“old spice baby!” and similarly misplaced enthusiasm – wrong.

Few things in life warrant a passionate verbal outcry. Winning Jeopardy might be a valid reason to get audibly pumped – that seems exciting! Getting shot in the face might justify some screaming. Certainly the sight of a nude Aretha Franklin downing triple cheeseburgers and masturbating is enough to provoke chronic fits of uncontrollable shrieking.

Most of the time, life does not require any sort of intense reaction. More specifically, you should not be so freaking excited about the kind of products you use/the town in which you were born/the location of your last vacation/your meaningless opinion. Unless you are being paid upwards of 7-figures in cash as part of a television sponsorship deal, nothing you say will ever qualify as an important announcement or a reason to go fucking crazy about your favorite brand of deodorant while jizzing yourself.

As I was shopping for extra-strength migraine killing injectable liquid-form Excedrin in Duane Reade today, I overheard two frat boys (a common offender group) having a conversation that went like this:

Chad: Bro, yo. Bro. What kind of deodorant to you use?

Brad: OLD SPICE, BABY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Chad: Oh yo, for real? Do you like it?

Brad: BRO OLD SPICE IS THE SHIT BABY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

What? Did Brad invent Old Spice? Did he journey to the muddy, fecal infested fields of India in 4 A.D. to search for a magical combination of pungent, borderline offensive odors, let them ferment for 350 years, and package them in a red tube which he so wittily named “Old Spice”?  I don’t think he did. In fact, I don’t think Brad has wiped his ass in a week. Perhaps that’s why he favors the Old Spice – it covers up those lingering diarrhea clouds. Calm down Brad. You’re not announcing the hundred million dollar powerbowl. You’re not Oprah giving away shitty low-end cars to joyless midwestern housewives. Save the passion for later, like when I beat the shit out of you with a Costco-sized bottle of Old Spice bodywash.

I also find it sort of mysterious and retarded when people bond over things like rooting for the same football team.

Bob: GIANTS BABY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Carl: GIANTS BABY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Bob/Carl: YEAHAHHDEJGF BRO GIANTS BLAAARGHGHGHDHD BABYYYYYYYYYYY!!!

Like uh, hey, you live in New York and so do the other 17 people in this “Sports bar” where you will ultimately get fucked in the ice cream hole by another dude and blame it on that last Irish car bomb.  I’m sure you didn’t finish high school but really, aren’t the odds pretty good that you’re rooting for the same bunch of retards? Aren’t there only like seven football teams anyway? And who fucking cares in the first place?

Being from the same city or state as another human being is also not something over which to lose your mind or start yelling like your head just got chopped off your neck. I mean it’s one thing to discover you grew up in the same barn as your co-worker, or took the virginity of the same girl (hmmm…?) But being from the same state…. really?

Katie: I’m from Texas.

Fucking Idiot: TEXAS BABY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! FUCKING GO BIG OR GO HOME TEXAS!

Katie: EVERYTHING’S BIGGER IN TEXAS!!!!!

Fucking Idiot: TEXAS BABY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Aren’t there more people  [morons] in Texas than in South America? Is it really something to get worked up about? You don’t see me walking up to every woman with brown hair and screaming “BRUNETTES DO IT BETTER BABY!!! BRUNETTES FOR THE WIN! TEAM BRUNETTES!!! WHITE PEOPLE!” etc etc.

Just save it, people. It’s loud, it’s obnoxious, and it burns my ears like the clap is burning your genitals.

i don’t think “shoehan” actually rhymes with lohan – wrong.

don't hate on my shoe-hans, bitch

No words.  No words.  Just laughing so hard I might poo-han my pants.

http://shoehans.wordpress.com

expressions that are WRONG.

I was going to try and racially stereotype the kinds of people who use empty, stupid expressions to try and describe some horrible going-on in their delusion of grandeur they call a life.  Unfortunately, it seems to affect all genders, races, and creeds.  Like AIDS. I hate this shit so much, and I may have said some/all of this already, but I’m just going to freaking tell you which expressions and slogans and whatever that make me want to rip your fat face in half.

1. “There’s a new sheriff in town!” Hey cowboy, this is New York City.  I’m pretty sure there’s no sheriff in town.  Unless of course you’re talking about the sheriff of shoving donuts in your fat mouth until they’re coming out your ears. If that’s your new sheriff’s post then full speed ahead, asshole.

2. “Sticking a finger in the dyke” WHAT? How could anyone say that with a straight face? When my boss said this to me, I had to ask my friend what the hell it actually meant, and when she told me, I decided that I don’t care.  I don’t care what it meant in 1942, before lesbians drilled holes in their doors and lumbered out of their closets.  Today, in 2009, it means finger-fucking a lesbian, and that’s all it means.  It’s so graphic that I can smell the salmon. Remember how in 1954, “gay” meant happy? Right, me neither.  The expression might as well be “Sticking the dildo in the chocolate starfish”, or “Sticking the cock in the vagina.”

3. “This pain-killer/oatmeal/condom is 25% more effective.” 25% more effective than WHAT? Like I’ve said a million times, I am no math superstar, but when you have a percentage, and it’s followed by something that means “greater than”, then you have to fucking say what’s on the other side. Is this pain-killer 25% more effective than banging a rock into my uterus until these cramps go away?  Is it 25% more effective than a full hysterectomy? Is your oatmeal 25% more effective than the leading brand at doubling as fake vomit? Is this condom 25% more effective as a water balloon than other kinds?

4. “There is such a thing as being a little bit pregnant.” Three words: No there isn’t.

5. “We gon’ take it to the next level.” Based on my evaluation of the kinds of people who use this one (i.e. P. Diddy, VH1 reality whores, Rachael Ray), I wouldn’t be getting too excited about this “next level”. The next level is like a fucking Dodge Neon, okay? I mean sure, great, you’re not scooting around town on your little sister’s big wheels anymore, but let’s not put the cart before the horse.

6. “Don’t put the cart before the horse.” I have never seen a horse pull a cart. Maybe a carriage. Oh and you know what happened when we put the “carriage” before the horse? WE INVENTED THE CAR, YOU DOUCHEBAG. Way to keep up with the times.

Oh and these are actually just brand advertising slogans, but it pretty much makes me think that planet earth is skyrocketing toward a black hole of total idiocy.

1. Oreida French Fries – “They’re not just alright-a, they’re oreida.”

2. Manwich Sloppy Joes – “You don’t have to be a man to love manwich.”

If we are paying advertising executives with anything other than a group death by stoning, then I demand we immediately cease and desist. Because they’re not just stupid, they’re fucking stupid.

Tay? I have, like, vertigo. I am dead WRONG.

The Rachel Zoe Project is a pretty amazing project. I watch it every week because it’s so relatable and the stuff they deal with is so important. FASHUN. JORGE ARMANI. (because that’s how they say it in Mexico, which is close to California, which is where this amazing Project-ile Vomit takes place.) This week, RZRachelZoe was curled up in a dryer vent, soaked in her own mosquito sweat and almost-puke. Ever since the media totally accused her of being the mosquito responsible for spreading West Nile virus all across Hollywood and a small section of Calabasas, she had done her best to steer clear of all sickness. But it was obvious that RZRZ was not right and needed to visit the best veterinarian in LA, right quick snap. TayTay, RZRZ’s reliable but perpetually un-showered assistant, arrived just as our little mosquito was about to ferment into an irreversible insect liquid that would be, like literally useless to the FASHUN world. In what was a heroic rescue scene not unlike the daily work of the Police Women of Broward County, TayTay stuck a heap of her already-chewed Chanel chewing gum to a Gucci paper clip, tied it to a J. Mendel string, and shimmied it down the dryer vent. RZRZ mustered just enough strength to grab onto her life raft, and TayTay pulled her out of the vent and into the FASHUN studio.

“RRRRRRRRRaaaaaaaaaaaacccccchhhhhh-ah? Are you, like sssssssssiiiiiiiiiccccckkkk-ah?” TayTay asked. She hated RZRZ with every bone in her body, and was hoping for the worst.

“Tay.”

“RRRRRRaaaaaaccccchhhh-ah?”

“Like, Tay.”

“Ummmmmm…?”

“Tay. Undone. Am I.”

“RRRRRaaaachhhhh-ah?”

“I’m like, literally dying. I’m like, having an internal heart attack.”

It went on like that for a few days. Lots of drooling and inadvertent napping. A little black tar heroin here and there to keep things exciting. But when RZRZ started shitting herself, T-squared remembered there was action to be taken. So she tied a boho-70s-chic leash around her poor boss’s neck, put a lampshade on her head, and headed out to the ER.

While all of this was going on, a pivotal homosexual love affair was taking place in an inordinately spacious closet down the hall. Brattitude the Garden Gnome had been lusting after a certain pointy-noised butt-for-face man whose name rhymes with Shmodger for what seemed like centuries. He’d in the past been too scared to make a move, sticking mostly to helping his dreamlover pick out the perfect blazer/hoodie combo, the right pair of Seven-for-men jeans, the most effective cuticle softener. But the Garden Gnome was experiencing an unprecedented and likely fleeting flash of confidence, gusto, brazen fearlessness. That night, he had brought Dreamlover a pair of argyle socks, made from the softest cashmere . “Why is there only one sock?” DL asked as he reached down to shimmy the sock onto his hideous foot. At that moment, he felt a Gnome-like hand on his thigh. “That’s not exactly the foot I wanted to see the sock on,” he purred. “Model it on your…middle foot.” DL, who had been sleeping with the same little boy for what was becoming a grueling 13 year marriage, was so shocked that he dropped the sock to the ground, dropped his pants, bent over, and spread his ass wide.

Back at the veterinarian’s office, RZRZ was diagnosed with vertigo. In normal folks, vertigo is just a simple imbalance of the ear, and a few days on your average penicillin-type droga will knock that shit right out. But for a mosquito like RZRZ it is apparently a fatal killer not unlike the AIDS or Hitler, and she died right there on the table. T-squared and the vet shrugged, and a vet tech was immediately summoned to perform ritualistic funeral duties, aka flush it down the toilet. T-squared thought about throwing RZRZ a lavish funeral service later on. She knew she could get Jen Garner to conduct the sermon, and Deb Messing might show up to sing badly and crack a tired Jewish joke. But now that RZRZ was dead…….. who would tell them what to wear? A new dilemma, I guess to be solved next week.

Don’t miss this amazing show, paid for in full by career-less Ashton Kutcher.

word butchering – a heinous epidemic that belongs in Oregon Trail – wrong.

There are certain words in the English language that are frequently and egregiously butchered by idiots on a regular basis.  Every single time I go to write a post about two or three of these words, I hear two or three MORE words and I start spazzing out because I can’t F-ing TAKE IT. Despite the election of Obama and an honest attempt to exile Paris Hilton to the UK, I am quickly losing faith in the general American population. And I’m not even that smart – how do the top 2 or 3% of the American IQ pool not just give up completely and commit suicide? I used to think that being a genius or a crazy nerd came at the cost of having any social skills, but now I think it’s just that the amount of totally stupid morons surrounding them at any given second is enough to cause brain implosion. It’s probably safer for them to read archived articles about Calculus theories in a dark room than to interact with the sewage rot we call society.

Here are some words that people F up regularly. If you don’t have broccoli and cheese soup for a brain, you might want to have a drink before you read this list.

1. FLUSTRATING (frustrating)
2. FUSTRATING (frustrating)
3. MIS-CHEE-VIOUS (mischievous)
4. PREVEN”TA”TIVE (preventive)
5. AXE (ask)
6. IRREGARDLESS (NOT AN F-ING WORD – this one makes me violent)
7. PRODUC, EFFEC, CORREC, etc (Product, Effect, Correct)
8. JEWRAY (jewelry… I KNOW RIGHT????)
9. ORIENTATE (orient)
10. CONVERSATE (converse)
11. EXPRESSO (including half the F-ing dipshits who work at Starbucks)
12. MAYSURE (measure. Here’s a tip. Changing the pronunciations of things to make them sound “different” does not make anyone think you are smart. In fact, it does the opposite and also makes me violent.)
13. PITCHER (picture)
14. “I could care less” – I know this is a phrase but can you just take 5 seconds to think about the fact that when you say this, you are basically saying that you could care about something less than you already do and are in fact countering your own disinterest? WRONG.
15. “Mute” point. (Moot)

Anyway I have to stop this now, because in the last 2 hours I watched The Real Housewives of New York and I watched Lo from The Hills talk about polo shirts and korean tacos on Chelsea Lately. i.e. I’m brain-dead.

someone dropped a cookie where your brain is supposed to be – wrong.

I love junior high kids because they’re really stupid.  It’s also why I hate them.  Anyway I went to the Chelsea Lately blog (which is to date less riveting than I had expected) to read this post about burritos.  I love burritos and so does everyone else.  In fact, I had 50 hits on my blog yesterday just from people searching with the keywords “burrito” and “picture of burrito”.  So I was reading the comments and I found the below shining gem.  I mean, the suspense in this story can only be rivaled by a Dean Koontz novel and we’d probably see it on the next episode of Unsolved Mysteries if that shit hadn’t been canceled when I was seven:

***********************************************

GARZA Fri, Mar 13, 2009, 4:53 PM

yea i get it. today at lunch my friends too my cookie that i bought. and i accused one of them and told them to give it back. she said she didnt take it and everyone sitting at the table said that i didnt bring a cookie with me back to the table. they told me to go get anoter one, and when i went to get up i found the cookie on the other side of the table. So i yelled “theres my cookie you ********* and they were like thats not yous thats someone elses cookie. the one who claimed it was her cookie said i could have it. so i told everyone sorry for accising them, and then they started laughing. I then realized that the cookie the girl gave me was mine. So eveyone loves hiding things from me haha. Its fun 

Is that not the most riveting real-life mystery you’ve ever read? I mean I just shat myself and I ALREADY READ IT. Someone get this chick a book deal. Or a front row seat in Mrs. Steinberg’s Intermediate Special Ed class.

selling m&m’s on the subway – wrong.

AHEM.

“Hieverybody, muh name is Je’CarryousJackson, and this is muhbrotherJamal.  We sellin m&m’s for $1.00. We ain’t sellin candy for no basketball team or no school trip, we sellin it to keep ourselfs off the street and not sell drugs. We bof got peanut M&Ms for $1.00.  Thankyouandhaveaniceday.”

AHEM.

Hi Je’carryous! Hi Jamal! How’s everything? I’m not going to be purchasing peanut M&Ms from you today, or ever, and here’s why.

1.  Boys, your logic is totally backwards! Although I would under no circumstances purchase anything from anyone with such poor grammar, I’m certainly going to be even more averse to your plea when you’re flat out telling me that you’re ripping me off!  I’m sure there are some guilty rich white people who might consider funding your alleged “basketball team” [cheesy no-karat gold bling] or “boy scout trip” [gang raping a drunk bitch behind the dumpster] or “groceries” [Newport 100s], but nobody is going to buy the second worst candy in the world from you for no reason! In fact, I can’t think of anything I care about LESS than keeping you off the street, except maybe helping LeAnn Rimes make a comeback.  I’d expect someone who went to 6th grade THREE times to have better business logic than this!

2. You’ve got to do a better job explaining the ways in which selling M&Ms on the subway is at all related to you staying off the streets. We all know you’re not going to college, and public school just happens to be 100% free of charge! Perhaps you might want to take advantage of that non-limited time offer and spend your time in a classroom instead of F-ing around on the train.  I think everyone knows what you’re going to do with the $17.00 you’ll make this afternoon, and unfortunately, the answer is not “buy condoms”.

3. Je’carryous.  Jamal.  Guys.  We’ve all spent many a morning in the corner bodega, waiting 30 minutes for a shitty egg white sandwich.  We’re all familiar with the look and feel of a wholesale, bought-in-bulk product versus the kind available for purchase to an average consumer like yourself.  I’ve been to many a Shoprite superstore and even those with the most heavenly of snack aisles do not sell gigantic cardboard boxes filled with bags of peanut M&Ms with wrappers that read “Not for individual resale.” You’ve get to get real – everybody on the train knows that you’ve jacked your product from the backroom of a deli.  How can you ask us to support your “staying off the streets” cause when you haven’t made any effort to prove to us that you’re trying to change? There’s a reason that you’re the ones on the train selling M&Ms, and everyone else isn’t… and the reason is that you are really, REALLY dumb.

stolen product

not a stolen product.

4.  I happened to notice that you both have on some very nice Nike sneakers.  Luckily, my good friend Cloff Hran has a horrifying obsession with sneakers, and therefore I am well aware that the combined net value of your footwear is somewhere in the neighborhood of $500.00 USD. Now, I’m not saying you stole them [which is actually exactly what I'm saying], but I have to tell you that if you can afford such luxurious kicks,  then I’m going to have a very tough time believing your schtick.  Your credibility is rapidly disappearing, my friends.  Think about it like this.   If I came up to you, and in my left hand was a box of expired wholesale M&Ms that I was trying to pawn off on you for $20.00, and I was holding in the other hand a check, made out to me, for $10,000- would you pity me and give me the 20 bucks?  Or would you say, “F dat bitch, she rich!” You’re incredibly slow-minded, so I don’t expect you to have followed the analogy, but what I’m saying to you is that you can’t have expensive things and then cry poverty.  It’s not consistent.

5. M&Ms cost $.85 cents everywhere else.  Even morbidly obese fools don’t pay retail for candy during a recession.

stupid sentence qualifiers – wrong.

“I don’t mean to be a bitch, but _______________”.  Uh….yeah, you do.  Not only do you mean to be a bitch, but you are looking forward to it and would stick your face in it and motorboat it if you could.

Microsoft Word – Part 1 of 632 – wrong.

I take brain-crippling umbrage with Microsoft Word – even more so than I do with fat girls wearing knee high boots that don’t zip past their mutant calves, fish tacos, the Hamptons, and Hitler.  This program seems to have been dreamed up, built, edited and packaged by some combination of the following:

1. Low-functioning second grade special ed class in Des Moines, IA
2. Robots (but not GAY ROBOT, he’s really smart.)
3. Senior Citizens
4. Illiterates
5. Immigrants recruited on their first day in America
6. A panda’s asshole

There are so many problems in this ridiculous jackass program.  I am offended by it every time I use it, and the reasons are so infinite that I’m going to have break them up into separate categories.  I may have to break the categories into categories, and then hire a giant black man with a raging case of Chlamydia to ass-rape them one by one.

Problem 1: THE MICROSOFT WORD THESAURUS – FUNCTIONALITY & QUALITY CONTROL

Let me begin by saying that the quality and accuracy of word selection and synonym appropriation have undoubtedly heinous implications for the future of language.  This theory deserves its own tome, but I’m ADHD so here are some examples that made me launch my face through my screen:

1. I am moseying along, writing a paper, and I’ve used the word “information” three times on one page.  UNACCEPTABLE! So I type it into the thesaurus and what do I get?

I know that is hard to read so I will spell it out for you.  I type in “information”.  Microsoft Word gives me synonyms including “in order”, “in sequence”, “in a row”.  Uh…I don’t think so buddy.  The first time I tried this, I thought I was going brain-dead.  I didn’t get it.  What the hell.  You can’t say “This book includes great ‘in a row’”!  But after I readjusted the settings in my brain to process things like I would if I were a carnival guppy, I realized that they were giving me synonyms for “in formation.”  As in, in a line. What the F.  WHAT THE F. WRONGGGGGGG!!!! Don’t these people conduct focus groups or studies or brain waves? I would bet my face that if one assembled a group of 100 people looking up synonyms for the word “information”, less than ZERO of people in said assemblage would be looking it up in this ridiculous manner.  Appalling.

Here’s another Thesaurus insult that makes me want to find a giant cluster of Parisian pigeons, feed them Chipotle burritos and hold them over Bill Gates’ head for 3 hours. Microsoft thinks they are being so amazing by including keyboard shortcuts for popular commands, i.e. shift+F7.  Well stupid people are never amazing and this is no exception.  LISTEN UP. YOU MAY BE STUPID BUT I’M NOT.  LOOK WHAT HAPPENS WHEN I LEAVE MY CURSOR NEXT TO THE WORD I WANT TO LOOK UP, BUT AFTER THE PUNCTUATION MARK.

Do you see this BS? Are you serious? I WILL NEVER BE LOOKING FOR A SYNONYM FOR A MOTHER-F-ING COMMA. Get real. Don’t you have programmers?  Can’t you write a 2 line code so the thesaurus skips punctuation marks?  Must you remind me that there are “no results” for a comma?  These jackasses need to be tipped over like the oblivious grazing cows that they are, and then they need to be schooled up the choche with the front of my steel-toed boot.

vagaries – wrong.

I don’t think anybody claiming to have a three digit I.Q. should ever have to use a cliche to explain/expand on/clarify his/her thoughts. Cliches are the K-mart brand jeans of the English language.  This is in direct contrast to creative analogies, which are the dark-wash, raw denim Marc Jacobs kind that give me a 10-inch hard on every time I look at them on eluxury.com.  Cliches are $5.99 Georgi vodka in a plastic bottle; analogies are 10 liter bottles of Grey Goose with fresh lemon garnishes on the side. Cliches deserve no respect.

For example, let’s say you’re 45 years old, you have two stale-ass eggs left in your shriveled ovaries, and you’re telling your bored-as-hell therapist about how you want kids but you might be too old.  If I’m your therapist, and you say “My biological clock is ticking!”, I’m going to sucker punch you in the lower abdomen really hard, twice, and when you regain consciousness, I’m going to point to your black and blue ovaries, look you in the eye and say “WRONG.  Your clock is TOCKED, BITCH.” But if I’m your therapist and you say something like,

“You know how when you’re taking a multiple choice algebra test and you only have 2 minutes left but 5 questions to go? And how you could either not finish the test, or desperately guess at the answers, even though you know they’ll be wrong and ridiculous and it won’t really have been worth guessing? That’s how I feel about my fertility and the possibility for me to have a child.  It’s like, I’m so close to being too old that I could either just not have one, or I could start thrashing around in the sack with a bunch of loser men, and while I may end up having a child, it will probably be retarded or deformed and I’ll have contracted 3 kinds of chlamydia during the process.”

Now I know that was a little long winded, and I certainly won’t be able to increase your chances of having an unretarded baby, but at least I’ll know that the on switch in your brain is working.

HOWEVER - there’s something worse than cliches, and I don’t really know what to call them, so for now now I’ll just call them vagaries.  As in, ridiculous phrases that DON’T MEAN ANYTHING and are very often overused by reality show contestants and people who consider the Microsoft Word thesaurus to be their linguistic Jesus (and Oprah Winfrey their personal Jesus). Here are a couple of examples that really make me want to de-genitalize anyone who uses them:

1. “I have a zest for life.” It’s like listen bitch, zest belongs in one place and that’s inside my burrito.

2. “I’m going to take it to the next level.” First of all, you can’t make levels theoretical and expect anyone else to have any idea about what “level” you’re on now and what “level” is next.  It’s too vague! For example, if you’re in purgatory, then the next level may very well be hell.  Is that a direction you’re planning on moving toward?  I mean I know it is for me, but people like me don’t say stupid shit like “take it to the next level.”

3. “God works in mysterious ways.” Just, no.

4. “I don’t keep up with the Joneses.  I AM the Joneses.” I swear to mysterious ways-working God, EVERY SINGLE Bravo Real Housewife of Orange County, NYC, and Atlanta has said this.  If they’re the Joneses then I was keeping up with them by the time I was seven, and officially passed them at 7 1/2 when I graduated 1st grade and I learned to read 2+ syllable words.

5.  “My personal opinion…” Uh…is that your mouth moving buddy? Cuz if it is, then I’m pretty sure you don’t need to preface it with “personal”.  I see your fat slob lips shuffling around your moron face, I get it.  It’s yours.

6. “My vagina’s sagging and there’s nothing that can fix it -Point blank period!” Three random, stupid words that stupid people put at the end of their stupid sentences to add definition. It’s like okay fine, maybe I’ll just start choosing random words to add to the end of my sentences. “You’re a stupid twote. Calculator vodka sandwich!” “New Jersey is for lovers. Crabs Oxy Contin!”

Mysterious-ways working God, there are so many more, but I’ll save some for next week.  And please friends, contribute your own!