Stupidity

Thank You Idaho: VFoC's Official Vodka Brand Found

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Oh boy, are you in for an extra special, super sensational treat of an occasion of an extravaganza! You’ve joined me just in time to witness the introduction to you, our fine, loyal, theoretical fan, of my very own all new brand of sugary snacking cakes! They’re going to be a delicious chocolate brownie, smothered in peanut butter and and drizzled with a ribbon of fudge. They’re going to be packaged in the customary bright primary colors that trigger a deeply ingrained response in your reptilian brain and inspire impulse purchases. And since I’m just a little Joe Nobody, making delicious junk food in the washing machine in my four plex’s laundry room, I’m not going to have a lot of money to market this new, mouth wateringly nummy num num, so I’m going to use a little trick that I’ve been pointing out for the year and a half that I’ve been candying vans and vanning candy. So look for my brand new sweet treat in your local grocery and convenience stores, sold under the name: “Tard Farms: GNYUUHH Squares”. Fifteen minutes after my new candies hit the store rooms of Kroger and Safeway I’ll have more free advertising than I could pay for with a thousand farms filled with a thousand tards!

As exampled by VFoC’s new OFFICIALLY ENDORSED (Give us a call Ogden’s Own, I’m double fucking serious) Vodka Brand: Five Wives Vodka.

All of the familiar tropes are here in this story of another “accidentally” offensively named thing. The easily predicted over reaction to something stupid by someone stupid, which in this case is for some reason the state of Idaho. The faux shock of the manufacturer, caught completely off guard by someone being offended by their strategically “accidentally” offensively named thing. The one pleasant, yet still infuriating twist in this story is the acknowledgment by both sides that they recognize that this is being done for the sake of cheap publicity, but that they’re still making that cheap publicity possible; which just makes me believe that somehow the state of Idaho has a financial stake in “Ogden’s Own Distillery”, because otherwise Five Wives Vodka is never heard of by anyone except a drunk wandering through CVS who accidentally glances up from the Gran Legacy on the bottom shelf to get a fleeting chuckle from the name as they stumble on past.

The United States' stupidest Tetris piece.
The United States' stupidest Tetris piece.

And I expect Idaho is actually making a pretty penny from their investment. Five Wives Vodka, made by the Utah based Ogden’s Own Distillery, was approved for sale in Utah, apparently without a word. The justification for Idaho’s rejection is that Five Wives, which takes inspiration from Mormonism’s dirtiest little non-secret, is that it would be too offensive to Mormons, which make up about 25% of Idaho’s population. When last I counted, which I actually did, because I count pointless things, Mormons make up roughly 1400% of Utah’s population. On top of that well known fact is the much less well known (except by those at Ogden’s Own, you can be damned sure) that  the Utah Department of Alcoholic Beverage Control, which regulates the sale of hard liquor, which are available ONLY in state-owned stores. So when Mormontah, Five Wives’ target outrage demographic didn’t give fuck all about a tasty fire water celebrating multi-wiving,  I can damned well guarantee you the folks at Ogden’s Own began seeping excrement, seeing their banked on disputatories jackpot liesurely shrug off the blatant goading. So it was either a lucky coincidence that Idaho decided to be pissed off for no reason, or they’re now gonna be cashing $10 for every $20 bottle of Five Wives sold nation wide.

Jeff Anderson, Idaho State Drinky Cop is quoted in the story saying in reference to the controversy that he himself created by calling this inoffensive thing offensive: “It’s masterful marketing on their part. But it doesn’t play here.” Well shit man, you just made it play. You, your very own self, with your very own action. You made it play. Because if you hadn’t said shit, no one would have ever known shit.

And just co-incidentally:

Ogden’s Own Distillery is trying to make the most of the rejection with a media campaign and sale of “Free the Five Wives” T-shirts.

You don’t say. Wanna check the receipt on those t-shirts and bet they were printed before the bottles were shipped?

So the two options we have here are collusion or stupidity. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t care which is which, I personally love “Five Wives Vodka” and look forward to pickling myself with it as soon as I can find a state approved retailer brave enough to carry it. I generally approve of the blatant manipulation of those easily manipulated. My only problem here is just how sloppy it’s been done in this case. It makes all of the other well orchestrated, masterfully played examples of people really fucking with someone and fooling them into giving them free national publicity just look as cheap as this one, which is just a damned shame, because I’ve already got all of my hypothetical profits from Tard Farms’ “GNYUUHH Squares” going into financing my follow up product: a joint collaboration with Duraflame to produce quick light fireplace logs shaped like the Quran!

Available in time for Christmas!

Go Ahead And Hate Your Neighbor

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Yesterday morning I started my week as every gravy blooded, American man, woman and child should: with a good stiff drive by fingering.

Now I’m no saint, and I’m certainly no stranger to road rage, but I do believe that in this case, and by every measurable criteria, that this response was largely unwarranted.

I was on my way to work, walking, because that’s what I do. I live in Los Angeles and I am able to walk to work. My commute is ten minutes on foot. The 405 Freeway can eat one. And while it’s at it, it can eat two more. So for the last 31 months or so I have taken pretty much the same route; Monday morning being no different. Having safely and uneventfully crossed Hudson, less than a block from Hollywood Boulevard a vehicle approached. Normally I ignore the world around me on my commute. Cars are not peopled, they’re simply in transit landscape that will murder me if I dally in their path and other pedestrians or, “walking Americans” are simply slower moving sidewalk cars who spread out as wide as they can, blocking my path and making me hate them for purposelessly meandering in the way. So I rarely, if ever, notice who’s behind the wheel of the smelly vroom boxes that whiz by.

But for some reason, yesterday was different.

I glanced up as the car approached and noticed the man behind the wheel. I didn’t do so in a way that would have been obvious that I was looking at him, merely a sideways glance from behind my sunglasses. I was fairly certain that I didn’t know the individual motoring in the opposite direction of me, it’s possible we’d crossed paths at some point, and that I had wronged him in some revengiful way; we seemingly both exist in this city so it may be unlikely, but not impossible. But since I didn’t recognize him immediately it made his actions that much more surprising and hilarious to me.

Full extension, purposeful and direct, yet casual and non-nonchalant. The finger. The main one.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I fully understand that I have often been genuinely deserving of this most direct and to the point universal gesture. But that morning, I can honestly say that I was the victim of an entirely uncalled for knuckle blast off.

One of the things that I enjoyed most about the encounter was that it apparently wasn’t even directly intended for me to notice. There was no horn honk, no gunning of an engine, I had in no way wronged this person in any legal motoring way, yet when I glanced over to see the driver, left hand on the wheel, right hand giving me the business, bored expression of indifference on his face: it had already been up well before I looked. This then brings up several possibilities:

Maybe he wasn’t actually flipping me off at all. Maybe he was very displeased with one of the buildings I was walking past. Perhaps he was an angry architecture student or professional who simply can’t stand by in the face of poor design.

Or, even still since I never saw his hand go up or back down, it’s also possible that his arm is frozen in that position either temporarily or even permanently. Imagine the trouble that could cause in a person’s life, having to go around every day with your hand permanently raised in a gesture of wishing a hale and hearty fucking of one’s self. The difficulty of having to explain to every angry face that crossed your path that you were not in fact delivering personal fuck yous to them but that your condition put you in this uncomfortable predicament. Would you even have the opportunity to try to explain between all of the constant pummelings?

So as the stranger passed, his either sad, unintended insult or vicious, unprovoked attack, moving off into the early morning behind me, what else could I do? I laughed and returned the gesture in kind, held high above my head in an effort to make sure it was not lost and we parted ways, having shared a confusing, ridiculous moment that I could only shake my head and wonder about.

Then on the walk home that evening a cute Asian girl with an acoustic guitar on a skate board rolled past me on Hollywood Boulevard.

Because sometimes the universe just balances itself out.

Fuck bag!
Fuck bag!

Tacos For Tolerance

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If telling hispanic latino Mexicanians that you’re going to eat a taco won’t make ’em happy, then holy frijole, what in the heck will?!

Apparently, this week the FBI arrested four East Haven, Connecticut police officers on charges that they “conspired to deprive some residents, particularly Latinos, of their constitutional rights”, including “multiple counts of excessive force, false arrest, obstruction and conspiracy”. Serious charges to be sure, but not surprising coming from East Haven, Connecticut, which many of us have long known more commonly as “The Tijuana of New England”.

Case closed right? A couple of Connecticut cops arrested for being dicks, problem solved, racism over, you’re welcome Colonial Latirican community. But SOME people just won’t accept that all racism everywhere was just ended right before their very eyes. Some hot shot reporter, bent on making a name for himself just HAD to ask East Haven Mayor Joseph Maturo in an interview about the arrest, “What are you doing for the Latino community today?”

That’s the kind of culture we’re living in. “What have you done for me lately?” We’re never satisfied with swift, decisive justice being handed down yesterday as being enough. It’s always “Sure, you single handedly defeated hate for all of time in an act that is somehow actually retroactively removing hate from past history. But me wanty more.”

So the question put before Mayor Maturo was as simple as it was gallingly selfish. “What are you doing for the Latino community today?” and his answer was as brave as it was compassionate.

“I might have tacos when I go home. I’m not quite sure yet.”

Lover of Tacos, Mayor Joseph Maturo
Lover of Tacos, Mayor Joseph Maturo
Ta-da! You’re welcome brownies! He MIGHT have “tacos”, MULTIPLE, when he gets home; for the Latino community. What more could the community of Latinio possibly NEED?

But SOMEHOW this has been taken as a negative, a slight, a SLUR even by the masses of legals choking the employment lines of East Haven! But how, HOW I ask you, is actively participating in a people’s known love of a popular food item in any way derogatory? How is his partaking in this native treat not aiding the Latino community? He is bringing much needed attention to the Hispanol communities rich culture and tradition and in all likelyhood supporting a local Laspanic business, by possibly purchasing up to SEVERAL authentic south of the border food stuff treats!

But SOME people don’t see it that way. Some people, like attorney David Rosen, “an attorney representing several Latino residents and business owners suing the East Haven police department for alleged civil rights violations” who called this heartfelt attempted support and thoughtful participation in Latino culture “appalling”.

Others though do make very level headed, clear arguments that help you to see the broader effect of well meaning gestures like Mr. Maturo’s. Others like Matt DeRienzo, editor of several local Connecticut publications, including the esteemed New Haven Register, the Middletown Press, the Register Citizen and the Connecticut Magazine who saw through the fog of fajita steam to what the real meaning of this venomous statement was.

“Blatantly racist.”

Hater of taco lovers, Mayor Joseph Maturo
Hater of taco lovers, Mayor Joseph Maturo
It’s true, so very true and understated and in no way hysterically over blown. Mentioning corn shelled meaty ingestibles in relation to people who often prepare and ingest them is clear, bald faced racism. I don’t know how I couldn’t see it as exactly what it was.

But it was more than that, as Mr. DeRienzo continued in his perfectly reasonable, entirely cogent and fair examination of the true nature of the Mayor’s evil soulless enjoyment of tacos.

“Let’s not mince words,” DeRienzo wrote.

“The thin translation of Maturo’s taco comment is, ‘I am a full human being and you are less than one.’”

Yes, let us not “mince” words when talking about taco racism and the dehumanization of those that love them but object to being known to love them. The translation is so thin as to almost be non-existent:

“If you love tacos, I am better than you.”

You are scum Mayor Maturo! Heartless scum who should never sully the good name of tacos again as long as you slink across this planet like the snake that you are!

Or you are a hero and champion of right and tolerance everywhere, punching hatred in the fucking face where ever the fuck you see it!

There is no middle ground here. In this argument only the most ludicrously extreme reaction is the right one. It couldn’t just be that some guy dealing with some shit said something stupid that we should all just get the fuck over.

Never that.

From Rage Oranges To Shame Milk — Family: Who Needs It?

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“If I wanted to see mammals feeding their young with their own self producing lactic fluids I’d go to a god damned zoo and “Awww” at its adorable quaintness on the other side of plexiglass where it belongs! Now feed my wife this god damned hand pealed citrus or I’ll murder every last one of us!”

Has this ever happened to you? If you have a family this kind of scene plays out to your horror each and every day until you’re finally murdered for feeding someone the wrong produce. I’ve never trusted family. I have always seen them as challengers to my resources and an attachment to any one of them as a liability waiting to be exploited. But that’s just how I was raised.

Breasts are a thing to be ashamed of. We all know this. This is accepted as science fact Alpha 0. The feeding of a child in public, especially those that are not your own, is also recognized accepted as a wholly embarrassing and reprehensible act. When you combine the two you are left with the single biggest assault on the senses of those that have every opportunity to not witness it by the simple turn of their head.

You should be ASHAMED of yourself!
You should be ASHAMED of yourself!

For some reason breasts and the feeding from thereof has a very polarizing effect on otherwise crazily irrational people or “people” as they’re more commonly known. And once again “Sesame Street” is in the middle of another divider of the masses. Just like Muppets to stick their bulbous, brightly colored felt noses on another hot button and stir the shit. Except for the fact that they’re actually not, but that’s beside the point.

Like a couple months ago when busy bodies started circulating a petition trying to encourage the Sesames to out Bert and Ernie, the public broadcasting children’s show is being dragged into another issue by people who should really have better things to do with their time. This time it’s a petition asking “Sesame Street” to promote breast feeding, as they apparently had in the 70s and 80s with two separate segments involving teat suckling and the supposed “normalcy” and “naturality” of the clearly despicable act.

The squeamish, who recognize boobies and their practical use as the abomination that they are, are uncomfortable with children being exposed to such depravity. They understand the slippery slope that nourishing titty sucking is. First you ingest sustenance from your mother as your kind have since you’ve had a kind, then before you know it you’ve moved on to sucking off terrorist in welfare parking lots for crack drugs! Or something.

I personally don’t care for either side of the issue. If you want your children to be taught that nip sips are okay, then, you know, why not tell them yourself. You’re already asking the TV box to teach them to read and count and bright flashy colors loud noise buy this toy! Why not take a role in letting them know that you’re not a sex offender for feeding their baby brother.

And to those that are so mesmerized by the disgusting act of a mother keeping their child alive with the very liquid provided by their biology to do just that thing, that they can’t stop staring at it in disgust whenever it’s never happening all the time right not in front of their faces; I simply want to say: calm down. It’s not “gross”, it isn’t effecting your existence in any way what so ever, and even if the images of an oblong blanket being held to a woman’s chest were broadcast through space and into your living room, you are still entitled to decide for your own self whether or not to watch it intently, seething at its appearance on your baby sitter, or to change the channel and seethe at the fact that it could be appearancing on someone else’s picture tube somewhere else in the world. Or maybe you could settle the fuck down for half a god damned second and realize that you’re wasting your entire life hating things that are none of your fucking business.

Meanwhile: Orange you glad I shot your sisters?!

Police in Ohio believe that a family murder-suicide was the result of a dispute over an orange, peeled specifically to be fed to a dying wife and sister, that went un-served.

Now who will eat my delicious fruit!?
Now who will eat my delicious fruit!?

I’m willing to bet that there was probably more leading up to this that more directly related to the killing spree than the waste of a juicy mandarin, but in this story it seems to be the only factor involved, so I’m just going to assume that this Paul David Gilkey, a man who served a ten year prison sentence for “beating a man to death with a fence post in 1974” and in 1986 “allegedly stabbed his own father” was an otherwise well-adjusted individual who simply could not abide the disuse of a perfectly edible piece of fruit which he himself delicately peeled in anticipation of its imminent ingestion.

“They had given Darlene a meal, toast and I believe a banana, toast and tea prior and when [Paul] already had an orange peeled for her and that seemed to be the issue that spurred [Paul] to his rampage,” said Hocking County Sheriff Lanny North.

An Orange dispute is clearly the only explanation. And the only answer to this injustice is the assassination of his terminal wife’s two sisters, their son and himself. I mean, that goes without saying I would think.

Gilkey’s cousin told reporters that Paul had been “showing signs of instability” but NATURALLY thought that that would only manifest “after his wife had passes” and would NATURALLY only be “self-inflicted”. Because an instable individual with a history of fence post murdering and the stabbing of family members, MUCH more immediate than in-laws, will NATURALLY not be a danger to anyone but themselves if a vexing fruit dispute were to arise.

Family: you can’t squeeze milk from their torso sacks without enraging someone with full control of their necks and you can’t shoot them all because they selfishly didn’t cram the food you prepared for one of them into the intended face.

The War on Fake Drugs Doesn’t Claim Another Victim

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Before we get started let me just say I am not mocking the death of a thirteen year old boy here. I would just like to make that perfectly clear right away. I don’t know how many times just this week I’ve been wrongfully accused of celebrating teen deaths and I’m sick of it. It is irresponsible and hurtful to my loyal fan base of thirteen year old boys. I would never wish ill on any of their cherubic little faces. Now, with that little bit of house keeping out of the way.

A thirteen year old Pittsburgh boy was murdered by his own stupidity and his parents’ neglect.

The headline reads: “Teen dies after smoking synthetic pot”. At first glance, that’s horrible. The death of a teen is rarely hysterical and that he was killed by some sort of Franken-dope created in a lab specifically to murder thirteen year olds with no parental supervision just makes it all the more tragic. The only problem with this headline is that it’s entirely false.

The subhead sheds slightly more light on the what might be slightly closer to the truth: “13-year-old boy sustained chemical burns to his lungs after smoking from plastic candy dispenser”. Ah, well, okay, now we’re getting somewhere slightly less sensational aren’t we?

Then as we get into the poorly written body of the “story” we discover: “The boy smoked the fake marijuana out of a plastic candy dispenser and suffered chemical burns to both lungs. He was put on a respirator in June and had a double lung transplant in September. The boy’s mother says anti-rejection drugs he’s taken since the transplants weakened his immune system and made him unable to fight off a recent infection.”

So, now we have slightly more information here. Still not much in the way of reporting, but at the very least it is more information. With these new tid bits, we can slightly modify the sensational headline to read “Teen who inhaled burning plastic dies of infection following double lung transplant”.

This fake drug has killed more teens than polio and sadness combined! True? It must be, I just reported it!
This fake drug has killed more teens than polio and sadness combined! True? It must be, I just reported it!

I actually did some research on this one, something I often, plainly refuse to do, and found another article about this kid. The second article goes into a little more detail, saying that the boy “injured his lungs in August after smoking a substance known as K2.” mentioning no where in THIS story that he smoked it through the thin flimsy plastic neck slot of Batman villain Two Face (allegedly) and that “Shortly after smoking the drug, the teen developed nausea, a full body rash, headaches and high fever. His father said the substance caused a chemical burn in his son’s lungs.”

All of this forced me to do further research, which only served to anger up my blood some more. In looking up the side effects or potential risks of “synthetic marijuana” I found that the products, “often sold as “herbal incense” and smoked like traditional marijuana, can produce seizures, hallucinations, tremors, paranoia, convulsions, high blood pressure and rapid heart rate.” And while very few of these are good side effects, exactly none of them are what dad said happened to his boy.

Then, after this parentally neglected 13 year old got sick from inhaling a PEZ dispenser, Pennsylvania Governor Tom Corbett signed a bill outlawing synthetic marijuanas.

All of this leaves me with a lot of “Why?”s. Why does everyone believe that baby-juana did something specifically to this kid that it’s never done to anyone else ever. Why, when this child’s actual cause of death was hospital infectionitis brought on by the total removal and replacement of his entire respiratory system in a building literally slopping over with infectiousness, is every news source saying that bullshit fake weed put a gun against his head, pulled my trigger now he’s dead? Why are “news” people just allowed to assign blame to a substance with no actual proof and get away with it. Saying “Teen dies after smoking synthetic pot” in relation to this story is only slightly more crazy than if, say, I were to put on a pair of my favorite asbestos gloves, massage the mucusy orifice of your choice, and several months later you were to die of mecca pneumonia due to your body rejecting your new radio controlled bionic sphincter valve and the headline reading “Blog reader dies after loving, tender, attentive butt hole fingering”.

"Riddle me this! When is a throat chute like a water pipe?" "Oh please shut up."
"Riddle me this! When is a throat chute like a water pipe?" "Oh please shut up."

Now, don’t get me wrong, none of this is meant to be in defense of synthetic marijuana or a condemnation of robotic poopers. I personally think these “K-2” and “Spice” and what have you are cute and dumb and mostly harmless as long as you ask your parent’s permission before sucking it through a fiery Lego. What bothers me is the lazy, irresponsible nature of this reporting and how nobody will call these people out on their bullshit. And please know, if it does in fact turn out that this kid’s death was caused specifically and solely by the proper, appropriate implementation of this legal product, then I’m just a bigger asshole than most give me credit for and I’m sorry for ever questioning the validity of this third hand hearsay being passed off as investigative journalism. But if I’m not: if I’m right… Well, we’ll never hear about it. Because first people would have to admit that they’re wrong, which they won’t. And death not being the result of evil future drugs sent back through time to kill our children just doesn’t fit the narrative being built by those that don’t like this product for what ever reason. But just because something’s legal, doesn’t mean it’s good for you either, I mean, take cigarettes or having children that you have no intention of properly raising, but just because you don’t like a thing, doesn’t mean it murdered somebody.

God damn, this has been a week. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go take a nap, because in my dreams I’m an 8 time gold medal Olympic vampire puncher with the uncanny psychic ability to sense when and where lesbian sex is transpiring and a magical doorway that can take me there. Then I’m gonna wake up Monday hoping that most of the sharp objects in the apartment are still up too high for me to reach them…

See you then, if any of us make it there without being killed by something whose fault it isn’t.

The War on Fake Drugs Doesn't Claim Another Victim

Posted on

Before we get started let me just say I am not mocking the death of a thirteen year old boy here. I would just like to make that perfectly clear right away. I don’t know how many times just this week I’ve been wrongfully accused of celebrating teen deaths and I’m sick of it. It is irresponsible and hurtful to my loyal fan base of thirteen year old boys. I would never wish ill on any of their cherubic little faces. Now, with that little bit of house keeping out of the way.

A thirteen year old Pittsburgh boy was murdered by his own stupidity and his parents’ neglect.

The headline reads: “Teen dies after smoking synthetic pot”. At first glance, that’s horrible. The death of a teen is rarely hysterical and that he was killed by some sort of Franken-dope created in a lab specifically to murder thirteen year olds with no parental supervision just makes it all the more tragic. The only problem with this headline is that it’s entirely false.

The subhead sheds slightly more light on the what might be slightly closer to the truth: “13-year-old boy sustained chemical burns to his lungs after smoking from plastic candy dispenser”. Ah, well, okay, now we’re getting somewhere slightly less sensational aren’t we?

Then as we get into the poorly written body of the “story” we discover: “The boy smoked the fake marijuana out of a plastic candy dispenser and suffered chemical burns to both lungs. He was put on a respirator in June and had a double lung transplant in September. The boy’s mother says anti-rejection drugs he’s taken since the transplants weakened his immune system and made him unable to fight off a recent infection.”

So, now we have slightly more information here. Still not much in the way of reporting, but at the very least it is more information. With these new tid bits, we can slightly modify the sensational headline to read “Teen who inhaled burning plastic dies of infection following double lung transplant”.

This fake drug has killed more teens than polio and sadness combined! True? It must be, I just reported it!
This fake drug has killed more teens than polio and sadness combined! True? It must be, I just reported it!

I actually did some research on this one, something I often, plainly refuse to do, and found another article about this kid. The second article goes into a little more detail, saying that the boy “injured his lungs in August after smoking a substance known as K2.” mentioning no where in THIS story that he smoked it through the thin flimsy plastic neck slot of Batman villain Two Face (allegedly) and that “Shortly after smoking the drug, the teen developed nausea, a full body rash, headaches and high fever. His father said the substance caused a chemical burn in his son’s lungs.”

All of this forced me to do further research, which only served to anger up my blood some more. In looking up the side effects or potential risks of “synthetic marijuana” I found that the products, “often sold as “herbal incense” and smoked like traditional marijuana, can produce seizures, hallucinations, tremors, paranoia, convulsions, high blood pressure and rapid heart rate.” And while very few of these are good side effects, exactly none of them are what dad said happened to his boy.

Then, after this parentally neglected 13 year old got sick from inhaling a PEZ dispenser, Pennsylvania Governor Tom Corbett signed a bill outlawing synthetic marijuanas.

All of this leaves me with a lot of “Why?”s. Why does everyone believe that baby-juana did something specifically to this kid that it’s never done to anyone else ever. Why, when this child’s actual cause of death was hospital infectionitis brought on by the total removal and replacement of his entire respiratory system in a building literally slopping over with infectiousness, is every news source saying that bullshit fake weed put a gun against his head, pulled my trigger now he’s dead? Why are “news” people just allowed to assign blame to a substance with no actual proof and get away with it. Saying “Teen dies after smoking synthetic pot” in relation to this story is only slightly more crazy than if, say, I were to put on a pair of my favorite asbestos gloves, massage the mucusy orifice of your choice, and several months later you were to die of mecca pneumonia due to your body rejecting your new radio controlled bionic sphincter valve and the headline reading “Blog reader dies after loving, tender, attentive butt hole fingering”.

"Riddle me this! When is a throat chute like a water pipe?" "Oh please shut up."
"Riddle me this! When is a throat chute like a water pipe?" "Oh please shut up."

Now, don’t get me wrong, none of this is meant to be in defense of synthetic marijuana or a condemnation of robotic poopers. I personally think these “K-2” and “Spice” and what have you are cute and dumb and mostly harmless as long as you ask your parent’s permission before sucking it through a fiery Lego. What bothers me is the lazy, irresponsible nature of this reporting and how nobody will call these people out on their bullshit. And please know, if it does in fact turn out that this kid’s death was caused specifically and solely by the proper, appropriate implementation of this legal product, then I’m just a bigger asshole than most give me credit for and I’m sorry for ever questioning the validity of this third hand hearsay being passed off as investigative journalism. But if I’m not: if I’m right… Well, we’ll never hear about it. Because first people would have to admit that they’re wrong, which they won’t. And death not being the result of evil future drugs sent back through time to kill our children just doesn’t fit the narrative being built by those that don’t like this product for what ever reason. But just because something’s legal, doesn’t mean it’s good for you either, I mean, take cigarettes or having children that you have no intention of properly raising, but just because you don’t like a thing, doesn’t mean it murdered somebody.

God damn, this has been a week. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go take a nap, because in my dreams I’m an 8 time gold medal Olympic vampire puncher with the uncanny psychic ability to sense when and where lesbian sex is transpiring and a magical doorway that can take me there. Then I’m gonna wake up Monday hoping that most of the sharp objects in the apartment are still up too high for me to reach them…

See you then, if any of us make it there without being killed by something whose fault it isn’t.

This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things (Stupidity On Parade)

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Stupid people come in all shapes and sizes. In fact, stupid people are just like you and me…

Alright, who’m I kidding, they’re nothing like me, and for me to even suggest that they could be is just stupid. And of course, since you had the head full of smarty brains to come here and read our funny type ha-ha scribbles, you’re clearly nothing like them either. Also you’re a sexy minx whose beauty and charm is only rivaled by your comedy website decision making abilities. So then, if it’s not us and it’s not you, then who are these stupid people on which I’d just words ago based my entire argument, and the remaining 1100 words or so, on bitching about? I’m glad you asked, though you didn’t have to be so ill tempered about it. Stupid.

Like I said, stupid comes in all shapes and sizes, whether it be too large to safely fit into something not designed for them but too stupid to realize their own personal dimensions or too drunk with power and moronic to know that you shouldn’t tell someone that you rubbed your balls on something of theirs while “lawfully” rifling through their shit.

Have you ever been bet to do something you knew was not only stupid, but would no doubt result in certain pelvic harm? And no, we don’t mean a rollicking, good natured, “turkey basters full of HPV” fight. Most of us have a general working knowledge of our basic physical displacement volume, so no matter how much we’re egged on by our worst friends, no matter how many hundred of dollars you’re offered to wedge yourself into a space not designed for your mass, we understand that that way lay only pain and humiliation. That long after that Benjamin is spent on cast cutter rental, the psychological scars will remain. Fortunately for those of us who enjoy the suffering of the stupid, not everyone puts quite so much thought into their hip safety as we do.

The Widowmaker.
The Widowmaker.

A 21 year old, living adult male, was dared by his friends to wedge himself into a baby swing at a local park with the promise of a TEN THOUSAND COPPER LINCOLNS reward! What he received instead was an embarrassing 6am rescue by a groundskeeper who heard him screaming for help from deep within his swingy tomb.

Let’s examine this now shall we? No matter how drunk you are, and let us make no mistake, this individual was at very least drunk at the outset of this adventure, when the amount of the stakes involved in your stupid wager reaches the entirely unrealistic level of “$100”, you have to realize that you are being completely fucked with by people who simply know your price to do anything, no matter how moronic. No $100 bet in the history of idiots has EVER been paid in full. But even beyond the inherent flaw in this scenario of this ever actually being an honest challenge, this dufus is twenty-one years old and is hanging out in a public park at nine in the evening drunk enough to be convinced that this was a good idea. Twenty-one is too old to be duped into something so YouTubely idiotic, and nine is too early to be drunk enough to be coaxed into it. So I’m not going to blame my good friend booze on this one and will simply lay the fault at the dangling feet of this simpleton who I now can’t help but imagine waddling painfully toward the EMT van still in the baby swing harness freshly cut down by the firefighters.

Meanwhile a New Jersey TSA baggage screener thought it would be hilarious to anonymously harass a woman who discretely stowed her joy buzzer in her checked luggage, expecting, apparently wrongly, that some pervert wouldn’t go rooting through her shit like a creep with a license to do so.

Hey, at least the slip seems stain free. The sign of a true professional.
Hey, at least the slip seems stain free. The sign of a true professional.

Now, many of us have opened our bags after getting off a flight to find a slip inside thanking us for the good times that the Transportation Security Administration just had with all of our personal belongings. And while I generally don’t carry my varied assortment of tender bit tantalizers when I travel that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like to some day (I miss them when I’m gone). But I feel raped enough when I find that strangers have been fingering nothing more intimate than the tooth brush I use to keep the inside of my butthole spotless. So when Jill Filipovic found that not only had the TSA notice of legal privacy invasion had been crammed in her belongings, but that it also came emblazoned with a hand written love letter reading “GET YOUR FREAK ON GIRL” by the “baggage handler” who apparently discovered her bullet vibe packed therein, she was surprisingly not as thrilled by the message of masturbation encouragement as the writer had surely expected she should be.

Now, I understand how the TSA agent might have been excited seeing a sex toy in a piece of luggage. That’s not where they usually live, so that’s titillating as shit! Plus, it’s a lady toy, so it’s probably been all up against lady parts. And while it must be like pervert Christmas to find this magical device when rifling through stranger clothes looking for things small enough that they won’t be missed long enough when they disappear that the victim has enough time to forget it was in their searched bag, you still have to have enough wits about you to only THINK these things, rather than writing them down and placing them in with your victim’s befouled belongings. As witty and cute as you think cheering on future diddling is, and while in your pervy imagination you’re sure that the owner of this device is going to do all the leg work necessary to track you down and pleasure herself in front of you with this device that you have found and instructed her to partake in its pleasure giving settings, the odds of that happening versus you having to inform every new neighbor you have for the rest of your life that you’re a registered sex offender just don’t make it a worthwhile gamble.

“It was a $15 bullet vibe from Babeland,” Jill said. “About the most basic sex toy you can imagine. It has now been officially retired, since I have no idea if the TSA agents manhandled it.”

A very wise move on her part, because no matter how long you boil that one, you’re never going to completely remove the cocktail of saliva and testicle smear left by the screener as he hurriedly molested himself with shaky hands.

Those who know me are aware that I have long said “We’re only still alive because an idiot hasn’t killed us yet.” but it’s also equally safe to say that we only still have playgrounds or un-secretly desecrated sex toys because an idiot hasn’t been able to jam themselves into it for an imaginary c-note or found it innocently tucked away in our own airborne personal belongings… Doesn’t quite have the same ring to it, but the sentiment is certainly the same.