chop it down or pay someone to do so for you. Labor intensive and costly. A fake tree means putting it together and praying to the birthday boy that you have all of the pieces. No one enjoys this. If they tell you they do, they’re lying. After that there are decorations to consider. For those of you lucky enough to have never put lights on a Christmas tree, I am SO jealous of your life. Our tree is always crooked and those damn lights usually don’t work from year to year. But don’t worry; when you plug them into the wall, it seems as if they work. When you put them on the tree and plug them in only half of them work. It’s the law of Christmas. I like to keep the lights on the tree as a reminder that Christmas will be a failure – just like the lights. I think it keeps me grounded.

      4.       Family: I love my family. They’re sweet and caring, completely adorable and the best part is, they love Christmas even more than I do! In reality I want to throw a banana at them and run up to my girlcave with all of my new, shiny things. OoOoO presents! Delilah like. However, I cannot escape to my grilcave of greatness to admire my Christmas loot, I must stay downstairs will all of the spider monkeys and attempt to be social. It proves difficult for Delilah, hater of all humans, especially those with whom I share DNA. However, I have learned a trick: play sick. Hint: This also works in scenes of a sexual nature, but I usually opt for playing dead, much more dramatic. The downside to playing sick is that people might occasionally come to check on you. Since this is always a possibility it is important that you keep your door locked and be EXCELLENT at fake sick face. If you cannot play sick and must interact with your family, the next best thing to do is drink. This will enable you to say inappropriate things, be loud and obnoxious, AND  pass out. It’s the best thing to do. Plus, if you’re really bad, they won’t come back next year. Do your best.

Ugh. I really fucking hate Christmas. It’s going to be a long 43 days.

Working Girl

In an effort to escape ChimpRanch, I, Delilah Dandypants,  have taken a job as a smiling, baby loving, Jesus believing marketing assistant. Let’s just say there was a lot of lying at the job interview. After completing my first week in real estate hell, I have decided that I was right all along. Jobs suck syphilis coated midget cock. In four short days, I have created a “Top 5 Reasons I Hate This Job” list. Yes, I’m an overachiever.

1. Everyone smiles. While this might seem normal, maybe even nice, it makes me suspicious and genuinely creeps me out. Too many big, forced smiles can be overwhelming. No one wants someone showing off their giant fangs at 8 am. Stop snarling, you’re not a vampire. Plus, after so many forced smiles you start to look constipated.

2. They have a baby for a mascot: I am not kidding. First of all, why does a real estate firm need a mascot? As far as I know only sports teams deserve mascots. And aren’t mascots supposed to be inspiring or aggressive or something? Wolverines, Bears, Bobcats. No one would EVER choose a freaking baby. What do babies inspire you to do? Shit in your pants. Excellent. I guess that explains why the office smells so bad. Babies are the least aggressive beings on earth. They can’t even hold up their giant heads AND you can kill them just by shaking them. I also hate how everyone speaks in  ‘baby talk.’ Here’s a hint: BABIES DON’T TALK. They coo. Get it together, you sound like an announcer at the Special Olympics who just burnt his tongue on hot coffee.

3. CindyCarolCuntCathyCarolyn: There are FOUR middle aged women with short blond hair and C names at Delilah’s Dandywork. Unfortunately, none of those names are Cunt, but they should be. I cannot for the life of me distinguish between these leather skinned wanna be cougars. The platinum highlights, animal prints, and hooker heels all blend together to create a menopausal meltdown. Their estrogen depleted bodies prance around the office while their souls have long since been destroyed by husband number 2. Did I mention they’re all three time losers at the marriage game? Oh, and they all have boyfriends. I guess it’s true, you can’t teach an old broad new tricks....unless they’re sexual. I imagine blow jobs are a lot easier when you can take out your teeth....

4. Jesus is Number One! These house selling morons praise Jesus over EVERYTHING. From saying grace over a stale muffin to fixing a paper jam, even finding a pen warrants a “thank you, Jesus.” They make Jesus sound like a praise seeking asshole. Which he is, but that’s a different conversation. I think it’s obvious from my other posts that I am not a big fan of the Jeezus Chrizist, that being said, these idiots fuel my hatred. In my first interview I was told, “Our priorities are God first, family second, work third.” I took this to mean I could get out of work or slack off if I was having issues with God or my family, thus making it a positive policy. It’s not. What “God first” really means is that at least twelve times a day, someone is going to be praying, thanking Jesus, or singing a hymn. It’s really difficult to roll your eyes when their friend in the sky is on constant alert and rewriting the words to “Jesus Loves Me” to say “Jesus touched me this I know, my broken hymen tells me so” doesn’t really help you make friends....

5. Drugs Not Hugs: Have you ever started a new job only to have the first six strangers you meet give you a hug? I have. It’s awkward and unsanitary. I don’t want your germs and I definitely don’t want your body pressed against me. I have no desire to feel your braless tits on my shoulder or to have your mothball perfume seep into my skin. What happened to the bubble of personal space? Usually there is a good 12 to 18 inches of space that one may not invade. Apparently it no longer exists. I want to know who popped the bubble. Maybe it was John Stamos.

I think it’s easy to see that adjusting to a ‘real’ job with these lunatics isn’t going to be easy for Delilah. I’ll probably get fired as soon as I write the second verse of “Jesus Touched Me’....

“...I fight back because I know it’s wrong, but I am weak and he is strong”

Whoops.

Jesus and his Unwed Mothers

If there is one thing I hate more than children, it’s teen mothers. Mothers being a loose term. These overgrown toddlers and their active reproductive systems are killing America. Screw the terrorists, forget about global warming, pregnant fourteen year olds are doing the most damage to this country of entitled assholes and it’s all Jesus’ fault.  While some may disagree with the fact that Jesus would stand for such sluttery, they’re wrong.  Jesus is all about the whores.  Why do you think he has good Christian ladies passing out his business cards to hookers? He’s not trying to build up the congregation; he’s making sure he gets some dirty sluts knocking on the pearly gates. Even heavenly beings love a good blow job. However, I’ve gotten sidetracked, back to the knocked up kids and why Jesus is to blame.

      1.       Abortion IS the Answer: forget what those pro-life morons are shouting as you head into the abortion clinic with the paper bag over your head, abortion is the choice for you! It’s kinda funny when you think about; your 14 year old acne ridden face was covered with that same bag the night you conceived little bastard baby, and now you get to recycle that brown contraption to get rid of fucked up fetus number one. For some reason, church folks seem to think abortion is wrong, some even call it murder. However, abortion is not wrong, abortion is the answer. No fourteen year old on the planet is ready to be a mother. Be it a doctor with a vacuum, Delilah Dandypants with her metal hanger and panel van, or a kind stranger and shove down the stairs, it’s my mission to rid the world of these uterus squatters. Not every child is a miracle from Jesus… some are mistakes from Trojan. Besides, I know many people whose finest moment would have been a third trimester abortion…with a weak vacuum head sucker. Ahhh! The sound of skulls crushing is music to my ears; it makes my heart skip a beat. So, forget what the Jesus freaks say, head to the nearest clinic or dark alley and go back to living your ignorant teenage life, filled with Keystone Light, football games, and finger fucking under the bleachers.

 

      2.       Baby Killing Pills: Aka birth control. I think those grape juice drinking Catholics are still against birth control, and for that I would like to blame Jesus Christ and all his minions. However, my main issue is with parents and I find that religious parents are the WORST. Some idiotic middle aged bible thumpers have this stupid idea that putting their child on birth control means giving her permission to have sex. Let me tell you something, I don’t care if little Susanna is the picture of virtue in your eyes, she’s still fucking for lollipops at the movie theater on Friday night. Do yourself a favor, give the girl a magic pill, or shot, or patch. Pick one! Anything’s better than a freaking baby. Also, when she gives birth at the father/daughter purity dance, don’t judge her too harshly. It’s very difficult to pop out a baby in a public restroom, especially in heels.

      3.       The Immaculate Conception: Can I just say that Mary ruined it for everyone. No one else can use that line again, talk about selfish. However, it makes me wonder does J.C.’ s spunk have the baby making power?  Since he was the super special anti sex baby, it stands to reason that his little swimmers aren’t really swimming. Talk about a safe screw. I bet all the preteen angels are lining up to ride that mystical manmeat. Actually, it’s probably the thirty something angels. Kiddie angels don’t think about things like a guy shooting blanks or if he has the money to pay for an abortion. Believe it or not, the church frowns upon stealing money from the collection plate to pay for your illegitimate child’s new home in a Ziploc bag. Personally, I think it’s a great investment. Especially since good ol’ Mary gave you the idea and the pastor was the first guy that touched your special spot. 

  

    That Damn Jesus. Such a troublemaker! I think it's become very clear that we need to get rid of him. I recommend another cross and maybe some fire. It worked for the witches....

Tick Tock Taser: Your Days Are Numbered

I’ve always wanted a taser. Something powerful and zappy, overflowing with unfulfilled promise, just waiting to be placed in the hands of someone who understands its potential for pain, degradation, and above all else, humor. However, I am the type of person who should NEVER EVER be given such an enticing device…as evidenced by the contents of this list. My current “To Taser” list contains about 48 things, ranging from specific people, groups of people, animals, and even a few inanimate objects, but it’s mainly children and assholes. As of 3 am on Sunday morning, these are my top 5 taserworthy jerkanoodles.

 

             1.  Jesus:  Would it even work? What if the electricity coursing through his nonexistent body depleted him of his magical powers? If he was hanging on the cross, would the nails act as conductors and intensify his experience? Maybe he’d like it; Jizzy Christ, the kinkster. I wonder how different the bible would be if good ol’ JC felt the zap of the taser. I bet that whole “love thy neighbor” bullshit would be cut. Maybe some scripture about obeying the blonde girl with the buzzing toy would be added. Aaaaand we’re back to kinky.   

            2.  Girl Scouts or any other child organization that gathers outside the grocery store to sell you cookies/popcorn/arsenic laced baked goods. These little bitches and bastards really piss me off. For starters, who decided it was a good idea to sell food outside of a FOOD STORE? What sense does that make? You have cookies, so does the grocery store. Plus, I don’t have to pretend to care about the grocery store’s cookie badge. Here’s a marketing tip: sell your cookies outside of a gym, hospital cafeteria, or funeral home. Grieving people tend to find comfort in food. Also, why are these little fuckers so aggressive? Stop pouncing on people. All you do is make me want to say extremely mean things to you. My goal is to give you a complex so you grow up with a social defect and possibly an eating disorder. I think we can all agree that tasing your overzealous ass is the more humane choice. Down kiddie.

           3.  Cat Owners (And your feline companions): First, let me clarify. I DO NOT mean jungle cats ie: tigers, lions, cheetahs etc (totes adorbs!), I DO mean tabby cats, black cats, and all cats named Mr. Piddles. Honestly, I shouldn’t blame the cats, but I do. They’re pompous and predatory, the very worst kind of animal. I also don’t trust any pet that has to have its claws removed for your safety. No. Thank. You.  I didn’t think it was possible, but cat owners are worse than cats. Cat owners talk to their cats in little baby voices while the offending animal purrs back as if a real conversation is taking place. Cat people have furniture that is caked in cat hair and littered with little mouse brass bell toys. Oh! And somewhere in their house, there is a litter box. It’s filled with dried up cat shit. As if all of this wasn’t bad enough, cat owners always own at least one article of clothing with a picture of a cat on it. It’s as though they feel the need to advertise their poor pet choices and lack of social skills. If you ever see someone with a picture of a pussy on his shirt, run the other way. It’s either a douchebag or a cat owner; neither will end well for you. 

                    4.     All teenage boys with an affinity for skinny jeans. I’m not exactly sure when raiding your seven year old sister’s closet became an acceptable practice, but someone needs to put an end to this madness. Not only do your jeans appear to cut off circulation and inevitably force me to ponder your underwear situation which leaves me feeling like Mary Kay Letourneau without the teaching degree, BUT I want every one of you to know that there is not a single girl in the world interested in seeing the outline of your prepubescent penis. It’s just sad.

a.       Any grown man who deems it appropriate to wear skinny jeans. Stop it. I will tase you just to see you piss in your too tight denim. I can’t imagine how difficult it would be to remove urine soaked skinny jeans, but I will laugh SO hard as you hop around trying to take off your clichéd Converse before your rancid pee infects your precious shoes. Just so you know, the moment you are almost free of your pee pants, I will tase you again. This will make you fall down and break your fake geek hipster glasses, maybe chip a tooth. I will find this hysterical and tase you one more time for good measure. Thanks for participating.

b.      For those over 30 who rock skinny jeans AND Justin Bieber hair:  The taser is not enough. I recommend the electric chair. Don’t worry, that convicted murderer on death row has been waiting around for twelve years and is more than willing to give up his seat. Nice guy.

         5.   Michael J. Fox: It’s very simple; would he shake more or less?  Support your local Parkinson’s Foundation; those little twitchers need all the money their shaky hands can handle.

   Ahhh and to think this is just the beginning! More to come...
 

   NOTE: This list is updated frequently and could change at any time based on the author's current state of mind and general annoyance with the world.