baby on board

Is it just me, or does seeing "baby on board" in the rear windshield of the car ahead of you make you hold down your horn, speed up, tailgate, pass recklessly on a winding double line, break-check and toss all your trash out the window at them??

"Oooo, I have a fucking baby!"

Shut the hell up and get off the road! You have no more rights or privileges than the rest of us! Get that ugly little shit out of your backseat and back on your wife's tit where it belongs!

dies lunæ dēmentia

Some sketchy-ass pile of shit just came into my work ranting and raving about how the bank wouldn't cash her check. She had no intentions of buying anything from me, the only reason I was getting the brunt of her tirade is because she clearly, on hands and knees, came to the realization the sidewalk wasn't listening.

As this stereotypical (fried) hippie went on about the injustice, discrimination and conspiracies of banking, I sat silently, calculating just the right time to cut her off and kick her to the back alley with the other vagrants...but she interrupted herself, nearly screaming--"OH MY GOD ARE YOU OK?!?" I casually said "no, make it stop" while continuing to stare at my laptop as if she wasn't there. "No kidding, you must be in so much pain! That head bandage is covering half your head!"

That was the turning point for me, the almost seemless transition between annoying "customer" and humorous encounter with a nonsensical lunatic. My personal favorite.

Unfortunately though, before I got the chance to play along, she discovered her mistake: "I admire your courage...to sustain a head injury like that and still come to work, that's so...oh, wait, take off your hat. Is that just your hair? Oh."

It wasn't long before she was labias-deep in her diatribe against the bank again, mainly rehashing everything she'd previously said--this time, however, working herself into even more of a psychotic frenzy, pounding her fist on the counter and leaving me with this gem of a parting statement as she exited the building:

"...and earlier today I saw the same teller giving her kid a SODA! Can you fucking believe that?? While his teeth are ROTTING from his skull, she actually gave him a soda!! THAT IS ENDANGERING THE WELFARE OF A CHILD!! You know what? THAT DOES IT!! I am calling the POLICE!!!"

vinegar toes

This is my home-style recipe for vinegar toes:

•First, prepare by neglecting to trim your toenails. The longer they are, the more crud will collect underneath them. This is good for aromatic longevity. Once the growth of distal edge on your big toe has reached half a centimeter, you're ready for the next step.
•DO NOT shower for at least one week. The longer you self-marinate, the more BANG in your tang.
•DO NOT wear socks. This allows you to really soak in spices from the shoe leather. It's also good for color--you want to go for a low to medium yellowish/brownish hue, if possible.
•Aggressive exercise. This will speed up perspiration rate and causes vigorous shoe rubbing, which is good for calluses that lock in natural flavors.

troubleshooting tips:

•For best results - prepare during the hot, muggy month of August.
•If you're not getting the desired fragrance, try one of two things: a) If results are too weak - increase the pungency by walking barefoot across the floor of a public restroom, or locker room, if accessible. b) If results are too strong - try urinating on your feet to neutralize the odor.

If you'd like to refer to an unprecedented example of vinegar toes to further improve your own efforts--hunt me down and remove my shoes for a waft of zestiest batch this season.

They may as well fart in my open mouth.

I would rather bathe in Hep A infested diarrhea than continue to sit within breathing distance of any more customers today. They all smell like wet shit splattered on a fat whore's upper thighs after gym class.

I may just keep the doors locked and start exchanging services through the mail slot...

I've been scrubbing dead babies out of the carpet all day.

Yeah, I know they're crawling all over the driveway and it's difficult to step around them at night...but from now on, everyone better start taking their shoes off at the door.

let it leak

The menstrual cycle is a miracle of nature; much like a rainbow, the metamorphosis of a butterfly or a catastrophic hurricane. It's truly a marvel. An act of beauty...one that shouldn't be obstructed by a cotton rod or strapless diaper. The blood flow should be worn as a badge of honor, a coagulating symbol of independent womanhood, a crimson trophy.

Ladies, for the love of suffrage, feminism and the ongoing struggle for liberating women the world over...man up and let it leak.

caramel MOSHiato

Jason Newsted, formerly of Metallica (and tv's "Rock Star Supernova"), came in and bought a coffee from me on Saturday. His drink of choice is a grande Caramel Macchiato with three shots of espresso and an enthusiastic "EXTRA!!!" whipped cream.

His wife was hot. As my eyes locked onto her, I found myself in somewhat of a trance. Enough foam gathered at the corners of my mouth to top every cappuccino for the next four hours. As I managed to break out of my lascivious stare, I caught Mr. Newsted pointing at my name tag. He looked up and told me my name was famous. I blushed as any rising superstar would, and in turn, with triumphant defiance, said nothing of his name.

He knew that I knew. And now he could only assume that I didn't care. "This kid is cooler than a multi-platinum selling artist and international sensation!" No one said that. But everyone eavesdropping on this clash of the titans was thinking it. It was in the air.

Now, I'm not very good at mathematics, but what we have here is a pretty simple equation: Jason was the only one smart enough to jump that sinking ship known as Metallica, making him cooler than the rest of the band members. Essentially, Jason Newsted is cooler than Metallica. Now, we've already established that I'm cooler than Jason Newsted...which only means one thing: I am cooler than Metallica.

I prefer "bigger than Metallica" though...its catchier.

You heard it here first, folks. Invest in a DVD and t-shirt before I'm a household name and considered "played out" by the hipsters.

Booyah, white boys!

Some chick just came into the place I work and asked to use the phone. Since I like to keep conversation to a bare minimum while I'm on the clock--to the point where even 'small talk' about the weather feels like a severe hassle--everyone feels the need to come in and tell me their goddamn life story. I learned that her boyfriend was outside bummin' a smoke, and that she was calling his brother for a ride so they could pick up some clothes from a friends house. Right as she hung up the phone, her boyfriend came in. He was big and totally black. When she told him his brother was on his way and that he needed a few bucks for gas, boyfriend got PISSED off.

"I know you didn't volunteer my money! Baby, don't EVER volunteer my money. I wanna enjoy you da resta tha day and here you go n' volunteer my money when I specifically axed you not to..."

...then he turned to me and said "What part of 'don't volunteer my money' don't she understand?" I looked at her, caught her rolling her eyes, looked back at him and responded "eh, broads." His response was "NOW THATS WHAT I'M SAYING, BROTHA!! It's like they speak they own language or somethin'!!"

They argued amongst themselves as they walked away. On their way out, he said "you take it easy, brotha...and keep this door open, it's hotter than a cayenne pepper up in here."

Twice. He called me "brotha" TWICE!

fair trade policy

When I take you out to dinner, I intend on picking up the tab, because I'm a gentleman. Once I have paid for your food, legally, I own it. Since the food in your belly is technically my property, I reserve the right to watch you poop it out later that evening and/or the morning after. I also get dibs on flushing.

ranch dressing

If you mix it thoroughly with diarrhea, it turns a brownish color.

Toilet paper is played out.

I'm replacing my t.p. dispenser with a bowl of wet tongues. Who's with me!!

vaginal boogers

My health teacher taught us that smoking cigarettes not only dries up mucus membranes in the throat and nasal regions, but also in your sick vadge. A result of this: cute l'il boogies up the lady hole! So, femmes de nicotine, dig around a little and let me know what you find...

THIS JUST IN: it's now ok to like the band Mest!

I saw Mest at the 2000 Edgefest and thought they put on a really good show. A few weeks later I bought their CD and only listened to it once on account of it being music for highshcool chicks.

Today, however, they've earned a spot in my iTunes library because their frontman, Tony Lovato, has been arrested on charges of MURDER!

punknews.org:

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Tony Lovato, the frontman for defunct mainstream pop-punk act Mest, was jailed on suspicion of murder in Los Angeles on Sunday. Reuters is reporting that the 26 year old confessed to police that he stabbed his ex-girlfriend's new lover. He is now being held on $1 million dollar bail.

The preliminary news reports claim that Lovato was assaulted earlier in the day by 25 year old Wayne Hughes in the underground parking lot of an apartment building the Studio City suburb. Lt. Andrew Neiman of the Los Angeles Police Dept commented "At some point, Mr. Lovato produced a knife and the victim was stabbed... He has been booked for criminal homicide." Police had visited the complex the night before due to an altercation between the two men but no arrests were made at that time.

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MEST FUCKING RULES.

Fanmail

So today I got a note from a 13 year old girl claiming to be my cousin. This is news to me. It's like Shady says: "Family fightin and fussin over who wants to invite me to supper / All the sudden, I got 90 some cousins / A half-brother and sister who never seen me / or even bothered to call me until they saw me on TV" Comes with the fame I guess.