Author: Sharkey

Upon exiting the bookstore tonight, the guy parked next to us made me ponder a question to which I have found no answer. So I pose it to you, my loyal friends…

Why, in one of the statistically safest towns on the planet, where the average car is a $50,000 hunk of German luxury, would you possibly feel the need to put The Club on your paint-stripped 1992 Toyota Tercel?

I’m really sorry for what I have to do at the end of this post, but for now, just check out the story for yourself. Or, if you’re lazy like myself…

Green Bay Packers (news) fullback Najeh Davenport agreed Tuesday to do community service to settle charges he broke into a university dormitory and defecated in a sleeping woman’s closet.

Details of the player’s service were not released during his court appearance. He must sign up for the program by Nov. 12. If he completes the program, a felony charge of second-degree burglary and a misdemeanor count of criminal mischief will be dropped.

“Where’s the evidence? Where’s the manure?” Davenport asked outside court. “I know I didn’t do it I just wanted to get it over with.”

Again, I am truly, truly sorry for the transgression that I am about to commit against you.

*AHEM*

If there is no shit, you must acquit.

*Sigh*

[ Buy One 3-Piece Meal, Get One Free ] (stolen from el forum, but since it’s my forum, I can do that.)

I know the commentary’s been a little lacking lately, what with all the short, one-or-two-paragraph posts and such. So I’m going to do you a favor.

Welcome to paragraph three. Congratulations. Seriously though, I’ve been busy as a former African-American football hero after slitting two people’s throats on the way to a KFC dinner these past few weeks. I barely have any time to hate my fellow man, let alone sit down and put to text exactly why I hate the scumsuckers. I’m working on stuff for the site though, so at least you won’t feel too unloved once it is unveiled. Until then, why don’t you numb yourself with some pie and ice cream while I get back into the groove.

Fo shizzle, mah nizzle. Oh right, I’m white as Pee Wee Herman at an Outkast concert. Anyway, there are hot pecan slices in game chick costumes there. Just in case you’re into that sort of thing. Pervert.

Have you kids taken a gander at the marvelous piece of literary brilliance that is the supposed sniper demand letter? I didn’t think there was any single way to make the deaths of 6 people seem like pure comedy, but they did it. I especially appreciate the little stars, although I think that dotting the “i’s” with hearts would have finished the job nicely.

Personally, I’m a little let down by the whole fiasco. Wouldn’t it have made us sleep a little more soundly to know that it took some hideous criminal mastermind to kill so many yet evade the police for so long? We get to the conclusion and it turns out these Scooby-Doo-esque villains are the intellectual equivalent of Doug E Fresh and Ned Beatty’s Otis from Superman. Disappointing.

[ Net Enabled Fridges Are Unveiled ]

It could be like one of those cookie jars they sell at Target that growl or talk when you open them. Except the fridge could say “Jesus H. Christ on a pogo stick, how many slices of cake can you eat in a day, you fat fuck? I’m downloading the number of your local heart emergency clinic, and ordering you a fucking treadmill. And what’s with the nonfat milk? Who the Hell are you trying to kid?”

I’m extra cynical at night. But at least I’ve got one of these on the way. Please guys, don’t try to impress me by ordering one if you don’t have a girl to give it to. And no, mom doesn’t count you sick, sick piece of shit. Oh, uh… I mean buy one. Buy one today. It’s for a good cause.

Alright, alright, just like in basic Algebra. I present you with a word problem, except in this case, the math doesn’t quite work out. Please consult page 542 of your textbooks for the solution.

BERLIN (Reuters) – A cat saved its family by raising the alarm after it touched off a fire, German police said on Monday.

Mimi the black-and-white cat was playing in the family kitchen in the northwest town of Luedenhausen when a misstep switched on an electric oven, which ignited papers stacked next to it.

But Mimi then awoke the family by miaowing loudly and pushing heavy objects on the floor.

“Mimi saved the family. There would have been a major fire had she not raised the alarm,” a police spokesman said.

*stares blankly*

*turns furiously to page 542*

Alright kids, let’s go over this one logically:

Cat + Kitchen = Fire
Cat Warning Family * (Cat + Kitchen) = Heroism
(Cat + Kitchen) – Cat Warning Family = Tragedy

Do you see the simple solution to why these equations don’t add up? Because if you take the cat out altogether, there’s no clear set of results!

The cat was trying to kill you, fuckers, not save you. This was just a warning. The next time lil’ Billy winds up taking a dirt nap. So buy the fucking Whiskas, change the Goddamn litter box, and keep your noses clean.

The big benefit of being an independent contractor is the hours. I found that my productivity levels decrease during which that thing you day-dwellers call the “Sun” is in the horizon. I just spent more continuous hours working than uh… well shit, even if I wasn’t half dead and delirious from deprivation, I still wouldn’t be able to think of a time I did that much work in a marathon run. It was worth the effort though, now my big project is nearly out of the way. However, now that I want to sleep, the client will no doubt decide to call me in an hour, eliciting completely involuntary responses from the “asleep Sharkey” who likes to fuck up my professional life. I’m sure the client wouldn’t appreciate my answers to his inquiries and comments having the words “cocksmoker” and “shitfaced dickbiter” thrown in for posterity. Since I don’t trust myself, I’m going to turn off the ringer. Better safe than fired.

If you were wondering where the posts went this weekend, you can find them at a little place called Margaritaville, a suburb of Boozetown, USA. All my friends (thanks to the lil’ woman and Sugary75) threw me a surprise birthday shindig at Dave & Busters, which ended up at the Queen Mary for flaming booze and a Persian Elvis impersonator. Hey, it’s my party and I’ll celebrate how I like. Last night the GF treated me to a Tenacious D show at the House Of Blues, where we caught about a quarter of the (from what I’ve heard) amazing Angels game last night. Not a bad weekend, if I do say so myself, and it’s not even my birthday yet. Frankly with all the alcohol that’s run through my system the last 48 hours, I’m surprised I had the energy to keep my eyes open past midnight, let alone 8 in the damned morning. But that’s what inhalents are for, my children. Whenever you’re feeling tired or down in the mouth, grab a nice bucket of fresh paint. Or as I like to call it, productivity in a can. A can of awaiting latex-based death. Good morning and good night to you all.

Mother of sweet merciful crap, setups do not come much better than this. I’ll let the pudding provide it’s own proof today.

During a recent chat, Bolton, who is uncommonly good at rolling with the punches, cracked when interrogated about Conan O’Brien. The late night talk show host has been nothing but kind to Bolton at charity events or while sharing the diamond during celebrity softball games. However, during his program, O’Brien has tossed heavy barbs at Bolton. “Michael Bolton said yesterday he now wants to become an opera singer which is great since now my dad and I can hate the same kind of music.”

Ouch. “Normally I take all that (abuse) with a grain of salt,” Bolton said. “But if and when I see him I’m going to look at him in the eye and say, ‘I’m shocked.’ If we ever play another softball game together I’m going to drive the ball through his head. He plays third base but he better play outfield because he won’t survive the game.

Jeez Mike, seems like we’re a lil’ sensitive about the derogatory comments. Can’t really blame him though. After 20 years of being told that you’re a ambiguously gay representation of all that has ever sucked, or will come to suck in the future, you might just have to snap. Although I have to criticize his decision of Conan O’Brien as the outlet of his ire. Can’t you pick on someone a little more in your league, Bolton? How about Stephen Hawking? No wait, he’s got all those sweet boxing glove attachments on his wheelchair, you’d get mashed like a potato. Howsabout that kid from Jerry Maguire, Bea Arthur, or a blindfolded Corky from Life Goes On? You stand a slightly better than average chance with each one. I smell another Celebrity Boxing waiting to happen!

Ah, the mail has arrived. Time to slip into my Hef-inspired robe, pour a cold Keystone Light into a brandy snifter, swirl it around to let it breathe, then chuck the rancid bastard into the fire. Enough with the mood music, let’s get on with it.

From: Paul
Subject: dance dance rehab?

Ever seen that dance dance revolution game? you know, all the little asian kids having an epileptic fit on an arcade machine? the game solely designed to embarass white folk from the suburbs with no rhythm?

check this guy out. (7.2MB)

This is the point where hobby becomes disgusting addiction. … And yes, being a white suburbanite who couldn’t bust a move with a pantleg full of Jell-O and a rabid squirrel, I am quite jealous. But hey, take his crutches away and the man is nothing. NOTHING!

Sweet Jesus in a birchbark canoe, I’m in an extremely spiteful mood today. Must be the weather. Or the uppers.