P.S., I Love You – Part 2

Alright, everyone. It’s time for the thrilling conclusion to last month’s Photoshop cliffhanger. Actually, before we get into that I feel I should let you know that I screwed the pooch on last month’s entry. I forgot I submitted an entry into the “Awesome Ways to Quit Your Job” Photoshop contest. This one was actually before the patriotism one. My deepest apologies for cocking up the chronology of this thing. God, I’m such a fucking asshole. Anyway, here was my entry for that one:

I liked it and it got a little love on the forums so even though it did not place, I was pleased.

Click here to see all of the finalists.

Now it’s time to hop back in the time machine and warp through some continuum or whatever right past the Patriotism contest. That should bring us to the “Worst Possible Time to Get an Erection” contest. I’m a little ashamed to admit how much time I spent thinking about this one. A good amount of the entries showed a fundamental misunderstanding of male anatomy, but the ones that looked somewhat realistic were awesome. None of mine placed, but here they are anyway:

For those of you that don’t know, that last one comes from a gameshow where you have to stand in the same shape as the hole in the wall. The wall moves slowly toward you, so if you aren’t making the right shape, you’ll get knocked into water or something like that. It’d be bad enough to get knocked off of a stage because of your boner, but can you imagine trying to hide a boner in a jumpsuit? As a side note, if you haven’t seen this, you should. It’s pretty SFW, as if Sir Fats even cares.

Click here to see all of the finalists.

The next contest was “Movie Plots That Could Have Been Solved in Minutes.” I did 2 entries for this one, both of which I was really proud of. I was actually surprised this one hadn’t been done by the time I submitted it, but it got 6th place and was used as the banner ad for the article on the front page. It’s always awesome to see something you’ve created get any kind of exposure, even if the viewers have no idea who I am. Here it is:

I also did this one:



Don’t worry, there’s no shame in Googling “John Kimble” if you don’t get the joke at first. I’ll wait.

Click here to see all of the finalists.

Got it? Good. That was a really late entry and as you can see it didn’t make the finals, but it’s probably one of my favorite shops I’ve done.

And now, at long last, we come to the conclusion of this interminable clip show. The most recent contest I entered was “If Sarcasm Ruled the World.” Here are my two entries:

After the stop sign one got 4th place, I decided to take a break and give other people a chance to not win anything. Actually, I just have not had any decent ideas for the last few contests, but I’m not worried. You see, ideas are like orgasms, they come in spurts. So what if I don’t have any orgasms for a month or so? If the world knows what’s good for it, it will brace itself for the impending Photoshop bukkake I’m about to unleash all over its face. Too much? You better believe it.

Click here to see all of the finalists.

Thanks for putting up with my posting some older stuff that I've done. Some of those creations took WAY more time than you would think and I wanted to share them with someone. Who better than the unsuspecting victims loyal readers of my blog?

ACL Awards 2009

If any of you have read my blog for at least a year, you’ll remember that last year I gave out awards for the annual Austin City Limits music festival. Well, it’s that time again as I attended my third straight ACL this past weekend. In case you didn’t know (I’m looking disapprovingly at you, Sir Fats), ACL and South by Southwest are NOT the same thing. They are roughly 6 months apart, take place in entirely different parts of town, and attract acts of varying popularity (though they are all musical...I think…Bjork performed at ACL 2 years ago and I would classify that more as an audio interpretation of a really confusing nightmare). In the days leading up to ACL 2009, my only concern was getting to see Flogging Molly whilst drunk. After that, I would be happy to just see 4 or 5 shows a day. My wife and I managed to make all that happen and we ended up having a really great weekend after getting off to a slow start. Don’t worry. I’m not going to bore you with my minute by minute schedule. I know you’re just here for the awards and the scenery, so without further ado…

The Surprise of the Year Award this year goes to The Felice Brothers who were one of my top 3 favorite acts of the weekend. The amount of time I spend listening to them will increase dramatically now that I’ve actually heard of them. Their performance certainly didn’t feel like it was a 1:15 pm show.

Runners-up:
Phoenix – I hadn’t had much exposure at all to this band before ACL, but they kept the whole crowd rocking throughout their entire performance. They also had probably the most humble lead singer of any band, who proclaimed they had never performed in front of a crowd of that size and said “thank you” about a brazillion times.

!!! (pronounced “chkchkchk”) – These guys know how to move a crowd (physically, not emotionally…or bowelly)

This year’s Perfect Timing Award goes to this guy for making me second guess my stance on the existence of ghosts:

I swear to you that photo is not altered in any way.

The Kiss My Dick Award for this year goes to Salt Lick Barbeque. More like DICK Lick Barbeque, right? Or Salt DICK Barbeque, yeah? Or maybe BALL SICK FARTONYOU seriously guys who’s with me???

$7 for a pulled pork sandwich is fine. $7 for a large spoonful of completely dry pork topped with cabbage and two tiny squirts of BBQ sauce is Kiss My Dickable.

Runner-up: Some stupid asshole in line at the port-o-potties. While waiting in line Saturday for my turn to piss, the guy a few people up from me went into the stall and forgot to lock the door. So, on the exterior door handle was a giant green circle, which usually means “come on in!” But in this instance, since probably 30 people saw him go in there, everyone remained in line…except for one stupid asshole. This woman, maybe 25, crossed the no-man’s land between where the line starts and the stench begins and before she could even finish “HEY IS THERE ANYONE IN THIS ONE?” she had ripped the door open, which prompted everyone in line to issue a rousing “WHOA, SOMEONE’S IN THERE!” This girl knew that. She had to know that. She was standing right next to me. There were 4 or 5 people in front of her waiting for the same stall. Now, I had consumed a beer or two at this point, but for whatever reason I felt it necessary to say to her “Yeah, that’s why there are lines.” She walked up to me, did something nonsensical with her hands (ask me next time you see me and I’ll show you) and said “I GET IT.” Luckily, the lines had my back. The guy next to me says to her “But, do you really?” Anyway, fuck that woman.

The “Seriously, Do All Rap Concerts Sound Like This?" Award for this year goes to Mos Def. Not only did Mos Def show up 30 minutes late for his concert that was scheduled to last only 1 hour, but he proceeded to beat seemingly randomly on drums and freestyle the entire time. Or maybe he didn’t. Maybe those were his songs. But I’ve heard Mos Def before, and he is fucking brilliant. This show, however, was annoyingly boring.

The Funniest Artist Award this year goes to Dave King of Flogging Molly. I had originally typed out the reasons why, but this was really one of those “you had to be there” things. Trust me, he was way funnier than anyone else. I was drunk at the time, but for some reason I got a good kick out of him telling the audience, "Come on Austin, give us those fingers." Damn near everyone obliged.

Runner-up: The male lead singer of !!!, who claimed that every time he said “goddammit,” the band’s drummer smiled (and boy did he). He must have said “goddammit” about 100 times. He also borrowed an umbrella from a fan and a line from the Talking Heads when he said “You may ask yourself, this is not my fucking umbrella, goddammit!” It doesn’t make sense, but neither do most Talking Heads songs.

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

The B-52s – Sure, I spent most of the time just waiting for Love Shack and Rock Lobster, but they were way more energetic than I expected them to be. I’ve never seen so many middle-aged people dancing in my life.

White Lies – the last show we saw of the whole festival. Yes, we left early, but damn if this wasn’t a good note to end on.

Flogging Molly – Drunken jigs were being danced all over the damn place. Even if you don’t typically like their music, you should go to one of their shows and drink your fool head off. If you don’t have a good time, I hate you.

Black Joe Lewis & the Honeybears – If you took James Brown and Sly and the Family Stone, put them in a jar, and shook it up, the result would be Black Joe Lewis & the Honeybears. Seriously energetic, soulful performance. The only knock on them would be their horn “solos” that started off promising and never really went anywhere.

The first ever Unfortunately Small Crowd Award goes to the Yeah Yeah Yeahs who put on a damn good show that truly exceeded my expectations. You see, Kings of Leon were playing at the same time as this show, so most of the festival crowd was clear across the park when the Yeah Yeah Yeahs went on stage. Until this weekend, my only real exposure to them was playing “Maps” in Rock Band, a song I wasn’t real crazy about, but they sure are fun to watch live. And I’m not at all attracted to her, but I think having sex with lead singer Karen O would be the loudest and most awesomely disorienting seizuregasm ever. I’d also be afraid of where she’d try to stick the microphone, but I'd probably just go along with it.

The Weirdest Freak Out Award goes to my festival partner (my wife), whose wristband was on so tight that the universe was collapsing on itself, to hear her tell it.

The Shittiest Performance Award goes to K’Naan. K’Naan was actually awesome, but he had the misfortune of performing at the stage closest to the toilets. See what I did there? With that award title? That, my friends, is a little play on words that maybe leaves you confused for a bit, but explains it in due time, all while making you question the very essence of your being.

The Band I’m Least Likely to Continue Listening To After ACL Award goes to Them Crooked Vultures. There’s no denying the talent that makes up this group. Shit, one quarter of my favorite band of all time is in it! That being said, we saw their entire show and for whatever reason, I just wasn’t feeling it. Dave Grohl on the drums live is a sight to see, though.

And now for the crowning achievement of the entire weekend and what I hope becomes a recurring award for many years…The Most Likely to Lay Himself at My Feet, Rub His Breasts, and Accidentally Run His Knuckles Across My Shin While Fixing His Hair Award goes to this guy:

Thank you for invading my personal space. It was the realest experience I’ve had in awhile.

Well, folks, that’s pretty much a wrap for this year’s festival. The weather and the seemingly ridiculous amount of people made me seriously question whether or not I would attend again, but hell if my wife and I didn’t leave the festival already talking about buying tickets for next year. ACL 2010 or bust!

P.S., I Love You – Part 1

I have a confession. I’ve been making other people laugh. But don’t worry, baby. It didn’t mean anything. In fact, I don’t even remember their names. Wait, yes I do. It was Cracked.com. If you know me, you’ve probably heard me talked about Cracked.com an unhealthy amount of times. And if you’re mad about my lack of posting over basically the entire summer, you can blame it all on Cracked’s weekly Photoshop contests. That and Tetris, actually. So basically what happens each week is this: Cracked’s Editor starts a forum thread with a theme for the week, and it’s up to the readers to submit their best entry. At the end of the week, winners are chosen by I-have-no-idea-who and posted as an article on the homepage. Only 1st place wins anything, but there are usually 20 pages worth of entries, so to make the final 15 or 20 (the number of finalists varies) feels pretty damn good. Since I know most of you don’t spend any time on Cracked.com (shame, shame), I decided to share my Photoshop entries with both of you here. Here’s what I’ve been doing all this time:

A year ago one of the themes was “Campaign Ads if the Legal Voting Age Was Six.” Here are my two entries:






I know this was way before I failed to update my blog frequently, but there’s a reason I’m showing you these. The second one actually made it to the finals! 20th place, but still. Actually, I thought the first one was funnier, but as long as one of my entries made it, who gives a shit's fuck, right?

Click here to see all of the finalists.

After this contest, I was hooked. I submitted entries whenever I thought of a good idea, but I spent most of the next several months making an image and then deleting it at the last second. A few months ago, though, I got brave and started submitting more regularly. The week before July 4th, the theme was “Ill-conceived Patriotic Displays.” I submitted another couple of entries for this one:






The RealDoll entry actually ended up in third, the highest I’ve placed ever. I felt really good about that entry, but goddamn if the winner wasn’t one of the best entries I’ve seen in any of the contests.

Click here to see all of the finalists.

The next contest I entered was “Inventions We Badly Need at the Office (or Workplace).” If you’re reading this blog at work (I’m lookin’ at you, Sir Fats), this should be right up your alley. Here are my two entries:






Neither of them were finalists, but I still really enjoyed making both of them. Also, they got a good amount of love from some people in the forum, so I'm happy.

Click here to see all the finalists.

Well, I know we just got started, but this took way longer than I thought it would to track everything down, so that's it for now. Oh, and sorry I just posted the internet version of a clip-show, but at least there's something to look forward to!

The Book of Gregori

Well, another of my friends moved away, so apparently God hates me. Either that or I’m such a dick that people don’t even want to be in the same state as me…and this is a huge fucking state. This time it was Xander, who you also might recognize from previous posts in this blog. Xander has gone on to a better place. No, he's not dead (I think...I haven't talked to him in a couple of days), he's just moved to his paradise. His absence for me means less tennis, less drinking, less ultimate, less cricket, and a serious dearth of me getting to slap him in the face. Again I’m really damn late on this, but below is another send-off straight from the pages of the Ablakalyptical Bible.

¹And again the prophet appeared unto them.

²“Where the hell did you go?” they asked of him, in unison.

³“LO!” cried the prophet. “There is no time for explanation, for soon cometh yet another Horseman of the Ablakalypse…Der Xander!”

“Der Xander?” they questioned. ⁴“What manner of creature is this?”

⁵“Lo,” whispered the prophet, “The Xander is a foul beast what dons the sandals of Jesus and stands some 8 feet tall, his hair eternally mussed and filthy, for he bathes not. His gigantic frame alloweth him to withstand the mighty force of a whirlwind. On his arms he bears markings what resembleth each century he hath spent imprisoned within the center of the earth. ⁶That number is 6. ⁷He freedeth himself and now stumbleth across the land, drunken and surrounded by his army of massive canines. From his pockets he pulleth an endless supply of darts, which he zingeth with impeccable accuracy. On his back resteth a barrel of ale that cannot be emptied, no matter how frequently one sups from the bunghole. In his right hand he wieldeth the Hammer of Thor, with which he slayeth his enemies by whacking them about the head.”

⁸“Lo!” the people gasped. “Der Xander hath conquered the Norse god of thunder???”

“What? Oh, nay,” said the prophet. “The Hammer of Thor is but a tennis racket…”

“Oh,” the people said flatly.

“…BUT IT IS WICKED AND INDESTRUCTIBLE!!!” shouted the prophet. “He payeth no regard for human life, for…” the prophet trailed off.

“For what?” the crowd beseeched him.

⁹“For he rideth his dual-wheeled chariot in the middle of thy path!” said the prophet.

¹⁰The crowd gasped. “NO!” cried a crowd member. “Surely not!” explained another.

¹¹“I tell you no lie, but ye shall have warning when he appraocheth. When thou heareth the horrid hiss of ‘yassuh,’ cleaneth the shite from thy drawers and escapeth posthaste” said the prophet. “And finally,” the prophet started.

¹²“There’s more?” the crowd interrupted.

“Lo,” continued the prophet, “perhaps the most heinous and grievous thing about this towering monster…” the prophet quieted.

“Tell us!” pleaded the crowd. “We must know!”

¹³The prophet continued in a hushed voice and more gravely than ever before, “Der Xander weareth his sunglasses at night.”

¹⁴At this, the women fainted and the men wailed.

¹⁵“It cannot be!” the eldest of the crowd shouted maniacally.

¹⁶“Lo! Tis true! SEE FOR YOURSELVES!”

¹⁷The prophet dropped to his knees and again scrawled an image in the sand:


¹⁸The crowd raised their heads to find the prophet had yet again disappeared. From afar they heard the faintest cry: “Yaaaaasssssssssuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh............YYYYYYYAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSUUUUUUUUUUHHHHHHHHHHHH...” the chant grew louder.

¹⁷And the people, having just recovered from their previous defecation, did shit themselves once more.

Best of luck in Colorado, you goddamn hippie.

Fan Service

I don't do this for just anyone.

The Book of Muja

If you’ve read more than one of my blogs, you might have noticed the name “Raoul” popping up a lot. Well, Raoul is a good friend of mine who recently joined the Marines (no big deal). As it turns out, most of my blogs were inspired by some ridiculous conversation Raoul and I would have, so now that he’s gone he’s basically fucked my shit up. Well, not really, but the bars are way less boring when he’s not there getting punched in the face by a lesbian (true story). Anyway, this is a couple of weeks late, but I thought I’d send him off in style by devoting an entire Book in the Ablakalyptical Bible to him. You say “blasphemy,” I say “quit being such a martyr.” (double blaspheme!)

¹And the prophet shouted unto them “Lo, the end is nigh! The young demonspawn hath begun his training. Steel yourselves for annihilation, good people, though preparation against so formidable a beast shall surely be for naught. ²Soon, the Raoul, a dreaded Horseman of the Ablakalypse, shall obliterate existence with the swipe of his menacing hand and the monstrous force of his powerful grimace.”

³“Lo!” said they unto him, “How shall we know tis this ‘the Raoul’ of whom you speak that cometh?”

⁴The prophet replied “Tis not possible to mistaketh the presence of the Raoul! ⁵He wandreth the Earth, his frame slightly taller than average. In his right hand he holdeth a wicked and dull machete. In his left, a bowling ball emblazoned with the visage of the one they call ‘Mickey Mouse.’ On his back hangeth a satchel, from whence the Raoul produceth an endless supply of bricks, which he mightily heaveth upon those he wisheth to smite, all the while shouting ‘The Ablakalypse is NOW, motherfuckers!”

⁶But, lo! Before you see him, you will smell the impending doom what wafteth from his Enchanted Necklace. This fabled totem, as aged as the Raoul himself and fashioned from the ears of those who dare standeth in his path, serveth as a notice that death itself is assured.”

⁷“Lo!” they shouted again, “That’s nasty!”

⁸“AYE…TIS!!!” the prophet confirmed. ⁹”But, lo! Before you smell this insidious amulet, you will hear the horrid cry of the wretched beast upon which he rideth:  a camel continually dying, but never dead. Many fool, upon hearing this despicable sound, assume safety, for what damage can be done at the hooves of a dying camel? ¹⁰But, lo! Tis not the camel thou must fear! Tis the Raoul!”

¹¹“Lo!” they shouted a third time, “We are not impressed!”

¹²“Lo!” replied the priest. “Your imagination is weak! I shall depicteth the terror for you now here in the dirt.” The priest knelt down and with his stave he scrawled the image of the Raoul in the dirt. (Scholars and archaeologists have found myriad versions claiming to be the one true image of The Raoul. Awhile ago they voted on their favorite and have generously lent it to my blog so that I may spread the word of The Raoul’s coming.)

“Lo!” they gasped. “That looks terrible!”

“Aye! I told you!” replied the priest.

¹³“No!” they said. “We mean, where did you learn to draw? That doesn’t look scary at all!”

¹⁴“I’m drawing in the dirt with a stick!” shouted the priest.

¹⁵“Then how is it colored?” demanded the crowd. When they raised their eyes to the priest, they found he had vanished. In the distance, a camel brayed. ¹⁶And on that day, the people did shit themselves.

The End

But really, best of luck, Raoul. You will certainly be missed…though we’ll be glad to be free of that god-awful ear necklace. Seriously. That thing smelled like shit.

The Origin of (a) Man

Tonight when I revealed in an exclusive sneak preview that I was going to explain the origin of my name, Raoul, ever supportive of my endeavors, said “Have people been asking?” The answer to that is “no, not one,” but let me challenge you, reader: What would investigative journalism be if I just waited around for everyone else to ask the questions? It’d be sloppy seconds, that’s what. And nobody likes sloppy seconds (except for your father, apparently, who seems to enjoy having sex with your mother immediately after I have, the weirdo). But enough about Raoul Raincloud, this is MY blog, dammit.

Everywhere I go, people want to know “What does Ablakalypse Now mean?” Unfortunately, when strangers accost me, my BenevolenceFilter translates whatever they say into “Can you spare some change? I need to continue my drug habit” so I usually reply with something like, “Frig off, I don't have any food!” It isn’t until much later, as I review the day’s events with a bucket of scotch, that I discover what was actually asked. Well, my friends, if you dare, follow me into the rabbit hole so we can get to the bottom of the relatively simple origin of this blog’s name.

It all began some years ago when I toured the globe as a world-famous rapper. “Blaka,” you see, is my rap name, for it is the sound what my gun(s) makes when it is fired. The fact that my entire persona is named after a gun firing leads one to believe that my gun is fired frequently, and it certainly is, but this is no ordinary gun (more on this in a minute).

Now, when you hear “apocalypse,” you picture one of two things:
1. One of the best supervillains EVER
2. Fire raining from the heavens (in a bad way)

It is in the spirit of #2 that my name arises. So, if we couple my gun, or at least the sound of it (“blaka,” remember? We just fucking talked about this…) with this notion of things falling from the sky, we can then assume that what actually rains from above are bullets from my gun. Fear not, weary travelers, these bullets are not messengers of death, but of laughter. For you see, humor is my ammo. So I guess that makes the computer my gun?

Actually, I’m pretty sure…





Thank you, Stanley Kubrick.

So there you have it, my genesis, if you will. Just a note, if I were a female (only $10,000 more to go!!!), I would have named this blog "Blogging Molly." And I would also totally use my new powers to stare at other girls in the locker room...schwing!

The Sport of Kings

I love Ultimate. The only thing is, as with all sports, it can get a little routine sometimes. While discussing the finer points of the issue one night, Raoul and I decided to win the lottery and use the money to create a new breed of Ultimate. Inspiration for the new game is drawn from America’s hero: Arnold Schwarzenegger (specifically in The Running Man). The rules are simple: Two teams, Team WidowMaker (comprised of Raoul, Xander, Terrell Owens, Troy Polamalu, Macho Man “Randy Savage,” Mike Tyson, and myself) and Team Daffodil (comprised of death row inmates), compete on a 70 yard field with two 25-yard long endzones. Points are scored by completing a pass to any of your teammates in the correct endzone. If the disc is intercepted or hits the ground at any time, players yell “TURN,” a member of Team Daffodil is exploded, and possession immediately switches hands. Also, the field itself will be surrounded by 80 ft. high walls made of constantly flowing lava. At random intervals, simulated earthquakes will rock the stadium, incapacitating the players who don’t have jetpacks (read: Team Daffodil) and invariably knocking a number of spectators onto the field. Any spectator who lands on the field is required to join Team Daffodil. And there will be polar bears wandering throughout the stadium. And they will be genetically engineered to be GIGANTIC. Yeah, that’s the stuff!

I figure it’ll only take a little bit of start-up capital to get the sport, hereby dubbed SlaughterBall, off the ground. Once things get going we’ll make plenty of money selling merch in the SlaughterMall and food in the Slaughteria, all of which (merch AND food) will be emblazoned with the league’s official logo:



As part of the league’s community outreach, we will host an annual SlaughterBall Youth Physical Education and Leadership Training Camp (SYPHELETC) that trains the youth of America to be SlaughterBallers.

As the co-founders of the sport, Raoul and I would be original members of Team WidowMaker. As such, we would need personas and awe-inspiring names like “Nitro” or “Sloth.” For his name, Raoul chose Shadowhawk Ninjakiller which is so unbelievably bad-ass, I can’t even begin to explain it. Now, let me explain how bad-ass it is. First, he’s a shadow, so not only are you incapable of physically touching him, but he follows you EVERYWHERE. Second, he’s a hawk, which means he can see things from a mile away and he can fly. And finally, the motherfucker kills ninjas so much, they made it his nickname. Are you kidding me?

Xander gets to be an honorary co-founder because the creators of SlaughterBall are nothing if not benevolent. The only stipulation for his entry is that Raoul got to pick his name. After careful deliberation, Raoul settled on the terrifyingly intimidating Jebediah Waffleskin. Need to change your diaper yet?

As my show name, I chose Fuckemall McGillicutty, mostly because it’s my favorite flavor of ice cream. On a side note, my birthday is this weekend and as you could probably figure from this blog, I’ll be turning 12. I hope I never win the lottery.

Idi-Yums: The Second: Revelations Revealed

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

Sorry for the heinous delay...I went to SXSW last week and drank a few days of my life away. Well I'm back now and I'm happy to report that this time, if the world’s fate rested on everyone’s ability to guess some pictograms, Earth would be MUCH better off. In case there were some you missed, here are the answers:

The first one is bury the hatchet. Props to EK for getting it. Side note: That’s one of my favorite childhood books ever.

The second one is bull in a china closet/shop. Pretty much everybody got this one once they figured out who the fat guy holding the cue stick was. When I made the picture, I got sidetracked watching Jordan highlights on YouTube. That man was so motherfucking good at basketball.

The third one is shot in the dark. A couple of people guessed "blue moon," which don’t make no sense seeing as how the moon is practically the only thing in the whole picture that isn’t blue.

The picture of the horse, wait, I think that’s a rhino, is supposed to be tickle the ivories. After I made it, Raoul pointed out that elephants are the animals that have ivory. I did a Google search and the results were inconclusive. I know rhino horns are the same material that make up hair and fingernails, but the BBC calls their horns “rhino ivory” and I’m inclined to believe anyone with a British accent.

The fourth one is shoot the bull. Raoul got this one. A couple of people guessed “holy cow,” which is, well, wrong.

The fifth one is get over the hump. The only alteration I did to that picture was add the hurdler, honest.

The answer to the sixth one is a few tricks up my sleeve. Props again to EK for getting this one.

The last one is don’t blow it. Sorry, Pennywise.

Well played, everyone. I'm getting to the point where I'm going to have to start making up my own idioms to keep doing this, but I realize how ridiculously hard that would be. I mean, making a picture of "don't strangle your neighbor's donkeys after midnight" would be easy, but there's no way anyone would guess it. Until next time, this is Darrell Woolery saying: Don't strangle your neighbor's donkeys after midnight.

Idi-yums: The Second

Maybe it's because in the past month I've watched The Dark Knight, Hellboy 2, and The Karate Kid: Part 2, but I've been in a sequel kind of mood lately. Devoted readers and those not too lazy to scroll down will notice that a couple weeks ago I revisited my bucket list blog. Well, this week that funny feeling in your head is probably more deja vu...or I guess it could be the side effect of my telepathically robbing you of your memories. Shhhhhh, it's all gonna be alright...Anyway, the idioms blog was one of my favorites to make, so I thought it'd be fun to do it again. It was. So now, with just a little bit more ado, back by popular request (read: one person), here are some more pictogram type idiom puzzle things. I tried to make them a little easier this time. Answers in a bit (after I hear Raoul's ridiculous answers).

This one should be pretty easy, especially if your last name is Belcher (sorry, inside joke):



This one also shouldn't be too difficult, assuming you know who it is:



This one's a bit more clever. (Hint: In this one, it doesn't matter who it is)



My lady friend's first reaction to this picture was "Is that a rhino???" Apparently she's never seen an animal cracker. By the way, of course it's a goddamn rhino.



I love how this one turned out for some reason:



I don't even care if anyone gets this one...the end product was totally worth the effort:



Love me some Freedom cuffs:



This one probably should have been first, as a pep talk:

Bucket List: Reloaded

The other night I was looking back at some of my older posts and I stumbled upon one of my earliest entries, the bucket list. As you’ll recall (the 2 of you who have read my blog since the beginning), Raoul and I were inspired by Driving Miss Daisy to start a bucket list before Morgan Freeman murdered us on our death beds…or something to that effect. Now that I think about it, it probably had to do with actually accomplishing something before we reached old age. That being said, I hope to never really see old age as I’ve decided that when I hit 65, I’m committing suicide, or “euthanasia,” as it were (or will be). And I’m not just talking about you’re average, run-of-the-mill shotgun to the face here. No, when I reach 65, I’m going to parachute out of a plane. Instead of a parachute, however, I’ll have explosives strapped to my back. After I jump, I’ll count to 10, pull the rip cord (which will be more like a grenade pin (and me the grenade)), and KABLOOEY! Ablakabits will rain from the heavens like manna. Enough about my own demise though. Despite several court orders and the prayers of many, Raoul and I put our heads together again and came up with more things to do before we die. This time, I’m even and Raoul is odd (you can say that again).

1. Get a Royal Flush, preferably in a game of strip poker.
   
2. Hit a hole-in-one (putt-putt will be fine).
   
3. Rig the 2010 World Cup so Xander has to eat his own face.
   
4. Figure out who stole the goddamn cookies from the cookie jar.
   
5. Find the stork nest and kidnap all the babies for ransom.
   
6. Shoot the moon.
   
7. Become a shipping magnate.
   
8. Yell “PLAY BALL!!!” at a baseball game way before the National Anthem is finished.
   
9. Genocide (start or stop).
   
10. Create a unit of measurement.
    
11. Be granted sainthood.
    
12. Throw my hands in the air and wave ‘em like I just don’t care.
    
13. Have sex with a little person.
    
14. Sleep it off.
    
15. Have sex with a famous person who is 20 years my senior (or junior).
    
16. Drown my sorrows in alcohol.
    
17. Desecrate a holy site.
    
18. Give a high-five (to anyone) during sex.
    
19. Make it onto a top 10 list (e.g. FBI’s Most Wanted, Top Ten People Most Likely To Sleep With Your Wife, etc.)
    
20. Quell an uprising.
    
21. Make an ear necklace.
    
22. Misquote an idiom in a serious situation (For example: “I’m surprised that Mr. Thompson sucked the bucket at such a young age…he seemed so healthy!”)
    
23. See if I can touch your kidneys.
    
24. Make it all the way to the toilet, for once.
    
25. Challenge an infant to a cagefight.
    
26. Give 110% at a time when that much effort is completely unnecessary.
    
27. Get my hands on my CIA dossier.
    
28. Don’t stop til I get enough.
    
29. Have a statue of me erected.
    
30. Refer to someone as “tough guy” just before whipping their ass.
    
31. Discover a new species, name it after myself, then eradicate it.
    
32. Guess someone’s card.
    
33. Be knighted (in America).
    
34. Kick someone where the sun don’t shine.
    
35. One-handed pushup.
    
36. Steal someone’s identity and improve upon it.
    
37. Take the slow train to Peanutopolis.
    
38. Demonstrate yet again the evil nature of Morgan Freeman. (This is a bonus for the long-timers)
    

Tasty Face

The other day, one of my best friends made a shocking proclamation to me via text. Before I reveal what it was, I should tell you that it was such an astounding utterance that I instantly thought "I've got to get this in writing." I know what you're thinking, "isn't a text in writing? I mean, you write using text, so..." Well, my phone (coincidentally generously given to me by the very same friend) is prone to failure (the phone is of great quality, so I attribute this entirely to my dropping the shit out of it all the time) and has a wickedly tiny amount of memory reserved for text messages. Plus, you can't put a signature on a text. No, I needed something more permanent. So I ran just as fast as I could to the nearest computer and drafted up a contract, which I present to you now. (NOTE: The version that appears here is slightly modified from the actual version. That matters little, as my friend has already signed the original. Oh, it's on.)

REQUIRED ACTION AGREEMENT

On this 15th day of February, 2009, XANDER and BLAKA do hereby enter into the following irrevocable agreement (“AGREEMENT”):

If the United States of America Men’s National Soccer Team wins the 2010 World Cup soccer tournament, XANDER will eat, get this, his own face (an event which shall hereafter be referred to as “EVENT”).

FACE shall be defined as the area contained within the parameters created by XANDER’S neck, hairline, and the left and right ears. A more specific definition of FACE shall be defined and mutually agreed upon at the time of EVENT. If the two parties are unable to mutually agree on a more specific definition of FACE, RAOUL (hereafter known as “MUJICIAN”) shall estimate the average of each party’s definition and rule in the interest of MUJICIAN’S best judgment. If MUJICIAN is unable to provide fair and unbiased judgment, the dispute shall be settled by tossing a 2-sided coin, the denomination of which doesn’t fucking matter. XANDER shall have the privilege of calling it in the air because, after all, he is about to eat his own goddamn face. The flipping of the coin shall be completed in 3 consecutive repetitions, the results of which shall be recorded by each participant, so’s nobody cheats, ya dig? Whosoever wins the better part of 3 coin-tosses shall be allowed to use their definition of FACE, which shall not vary one half-inch (roughly 14 meters/second or so in metric) more or less than the aforementioned general description of FACE.

MUJICIAN’s ability to judge fairly shall be determined by XANDER and BLAKA during the moments just prior to EVENT. Declaring MUJICIAN incompetent on grounds of drunkenness is invalid. In truth, all participants in EVENT shall be intoxicated at the time of EVENT, unless any medical conditions, promises of sobriety, or obligations to drive or fuck successfully after EVENT demand otherwise. (NOTE: XANDER will most likely be relieved of his fucking duties for life because...who wants to bang a cheeseless pizza?)

XANDER shall be permitted as much time as necessary to consume entire FACE in one sitting, however the allotted time shall be not longer than 24 hours. XANDER shall be allowed to request whatever utensil(s) he desires to assist in eating FACE, unless otherwise denied by BLAKA, whose ruling shall be ultimately confirmed or denied by MUJICIAN.

Failure on XANDER’S part to eat FACE will result in the forcible feeding of FACE to XANDER at the hands of BLAKA.

Any party’s failure to attend EVENT at the prescribed time and location (both to be determined and mutually agreed upon by XANDER and BLAKA) merely delays the inevitable.

XANDER, BLAKA, and MUJICIAN are of sound mind (possibly slightly stoned and/or drunk, but that’s alright) at the time of signing AGREEMENT and give their signatures below entirely voluntarily and under no form or amount of duress. In truth, the idea for EVENT, created the evening of February 12, 2009 via text message between XANDER and BLAKA was originally XANDER’S idea. I know. I can’t believe it either. The AGREEMENT having already been made in the manner just now described, this document is basically a formality, though it is absolutely legally binding, so XANDER can forget about trying to get out of it. And the church said, “Amen.”

Go Snug Yourself

I paid $15 for a Snuggie the other day. And no, “Snuggie” isn’t some code word for a dirty sex act or else I would have said “The other day I paid $15 bucks for some hooker to give me a Snuggie. After she finished I beat her up and got my money back. Then her pimp tried to kick my ass, but I got the best of him and Snuggied all over his face to teach him a lesson.” Snuggies (or the even dirtier sounding alternative, Slankets) are blankets with sleeves. “Sleeved blankets?” you might say. “That’s fucking stupid,” you might continue. Well a few days ago, I’d totally be with you. The first time I saw a commercial for Snuggies, all I could think was “Who the hell would buy that?”

Then I bought one.

Now, I’ve only worn it once because I actually bought it for my wife and she hasn’t taken the damn thing off since I brought it home, but let me tell you that I’ve never been so comfortable in my entire life as when I’m wearing a Snuggie. On the surface, Snuggies look like backwards robes without hoods or that waist-tie thing (you know, the thing that for some reason unbeknownst to me actually prevents people from seeing your balls), but somehow they don’t make me feel like nearly as much of a douchebag as if I was wearing a robe. I can’t say for sure, but it’s probably because Snuggies make you look like a motherfuckin' warlock. And I know that everyone has their own personal stand-up routine about how ridiculous infomercials are, but the people who can truly appreciate the Snuggie are the same people who have actually experienced the terror and panic of being trapped in a blanket when all you want to do is change the damn channel. Aside from increased mobility, you can text, flip someone off, and make shadow puppets all while still being completely covered by a blanket. Taking all these things into account, it’s easy to see what the Snuggie represents: Freedom. So basically it’s unpatriotic not to own one. Before you go running to your nearest Snuggie merchant though, I must warn that you will probably have mixed feelings about wearing it in public because one of two things can happen. Either people will think you are a fucking idiot OR they will fear your magical powers. If you do wear it in public, I recommend you walk around with some kind of small animal (a newt or a rabbit perhaps). That way you can tell people that it actually used to be a human, but you turned them into a creature because they mocked your Cloak of Snugness. Yeah...that'll shut em up good! In all seriousness, don’t wear this thing out of the house. It’s awesome, but it looks totally rigoddamndiculous. Snug on, my friends. For America’s sake.

Celebrelations

Now I care mildly about pop culture as much as the next non-gender specific being, but one thing I have little patience for is the shortening of celebrity couple names to a concoction of each person’s name. I think I get it. You want to refer to your celebrity couples in the shortest “word” possible so that you have more time to jack-off to People’s 2008 Best Dressed list. What I don’t understand about the whole thing though is how to decide which celebrity couples are worthy of a couplename. Some of the existing ones (Bennifer and Brangelina for example) are a little obvious and fairly boring. Why not include last names too and give them to couples who have cooler names to begin with? I know they’re not a couple anymore (see, I’m hip), but Carmen Electra and Dave Navarro would be Electravarro. Now THAT’s one hell of a celebrity couple name. Not only does it sound like a Spanish superhero, but it’s also fun to say. Surely there are more like that one. Wait a second, I think I REALLY get it now... it’s actually fun to think these things up! However, since I still don’t understand who gets a couplename, I’m going to do what I always do when I don’t quite understand the rules to something: I’m making up my own rules.

Rule #1 – You can use last names
Rule #2 – Couples’ names must form something silly or immature
Rule #3 – Couples are completely hypothetical (so just like with sex, dead people are fair game)

Well, that about does it for the rulebook. Now it's time to make with the funny:

Matt Dillon & Bridget Bardot = DillDo.
John Wayne & Miley Cyrus = WaynUs.
Peta Wilson & Peter Gabriel = PePe.Any of the Hanson sisters & Steve Jobs = HanJobs.Marcia Gay-Hardin & Gerard Butler = Gay-HardinBut.











Sorry I didn’t do pictures for all of them, there just really aren’t funny pictures of some people (thanks for screwing the pooch, Marcia Gay-Hardin). Let me know if you think of any good couplenames.

MLKin' It

Hey, reader, have you ever seen one of those lists that compare some weird coincidences between JFK and Abraham Lincoln? You know, like:

Abraham Lincoln never shaved his face.
JFK never shaved his balls.

Well, I felt it necessary, given the upcoming holiday, to honor Martin Luther King, Jr. and another outstanding American citizen, so I’ve decided to reveal some of the similarities between MLK and myself. What say we just jump right in?

MLK was born in Atlanta, GA.
I was born in Atlanta, GA.

MLK was killed on April 4.
I was born on April 4.

MLK married Coretta Scott in her parents’ yard.
I married my wife in her parents’ yard (my wife’s parents', not Coretta Scott King’s parents’).

MLK was an ordained minister.
I am an ordained minister.

Some of MLK’s demonstrations resulted in people being sprayed with a firehose.
I have a cousin who is a fireman.

MLK was supposedly killed by James Earl Ray.
I know like, two or three guys named James.

James Earl Ray was captured at London Heathrow Airport.
I’ve been to that airport.

MLK gave his “I Have a Dream” speech in 1963.
I frequently have dreams…sometimes several in one night.

MLK vehemently disagreed with the Vietnam War.
My stomach vehemently disagrees with Vietnamese food.

MLK was wiretapped by the FBI.
I can’t say anything for sure, but I have my suspicions…

MLK attended Booker T Washington high school in Atlanta.
Booker T was one of my favorite WWF wrestlers when I was in high school.

MLK has received many posthumous awards and honors.
Unfortunately, I cannot yet reveal the details of what a post-ablakalyptic world will look like.

MLK had an older sister named “Willie.”
I think “Willie” is a terrible name for a woman.

MLK had a son named Dexter.
Dexter on Showtime is one of my favorite shows.

MLK did an interview with Playboy in 1965.
I read Playboy entirely for the interviews.

MLK was a Baptist.
I’ve been baptized…twice. That’s right. Dubtized, I call it.

Well, there you have it. I reckon we have some sort of cosmic bond. Actually, the impact I'll make on this earth next to MLK is meaningless, but who's counting? God?? BAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHA! Enjoy your day off.

Oh, and if you want some dessert, I made a couple of pictures for this week's blog that my conscience (read: wife) wouldn't let me post. If you want to see them, all you gotta do is ask.

It's All Good, Man

Awhile back, my friend Marco said “I wish John Goodman would die of a heart attack.” I’m sorry for sending you into a tailspin of emotions right off the bat like that, but I wanted you to feel the same shock and horror that I felt when I heard it. Did I mention that Marco is not my friend anymore? Well, he might be now, but that’s only because he somewhat recanted after I forced him to watch The Big Lebowski. I would have made him watch Goodman’s most acclaimed work of art, King Ralph, but the DVD has been sold out at every single store I’ve been to. Anyway, I can't tell if I'm mad at Marco because that's such a terrible thing to say or if I'm mad at John Goodman because he probably WILL die of a heart attack if he doesn't slim down a bit. Whatever the case, I've decided to take my anger out on Marco. Aside from telling everyone I know that if they see Marco in public, they should kick him in the ass (that reminds me, if any of you see Marco in public, kick him in the ass), there really is only one proper way to combat Marco’s unjustified hatred of everyone’s favorite actor. I now present to you my pictorial tribute to a man who gives the gift of laughter to his fans, Indian leg-wrestling defeats to George Wendt, and pregnancy to women everywhere. Shomer fucking Shabbos.



















I totally would, too. Long live the King!