WTF? WTG, Muslims
Hey guys - great job in disproving the idea behind those Danish cartoons, you know, by the massive rioting, destruction, and Molotov-cocktail-throwing. Man, you guys are some real masters of public relations. Seriously, which agency has your PR/Ad account? You might want to think of putting them on review. I'm not sure how that Holocaust Cartoon Contest is going to work for ya. Word on The Street is that some of the shareholders are getting restless. You don't want more of a proxy fight on your hands than the one you've already got. I mean, I don't care really, I've got stock in one of your competitors. I'm just saying. Think about checking out some innocuous shop - I hear that Barkley Evergreen is pretty good. They're the ones that do those Sonic ads, you know, the ones with the people in the cars just talking about inane bullshit and hamburgers, no blowing up stuff. Guess who doesn't have a PR problem? Sonic. Guess who does? You guys. Also maybe think of lightening up a little bit. I mean, do you think anybody is taking this guy seriously? I highly doubt it. His name's "Joey Boy," for Pete's sake. Anyway, I'm out. Peace! No, seriously.
WTF? Urinating into other urine = bitches
I just realized that I have a pet peeve about peeing. I hate peeing into someone else's freestanding pee! It just seems a bit too personal to me for some reason. Really, guy, I don't want to know you that well. So for everyone using the third floor men's restroom next to the elevator, please, don't forget to flush the urinal. And if you could lay off of the old numero dos until you get home, that would be great too. Thanks for your cooperation. Don't forget to wash your hands-- you know who you are, you a-holes. Peace.
PS Ted Ferguson is the new Chuck Norris
WTF? My New Sitcom
Hey, I don't know if any of you know anybody in the TV business, but I have a great idea for a sitcom. Picture this -- it's me, in New York, and I'm a wanna-be rock star. I'm in this band and we are playing some local gigs-- you know, making enough money to survive, but still waiting for a big break so we can be true rock stars. So of course, to save money, I have a roommate. My roommate is really good with the ladies. He can lay a line on some girls like "Bacchus himself." He also is extremely into the prevention of wild/forest fires, and has a newfound penchant for musical theater. He sports a slammin' baritone (that borders on scary, really), and is surprisingly agile and light on his feet for the rather large creature that he is. He wears jeans and a stylin' hat, but routinely goes shirtless. No, he's not Bill Wennington, former Chicago Bulls backup center, he is none other than Smokey Bear, of "Only You Can Prevent Forest Fires" fame.
Now, you may ask, what the hell is Smokey doing in the NYC? Well, it turns out that Smokey was involved in a community theater production of the stage version of "Singin' in the Rain" while doing a stint in the Everglades National Forest of his usual scaring people into not setting wild- and forest-fires job. Smokey got good reviews from the local critics in the Cosmo Brown role (he even pulled off the walking-up-the-wall bit), and was hence bitten by the theater bug. He then decided to move to New York to try to make it on Broadway!
Pilot episode: I need help with the ladies. Desperately. All the guys in the band make fun of me constantly because I even have trouble talking to our 5 groupies. I sneak Smokey into a bar so he can feed me some lines Cyrano de Bergerac style (I know, this is overdone, but it's only the pilot). The bartender gets mad when he finds out there is a bear in the place and attempts to kick him out. Smokey replies, in his resounding bass timbre, "You know what they say-- sometimes you eat the bar, and sometimes... the ... bar... eats... YOU!" The bartender immediately soils himself and offers Smokey a Boulevard Wheat on the house. Before we leave for the bar, however, we get a look at our apartment. It is full of fire extinguishers, and there is at least one smoke detector on every visible wall. Smokey is constantly prodding me to not start wildfires. His dirty Forest Ranger hats are strewn all over the apartment. I chastise him for his sloppiness, and also on not wearing shirts. "Even Yogi at least wore a tie!" I exclaim. I tell him in order to get into the bar he is going to have to ditch his usual work jeans and put on some slacks, or maybe some Sevens. He is also going to have to put on a shirt and some cologne-- "Nothing too... fishy," I advise. "The human female is less about wildlife and more about... sophisticated aromas." "You're telling me about women?" He retorts. "Do you know how many litters I have sired? Watch the master work, son. Follow my lead and we'll have enough girls up here partying at 3 AM to construct one hell of a fireline, if you know what I mean."
The name of the show? "Smokey and the Band." We will have a script on the way soon. Let me know if you have any contacts.
Smokey
WTF? Days of Our Lives -- the fake Salem on the island
First of all, I don't know what everybody is doing bitching about being stuck on this island replica of Salem. Holy smokes, you've heard them say it a million times now (especially Roman), the place has "all the comforts of home," except without all the traffic and nonsense that accompanies the real Salem, and with a nice friendly tropical climate to boot! If I were stuck on the island, I would look at it like this: it's just like home, except nobody has to work and we can all get tan! I would stake out a barstool at the Brady Pub and Norm that fucker right out. I know, I know, I would be sad "to be away from our loved ones," as the fake Salem residents say over and over. Screw that though, I would find Cassie and wine and dine her ass until there was nothing left to do but tap it. I would then tap that, then tap another keg at the Brady Pub. If, for some reason, Belle should find herself "stuck" on the island, I would make it my personal business to be all up her luscious stuff and help her see the glass-half-full side of the island-Salem. Sure, no Shawn D., but you got Nate! I can out-drink and out-last Shawn any day, and I can entertain with the guitar (see Master and Commander review) and other assorted household objects. Hell, Doug Williams and I might even work up some kind of lounge act for your listening pleasure. In short, make the best of the situation and quit whining. The no-working aspect of being stuck on the island would be enough for me. Talk about living the sweet life! I know that these yahoos are getting into kickin' it on the island-Salem a little bit more than they are letting on-- why else would they be wearing those ridiculous "vacation" shirts with the big floral prints on them all the time? Roman and Abe must have a closet full of those bastards, and now Marlena has given up her Salem-inspired fashions for island wear as well. This shows that the characters are maybe coming around to this island living. Get me on the fake Salem, and get me Cassie's phone number while you're at it.
WTF v4.123 WTF? The Weeded-out Sonic Fuckers Have you seen these potsmoking bastards that get high and roll up to all these fast food restaurants in a futile attempt to satiate their drug-fueled pseudo-hunger? "Oh, these breakfast burritos, they're, like, small and stuff, man -- I'm gonna need like 12 or 13 of these bad boys, ah ha ha ha ha ha!" Or even better, "We've got a magic rabbit in the back of the car, man, and if he ain't hip to this lettuce you are giving out, he's gonna get really mad and flip out man! Ah ha ha ha ha! Gimme a hit." What are these commercials really saying? The message: Sonic is the only place to be if you are high. And the carhops are so friendly, they won't even fuck with you while you are weeded-out and try to make you paranoid. "Ya'll are going to be my friend forever -- now how about sharing your smoky treats?" "Cool, man, cool --it's like, there's plenty for everybody, man!" Like it, centurion, like it! It's a WTF, but I'm glad to see it. WTF? Jobby jobs Well I am getting ready to graduate (again), and there are all kinds of
intriguing possibilities for jobs in my future... no, wait a second, no there
aren't! The job market is terrible now! Shitballs, I just learned in
Business Capstone that you can earn $50k a year as a beer truck driver!
What the fuck am I doing in college?!?!?! And unfortunately, nobody with
any sort of power seems to recognize my intensely supreme movie-reviewing skills
and my incredibly sensual command of the textual form of the English
language. So I got to thinking, what are the best jobs in the world?
What are the kinds of things that people dream about getting paid for?
Well, here are some of the stuff that I think almost everybody would like to do,
unless you're some sort of a communist. --Clipart designer -- what the fuck do these guys do all damn day? Make
little cartoons with crazy dudes performing crazy yet incredibly vague actions
that seems to fit a wide variety of categories and situations? It's like
crafting a visual horoscope, for god's sake. I like to add captions to
some of the pictures, like so-- Anyhow, you get the idea. My favorite character is the non-descript
smoking silhouette alien guy (or is that his nose?) What the hell is up
with this cat? He gets put in all kinds of situations. That's pretty
incredible for a guy without a face or any other discernible features.
Maybe it's the hoot he's puffing on all day. --Movie Reviewer -- well hell, this is obvious. I like movies, I don't
mind writing, shit, I even have a degree in film (a rarity among journalism
majors that work for newspapers). Unfortunately, I don't ever really say
anything groundbreaking, nor am I incredibly entertaining. I suppose I am
handicapped in these regards. All I have to say is, LA Times, if I were
one of your reviewers, you would sell a shitload more papers in Oklahoma! --Anything involving cursing -- I love to curse. Neigh, I aspire to
curse with all that is decent and holy! A tad contradictory, you might
say? I appropriately respond, fuck that shit! If Jesus were around
today, the guy would curse like a sailor. How else would he be able to get
his point across to all the prepaid customers? I think I can curse with
the best of them, with one notable exception. This is the drill sergeant,
a la Full Metal Jacket or An Officer and a Gentleman. These guys are
totally beyond any of my comparatively feeble abilities. I can only hope
one day to attain such cursing prowess as these men possess. I'm just not
sure I'm willing to go through boot camp to do it. Fuck that shit, my ass
needs to be watching movies and writing for this shit-ass webpage all
day. WTF? Smarties and Sweet-Tarts Now that Halloween is upon us I feel I must say something. Smarties and
Sweet-Tarts are the most worthless piece-of-shit candies I have ever had the
displeasure of tasting. They are both horrible. Fucking sweet-tarts,
I've never understood the concept of something being good because it tastes so
much like shit. It's like, this taste so much like shit, it's starting to
taste good! I don't think so, you fucking dumbass bitch. And
Smarties?!?!? What the hell is that all about? Hey kids, here's a
roll of sugary chalk because we were too cheap to buy real candy. Get the
fuck out of here with that bullshit. Here's to all you candy passer-outers
out there. Give the kids a break and lay off the smarties and
sweet-tarts. Godammit those things are disappointments to a trick-or-treater.
Squeeze a couple extra dollars out of your cheap, ramen-noodle eating ass and
buy the kids some Snickers. Fuck fuck fuck. I hate the phrase "you missed out." What kind of shit is
that? Don't say that to me! If I didn't do something, it's either 1)
because I didn't want to or 2) that I simply couldn't. "Oh, oh, you
should've come to the party! You really missed out!" Bullshit I
missed out! I didn't fucking want to go! I had something better to
do! And if the situation is that I simply couldn't come because of some
other commitment or necessity, don't rub it in by saying that "I missed
out." Fuck that shit, that's just rude. WTF? Subway guy Goddammit, do I hate that Subway
asshole. What the hell is his deal, just waltzing into where people live
like he owns the fucking place and telling people what to eat? Whatever
dude! If the guys want to eat pizza, just fucking let them! I just
can't see how eating hoagies can possibly make you that skinny. I don't
know about you guys, but every time I've been to Subway, the "Sandwich
Artists" are not exactly shy with the mayo. That may be because I
tell them "lots of mayonnaise," but still, they don't look like
they're unfamiliar with the squeezer. And for the love of God, lay off the
guy at the drive-through window at the burger place (obviously supposed to be a
generic, non-descript Wendy's. Dave's not even cold in his grave
yet)! Why would you possibly do something like that unless you're a sick,
sadistic 'smoke? I mean, don't go to Taco Bell and order popcorn.
Just don't be that guy. And don't try to confuse the young gentleman by
making exaggerations about his "radar screen," which he clearly
doesn't have. The man's just trying to do his job. At least he has
an honorable profession, as opposed to walking around acting like you're the
sandwich god and to defy you means you're a moron with an impending fat ass and
coronary. Tell that to the guys who've been eating a cold-cut trio every
day for the last 2 years trying to halve themselves like Jared. Where do
you get off? I've got an idea, instead of making fun of cowboy guys going
after police horses, go walk around the block a few times with Jared and maybe
you'll be hungry enough to eat some real food. Jesus, cowboys get made fun
of enough (not that they don't deserve most of it). You're beating a dead horse with that shit. At first, I
was glad to see something other than the whole Jared thing, because somehow it's
just sick and wrong. But this shit has got to stop, you ignorant
slut. 
