Why is everything funnier with puppets?
Discuss.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Friday, March 12, 2010
Monday, March 8, 2010
Why Does Everyone Want to Make Roseanne Look Mean?
Roseanne Bar is NOT mean. I'll say it again. Roseanne Bar is NOT a big, fat mean, haggardly woman who says crazy things and then regrets them. Okay, well maybe the last part(s) is/are true, but the first part is a skinny little bitch of a lie...
She is back in the news again about saying something insensitive, however; doesn't anyone realize that people that don't look like Greta Garbo on a sun-kissed, pouty-lipped, good hair day get to be a bitch every now and again? Especially when they/she doesn't even look as good as what was probably Greta Garbo's dungeoned, and much uglier sister...
It just isn't fair to pick on someone who was made famous for having a nasaly voice, being in-and-out of psyche wards and had to endure years of fat-on-fat sweat-sex with Tom Arnold.
Come on people. Isn't knowing she nestled her nose in Arnold's salty, pubic-like armpit hair enough repentance for any wrong-doing she may ever commit for the rest of her life?
Robbery vs. armpit hair? Armpit hair. Lying vs. armpit hair? Armpit hair. Telling your boss you are sick when you are watching the re-release of "White Knights" and wearing your tap shoes? Armpit.
See? Nothing compares.
No amount of "Our Father's" or having to endure pergatory for all of eternity could POSSIBLY be as bad as Tom, I mean, that....
Why can't the media pick on someone there own size?
Someone like Rosie O'Donnel, for instance....
Not only is Rose O'Donnel MUCH uglier,and MUCH more controversial than Roseanne; but she was getting sex from a very cute, tight-assed blonde for the last decade.
Sex with a hot chick alone cancels out the Greta Garbo protection factor for the ugliness rule and means that she has NO RIGHT to put her two cents in every time Tom, Dick, Harry or well, um Jane takes their panties off...
And, besides, like Chrissy said, her ass is hairier than a Wooly Mamoth's in December.
So, please, pick on Rosie, but not Roseanne anymore.
And if you don't ease up on Roseanne, be careful what you ask for. God may just punish you with some gnarly, dandruff-filled armpit hair to suck on for all of eternity.
She is back in the news again about saying something insensitive, however; doesn't anyone realize that people that don't look like Greta Garbo on a sun-kissed, pouty-lipped, good hair day get to be a bitch every now and again? Especially when they/she doesn't even look as good as what was probably Greta Garbo's dungeoned, and much uglier sister...
It just isn't fair to pick on someone who was made famous for having a nasaly voice, being in-and-out of psyche wards and had to endure years of fat-on-fat sweat-sex with Tom Arnold.
Come on people. Isn't knowing she nestled her nose in Arnold's salty, pubic-like armpit hair enough repentance for any wrong-doing she may ever commit for the rest of her life?
Robbery vs. armpit hair? Armpit hair. Lying vs. armpit hair? Armpit hair. Telling your boss you are sick when you are watching the re-release of "White Knights" and wearing your tap shoes? Armpit.
See? Nothing compares.
No amount of "Our Father's" or having to endure pergatory for all of eternity could POSSIBLY be as bad as Tom, I mean, that....
Why can't the media pick on someone there own size?
Someone like Rosie O'Donnel, for instance....
Not only is Rose O'Donnel MUCH uglier,and MUCH more controversial than Roseanne; but she was getting sex from a very cute, tight-assed blonde for the last decade.
Sex with a hot chick alone cancels out the Greta Garbo protection factor for the ugliness rule and means that she has NO RIGHT to put her two cents in every time Tom, Dick, Harry or well, um Jane takes their panties off...
And, besides, like Chrissy said, her ass is hairier than a Wooly Mamoth's in December.
So, please, pick on Rosie, but not Roseanne anymore.
And if you don't ease up on Roseanne, be careful what you ask for. God may just punish you with some gnarly, dandruff-filled armpit hair to suck on for all of eternity.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Breaking News Out Of Hollywood:
This Just In:
Breaking news out of Hollywood today, where sources confirmed that Tom Cruise is, undeniably, a woman.
Rumors began circulating last year when Tom was spotted alone at Dr. Gloria Bender's office, a well-known gynecologist to the stars. Followed then by a sighting of Cruise alone again in aisle seven of Whole Foods, opening packages of maxi pads. Cruise was escorted out of the store after he reportedly put a few of the sanitary napkins in his coat pocket.
The rumors were confirmed this morning as Cruise was sitting poolside at the Hotel Bel-Air, a favorite to the star. Cruise, reading the morning paper took notice of a crowd of fans gazing his way as he sipped his beverage. As one got up and headed in his direction, Cruise seeming uncomfortable, stood up quickly in an attempt to walk away. As he did so his towel shifted, revealing his vagina.
Said eyewitness, Timothy Peterson 18, a visiting Quaker from Toledo, Ohio, "I wasn't sure what I was looking at at first. Could have been Suri's toy monkey, or a well-shaved dust mop. Not sure why either would have been hiding there though. But then it hit me, and I knew I'd seen one of those before. Last year when my Aunt Edna slipped on ice while getting the morning paper."
Said another witness, "It was frightening. And, it was shiny. Sort of. It all happened so fast. We just stood there pointing and staring while Tom fumbled around before finally running into the back entrance of the hotel."
Cruise has been reported saying, "This is preposterous. It's simply just, well, just preposterous." He then spelled p.r.e.p.o.s.t.e.r.o.u.s. Then he gave that big fucking cheesy grin as a teared rolled from her eyes.
Katie Holmes has not yet returned any inquiries. And reps and sources close to the star refused to comment. We did, however, get a statement from ex-wife Nicole Kidman, who went, "Ewww!", when we questioned her knowledge of this recent discovery.
New information continues to unfold in this story. And as "preposterous" as this all seems, it explains the bizarre affinity between Tom and long-time admirer, Rosie O'Donnell, who was overheard saying, enthusiastically, "Reeeaally??", when the news broke. And Rosie O'Donnell, as no surpise to anyone, has a big hairy ass...
Breaking news out of Hollywood today, where sources confirmed that Tom Cruise is, undeniably, a woman.
Rumors began circulating last year when Tom was spotted alone at Dr. Gloria Bender's office, a well-known gynecologist to the stars. Followed then by a sighting of Cruise alone again in aisle seven of Whole Foods, opening packages of maxi pads. Cruise was escorted out of the store after he reportedly put a few of the sanitary napkins in his coat pocket.
The rumors were confirmed this morning as Cruise was sitting poolside at the Hotel Bel-Air, a favorite to the star. Cruise, reading the morning paper took notice of a crowd of fans gazing his way as he sipped his beverage. As one got up and headed in his direction, Cruise seeming uncomfortable, stood up quickly in an attempt to walk away. As he did so his towel shifted, revealing his vagina.
Said eyewitness, Timothy Peterson 18, a visiting Quaker from Toledo, Ohio, "I wasn't sure what I was looking at at first. Could have been Suri's toy monkey, or a well-shaved dust mop. Not sure why either would have been hiding there though. But then it hit me, and I knew I'd seen one of those before. Last year when my Aunt Edna slipped on ice while getting the morning paper."
Said another witness, "It was frightening. And, it was shiny. Sort of. It all happened so fast. We just stood there pointing and staring while Tom fumbled around before finally running into the back entrance of the hotel."
Cruise has been reported saying, "This is preposterous. It's simply just, well, just preposterous." He then spelled p.r.e.p.o.s.t.e.r.o.u.s. Then he gave that big fucking cheesy grin as a teared rolled from her eyes.
Katie Holmes has not yet returned any inquiries. And reps and sources close to the star refused to comment. We did, however, get a statement from ex-wife Nicole Kidman, who went, "Ewww!", when we questioned her knowledge of this recent discovery.
New information continues to unfold in this story. And as "preposterous" as this all seems, it explains the bizarre affinity between Tom and long-time admirer, Rosie O'Donnell, who was overheard saying, enthusiastically, "Reeeaally??", when the news broke. And Rosie O'Donnell, as no surpise to anyone, has a big hairy ass...
Friday, March 5, 2010
Why Do I...
Why is it I INSIST on watching shit that makes me sick to my stomach?
..like this show, "I Shouldn't Be Alive," for instance, where men are "SAVAGELY" malled by wild animals (as if being just plain malled by a wild animal isn't bad enough) and young couples are lost in deserts only to find that a man had died in that same spot on the exact date one year prior..or how about the the weird and ugly show where the hyena gives birth through the same hole that you and me go pee pee out of and sometimes dies during birth; or like, and THIS ONE IS REALLY REALLY SICK, watching people like Tiger Woods, John Edwards and another one of those gay conservatives make an apology for living a double life while I could be watching quality programming like "All My Children," local television commericals, or "Celebrity Fit Club," you know, the real top notch television out there.
But no, I waste it watching junk. Junk that makes me nauseated and sad and terrified that my partner or, perhaps, even one of my beloved neighbors may come and murder me in the middle of the night (48 Hour Mysteries)...
I mean, all of these things make me sick when I watch them; like say, nauseated or short of breath or downright paranoid, depending on which one you are talking about, and I CAN'T STOP WATCHING THEM..
In fact, I plan my week around these things, as though it were my job or something.
I love it. I dream about it (when I am not dreaming about missing persons or animals missing limbs or people lost in the wilderness and finding ways to live while doing sit-ups throughout the night in the middle of a canyon with a broken pelvic bone while suffering from hypothermia) and when I am not sleeping my heart beats faster the closer the show is on my tagged film list throughout the night.
I just can't figure it out.
It is love and hate.
Lust and disgust.
Push me pull/me.
See how close I can get you so I can vomit all over your face kind of alluring, you know?
I don't know..Maybe I never will.
But I can guarantee you that if I get lost in the wilderness in arctic temperatures without food, water, or friend in site...I WILL not only know how to survive, but will be able to do so with a keen sense of what a stalker or an attempted murderer would look like, how to avoid killer bees and venomous snakes, knowledge of how to skin a rat, and awareness of the most direct way to get out of a waterfall ....and I'll be able to do it all with the latest American Idol winner's song in my heart...
..like this show, "I Shouldn't Be Alive," for instance, where men are "SAVAGELY" malled by wild animals (as if being just plain malled by a wild animal isn't bad enough) and young couples are lost in deserts only to find that a man had died in that same spot on the exact date one year prior..or how about the the weird and ugly show where the hyena gives birth through the same hole that you and me go pee pee out of and sometimes dies during birth; or like, and THIS ONE IS REALLY REALLY SICK, watching people like Tiger Woods, John Edwards and another one of those gay conservatives make an apology for living a double life while I could be watching quality programming like "All My Children," local television commericals, or "Celebrity Fit Club," you know, the real top notch television out there.
But no, I waste it watching junk. Junk that makes me nauseated and sad and terrified that my partner or, perhaps, even one of my beloved neighbors may come and murder me in the middle of the night (48 Hour Mysteries)...
I mean, all of these things make me sick when I watch them; like say, nauseated or short of breath or downright paranoid, depending on which one you are talking about, and I CAN'T STOP WATCHING THEM..
In fact, I plan my week around these things, as though it were my job or something.
I love it. I dream about it (when I am not dreaming about missing persons or animals missing limbs or people lost in the wilderness and finding ways to live while doing sit-ups throughout the night in the middle of a canyon with a broken pelvic bone while suffering from hypothermia) and when I am not sleeping my heart beats faster the closer the show is on my tagged film list throughout the night.
I just can't figure it out.
It is love and hate.
Lust and disgust.
Push me pull/me.
See how close I can get you so I can vomit all over your face kind of alluring, you know?
I don't know..Maybe I never will.
But I can guarantee you that if I get lost in the wilderness in arctic temperatures without food, water, or friend in site...I WILL not only know how to survive, but will be able to do so with a keen sense of what a stalker or an attempted murderer would look like, how to avoid killer bees and venomous snakes, knowledge of how to skin a rat, and awareness of the most direct way to get out of a waterfall ....and I'll be able to do it all with the latest American Idol winner's song in my heart...
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Why Can't People Leave Me Alone at the Dog Park?
Dear __________________:
When I go to the dog park a few blocks from my house, ___________, I don't want to be bothered, okay; at least not by people anyway.
I mean, don't you know that it is a DOG park and not a people making friends park or a sell me your latest product park or a blow my alcohol-infested breathe at 2PM on you park? Really.
I mean, I am not against friendliness and stuff, _______________, but why is it that you don't realize that before I go to the dog park, I don't wash my face, brush my teeth or even put on underwear? I actually look my worst so that I DON'T have to hang with you and hear your deepest secrets while my dog is taking a piss on your shoe.
Don't get me wrong, ______________________, I love it when you waive at me from across the park or allow my 12lb dog to share a ball with your 198 lb dog, because you know she will never catch it anyway; yeah, real friendly, ________________. But I DON'T, and I really meant this; want to be part of the afternoon "click" at the park that talks about their dogs as though in refinement school (I mean, I KNOW my dog is a person, I don't need to groom her because she is gonna be ghetto anyway) or about their latest agility feats. My dog is ghetto, and I don't need to hear it.
Don't you know, ____________, that parents of sub-standard children don't want to hear about your retriever going to Harvard or your Pit Bull being chosen for one of those prison rehabilitation programs. Really, we don't. That just makes us hate you. And besides, this kind of parent talk and forced friendliness and need to rub shoulders with the other parents is the reason I don't have children...
Well, at least one of the reasons.
When I go to the dog park a few blocks from my house, ___________, I don't want to be bothered, okay; at least not by people anyway.
I mean, don't you know that it is a DOG park and not a people making friends park or a sell me your latest product park or a blow my alcohol-infested breathe at 2PM on you park? Really.
I mean, I am not against friendliness and stuff, _______________, but why is it that you don't realize that before I go to the dog park, I don't wash my face, brush my teeth or even put on underwear? I actually look my worst so that I DON'T have to hang with you and hear your deepest secrets while my dog is taking a piss on your shoe.
Don't get me wrong, ______________________, I love it when you waive at me from across the park or allow my 12lb dog to share a ball with your 198 lb dog, because you know she will never catch it anyway; yeah, real friendly, ________________. But I DON'T, and I really meant this; want to be part of the afternoon "click" at the park that talks about their dogs as though in refinement school (I mean, I KNOW my dog is a person, I don't need to groom her because she is gonna be ghetto anyway) or about their latest agility feats. My dog is ghetto, and I don't need to hear it.
Don't you know, ____________, that parents of sub-standard children don't want to hear about your retriever going to Harvard or your Pit Bull being chosen for one of those prison rehabilitation programs. Really, we don't. That just makes us hate you. And besides, this kind of parent talk and forced friendliness and need to rub shoulders with the other parents is the reason I don't have children...
Well, at least one of the reasons.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Jesus loves you, but I will call 911 on your crazy ass...
I've met some of the craziest people parading in the name of Jesus.
I can say that free of guilt because it's my blog and nobody's reading it anyway. Plus I don't care, so there's that.
My first encounter with a Geezus demon was at bible camp circa 1992.
"Why the f*ck were you at bible camp, Costa?" you may wanna be asking.
Well, they had the best coffee in all of Western PA. Or, I was trying to get close to something. And I did. His name was Bob and he was possessed. With what, I'm not sure, but he was creepy. And like many creepy people he had a big ass crush on me.
His eyes glowed an eerie red and his teeth were like candy corn. He took to me instantly. He walked right up to me and held my tiny hand. His was sweaty and evil. I was paralyzed with fear. He said angry things and scared a lot of us. I just wanted to run back to my cabin and have a beer with my younger sister. That's why SHE was attending bible camp. She was passed out though because it doesn't take much beer to knock a child out. And when you're at bible camp you tend to drink faster in fear of being caught. So I was stuck alone with him by the campfire until my friend found me. When she did I told her we need to get him to a camp counselor and have him exterminated. I wasn't privy to the christian vocabulary. I was merely a child from the 'hood, a mistruster from way back, trying to find some truth.
As he stood there speaking in tongues, rambling some crazy sh*t, eyes getting glassy and all, I did the only thing I could think of. I took off running as fast as I could, and despite what my soccer coach said I could run pretty fast. I hid for the next two days. Mostly in the shower area. I had my sister and friend bring me meals. When it was time to depart from camp I jumped on the bus and never looked back. I don't have a clue as to what ever happened to Bob.
Another Geezus creep came shortly after my departure from Bob. This little disciple attended the church that sent me to bible camp. Like Bob, he fell for me, fast and hard. And unfortunately HE knew where I lived. He'd show up on weekends and stand in front of our house with his arms held high, praying, I suppose. He thought if he prayed hard enough I'd come out and marry him, or date him, or hold his hand. I stood from the door and yelled, "FREAK!". Persistent, as most of that faith are, he insisted on ignoring my pleas for him to leave and kept his arms held to the sky, begging Jesus to bring me out.
Finally, after feeling sequestered in our home for most of March, my Mom had enough and took a broom and a pot outside and told him to get the hell away from the house. He never returned.
As for me, I stopped attending church. I traded in my bible for a pack of Newport 100's and, kids, the rest is history...
I can say that free of guilt because it's my blog and nobody's reading it anyway. Plus I don't care, so there's that.
My first encounter with a Geezus demon was at bible camp circa 1992.
"Why the f*ck were you at bible camp, Costa?" you may wanna be asking.
Well, they had the best coffee in all of Western PA. Or, I was trying to get close to something. And I did. His name was Bob and he was possessed. With what, I'm not sure, but he was creepy. And like many creepy people he had a big ass crush on me.
His eyes glowed an eerie red and his teeth were like candy corn. He took to me instantly. He walked right up to me and held my tiny hand. His was sweaty and evil. I was paralyzed with fear. He said angry things and scared a lot of us. I just wanted to run back to my cabin and have a beer with my younger sister. That's why SHE was attending bible camp. She was passed out though because it doesn't take much beer to knock a child out. And when you're at bible camp you tend to drink faster in fear of being caught. So I was stuck alone with him by the campfire until my friend found me. When she did I told her we need to get him to a camp counselor and have him exterminated. I wasn't privy to the christian vocabulary. I was merely a child from the 'hood, a mistruster from way back, trying to find some truth.
As he stood there speaking in tongues, rambling some crazy sh*t, eyes getting glassy and all, I did the only thing I could think of. I took off running as fast as I could, and despite what my soccer coach said I could run pretty fast. I hid for the next two days. Mostly in the shower area. I had my sister and friend bring me meals. When it was time to depart from camp I jumped on the bus and never looked back. I don't have a clue as to what ever happened to Bob.
Another Geezus creep came shortly after my departure from Bob. This little disciple attended the church that sent me to bible camp. Like Bob, he fell for me, fast and hard. And unfortunately HE knew where I lived. He'd show up on weekends and stand in front of our house with his arms held high, praying, I suppose. He thought if he prayed hard enough I'd come out and marry him, or date him, or hold his hand. I stood from the door and yelled, "FREAK!". Persistent, as most of that faith are, he insisted on ignoring my pleas for him to leave and kept his arms held to the sky, begging Jesus to bring me out.
Finally, after feeling sequestered in our home for most of March, my Mom had enough and took a broom and a pot outside and told him to get the hell away from the house. He never returned.
As for me, I stopped attending church. I traded in my bible for a pack of Newport 100's and, kids, the rest is history...
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