Idi-yums: Revelations

***SPOILER ALERT*** Answers to my last post are given here. Check the previous post before reading these answers.

As most of you were aware, solving my pictograms was the only way to spare mankind from my wrath. Well, not really, but if that were the case, Earth would be fucked because out of everyone that I talked to about these, only two people got any correct. Granted, most of these were pretty tricky and, as with all my pictures, could probably have been better illustrated. Anyway, enough with the bullshit...it's time for some answers!

The first one is "flipping a bird." The best guess I heard on this one was Raoul's "cardinal attacking a thumb," which is a little too literal and very much unlike any idiom I've ever heard.

The second one is "holy roller." Marco guessed "holy crap," which is good for only partial credit since the actual game is "crapS." If the game were called "crap," it'd probably be way less popular. Oh, and apparently the Pope throws dice like a 6 year old.

The third one is "raising cain." I know "raze" and "raise" have very different meanings, but you have no excuse because Xander nailed this one pretty quickly, despite (or perhaps because of) being all kinds of fucked up.

The fourth one is "pass the buck." This was my least favorite one based solely on the fact I had to sift through scads of hunting pictures before I found an image of a buck that didn't have blood coming out of its mouth or some jackass in camo holding it in a headlock.

The answer to the fifth one is "come hell or high water." Sorry to anyone who read this blog at work. I know there have been more porn pictures than usual recently, so I'll try to tone it down a bit. Plus, I don't like that my Google auto-complete now suggests "cumshot" whenever I type a "c."

The sixth one is "hit the hay." I also gave partial credit to Raoul's "haymaker," since the man in the background is throwing a doozy of a punch.

And finally, the bonus image comes from my bucket list blog. Get it yet? The answer is "gilding the lily." One more down.

I'll probably do these again some time because I enjoyed making them and hearing people's guesses. If you liked them, stay tuned. If you didn't, well, the last time I checked, the world didn't revolve around you (feel free to stay tuned also, though).

Idi-yums

No, this isn’t a blog about delicious Ugandan dictators (sorry to burst your bubble). This week I’ve decided to put you to the test. Below are several images that represent various idioms, clichés, compound words, etc. What can I say, I like word games. You could call me a nerd, but my only weaknesses are sticks and stones so the next time you come at me, you better be packin’ (sticks and stones, that is). Anyway, some of these are pretty easy and some are intentionally tricky. I’ll get around to giving the answers eventually…maybe.

Let's start off with an easy one:



Now a little harder:



Ohhhhh, yeah, a little harder:



Yeah, just like that...now go deep:



Here's a two-parter:




This one's in the details:



And finally, a bonus one for my long-time readers:

Hepatitis, Mascara, and Lasers, Oh My!

At my last job I was tasked with reviewing resumes for open positions. I don’t know if you’ve ever looked at anyone’s resume besides your own, but you wouldn’t believe the shit people put on theirs. Now, I’m not talking about the typical errors. Everyone’s bound to have typos or spend way too long talking about everything. There are even a surprising amount of people who list things like “spelling” and “filing alphabetically and numerically” as SKILLS, but there are some screw-ups much worse than that. Here they are, in all their glory…the stupidest fucking things I’ve ever seen on resumes.

Our first guy listed “Chinese Kung-Fu” as one of his interests. Listen, kung-fu is already Chinese. You don’t need to specify. That’s like saying you enjoy eating American freedom fries and trapping your girlfriend in a Dutch Dutch oven. Also, who gives a shit? I didn’t post our classified ads, but I can guarantee none of them said “Seeking strong, humble martial arts master to whoop some serious ass. Ability to be kind of a douchebag preferred.”

Another guy listed “Chemical Warfare” under EDUCATION. I would have hired him based on that, but he didn’t specify offensive or defensive. Furthermore, who gives a shit? Think of the number of times in your life where knowledge of chemical warfare would have come in handy. Multiply that by a bazillion and what do you get? Zero.

The third guy on my team of superheroes (who I think will be called "The Ablakolytes") wrote “Certified in lasers.” Certified in fucking lasers. I should take a moment to say that I believe everyone on their resumes…except this asshole. That just sounds way too vague and childish to not be made up. He must have had his kid around when he was typing his resume. “Hey son,” he would have asked, “I need to show that I have some kind of special certification. Got any ideas?”

“What about lasers!!”

“Awesome.”

Another fellow wrote “Current Hepatitis A” as one of his PROFESSIONAL SKILLS. Note the curious lack of the word “vaccine.” I only have one question for this jerk. How is a disease a skill? (You could argue, technically, that macular degeneration gives you the ability to not see out of the center of your eye, but then you’d be a goddamned idiot, wouldn’t you?). I would have been more impressed if he listed how he got the disease. If he got it from his ex-girlfriend after talking her into a 2-girls-1-cup-style threesome with his born again Christian wife…THAT would be a skill. There’s also the issue of who gives a shit? Unless a job posting specifically mentions sex, blood-letting, vampirism, or coprophagia (again, I didn’t post the ads, so I dunno…), then, assuming he meant to say “vaccine,” who cares what diseases you can’t get?

Under EDUCATION, one woman wrote “08/96 – still attending.” I know plenty of people who didn’t finish college. No big deal. I know just as many people who left school, went back years later, and finished. Hell, I took more than 4 years to graduate after being figuratively boned by transferring schools and changing majors during my Junior year. But spending more than a decade of your life in college? If they made a movie about this lady, they’d have enough “lazy-fuckers in college and all of their wild antics” flicks to justify an entirely new genre. Shit or get off the pot, already (let’s be realistic, I think getting off the pot is the best option here).

And finally, we have Typhoid Mary. This lady had 5 previous jobs. Next to 4 of them she wrote “out of business” as her reason for leaving. Who gives a shit? ME. The only thing I gathered from this resume was that hiring her would give us a 20% chance of making it through the year. And seriously, why list that? You have to know that’s going to leave a bad taste in someone’s mouth. The only way she would have had a chance at the job is if she had let me leave a bad taste in her mouth, if you catch my meaning.
After I told Raoul about these, he came to the conclusion that God selected me to assemble a team of superheroes…and I’m inclined to believe him. Because I talk to God. And He told me so. Now go brush up your resume so you don’t look like one of these sheisskopfs.

Gobble Bloggle

Ahh, Thanksgiving...a time when even the most distant of families go out of their way to gather together and share wonderful food, humorous stories, and obligated love. Or, if your wife just had plastic surgery, you eat leftovers for lunch and go grocery shopping since the store is practically empty. That's what I did. Because my wife just had plastic surgery. I'm not going to hold your hand through this whole thing.

Speaking of hands, remember when you were in elementary school and you traced your hand on a sheet of paper and then added feathers and such until your tracing looked like a turkey? Well, in the spirit of the holiday, I decided to try it out again after all these years. However, since only neanderthals use paper and crayons anymore, I held my hand up to the monitor and traced around it with the paintbrush in Photoshop...but I didn't stop there. You see, years ago I swore to always push the envelope when it came to kindergarten level artwork. So now I present to you my original turkey drawing, accompanied by a few of the other things that popped into my head when I saw a terribly outlined hand on my computer screen.










Hope you had as much fun as I did this Thanksgiving! (I doubt you did...I played a shitload of video games.)

Making Whoopie

Get a load of this conversation:

Raoul: If I have a kid, I’m going to train him to be an MMA fighter.

Me: Wait, I thought Tito Ortiz was your son.

Raoul: It’s quite possible. Man, I feel bad for Jenna Jameson’s loins.

Me: That’s why you feel bad for Jenna Jameson’s loins?



Raoul: You ever had someone with complete knowledge of the full nelson thrust themselves through your crotch? It ain’t pretty.

Me: Have you ever thought about writing erotic stories? You’ve got a gift.

From this conversation I gathered 3 things:
1. Raoul has either been crotch-pounded by an MMA fighter OR
2. At the very least, he’s witnessed it happening to someone else (context clues suggest Jenna Jameson).
3. Why the F am I not writing erotic stories for supplemental income/sexual healing?

Because I’m an idiot, that’s why. How hard could it possibly be (note: save that line for an erotic story)? Easy, I figure. So easy, in fact, that I've already made the cover art for my first three erotic novels (don't worry, Downtown Darrell Woolery is just my pseudonym).







Now you might want to dim the lights and tune your radio to "sex," because you're about to ride the rollercoaster of sexual tension that is my very first erotic story:

Sex, With Words
by Downtown Darrell Woolery

CHAPTER 1
“He’s doing it again,” Jane thought to herself. This was the 4th time she had caught the same man sneaking peeks at her from his place in line. The 5th time, their eyes fixated on each other. Jane turned a particularly sexual shade of red. As the line crept forward, Jane made sure to know sexactly where the man was. When the mystery man’s turn came up, Jane lustily removed the “CLOSED” placard from her desk and sensually moaned aloud, “I can help you, sir.” Everyone stared at her awkwardly while she licked her lips, also sensually and lustily.

The man walked sexually to the counter. As he stared straight into Jane’s eyes he said in a deep voice, “I’d like to make a deposit.”

“Is that so, big boy? And just where would you like to make this…deposit?” Jane replied as she gave the man a clear view of all the erotic cleavage she could muster, which was a considerable amount, all things considered (consider this: Jane has considerably small breasts).

“My checking account, please.”

“Oh.”

“What?”

“This isn’t a bank.”

“Oh. Sorry…then in that case I’d like to withdraw from this conversation!” the man said sexually embarrassingly.

Jane responded quickly. “No that’s okay…honest mistake. I’m Jane.”

“I’m Dick.”

Jane gulped. Dick extended his thick, veiny arm for a handshake. As soon as their hands locked, Dick turned his middle finger inward and began quickly stroking her palm with it (this move, famously known as the Crane-Henderson Suggestive Palm Tickle, is a killer with the ladies).

When they broke their handshake, Jane scribbled something on a piece of paper and walked hornily around the counter. She stopped right next to Dick, reached out, and slid the piece of paper into his pocket. After removing her hand from his trousers, she went about her business.

Dick pulled it out and read: “413 Main Street. 7:00 p.m. tonight.” He looked at Jane and stated matter-of-factly, “I think I’m going to come.”

CHAPTER 2
Dick rang the doorbell. He had condoms in his wallet, sex on his mind, and a little bit of ketchup on his shirt.

Jane hurried to the door wearing an oversized trenchcoat. She paused just before opening it (the door, that is) and took a deep breath to help gather herself. As she struck her sexiest pose, she sensually shouted innocently, “Who is it?”

Dick yelled excitedly, “IT’S DICK!”

Jane attempted to answer, but her throat was so dry that she could only whisper back, “I bet it is…come on in, handsome.”

“WHAT?” shouted Dick.

Jane ran to the kitchen to get a glass of water.

“HELLO???....................... JANE?????” Dick yelled. Jane chugged the water and ran back to the door.

Dick called out again, “JANE, ARE YOU OK?”

“IT’S OPEN,” she breastily responded.

As Dick handled the knob, Jane’s phone rang. She wrapped her hand around it.

“Hello?” Jane said in much the same style as a phone-sex operator.

“Jane?” a woman’s voice said on the other end of the phone.

“Hello, mother,” Jane replied, still talking like a phone-sex operator.

“Why are you talking like that?” Jane’s mom asked.

“Oh, *ahem* sorry, what is it?” Jane answered as her voice returned to normal.

Dick came inside her apartment and sat on the couch, listening erotically to Jane’s side of the conversation. After a few minutes, Jane hanged up the phone and turned towards Dick. She stared, whore-like, into his eyes and said “I’m sorry, I have to go. My sister is having a baby.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Talk about titillating! I didn’t know I had it in me (Note: Save that line for an erotic story).

Things That, as a Man, I'm Supposed to Find Sexy, but I Don’t.

It’s happened to everyone. “Dude, check this out!!!!” someone says to you, most often with a beer in one hand, a camera phone in the other, and a colossal grin on their face. You turn around, thinking “well this HAS to be cool if someone’s that excited about it.” You act surprised, even interested. Maybe you give a “Shit yeah!” and throw in a fist-pound for extra believability, but inside you’re thinking “Who is that guy and did he really just interrupt my drinking to show me…”

Sex with Twins
Maybe it’s because I went to high school with 2 sets of twins, but I’ve never understood the fascination with the idea. Once the novelty of Twin A (the one you meet first) and Bizarro Twin (the one that will always look weird because you met Twin A first, and so Twin A is now your standard for what everyone who looks like Twin A should really look like) wears off, what’s so sexy about two of the pretty-much-exact same thing? (Note: this argument does not apply to body parts that typically come in pairs…legs, breasts, tails, etc.) The only situation I can think of where it wouldn’t be strange to have sex with twins is if everyone was fucking wasted, in which case the guy probably wouldn’t even realize he was having a threesome. If you don’t know it’s happening, what’s the point?

Oh, also, THEY’RE RELATED. Might as well call it twincest.


P.O.V. Porn
I get the idea. P.O.V. (that’s “point-of-view,” for those of you with absolutely no deductive reasoning skills whatsoever) porn is supposed to make you feel like you’re actually there, totally nailing that freakishly proportioned lady (or two, or ten). The only problem is, you’re not there. On top of that, you’re constantly reminded that you’re not there by the fact that having bareback anal sex with three different girls covered in baby oil hardly feels like masturbating (I’m just guessing here…I’ve never masturbated). Also, any time I see P.O.V. porn all I can think to myself is “wait a second…my dick isn’t the size of a school bus!!” Which raises yet another issue: who wants to watch a porno where the screen is 1/3 dong? Not i, said the j.


Catfights
Correct me if I’m wrong, but catfights are allegedly appealing because the two women could ultimately rip each others' clothes off, forget why they’re fighting, and decide that the best way to make up is to 69 in front of a crowd. First, I’m gonna go out on a limb here and propose that Violence ≠ Sex. I may have lost a few of you there, but try to let it sink in. Second, instead of praying for the ludicrous to happen, shouldn’t someone be thinking “Wait, one of these women could get seriously injured if we don’t stop this?” The answer is “yes,” but I’d be willing to bet that an alarming majority of men who’ve seen a catfight couldn’t help but think, “Maybe if I get close enough, they’ll pull me in too when they start fucking!!!”


Women putting phallic objects in their mouth
Here’s how cavemen think: “Thing in woman mouth look like ding-dong!” *orgasm*

One of the more common objects used in this lame version of foreplay (more like BOREplay, am I right?!) is probably a banana. I loathe bananas. I can’t stand the smell, the look, or the taste of bananas. If a girl was about to go down on me, I’d almost rather her mouth have just been around some other guy’s dick than a banana. Does that make me gay?


Now quit slobbering on somebody’s perfectly good produce and make yourself useful.

Erection

I’m not sure if you’ve heard or not, but there’s a presidential election going on RIGHT NOW. Believe it, sister. But seriously, with less than a week to go I’m finding it increasingly difficult to have patience for all the hoopla. Let’s get the damn thing over with already. Yesterday, CNN.com had a poll that asked: “Have you decided whom you support for president?” Yesterday. Fucking yesterday. The election is in less than a week! Hell, most of the people I work with have already voted. I’ll admit, I was on the fence about a year ago, but watching approximately 1/5 of one debate shoved me in the right or left direction. Technically we’ve had at least 2 years to figure it out, so if you haven’t decided by this point, with these two slightly opposite candidates, you’re just slowing the country down. Wake me up when you pull your head out of your ass. I’m dying to know how you got it in there in the first place. (On second thought, it’s probably best that I don’t know how you did it).

Now, I don’t want this blog to turn into a platform for me to force my beliefs on others (see: all other posts), so I’m staying as neutral as the color gray (or maybe something just a little nicer like taupe or even ivory) on the election until my guy loses/wins. Then I’ll either drink myself to death or eat until I barf (which one do you think is for if my guy wins? Guess again!)

Aside from all the friggin campaigning, I’m also tired of people claiming everything has a political slant. The other night my friend said he heard that the movie Wall-E was “politically charged.” I wanted to politically charge my fist right into his goddamn mouth.

So, in the spirit of neutrality I've created a few bumper stickers for the politically Swiss regarding typically divisive issues. If you like them, you can buy them from me for $500 apiece. Hey, this blog isn’t free to maintain (yes it is).

Portrait of an Alcoholic

Tonight I’m dropping a double-feature right in your lap, free of charge. You can thank me later (or now…it’s whatever), but be sure to keep on reading when you get to the end of this one (don’t just close your browser in disgust like you usually do after reading my blog).

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This weekend was the annual Blow Job (watch this video for an explanation and no, it’s not a blow job video) on Cedar Springs (It should be noted that Blow Job 2008 could be considered an actual event, given the lack of fellatio that occurs in my apartment). Anyway, held every year on the Saturday before Halloween, the Block Party is like Mardi Gras Lite with drunk, half-costumed, half-naked people EVERYWHERE. One of these people just so happened to be my lady friend, who is not afraid of a champagne bottle (take this either as a testament to her fondness of the bubbly, or her ability to, well, use your imagination).

Now, she claimed her costume was “something out of Studio 54,” but if you ask me it looked like Amy Winehouse and Joseph (you know, from the Bible…you’ll see) ran head first into each other. Either that or she went as an indiscreet flasher since the only things she wore under her vibrant coat were a bra and bathing suit bottoms. What a pervert.

Pervert or not, I love my lady friend. She’s beautiful, intelligent, passionate, caring, fiery, hilarious, and nobody can make me smile like she can. She also gets on my last goddamn nerve when she’s drunk. We split up like we usually do for most of the night (she likes to dance and I have the rhythm of an epileptic, I like to shoot pool or throw darts and she has the competitive nature of a zombie), but when we met again, she was on the floor. I don’t mean the dance floor. I mean she was laying face down on our hardwood dining-room floor, still fully-clothed (if you can call it that). Upon discovering her in this state I was informed by her best friend that she had fallen down 6 times already on the way home. Now that we were back at the apartment, guess who was on clean-up duty (the answer is “me” in case that wasn't made clear).

“Well, first thing’s first” I thought to myself, so I gave away her Big Mac and fries. Then I busted out the camera and snapped a few shots for posterity’s (and posterior’s) sake. Then I covered her with a blanket and put a pillow under her head. After I ate about 2 bites of my meal, she informed me she was ready for bed. Usually, tucking my wife in is a snap, but that shit ain’t easy when none of her limbs work. And I mean NONE of them. So now my drunk ass is stumbling around, trying to balance a flailing, yelling mess of alcohol and glitter so that I can get back to my fucking cheeseburger. Once I successfully got her into bed, I had to stick around and answer her barrage of questions (well, really it was the same question, but she asked it about 100 times).

“WHAT’S MY DIAGNOSIS??!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?”

Aside from “drunk” I didn’t have a good response. When this answer finally satisfied her, she felt it necessary to tell me that her “arm [was] like the Sahara!” which I took to mean either hot, dry, or lousy with camels, none of which made any sense.

Then she was done with me. After I had literally carried her to the bedroom, got her dressed for bed, put water on her nightstand, set the trashcan next to the bed for her, AND put her under the covers, the only thing she had to say to me was “NOW GET THE HELL OUT OF THE DODGE!!!”

I had no idea she was a Ford girl.

Halloween Highlight Reel

#10 - Runner-up for best costume was the woman dressed as Jabba the Hutt, who, now that I think about it, might have been a heinously fat lady that wasn’t dressed up at all.

#9 - The best costume by far was the man who dressed up like a street sweeper. I know it doesn’t sound impressive, but this guy went all out. Not only did he have a bucket and a broom, but he was actually using them!

#8 - Xander’s perfectly timed “never wear black without the blue” under the blacklights above the restroom line. The fellow in front of us had some hygiene issues.

#7 - Carrying auxiliary whiskey in the form of a flask and mini-bottles.

#6 - Saving Asian Lara Croft from Creepy Drunk Doctor by acting like she and I were together. Props to Marco for adding believability by telling the loser that Lara and I shared a bed, in so many words.

#5 - Marco letting me where (sp?) his fairy wings, if only for a short while. I looked like a fuckin’ bad ass. Why is everyone laughing?

#4 - (technically a low-light) The ballsy, effeminate, middle-aged, black man who said to his partner “well, slim pickins in that bunch…” as a group of people walked past him.

#3 - My belligerent self “accidentally” tripping a line-cutting dickhead in the restroom. If my 14 years of soccer taught me anything, it was how to trip someone and make it look unintentional.

#2 - The vortex near the Roundup Saloon dartboard where no one stands enabled us to complete several games of darts. Granted, we had to play from the women’s line, quite literally (not only did we have to scoot closer to the board, but the place from whence we threw our darts happened to be right at the end of the line for the women’s restroom, so we spent most of the night butting up against pissy beavers, again…quite literally), but still…we got to play.

And the #1 play of the night…my drunk ass passing out on my pillow, which happened to be a cheeseburger. Seriously.

I, the Truthbringer

Guess what? I am now officially a prophet. No, I don’t have papers to prove it, but would I lie to you? I hope you answered “no,” because I’m about to birth some wisdom from this certified soothsaying head of mine. That’s right; I’m going to answer some pretty hard-hitting questions for you right here and now. Most of these are reader submitted (or what I imagine readers would submit, had I not been too lazy to ask them to submit questions). I know you’re probably worried about my well-being, what with revealing the secrets of the universe and all, but fear not…my voice has been disguised (just to be on the safe side, if any Master Truthbringers ask about this blog, play dumb. Okay, now you say “What blog?” and wink at me. But I didn’t see you wink, so I’ll probably get a little frustrated and say, “this blog…the one you’re reading…act like you don’t know anything about it if someone starts to question you.” And then you'll try again and say “What blog?” and wink at me………Got it. Awesome. *wink*).

Would you really rather sleep with Ms. Piggy than Nancy Grace?
Let me put it this way, Ms. Piggy wouldn’t even have to be there. What I mean is, I would rather be jerked off by a puppeteer than even be in the same room with Nancy Grace, whose animal form is the praying mantis (I know, I thought it was “hippo,” too). I don’t want to be eaten alive while I’m having sex. Actually, I don’t want to be eaten at all. That being said, I guess if you were to be eaten alive, during sex would probably be one of the better ways.

Where have all the cowboys gone?
Paula Cole ate them all (during sex, the lucky bastards).

Hey, don’t you know that Jesus guy?
Nope.
*cock-a-doodle-doooooooooooooooo*
Shit.

Why is everybody always pickin’ on me?
Four words: “candy from a baby.”

Are you my mother?
No, but the odds are good that I’m your father. BAM! (See Fig. 2.2(a))

Where’s the beef?
It’s usually in my trousers, but there’s always a good chance that it’s in your mother. BAM! (see Fig. 2.2(a))

Cat got your tongue?
If by “cat” you mean your mother and by “tongue” you mean “beef,” then the answer is "Yes, yes she does." (you should probably have the chart memorized by now.)
If not me, then who? If not now, then when?
What?
What’s with all the pictures?
I don’t write all too wellly, so I gotta make up for it with some funny stuff. Plus, I use Photoshop at work and as the old saying goes, “Photoshop an eagle carrying a baboon, and you’ll get a raise soon.”

Who was that guy in that one movie?
Ask me again when you get your act together.

Well, that's all for now. I hope you're happy with some of my answers. Actually, I don't care if you're happy or not. I don't make the truth, I just bring it.

alt.reality.mindf

My recent entry on unpopular opinions got me thinking…what if there’s a world somewhere where dinosaurs really do still exist? Then I got to thinking…wait, I was already thinking...so I guess technically I just kept thinking…anyway, what if there’s a world somewhere out there where Burger Kings have Minute Maid Orange (and, even further, ANOTHER world where Burger Kings aren’t Burger Kings at all, but Grandy’ses…and they serve whiskey…wait, that’s Heaven, not a parallel universe…sorry, different blog…) and where making jokes about newsgroups is actually cool, not nerdy (see title).

It gets better the more I continue to keep not stopping to still carry on thinking about it:

Imagine a world where up is down, where Pac-Man is square (literally, not like “it’s hip to be square”), where it’s totally not hip to be square, and where everyone says “yes” to drugs.

A world where “The Macarena” sucks, where people’s fingers bend the other way, and where Mike Tyson is President (he still has that wicked face tattoo though…and he still wants to eat people’s children).

A world where people talk backwards, where they walk sideways, where submarines fly and where airplanes swim.

A world where I decide not to blog and consequently have a little more free time on my hands that I’m not really sure what to do with (I’m no prophet (yet), but I’m willing to bet it involves porn), where O.J. is found guilty, and where no one can quite remember exactly what happened on 9/11.

A world where alcoholics are willingly exposed, where The West Wing actually is the show about Lowell and Tony Shalhoub, and where Nolan Ryan is left-handed, but for some reason he insists on pitching with his right hand, so he pretty much sucks.

A world where all dogs burn in Hell, where men give birth (from what orifice, I have no idea), and where genital herpes isn’t even remotely sexy.

A world where I can grow a full beard, where I can throw a spiral, and where I have a HUGE cock (I’m talking Mandingo huge). (NOTE: Mandingo has a film which made it to the semifinals of my Funniest Porno Title contest: It Don’t Matter, Just Don’t Bite It…fantastic!)

A world where poems that don't rhyme actually count as poetry, where Moses asked Pharaoh if he and his people could stick around a little longer, and where Nancy Grace isn’t the less attractive, more annoying, real-life version of Ms. Piggy.

A world where Frosted Flakes are just mediocre, where Sugar Bear has had quite enough Golden Crisp, where that little bitch Mikey will put anything in his mouth, and where:


Talk about a mindfuck…

Staff Inspection

Lately I’ve been watching a lot of The West Wing. I have to admit, it’s not what I expected (what I expected was that show with Lowell and Tony Shalhoub as the immigrant cab driver), but it’s pretty damn good. For those of you in the “don’t know,” The West Wing was a TV drama that centered around President Josiah Bartlet (played by Martin Sheen, but should totally have been played by Emilio Estevez) and his Senior White House Staff. Throughout the show, as the strengths and weaknesses of each character were exposed I started asking myself, “If I were president, who would I choose as my Senior Staff?” Well, I’m glad I asked…

Press Secretary - Will Smith
Press Secretaries need to be quick-witted, charming, intelligent and humorous. Also, I’ll need someone who can boom! shake, shake the room whenever the situation demands it.

Deputy Communications Director - Hugh Jackman
I equate Hugh Jackman with my first vision of Halle Berry’s tig ‘ol bitties. He’s aces in my book.

So now I’ve got the black vote and the Australian vote all locked up…what’s next? Ahh yes…

Senior Communications Director - Kevin Bacon
Footloose, anyone? Plus, think how ridiculous the 6 Degrees game would be if he were also involved in politics. No, don’t think about it…your brain will eat itself.

Deputy Chief of Staff - Rose McGowan
Yowza. She can chief on my staff any day.

Chief of Staff - Wesley Snipes
Consider the following dialogue between President Bartlet and Secretary of Agriculture Roger Tribbey on how to select your Chief of Staff. My notes are in italics (so is this).

Bartlet: You have a best friend? check
Tribbey: Yes, sir.
Bartlet: Is he smarter than you? check
Tribbey: Yes, sir.
Bartlet: Would you trust him with your life? CHECK
Tribbey: Yes, sir.
Bartlet: That's your chief of staff. Oh. That was easy.

Vice President – Bill Murray
Technically, the Vice President isn’t considered Senior Staff, but I feel like this list would be incomplete without one. Especially one of such high calibre (during my reign, we woulde switche to the European spelling of things in an effourte to improve oure foureign relatiouns) as Bill Murray. The man is a comedic genius. What more could you ask for in a Vice President than the ability to make people laugh? Okay, you caught me. I might not exactly know what the Vice President’s job is. I’m sure Bill will be great though.

So there you have it. With my team of superheroes and me at the helm, our great nation will be safe from aliens, fictional literary monsters, giant, subterranean worms, zombies, vampires, ghosts and gophers. I’ll roll the dice with a nuclear war. That shit will NEVER happen.

Dearest Future-Freaks,

I’ve always been intrigued by unpopular opinions. Several years ago someone told me it would be creepier if Michael Jackson was sleeping in the same bed with little children and not molesting them. Mull it over for about 5 minutes and try to come up with a compelling counterargument (hint: it can’t be done). By taking a unique stance on a divisive issue, this benevolent person gave me the confidence to promote my own beliefs regardless of how they might be received.

Unpopular opinion #1 – Fuck endangered species.
Imagine the following slightly extreme scenario: Dinosaurs are still alive and co-exist relatively peacefully with humans. Without museum exhibits and the excitement of the unknown, kids now realize that the brontosaurus, while gargantuan, is about as cool as a camel’s nutsack in the middle of July. Big-game hunters hang Stegosauri (you don’t know what the plural form is either) heads on the walls in their gamerooms. Pamplona, Spain hosts the annual “Running of the Triceratops” where hordes of idiots are mauled by a creature that makes once feared bulls look impotent. Where’s the imagination?

Environmentalists’ main argument for saving endangered species is “what kind of world do you want to leave for your grandkids?” Well, assuming I give a damn since I won’t be here anyway, I want to leave a world where my grandkids can say “Mom, today in science class we learned about this crazy bird that used to exist when Pops (I’m making my grandkids call me that) was still alive. It’s called an ‘eagle’ and [well-intentioned, but misinformed] archaeologists say that it was a massive creature whose diet consisted solely of another weird animal called a ‘baboon.’” Then, instead of going to a zoo and maybe seeing baboons fuck/throw feces at each other (I don't know what the difference is either), my grandkids can mentally create a fantastical world where terrified baboons run frantically as gigantic eagles swoop down from the skies, deafening the world with their screams while they pluck their prey from the treetops.




Unpopular opinion #2 – Women are way hotter when they dress a little bit masculine.
(Quick sidebar: the other day I was searching for funny porn titles and came across what is, in my opinion, the undisputed champion. Ready? “Black Tranny Hootenanny”…fucking AWESOME) A girl in the right jeans, sneakers, and t-shirt can be almost as hot as a room full of black trannies…almost.


Unpopular opinion #3 – Baby eagles are tasty.

A Kick in the Pants

I know it's been a week since I posted last, but I have a good excuse. This weekend I attended the annual Austin City Limits music festival in Austin. ACL 2008 provided me with plenty of material to write about though so open wide because I’m about to blog all over your face.

In order to demonstrate why I enjoyed ACL so much this year, I decided to give awards to the various bands/people who made the experience worth the time and money.

To start things off on a good note, the Surprise of the Year Award goes to Gogol Bordello, a band that I would describe as an Eastern-European Flogging Molly. They had probably the highest energy out of any band the entire weekend. Also, they were the only band whose act involved an insane moustache, a marching band drum, and a red bucket (it should be noted that several other bands had wicked moustaches and at least one other act had a marching band drum, but the real clincher here was the red bucket). Needless to say, I have Gogol Bordello’s entire discography now and I dig it considerably. Coincidentally, this was one of the bands that we just happened to see because they were closest to the food court at dinner time. He works in mysterious ways.

Runners-up: Fleet Foxes and What Made Milwaukee Famous (my attendance at both was intentional, but I enjoyed them much more than I thought I would).

The Perfect Timing Award goes to this guy:


The Kiss My Dick Award for ACL 08 goes to Vampire Weekend. Before ACL, I was most looking forward to seeing this band. As it turned out, they were this year’s Killers (Note: to my visually retarded readers who are having this read aloud to them, “Killers” in this sentence is not a good thing as in, “man, they killed that show!” Nay, it is a reference to last year’s ACL wherein the band, The Killers, closed out Friday night with what sounded like their CD was simply being played over a loudspeaker). Booooooooooooooooooooooring.

Runner-up: Flyleaf. I didn’t go to their show, but one of my best friends knew them in high school, he said they’re tools, and I have no reason to doubt him.

The “So THAT’S What a Rap Concert Sounds Like” Award goes to Del the Funky Homosapien. For a guy whose middle name literally is “Funky,” Del sure didn’t do much to move the crowd. I love rap as much as the next middle-class white guy, but I can’t stand when random guys shout sporadic words into the microphone as the main artist performs…all while the beat drops in and out to supposedly add effect to the words that you can’t understand…because they’re being shouted by three different people.

The Funniest Artist Award goes to Fleet Foxes for many reasons, but partly the following off-the-cuff conversation they had while on stage:
    Fleet Fox 1: Who is Allison Krauss?
    Fleet Fox 2: I think she was in Led Zeppelin.
    FF1: Then who is Robert Plant?
    FF2: I’m pretty sure he was one of the Doobie Brothers.

They also had plenty of jokes about Washington Mutual, the economy, etc. and they thanked Foo Fighters for allowing them to be an opening band (Foo Fighters weren’t scheduled to go on stage for another 32 hours).

Runner-up: Tegan & Sara for telling the story about how they had no sucking reflex when they were born. I dunno…I had a lot to drink at the time. Oh, wait, they’re lesbians, that’s why it’s funny.

The Best Overheard Joke Award goes to the large, red-headed stoner next to us at the Robert Plant/Allison Krauss concert. Some annoying beaver was on her phone trying to use other people’s banners as landmarks to tell her friends where she was. The closest banner to us had the Texas state flag on it. So the beaver says to her friend, “Not Texas, like the school…” to which the stoner blurted out “Texas like ha-ha???” Maybe you had to be there…

The Worst Attempt at Humor Award goes to Del the Funky Homosapien. His alter-ego, a redneck named Cletus, was about as funny as the following joke: A Jew walks into a bar and orders a scotch on the rocks. The bartender says “Did you want to open a tab?” The Jew replies, “nah, I only have time for one drink.” The bartender looks at him and says “Alright, well my name is Dave in case you need anything.”

The Show That Would Have Been Awesome If I Could Have Heard It Award goes to MGMT. Apparently, MGMT’s MKTG plan has been highly successful, as they pulled the most immense crowd of the weekend. The crowd was so large…HOW LARGE WAS IT!?...the crowd was so large that I could hear the band at another stage better than I could hear MGMT.

Runners-up: Black Joe Lewis & the Honeybears (saw them in Dallas this summer and they were awesome. Would loved to have seen them again had they not been onstage during naptime) and Foo Fighters. Yes, that’s correct, we left town before the headliners performed. If it makes you feel any better, I kicked myself in the ass the entire walk back to our room as I could hear them rocking the shit out of the entire park.

The Gayest Banner Award goes to whomever is carrying this abomination:


The Most Surprising Announcement by an Artist Award goes to the lead singer of the Fleet Foxes for declaring that his favorite restaurant in America was a vegan restaurant. I would never have guessed that the unkempt, long-haired lead singer of a folksy band from Seattle would be vegan.

The Most Sarcastic Award Award goes to me, for that last one.

The Bands That Obviously Know What They’re Doing Awards go to:

The Mars Volta – I only stayed for one song, but it kicked ass. My lady-friend was tired, so we left for the night. I say I’m a nice guy, you say she wears the pants. Tomato, go fuck yourself.

John Fogerty – My friends overheard the following question from the village idiot: “Who was that old man who played all the CCR covers?” John Fogerty may be aging, but he had more funk in his red bandana than Del had in his entire entourage. Maybe Fogerty should change his name to John The Funky Fogerty.

The Raconteurs – Awesome, despite Jack White’s having a “disc in the wrong place” in his neck.

Okkervill River – When they played in Dallas, we left their show early (it was a school night). We made it through the whole show this time, and it was great…especially when they slipped into a dramatic and energetic cover of "Sloop John B."

Tegan & Sara – Solid show for the unfortunately small crowd.

Robert Plant & Allison Krauss – Probably my favorite show of the weekend. Watching people who love music play music is a hell of a treat. Plant and Krauss treated the audience to three altered but awesome Led Zeppelin covers which was three more than I thought we’d get while Plant’s rendition of “Nothin'” let him wail like only Robert Plant can. At one point, guitarist T-Bone Burnett took the stage by himself to perform probably the darkest song I’ve ever heard (and thus one of the coolest). Despite how good this show was, the most entertaining part might have been the aforementioned red-headed stoner dancing wildly throughout the concert, all the while donning flashing neon rabbit ears.

The Wasted High-Schooler Award goes to Philip:



This cat almost ralphed on us. I mean fo real, we were in the splatter-zone. Shortly after this picture was taken he fell backwards and landed partially on our blanket, which I promptly removed. The drunk UT dad behind us laughed and said “That’s cold, man, he’s not a leper!” No, but he was a vomiting idiot, and that’s worse in my book. The funniest part of this whole scene was the uninformed passersby who proceeded to plod through Philip’s pile of puke. Goddamn, that’s some sweet alliteration.

Thanks for attending the awards ceremonies. Buy your tickets for ACL 09 as soon as they go on sale so you too can be a part of the magic. $180 for 3 days worth of this much music and entertainment is worth every red cent. Hell, I’d pay $20 just to watch Philip piss himself again. Try taking that out of context.

Assless Chaos

This past weekend was the annual Gay Pride Weekend in Dallas. There was so much going on that I could probably write about it until next year’s Gay Pride Weekend, but instead I’ll just give you the real goods.

Leading up to Saturday, I had no real plans that were at all out of the ordinary. I wanted to eat fried chicken (something I do with alarming regularity, and yes, I plan it), I wanted to play tennis, and I wanted to get drunk. After all, it wouldn’t be a weekend in Uptown Dallas without tennis, southern cooking, gay bars, drinking with my friends, and Marco prancing down Cedar Springs holding a purple umbrella (NOTE: purple umbrella, to my knowledge, isn’t a slang term for anything, but it totally should be…any ideas?). No, this was just going to be a normal day in the gayborhood…or so I thought.

Because it was Pride weekend, the bars were PACKED. I actually like it when bars are more crowded, mainly because I dig the atmosphere. What I don’t like is how all the assheads crowd around the game room so you can’t play anything. I don’t care if the room is being used for a “Billiards is for Dicks” Chapter of the “Fuck Billiards and Anyone Who Plays It” Club meeting. Pool tables are for playing pool. They aren’t to be sat on. Or around. I need room to swing my stick (if you catch my drift). On a side note, I feel I am required by the laws of decency to tell you that towards the end of the night I myself used the same pool table as a gigantic coaster/beer net. Felt, as it turns out, is very absorbent.

Anyway, most of Saturday night is a haze. The only things I really remember are arguing with my friends over fictional military ranks (yes, ours) and my slam-dunking a full Diet Coke from MacDonald’s into the sink. In case you didn’t know, I fucking hate Diet Coke. Mainly because it splatters so damn much. Where’s a pool table when you need one? As I said, the majority of the night’s events escape me, but at least I didn’t get sick. On a scale from “completely sober” to “passed out naked in the bathtub” I was only “trashcan next to the bed…just in case” drunk. That kind of drunk makes for great nights, but terrible mornings.

I woke up Sunday with the intention of doing something productive, but instead I spent the day holding my head in my hands thinking “I fucking hate alcohol” and dreading spending my afternoon in the sun at the Gay Pride Parade. My favorite boss of all time once told me “parades rejuvenate the soul.” Well, they don’t do a goddamn thing for a hangover.

For those that don’t know, “parade” is an old French word meaning “to stand touching sweaty strangers while screaming at people to throw things to you for hours.” Nothing says “pride” like hurling rock-hard candy at someone’s face. Jawbreakers, indeed. I gathered quite a bounty of junk throughout the day, but the swag-snatching culminated with my going all Dennis Rodman on the drunk slobs around me and snagging a mini-beach ball out of mid-air. My moment of glory was cut short, however, as some jerk started yelling at me, “YOU STOLE MY BALL! YOU KNOW YOU STOLE MY BALL!” After accusing me of theft of a free item, she took a more reasonable approach and offered to buy this waste of plastic from me for $1. Now, I’m a stand-up (and clearly, when the situation demands it, a jump-over-drunk-slobs) kind of guy, so I just gave her the damn thing. I don’t live near a mini-beach, so the ball is probably better off in her menagerie of worthless shit anyway.

The rest of the day was a fuckin’ blast with more of the same, but I think you get the idea by now. Throughout the day, I texted Raoul regular updates of whatever ridiculous float was passing by. When the leather-daddy float came upon us toward the end of the parade, I intended to text two simple words: “assless chaps.” My phone, in its infinite wisdom, autocorrected me with “assless chaos.” I couldn’t have said it better myself.

NOTE: The most compelling argument I've ever seen for the existence of a benevolent God is that none of these gentleman are facing the other direction. And the church said, Amen.

Creatures of Legend

I love mysterious monsters. In fact, I’m such a fan that I think it’s high time somebody lobbied for them to be called by a less offensive name. Modern society has embraced civil rights to such a degree that we now have to refer to all manner of bitches, whores, and sluts as “women.” If you ask me, it’s a damn shame that we don’t extend the same courtesy to these…these Creatures of Legend. I’m talking of course about Sasquatch, the Mega Hog, the Chupacabra, the Loch Ness Creature of Legend (it has a ring to it, doesn’t it?) etc. Sadly, the world doesn’t have enough of these evolutionary misfits around. Sure, this short list is a pretty impressive who’s who of fantastic beings, but just like everything else in life, once you’ve watched the Discovery Channel special on it, what more is there to learn?

So, in the interest of keeping the dream alive, I decided to create some of my own Creatures of Legend. Here comes one now!


Armed with a pig’s supersonic hearing, a tiger’s outrageous sense of style, a jackrabbit’s insatiable desire to fuck, and, well, camel hooves, the Canadian Camel-Hooved Pigerjack spends his nights in the Canadian countryside lying in wait behind outhouses for wandering cowboys or cowsluts…wait, sorry…cowwomen? that sounds just as offensive…anyway, the Pigerjack waits for cowpersons to stumble to the necessary room in the middle of the night so he can latch onto their lower legs and hump like his life depends on it (it does). The ferocity of the Pigerjack’s humping quickly breaks the legs of his victims, rendering them helpless and immobile. Once the Pigerjack has felled his prey, he devours them within minutes. All Pigerjacks are males. And there’s only one of them. There used to be a female Pigerjack, but she couldn’t catch any prey because females don’t hump (if there are any women who want to prove me wrong, I’m available at a moment’s notice to witness firsthand).

Cousin Eddie from Christmas Vacation described society's view of the Pigerjack best when he said, "You don't want him around if you're wearing shortpants if you know what I mean."

Don't get too excited about the above photographic "evidence." Noted Pigerjack expert, me, has determined the picture to be a hoax. The Canadian Camel-Hooved Pigerjack is nocturnal and would never be seen roaring in the daylight. Ever.

The Sorceress of Sprite

Around lunchtime the other day I drove to Burger King (or as Stuttering Abbie calls it, “Bur-gink-er…shit!”) to grab a quick bite to eat. I pull up to the menu, survey my drink options, and decide on orange soda. Only I calls it Minute Maid. After years of servers invariably asking “You mean Hi-C? Or do you want orange juice?” you’d think I would give in and refer to it as “orange soda” or even “orange drink.” But the menu said “Minute Maid,” and so do I.

“Welcome to Burger King, would you like to try our Whopper Value Meal today?”

“Nope, I’ll have a double cheeseburger, plain, with a Minute Maid, please.”

“You want a Hi-C?”

*Goddammit…*

“Ah, no, sorry, Minute Maid Orange.”

“We don’t have Minute Maid Orange.”

Bullshit. I’ve had it here before. It says “Minute Maid Orange Soda” on the menu. It has the logo and everything. I swear to God I’ve had it here before. I come here a couple of times a month and get it every time. Am I at the right Burger King? Am I even at Burger King? I bet the guy behind me is furious. “What’s taking this dickhead so long?” he’s thinking. “It’s supposed to be FAST food…it’s a burger joint, the menu never changes!” My thoughts exactly.

“Uhhhh, Sprite then, please.”

I drive my bewildered ass up to the window and peer inside the restaurant. The first things I see are the soda fountain and the words “Fanta Orange.” Seriously?

I used to be a dick to people in the service industry. Then I married one (a person in the service industry, not a dick). Since then I have been extra conscious of how I treat servers, cashiers, prostitutues, etc. I have even done my best to eliminate the “No wonder they’re working at Burger King” attitude, but this lady was pushing it. Maybe she thought I was extremely brand loyal or that I was a picky prick. Those close to me might say I’m both, but I don’t know this bitch and she don’t know me. Anyway, when she comes to the window, I says to her, “Oh, could I get a Fanta instead of the Sprite?”

She stops what she is doing, looks me square in the eyes, and snaps, “I already made the Sprite.”

Had I not been so astounded by her ability to “make Sprite” I would have told her “Well fuckin’ pour it out!” Instead I sat there like a slack-jawed idiot until my food came.

The moral of the story is: Don’t anger Burger King’s drink magicians. And by “drink magicians” I mean “lazy motherfuckers.”

The Devil and Morgan Freeman

After watching the movie Wanted recently, Raoul and I were discussing movies wherein Morgan Freeman acted as the villain. Raoul brought up The Bucket List and Driving Miss Daisy. Now, I haven't seen The Bucket List, but I can say without hesitation that Morgan Freeman reached the pinnacle of his career as the bad guy in Driving Miss Daisy. Nothing was more awesome than watching Jessica Tandy trying to figure out how to keep that bus above 200 mph AND defuse a bomb at the same time.



Despite having never seen the movie, mention of The Bucket List got Raoul and I talking about all the things we'd yet to accomplish despite our relative success in life thus far (read: we're still alive). What better time to record them all than now, before we actually do develop terminal illnesses? Unfortunately, Raoul gave me his 3-page, handwritten list at a gay bar, so it looked like I was reading a love note he had written me during class or something. Anyway, we figured starting the list early on in our lives should give us plenty of time to accomplish everything on it. For example, three down already.

(To give credit where credit is due Raoul is even and I'm odd)

1. Make a bucket list.
2. Find out what bleach tastes like.
3. In a room full of people I just met, start a joke that I don't know the punch-line to.
4. Seduce a geriatric and take her millions.
5. Infiltrate an organization.
6. Purchase a bear and a lion, lock them in a cage, see who survives (Editor's note: bear, obviously…see below).
7. Publicly reveal Morgan Freeman's true, evil nature.
8. Watch Roots in its entirety.
9. Try a glory hole (either side).
10. Create a diversion.
11. Go to sleep at a decent hour.
12. Perform a citizen's arrest.
13. Try life without thumbs.
14. Give a "shout out" on COPS.
15. Throw something at this guy and see what happens: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YBv79LKfMt4
16. Object to a wedding (during the ceremony).
17. Attend a popular movie and yell out the ending during the opening scene.
18. Stick it to the man.
19. Throw all the parachutes out of an airplane except for one (mine).
20. Beat Mike Tyson's Punch-Out.
21. Get rid of this goddamn headache.
22. Anal.
23. Stare at a solar eclipse.
24. Violate my parole and all 3 restraining orders in one 24-hour period.
25. Dispose of the bodies.
26. Confront and destroy my nemesis/doppelganger.
27. Point a loaded gun at someone.
28. Hunt a human for sport.
29. Use the phrase "gilding the lily" in a sentence (other than this one).
30. Make it rain.
31. Give peace a chance.
32. Throw a Molotov cocktail (fuck peace).
33. Make a deal with the devil.
34. Steal a police car and use it in a high speed chase.
35. Finish an entire Baconator in one sitting.
36. Find out what all the fuss is surrounding autoerotic asphyxiation.
37. Stick my dick in the mashed potatoes, regardless of what kind of party it is.
38. Go out in a blaze of glory (Editor's note: for efficiency, combine with numbers 32 through 37?).

Bear vs. Lion

Tonight a good friend of mine (we'll call him 'Raoul') asked me 'Which animal would win in a fight...a lion or a bear?'

In order to answer the question, I had to first disregard the obvious fact that if two such awesome forces ever met, they would refuse to fight out of mutual respect for each other's prowess. Next, I tried to imagine a ridiculous scenario in which the two creatures would actually meet. After failing to do so, I simply dropped the two of them into as neutral a backdrop as I could imagine...an icy plain on the edge of a grassy plain. Also, to be fair, I chose the largest specimen of each species I could find in a two-minute search on the internet. This would turn out to make the match slightly less than fair as the official bout would be between a 700 lb African Lion (Panthera leo) named "China" and a 2,200 lb Polar Bear (Ursus maritimus) named "Michael Phelps."*

With the stage set, it was time for the battle to begin. Aside from what I believed would actually happen (lion approaches bear, bear stands on hind legs, lion shits itself and runs), Raoul and I went through several different scenarios to try and determine a winner. Right off the bat, I chose bear. Now as I've said, Raoul is a good friend, so for the sake of his mental stability I hope he was merely playing devil's advocate as he chose the considerably outsized lion.

Raoul first suggested that the lion would charge the bear at 30 mph and knock it on its back. Considering that lions can reach speeds of up to 50 mph, I would say this is a serious strategic miscalculation on the lion's part. At any rate, Raoul believed this would give the lion easy access to the bear's throat, thus ending the conflict. My rebuttal had the bear standing on its hind legs, ready for an attack. Raoul countered that bears 'aren't all that sturdy.' I'm no expert on bears, but I'd say 2,200 lbs of ANYTHING is pretty goddamn sturdy.

In the interest of sportsmanship I conceded the point and changed the bear's position to standing on all fours in an attempt to create a lower center of gravity. Raoul's response? "When was the last time you saw a bear get into a 2 point stance like a linebacker?" Again, I had to concede as the last time I saw a lion and a bear in a fight, the bear did nothing that even slightly resembled a football player.

Clearly a change of strategy was in order. "Enough of this horseshit," I said to myself, "It's time to end this once and for all..." Surely, I thought, the bear wouldn't simply stand still and wait for the lion's charge attack. Now, not only was the bear on all fours, but he was charging right back at the lion in what can only be described as bear-lion chicken.** This feral joust essentially reduced the argument to Freight Train vs. Race Car and I think we all know what would happen in that situation. Checkmate.

Raoul sat there with his jaw on the floor.*** He was speechless. His precious lion had been demolished. My bear had won! Feel free to weigh in if you have a different opinion/scenario, but based on the picture below...case closed.

NOTE: No animals were harmed in the making of this picture. The lion is either sleeping or he's just been slapped silly by a polar bear that weighs ONE, FUCKING, TON, in which case he most certainly was hurt, but he was asking for it.



*Probably not the real names of the specimens being discussed.
**Since this sounds like a new version of paper-rock-scissors, but with animals, I tried to think of who would beat who. It goes without saying that bear pees on lion and lion makes fun of chicken, but unless bears are especially susceptible to salmonella, I don't think it really works out.
***I wasn't actually with Raoul when we had this conversation. This bit of narrative was added for dramatic effect. I'm guessing the only thing of Raoul's that was on the floor at the time of our discussion was his pants.