351. Be a Commercial Director; Cast Scruffy Ill-Dressed Bearded Guy Opposite Pristine Girlfriend

Claire and David. Why? Why not? Does this look like a democracy to you?

This trend has its origins in the Mischa Barton/whoever that half-assed hack "musician" Cisco Adler guy was relationship.

This is not realistic.

In no way will any beautiful, immaculately dressed, made up and preppy fresh-faced cute young girl ever date a guy like the above advertisement unless he was A) Really Rich or B) Really Fucking Rich.

Who the she'd would date in real life.

Instead, Claire up there would be dating Charles, a banker for Credit Suisse who lives on the Upper West Side and makes frequent use of a ZipCar. David, the above scruffy guy - because scruffy artistic guys must go by the name "David" - never shortened to Dave, because that's for frat boys - would be in Bushwick working on yet another 7" single and dating a chubby girl with horn-rimmed glasses who knows that he's cheating on her but she was so sad at Sarah Lawrence that she'll take anything she can get.

Wow. I just painted a really depressing picture of that chubby girl from Sarah Lawrence. I feel bad for my own fictional creation. She should probably go on a diet or something and see a therapist. Oh yes, I know she's already on anti-depressants but maybe they should up the dosage. I think she'd be happier if she went on a nice long vacation and just completely forgot about David, because he's a douche. I mean, his art sucks and his band sounds like the Decemberists if they didn't know how to play their instruments. Or harmonize. Or write good songs.

And did you hear? Claire and Charles got married in Hilton Head last weekend? I know! Alexander was his best man and Eliza and Kimberly did the cutest sketch about their Tri-Delt days! Oh, and I totally hooked up with Claire's aunt. I know, dude. Cougar City! Fist pound it, motherfucker! Yo. You forgot to explode! Boom goes the dynamite.

That guy giving the narration there has a couple different personalities, right? I mean, is he a frat-boy? An artiste? The gay friend of the fat chick from Sarah Lawrence? I'm not quite sure.

350. Be Really Short With a Really Big Umbrella

Guess which one of these people is a raving asshole.

What has the world come to? Umbrella etiquette in this modern era is terrifically dismal. Notwithstanding the asinine people who feel it is necessary to air-dry an impermeable synthetic membrane, there are many other ways to offend when wielding an umbrella. The chief criminal among this class of ruffian is the very short person who carries a really big umbrella. Hovering at about eye-level, the pointy spars - I'm assuming they're called spars - of the umbrella beckon ocular mischief almost as serious as playing football against the Florida Gators. Since I am tall - and good looking, and jacked, and dark and mysterious, and well dressed, and jacked, and rich, and well endowed (with money) and good looking and jacked - I have the luxury of raising my admittedly normal sized umbrella over the midgets' rain deflectors and in general be a courteous and polite pedestrian.

Next, why must they all insist on having an umbrella measured in meters in the first place? They're so little! They don't need all of that valuable umbrella real estate. (I know I am completely ignoring the fact that the surface area offered from above can vary considerably due to girth rather than height).

Furthermore, I make an effort to close the umbrella when walking under extended scaffolds or awnings. But something in the genetics of short people - Selfcenterinitis Napoleanis - renders them incapable of recognizing that they are plowing through more gifted genetic specimens with the potential to cause grievous harm to their vision thus decreasing their attractiveness and likelihood of procreation, therefore setting back the evolution of the human race.

Pictured: a similar experience to walking in the rain in Manhattan.

There. I said it. Short people are ruining the ever upward and ever improving nature of evolution itself.

Aberration of DNA.

Either that or - conspiratorially - they are just attempting to preserve their own tenuous niche in the eco-system by poking at taller and better looking people with their oversized JP Morgan Chase Golf Umbrellas thus ensuring less competition. I sincerely hope that this is the case so we may wage a full fledged war of extermination upon anyone under 5'4" (who is not a hot woman). Which means of course that Tila Tequila will be the first to go.

349. Slaughter an Animal to Bless Something in the 21st Century

Francis Ford Coppola Presents: The 2010 World Cup Redux - "I demand a sacrifice for these games! And waffles. Lots and lots of waffles."*

According to Reuters, traditional South African leaders led by Zolani Mkiva and the group responsible for cultural activities centered around the upcoming 2010 World Cup are planning on sacrificing animals to give the stadiums and the event itself a traditional South African blessing.

You sure this isn't the 1010 World Cup?

Dear Mr. Mkiva,

Since you are utilizing an absurdly archaic form of animistic worship despite the fact that much of the world has moved on to either monotheistic or non-religious orientations, I propose resurrecting some other antiquated traditional African traditions up to, but not limited to:

• Segregating black people.
• Slavery.
• Female circumcision.
• Mass starvations.
• Ethnic cleansing.
• Rampant yet preventable disease.
• Widespread corruption.
• Cannibalism.
• Fickle inter-tribal kidnappings.
• Fickle inter-tribal rapes.
• Blood diamonds.
• Infanticide.
• Idol worship.
• Coca-Cola bottle related violence.

So, Mr. Mkiva - you can't have it both ways. Either give up on your absolutely ridiculous proposal to ritualistically slaughter an animal to bless the 2010 World Cup or go motherfucking full bore double-barreled psychotically pre-historic and embrace ALL of the above.

The choice is yours and since a good 40% of the above already exist in South Africa, a place that makes Rio look safe, then I say own it. Love it. Quoth a (predominantly) white and college educated rugby team: "We're gonna rape! Kill! Pillage and burn! We're gonna rape, kill pillage and burn! (And eat babies!)"

*Obviously I couldn't find video or images of the water buffalo execution. Probably for the best, because THAT SHIT WAS REAL!

348. Be Surprised by Larry Johnson's Comments

DEFINITELY in the closet.

Oh shock of shocks! Stop the Presses! A professional football player used homophobic slurs? This is about as surprising as the whole Falcon Henne thing being a hoax. An NFL athlete, who has been arrested four times since 2003 on assault and weapons charges - mainly against women - has been accused of calling reporters "Faggots" and posted anti-gay slurs on his Twitter page? This is truly unprecedented. You're telling me that a pro-athlete who had, according to Wikipedia (which means someone is very very funny) is educated as: He earned a Bachelor of Arts in Integrative Arts from Penn State in 2002. And a Masters in women beating.

did not get the utmost out of his education?

Man - whoever got into his Wikipedia page is hysterical - It is believed that Johnson attempted to flee from police officers but was tackled after two yards . Since I don't expect them to last, I'm inserting the below screenshot.

347. Rick Roll Yourself

Gotcha, Fucker!

Did I really just do that? I was looking over an older post and there, glimmering like a halcyon boner of yore were the words "Megan Fox" highlighted in the burnt umber color of this website's hotlinks. Both forgetting what picture I had linked and eager to get me some Foxness, I clicked and immediately heard it: The Snares of Rick Astley.

Yes, dearest readers, I Rick Roll'd myself. Stupid interwebs, all messing with me.

346. Miss Your Airport by 150 Miles

Northwest Airlines Flight 188 from San Diego to Minneapolis/St. Paul went radio silent for two hours, did not respond to dispatcher text messages and overshot the MSP Airport by 150 miles. Reports say that the crew was engaged in a heated discussion over airline policy and temporarily lost situational awareness - for two hours.

What policies other than "fly and land an airplane" could they possibly be discussing? "Fucking Gladys. She always takes the last cup of coffee and never refills the coffee maker. I'm gonna talk to HR about that. It's just - I mean - it's just fucking inconsiderate. We all use that break room, am I right?"

"Cut Gladys some slack. She's good people. She really helped me through some tough times when I was going through my divorce."

"Hey, remember Chip in accounting? He let his department do Hawaiian Shirt Fridays. I think we should bring that back."

"Who's responsibility is it to cover for Claire when she's sick or on vacation? It's like, Steve can do half of her job, but what about the database upkeep? Do we hire a temp or - hey, did we just pass the airport, like an hour ago? That's a good one! Time flies, don't it?"

Hmm... Musta made a wrong turn in Albuquerque.

I guess missing an airport is sorta like missing an exit on the highway except for the whole "I can't turn around at the Minnetonka overpass, stop at the SuperAmerica for some gas and Cheetos and get back on track without creating a jet fueled fire crater in a Wisconsin field" part of it. And the whole "we'll just go to the next airport that can handle a 144 passenger Airbus plane that happens to be say, 300 miles away."

Oh yeah, and if you accidentally get on I35 instead of the Snelling Avenue exit, you won't have F-16s scramble to potentially shoot at your car.

345. Tape THIS Note to My Door.

Grrrrrrr.

Yesterday, I posted a story about how much I f#ing hate my French, piece of sh#t downstairs neighbor (and also Kanye West), and just after the Yankees blew it last night, as if in perfect rhythm with the universe, I arrive home to find the above note taped to my front door.

In short, it says "I'm a smelly french f#ing idiot (read: "flat"). I bang on the ceiling (read "broom") because my tiny arrogant french brain doesn't comprehend that I live in a 5 story walkup built in 1947. Please stop any type of movement whatsoever because I'm unemployed and I do nothing but complain about "enclosed showers" and also my people may or may not have sold weapons-grade plutonium to Iraq in in the 1970's."

Round 2: It's been brought'n.

You want a character debate, Bob? You better stick with me, 'cause Sydney Ellen Wade is way out of your league. This is a time for serious people, Bob, and your fifteen minutes are up. My name is Andrew Shepherd, and I *am* the President.

Also, I really f#cking hate my downstairs neighbor.

344. Oops.

Contessa Brewer (MSNBC) - sort your life out. You've got the touch of a dead pig. You have certainly hosted your fair share of ridiculously stupid news programs, but this one definitely takes the cake. Any kids out there currently studying at the Newhouse School of Public Communications - pay attention on what not to do on live TV. Wow.





Just to be clear, Contessa and so you never make this mistake again... let's review what we have learned here today.


THIS is Reverend Al Sharpton

and THIS is Reverend Jesse Jackson

idiot.

343. Tweet "RIP Kanye West"... and Not Mean It.

As a matter of practice, I generally don't wish for people to outright [die]. Except for my downstairs, piece of sh#t, French neighbor, who, even as I type, is banging on the ceiling underneath my feet because evidently "Throwdown with Bobby Flay" is too loud for his jobless, fois gras and DJ Alan Braxe comfort. Motherf#cker, I know what you pay for your apartment and, believe me, it aint "bang the ceiling" worthy. I should know. I live above you. That's 32 steps and a better view, ass clown. And, if you're reading this, the reason there isn't any sex in your champagne room is mostly because you're poor; you f-ing bunk lookin' Joel McHale wanna be. I LIKE Mac & Cheese and only Bobby Flay does Mac & Cheese like that. P.S., tomorrow I'm wearing tap shoes. Early. So wake the f#ck up, tea bag, cause it's gonna be you, me, and "Puttin' on the Ritz" all morning long. And I'm gonna smoke Lucky Strikes, too. Lots of 'em. And I'm not gonna offer you any. But I'm definitely going to land as many as possible on your window ledge to remind you that I'm not offering you any. And I'm gonna listen to Pearl Jam. All the time. You heard it. Nonstop Pearl Jam. And not "Ten" Pearl Jam, either. I'm talking "No Code", B-Sides and live at the Bridge School Benefit in San Francisco Pearl Jam. Over and over and over and over again. Hope you like Lollapalooza, guy-who-doesn't shave... cause I'm Rockin' in the Free World and you and I are gonna be BFF, I can tell already. Tweet me and I'll come downstairs and we can wear sunglasses meant for black people and drink coffee together staring out the window morally judging pedestrians as they walk by. Your people let Monaco steal Grace Kelly from us and I'm still pissed about that. So, put your broom stick down and shut the hell up. Go complain about the Chunnel to somebody who gives a crap.

Also, I really f#cking hate Kanye West and wish he would die.

342. Pick One of the World's Most Dangerous Cities to Host the Olympics

RIO DE JANIERO, BRASIL:

Drug bandits, utilizing what is called by police a "large calibre weapon" shot down a police helicopter over the weekend, killing all three officers on - Wait. Did that just say that bandits shot down a police helicopter? Large Calibre Weapon. I mean that's gotta be a REALLY Large Calibre Weapon to shoot down a freaking helicopter. The Olympics are going to be in a city that can have a similar scenario to "Blackhawk Down"? Right now, the residents of Mogadishu are hoping their bid for the World Cup goes through. Oh did we mention that Brasil has been selected to host the 2014 FIFA World Cup as well?

It's almost as stupid as hosting a Winter Olympics in someplace like Sarajevo. What's that? That actually happened? Well that's just plain silly.