Day one of the NCAA tournament may be the greatest sporting day of the year. But unlike the Super Bowl which is nestled on a cozy Sunday in between a breakfast beer and an afternoon of chicken wings, March Madness always starts on a Thursday. And if you’re like most sports loving saps, you’re probably stuck at the office finger fucking the hell out of a Microsoft Excel spreadsheet. Here are a few tips for watching the tournament while at work.
Don’t ask me how I came up with this analogy. It came to me in a vision/mythical voice similar to the one Ray heard in Field of Dreams. “If you blog it, they will come.” If only that was a true sentiment about blowjobs instead of web hits, then I’d be the sexual Svengali. And away we go.
THE MONKEY BARS
The type of woman who always wants you to hold something, like her purse or your step son who you clearly don’t love… And has obnoxious freckles… And blows milk bubbles. Fuck you, Rupert!
Also, any woman who insists you perform arduous tasks like cleaning the gutters or taking out the garbage. You can kick all you want, but you’re just gonna end up falling on your ass. On a submissive side note, I’d hold Gisele’s colostomy bag if she asked me to.
If you’re not familiar with the movie blog Slashfilm, don’t worry, all you’re missing out on is a bunch of geeks playing a game of hide “hide the wookiee in the moderator’s anus.” A bunch of commenters with monikers like “Zed is Dead” and “Son of Jor-El” arguing whether Hermione Granger can turn their flaccid penises into werewolves and such. Get the point? No? Fine. It’s a movie community made up completely of the kid who kept all of his boogers in the back of his trapper keeper in home-economics. His name was Billy, and he had eczema. This is their world, and why I fuckin’ hate it.
This past week I had a lot of thoughts running through my head like mystic, painted white horses in some Native American made for TV movie starring Bill Paxton. While that movie may be a figment of my imagination, I assure you these thoughts are truly the driving force of this shallow guy.
I like to think of Black Eyed Peas fans as Peter Pan clones. They’re adults who act like children, living in a fantasy world where Boom Boom Pow is a substitute for Bangarang. For the life of me I can’t understand the appeal of this group, but like clockwork they release music that takes over the radio waves and the world. I certainly don’t claim to have grown up during the golden age of music, but are these Peter Pans really going to tell their children that they lost their virginity while Imma Be was pulsating on their MP3 player?
At some point in my life I’m probably gonna have a kid, and trying to come to some agreement with the knocked up lady about a suitable name is gonna be like pulling teeth. Your name defines what kind of person you are, and what kind of person you’re going to become. And for girls, if you end up with any of these unfortunate names, a guy is gonna think your panties are like an ATM, he can come/cum at his convenience.
Men are poon hounds. There I said it. I’m sure there’s not a woman on this planet that didn’t know that having sex is the favorite pastime of any heterosexual or homosexual Y Chromosome out there. If there was a choice between great sex or being able to stop a nuclear proliferation, I’d say there’s a 99 percent chance that hazardous materials are gonna start flying around like spermicidal rockets. But with that being said, here are a handful of things that can make a man happy BESIDES sex.
Well. IT happened. Sandra Bullock took home the Oscar for best actress for her role in The Blind Side, thus dramatically shaping the world we live in. But just how different is this post-Sandra Bullock landscape going to look? Forget “when pigs fly,” this is a totally different ball game.
As the story goes, this “bitch manifesto” was found in a Washington DC third grade classroom. Apparently at that age you’ve got 90 problems, and a bitch is all of them. When I was 8-years-old I don’t even think I could stay between the lines. I was still working on that extra wide lined brown paper, and excavating the lint in my belly button.
As much as I try to avoid posting viral videos, this one was just too good, and I’m too hungover not to post it. As the story goes, this Aussie contracted tuberculosis and ended up in quarantine where he became a rapping fool. The rest is music and cinematic history.
Authors&Co.
Family
