Dueling Dreidels: Anything you can spin I can spin better

Tweets from each political party’s Future Former Press Secretary

RNC:    Much like an envelope, voter fraud must be addressed and directed at people who can’t afford computers. #you’vegotwhitemale

DNC:   Much like an envelope, voter fraud is irrelevant and keeps the US Postal Service dancing. #absenteeballet

——-

RNC:    @americans What’s black and white and red all over? Obama after his political beating on 11/6/12. #ProfilingThisRace

DNC:   @americans What’s black and white and not read all over? Romney’s tax filings. #ProAtFilingHisRaise

——-

RNC:    Can’t spell @REPUBLICANS w/o LUNAR BICEPS. @PaulRyan’s muscles have gravitational pull. Or as @AnnRomney calls it – God’s work

DNC:   Can’t spell @DEMOCRATS w/o SMART COED. @HillaryClinton loves spit roast pigs like Romney. Or as @JoeBiden calls it – Rodham.

——-

RNC:    RT @georgeclooney “Had @BarackObama over for dinner tonight.” We want a black friend! #Obrotherswhereartthou

DNC:   RT @clinteastwood “Fervent roundtable this evening with my most supportive, ergonomic friends!” #swivelrecline&rockthevote

——-

RNC:    @VirginAirlines You are a beacon of hope for women. Legitimately. #flythefriendlyguys

DNC:   @AirTran We don’t know anyone that flies you, but the internet tells us you exist. And all airplanes deserve rights. #runwaymodel

——-

RNC:    What does @BarackObama have in common with Blockbuster? We take a chance on the sequel and the rate of return is zero. #betteroff4yearsago

DNC:   What does @MittRomney have in common with Blockbuster? You walk in to rent a movie and you walk out of a Chipotle. #Bainofourexistence

——-

RNC:    If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, clip the wings and say it flew here illegally. #IDporfavor

DNC:   If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, destroy the bill and blame the right wing for not moving. #wetried

——-

RNC:    And on the 8th day, God invented golf. No better way to follow some rest than with 18 holes of freedom. @americanEagles

DNC:   On the 8th day, the Devil hired an advocate. He will check out anytime he’d like, but he can never leave…the lobby. #unamericanEagles

——-

RNC:    Like @BarackObama, Mitt’s hair is neither black nor white and deserves an equal shot #brownishVboardofeducation

DNC:   Like @MittRomney, Barack is a big city Harvard gal with the right to be an attorney despite what happened with Charlotte #mirandaVarizona

——-

RNC:    Barack has an atheist upbringing & is now a Christian. No surprise when Jesus encountered Barack on the beach He said “Nice Flip Flops.”

DNC:   Always dull, blah, and bland; even when they are baked, Mormons are tasteless. #saltshakecity

Monday, September 17, 2012 — 1 note

My Advice? Take My Advice About Not Taking My Advice!

1) There are three things in a man’s life that will always irk him: 1) Not chasing his dreams, 2) His finances, and, in a close 3rd) beginning to date a girl and finding out her birthday is in like 3 weeks.

2) Ladies: You want to make a man upset by telling him he has a small penis?  Convince him you have a small penis.  That’s far worse.

3) Having a girlfriend is like getting a free 12 month subscription to a magazine.  It’s a blast until you have to start paying for it and all it does is leave a mess on and around the toilet.

4) Men.  If you start dating a girl and she tells you she has been talking to other guys, it really does mean she is just talking to other guys.  With her vagina.

5) Women need to know that men supplement having no toilet paper with taking a shower. Just a simple fact you need to know.

6) Both men and women agree that cheating is a terrible thing to do.  However, men and women cheat all the time in college. Off Asians.

7) Everyone is a little gay.  I am convinced of this truth.  When women experiment with women, they keep it to themselves and hidden. When men experiment with men, they win Nobel Prizes.

8) Men love when women cook for them. Especially when said woman is good at it. Fact. However, I don’t care how amazing of a cook you are, when a man leaves your place, he can’t stop thinking one thing: “Is there enough cash in my wallet for Taco Bell?”

9) A man will always garner respect from other men if he can convince multiple women to email him nude photos of themselves.

10) A woman will always garner respect from other women…never.  You are ruthless to one another. Stop it.

11) An honest-to-goodness, intelligent woman is hard to come by.  That’s a euphemism.

12) “We hold these truths to be self-evident that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator…” It doesn’t say well endowed, ladies. Lower your standards.

13) I think ‘Hormones’ would be a fun name for a brothel. Sound it out…

14) Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.  Truth. Google ‘Lorena Bobbit’. But Hell also hath no fury like a man scorned. Google ‘Hiroshima’.

15) Men and women over the age of 25 play on a softball team for the same reason: to impress easy women.

16) What do men without college degrees have in common with the Olympics? They are forced to lower the bar for women.

17) Ladies, if you meet a man who rents a car to take you on a date, then do yourself a favor and rent a cab to take yourself home early.

18) When you’re on a date with someone and they are at the table texting while you’re sitting across from them, they don’t look like a complete asshole for doing it so much as you look like a gigantic pussy for letting them do it.

19) Piggybacking off number 18. Only 2 people in this world are allowed to text on a date: President Obama & Stephen Hawking.

20) If you sleep over at my place and you complain that I snored during the night…don’t come back.  I’ll baste a turkey, shit my bed, and chew on your hair if I want to. Why? Because it’s my fucking bed.

21) Ladies: Lulu Lemon clothing, sports bras, and yoga pants are hot on you only if you don’t need to wear Spanx on the weekends. Repeat, don’t need to.

22) Ladies. Be patient with men. We are incessantly surrounded by dicks, even straight men: Gym locker rooms, high school sports showers, Dave Matthews concerts. Sad face.

23) The Dentist Rule: Spending time with your significant other’s extended family should happen only twice a year and is as fun as a root canal.

24) Ladies. Something is amiss if you have the presence of mind to neuter your dog, but lack the presence of mind to take care of the weird facial hair above your lip and that fuzzy shit where a sideburn would be.

25) Men. If I hear about another Fantasy roster change you should have made or a Fantasy trade you should have accepted, I am going to shove my Fantasy foot in your Fantasy butthole and then buy a Fantasy gun and blow my Fantasy brains out. Get a job.

26) Men only attend major religious services because they, 10 times out of 10, get a free meal afterwards.

27) What a man often doesn’t realize is that when a woman tells him she is having a “Ladies Night”, it really means she is curling up with a bottle of wine and hanging out with her 9 personalities.

28) What a woman often doesn’t realize is that when a man tells her he is having a “Guys Night”, he is hanging out with 6 other douche bags wondering what women do during “Ladies Night.”

29) Cologne is a brilliant ruse created by women and the gay community to make malls and straight men smell less like apes and more like empathy, trust and Prince videos.

30) Give and take relationships are the shit. Women take shit and give a shit. Men give shit and take a shit.

31) If you have been told “It’s not you, it’s me” when someone has broken up with you, interpret it as the following: “It’s not you, it’s definitely you.”

32) Men: If you drink wine and enjoy it, there is no hope for you. Unless you are a 60 year old Grecian or are a Grape futures trader, beer is your beverage. Come on now.

33) A woman crying will always tug at a man’s heart strings. Unless the situation involves alcohol and mascara, then it’s just good, clean American fun.

34) Guys. Being the champion of your softball league is equivalent to, say, a woman getting glamour shots and telling people she’s a model. Stop bragging.

35) Single men are really just stay-at-home Dads without kids.

36) A little bit off topic here, but how come no one has a friend that is a Maitre’D?  Do they have their own place where they all hang out? If so, who is the Maitre’D of the Maitre’D place and where does he hang out? France?

37) Next time you do something and describe it as “trial by fire”, you should look around and make sure there are no witches to offend.

38) Cheerleading and golf have couple things in common. 1) Neither is a sport. 2) Both involve older, white men whispering to one another.

39) Companies who offer Paternity Leave are basically saying “Hey man…here is some time off that you probably need because you hate working here.”

40) And, finally, men wouldn’t argue with you ladies if you would just stop being constantly wrong.

Good talk, great talk!

Skippy BangBang

P.S. – Plain, Greek yogurt is for people who love yogurt and also love the taste of dog shit.

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Side Note, God Damn It.

"Like a Virgin. Hey! Touched for the very first ti” Pause. “Like a Virgin. Hey! Touched for the very first ti” Pause. “Like a Virgin. Hey! Touched for the very first ti.”  No, that isn’t the sound of a juke box skipping in Buffalo Bill’s basement.  That’s an alarm on a girl’s phone going off to remind her to take her birth control.  Why is it that women have to literally remind themselves daily to take their birth control?  Isn’t there going to be some time, outlandish as it may sound, in the future where they have done it enough to the point where they just fucking remember?  Men don’t need an alarm every morning to remind themselves to take a shit.  Men don’t need an alarm every afternoon to remind themselves to not hang themselves because they hate their job. Men don’t need an alarm every night to remind themselves to drink a fifth of dusty scotch so that for a few fleeting hours they forget that they just knocked up their girlfriend because her phone died. Funny alarm song though. Next time, try the refrain from “Loser” by Beck. God damn it.

As more and more this generation, and by this generation I mean the terribly entitled generation with ridiculous access to technology they had no part in creating, gets older will future wives consider their men looking at other women on Facebook as a form of cheating? I mean, let’s take a look back at history.  If a caveman gave a starving cavewoman a bison thigh, a hundred bucks says that caveman’s wife went and found a caveman with a bigger cave. Or at least a cave that had an Infinty Pool. It’s true. That shit happened you fag wagon.  It’s a story my ancestors passed down from generation to generation. I personally feel that this could become a common sentiment among women and it couldn’t be more fucking ludicrous. Side note, it is now a struggle for me to spell ludicrous without spell check because of that shitty fucking rapper. If women are going to jump to such major conclusions then we men have the unquestionable right to go ahead and rid this Earth of the following items that taken/married women lust after: Ryan Reynolds, FroYo, any phrase that begins with “Hey, did you hear that…”, NBA players, outlet malls, and brunch. The sad thing is, I love all of those things too. God Damn it.

So, we all know the number 69 and it’s sexual connotation.  Well, I, Skippy, have taken it upon myself to spice up the bedroom.  I have gone ahead and created new numbers associated with new sexual positions. Don’t worry you G.E.D.ers out there, I am sticking to whole numbers.  No anti-derivatives, sin curves, or eigenvectors here.  Don’t worry, I don’t remember that shit either. I vomited all that knowledge up at every Happy Hour I went to in college.  Side note, why is that after the age of 25, Happy Hour is attended by the saddest people?  Anyhooka, so let’s begin. 14! 14 is the numerical value that represents an anorexic woman standing up enjoying a man in an upside down wheelchair.  Lieutenant Dan from Forest Gump was my inspiration for this one. 96!  That’s easy.  That’s the couple after the ‘You forgot the milk and drunkenly kissed my sister at the family reunion’ discussion. No fun there.  55! That’s clearly a heavy lesbian couple spooning while wearing baseball caps after a softball game.  00! Two weeble wobbles taking a nap.  88! Two contortionists playing hide the corn dog.  22! A Muslim couple praying to Mecca asking for forgiveness because of the fluid fest they just had. And finally, 67! 67 is a woman with a muffin top kissing a man with scoliosis.  God damn it.

A fun aside, here are some phrases and questions that immediately make me hate the person who is saying/asking it:

"Hey, where can I get more butane for my zippo?”

“Oh my gawd, what kind of puppy is that?”

“I love cobblestone roads.”

“I’m such a foodie.  I think I’ll get a salad.”

“Yo, let’s watch last week’s Entourage.”

Sigh. God damn it.

Seeing that Skippy put Cosmo magazine and other periodicals marketed toward women on blast, it’s only fair that I go ahead and cut men’s magazines down a peg too.  The cover of the most recent Men’s Health I saw had an article titled “Muscle Secrets of the Greek Gods.” Uhhh, WHAT!?  What is going to be on the cover next week? “Bugs Bunny’s Guide to Cooking”, “Dating Tips from John the Baptist”, or “Chaz Bono’s Guide on How to Become A Guy in 10 Days”?  Listen, I don’t need a 12 page spread of Hugh Jackman wearing clothes that I will never be able to afford to explain to me why I will never be the man women hope I would be. Fuck you. I also don’t need your bull shit “Eat This, Not That” section.  I know full well that a hard-boiled egg is healthier for me than this deep fried stick of shit butter I got at the Missouri State Fair.  If I am the kind of person who shovels a double cheese burger with 2 Krispy Kreme donuts as the bun into my face hole, I am not the type of person who will consult your magazine before I eat to make sure what I’m eating won’t clog my cardiovascular canals or make me crap blood. Again, fuck off. God damn it.

I like to think that drunk CEOs creep on women on LinkedIn.  Much in the same way I get pumped right around the summer months when women begin posting Facebook pics of them and their friends at the beach (take those security settings off ladies!), I feel that silver foxes with their MBAs begin to freak their shit out when their HR team goes on a hiring blitz. God damn it.

Examples of brilliant marketing:

-I once saw a commercial for catheters while I was at a bar. Why lose valuable drinking time to taking a piss? Well done.

-A commercial discussing finding homes for neglected children aired during a replay of the 1976 Super Bowl on ESPN Classic. I mean, when else are you going to be able to grab the attention of a father who neglects his kids? Well played. Speaking of sports, I don’t care if a  man’s child has just been hit by a bus or if their wife of 35 years is having a heart attack in front of them, SportsCenter’s Top 10 will undoubtedly hold a man’s attention for at least three minutes, depending on how many women’s soccer highlights there are.

-There is a billboard over a freeway in LA notifying drivers that texting is now illegal while driving. Fantastic.  There should be a billboard right after that billboard saying that it’s just as dangerous to read a billboard while driving as it is to text and drive.

-In the LA Times, there was a coupon for Taco Bell. Buy a cheesy gordita crunch, get a free roll of Charmin toilet paper. Ok, that’s not real, but that shit right there is practical.

-Coors Light cans have the 2 Stage Cold Activation Technology that tells you if your beer is Cold or Super Cold simply by looking at the can.  I heard there are now a line of Mimosas that come with a similar technology, but instead it tells the drinker if they’re Queer or Mega Queer.

I wish our Federal Corrections system allowed prison inmates to have Twitter Accounts. Here are some of the updates I believe we’d see:

“2,388 more days! #shawshank”

“Tossed salad for lunch today. It was shitty. #winkyface

“Heart my new roomie. Could he be any cuter? #hopehesapitcher”

“@Bloods Eat shit. #Crips”

“Just flew back to Folsom and boy is my Parole Officer tired. Hee hee. #oops”

“Just showered and can’t sit for a week. #thewholesoapdroppingthingistrue”

“Just made Parole. Can’t wait to see my kids. #hiKevinBrittneyJimmyTommyAngieGregAlDavidMitchTrevorCaitlinTyreseGordonBlakeNicoleSean&Shawn”

“The warden is a dick. He only lets us watch the worst movies. #vindiesel” 

“Why does this place incessantly smell like Axe Body Spray? #comeoncholos”

“Good news: Found my toothbrush. Bad news: It was in my cell mate’s ass. #helpme”

“Whose dick do I gotta suck to get chicken nugget in this bitch? #ronaldmcdonaldprobably”

Moving to a new city is for alcoholics who are tired of being alcoholics around people they know. I just moved to LA. God damn it.

If somebody rents an expensive car to impress someone or to look rich, I can most certainly tell you they, at some point in their life, have paid for sex. Then cried about it.  Then watched a show on the CW.

This September 11th marks the 10 year anniversary of the horrific attacks on our nation back in 2001. Honor your country by making sure you and everyone you know votes for anyone but Michelle Bachman.

If you love something, let it go. If it comes back to you, it’s yours forever. Makes sense why Australians never share their Boomerangs. Dicks.

God damn it,

Skippy BangBang

Tuesday, September 6, 2011

Numericals: The 80’s, Title 9, Seventeen…

Hi. Are you excited for this rant? Me too!

Whatever. Fuck you. I don’t need your approval.

I’m paraphrasing the 2004 Presidential election, silly.

Too late?  Is too late the new too soon?  I think so.  In that case, I took a girl out on a date last week, but then realized her family had The Plague. Yeesh.  I’ll call send her a note on parchment as soon as she proves she’s not a witch. (pause for laughter) Did they have stand up in the 1600s? No, they had sit down. Polio still existed. (pause for laughter) I think I’m confusing my centuries.  Let’s stick to the one I know.

I was born in the 1980s. Talk about you all-time shitty predispositions.  My parents grew up with The Beatles, the 60’s counter-culture revolution and a post-World War II work ethic. Their parents grew up on the beginnings of the preeminent revolutionary civil and gender rights movement, they literally built America’s highways, and minorities were still minorities. NOW minorities are majorities, the old majorities are old assholes, and the old assholes are now FOX News anchors.  Makes sense why our ears are filled with dog shit.  My generation grew up with MTV, Saved By The Bell, and Dunkaroos.  The most of our worries centered on “Why does McDonald’s stop selling breakfast at 10:30am?” and “How can I get my Furby to say cock?” Is it any wonder we blow at winning wars now?  1980s America is equivalent to current Canada.  Except that current Canada accepts the fact they are current Canada. 1980s America accepts the fact that George Michael is too good of a man to yank himself in a Beverly Hills bathroom. Fail.

On to another old subject of my generation, let’s chat about Title 9 and women’s sports.  I wholeheartedly believe that women can excel at things. Women deserve all the rights men have. No question there. Women excel at sports too. BUT. They excel at sports compared to other women. When women excel at sports compared to other women, that is tantamount to watching a certain piece of duct tape hold up a photo of Lisa Leslie better than another brand of duct tape holding up a photo of Mia Hamm.  Watching paint dry is only fun if you paint dry wall for a living. Even then, you still fucking hate watching paint dry. What I am saying is that women’s sports aren’t entertaining. EVER.  I will even go as far to say that the Lingerie Bowl (I didn’t have to Google lingerie that to spell it right!) that’s played during the Half Time of every Super Bowl only exists for men who still have a dial-up Internet connection (What up streaming porn?!). Not women demanding that women have their own Super Bowl. A certain University I attended loses approximately $21,000 every time the women’s basketball team plays a home game.  That means for every home game, my Alma Mater has to pay someone for there to be a women’s basketball game. I’m not saying that free markets should dictate women’s recreational activities in every setting.  What I am saying is don’t force this undesirable upon us.  Something is wrong when the WNBA’s MVP moonlights as a waitress at Steak ‘N Shake.  I don’t even know if that’s true, but in my mind it is. Steak ‘N Shake sucks. When a woman dunking a basketball makes the Top 10 on SportsCenter (at number 8 mind you), then I should make the Top 10 for eating a Crave Case at White Castle. Not every man can do that.

Elevators.  Stop putting the “Close Doors” button there.  It does nothing.  That’s like replacing the GPS in your car with a super loud, overly confident blind guy. Also, elevator capacity of 16 persons or 2500 pounds!?  Really? REALLY!?!  Anyone ever tried to test this maximum before?  I’m not surprised that ThyssenKrupp is the country’s leading elevator manufacturer.  Only Germans could figure out that 25 people fit in a space made for 7 people.

Sick joke.

‘Seventeen’ Magazine. Stop. Just…fucking…stop.  All you simply do is perpetuate the often-correct stereotype that women are fucking monkey shit nuts.  Men are not turned on by a certain color on your toe nails, your friends don’t have a slam book with entries about you, and every aphrodisiac can’t be found in a farmer’s market.  Despite what your magazine says, a bran muffin can’t turn men on in 23 different ways, you’re not artistic, and Ryan Reynolds is a fag.

On a final note, stop making a big deal about your birthday if you’re over 21.  It’s sad.  Everyone gets a birthday. Literally, EVERYONE has one. EVERY year.  Birthdays are meant to be celebrated for seminal events: getting your driver’s license, being able to legally drink, not dying at 70, etc.  If you’re 27 years old and you’re making a FaceBook event for your birthday, it’s time you realized that DVR-ing Entourage and blacking out on a boat aren’t cool.

Shark Week sucks.

What do Derek Jeter and my blog not have in common? 3,000 hits.

Shut up.

Skippy BangBang

Thursday, August 4, 2011

High School Reunions

Well my my has it been a long time since we last chatted!  GEEZ! YIKES! OMFG! LOL! NAACP! So much has happened since my last post.  Wikileaks, civil uprisings in XYZ nation, we killed that guy with the multicolored beard who we thought was hiding in a cave but was actually in a lovely chateau in a gated community. Abbottabad? AbbottasickplaceOsama. All interesting things, but…wait…what is this?! Estonia adopted the Euro and became the 17th Eurozone country!??!  Request paid time off at work, let the ticker tape fly, and slap your ugliest child…It’s time to party!  Much like the 17th amendment decreeing US Senators be elected by popular vote (popular vote is whatever the nation’s coolest high school football captain votes for) and Ohio FINALLY joining the Union as the 17th state (seriously Ohio, we NEEDED you. It’s GRRREAT to have you), all good things are 17; the age of consent in some US states (see movie “Deliverance”), my favorite magazine, and the Olsen Twins.

So, there, I did it. I successfully wrapped up all my time away from you stinkies.  In actuality, I wasn’t in the country. I was helping tear down schools in impoverished nations. Let’s be real. They all can’t get A’s, and when they don’t get A’s they lose fingers and shit, so if we only have classes of like 4 kids, then we can’t support that shit. I’m sorry but Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie only have so much cash and Matt Damon is off giving Wall Street the finger so we’re all kinda shit out of luck.

I know I have been M.I.A. for a teencie weencie, but recently I have been noticing more and more women storing things in their bra/chest region.  Given this, one of the following theories must be true: 1) women’s chests are growing in size at a more rapid pace in order to facilitate more efficient/cheap storage, 2) it is becoming increasingly socially acceptable to buy Virginia Slims and a Tab with a damp ten dollar bill from between one’s breasts or 3) I’m just super horny so I’m noticing it more. While number 3 is more often true than not, I, frankly, feel the correct theory is number 2. It can’t be number 1 because the show Storage Wars has proven that storage units are not in short supply. I personally find it a tad disconcerting when I see a woman reach into her cleavage for a corkscrew to open a bottle of 2 Buck Chuck which was procured from under her left tit in order to make more room for her cell phone under her right tit.  Boobies are not pockets. Pockets are pockets. Pockets are not boobies.  However, if pockets are boobies…it now makes sense why cargo shorts were so popular.

Moving on.

Barack Obama is a brilliant man, a legal sharp shooter and scholar, a ground breaking cultural figure, arguably a visionary, and a guy who loves guacamole and pick-up basketball.  However, what he also is… a FUCKING politician. Don’t cry when he flip flops, don’t be surprised when he is partisan from time to time, and smile when he says fuck you and is influenced by lobbyists. Imagine this “hypothetical.” Let’s say you find a beautiful, smart, and funny girl/guy.  You go on a few dates. Realize they have imperfections, but you love them more for it. You then decide to marry this person. Life is gorgeous. You move into a home. You decide to get a dog because you are pussies and use the excuse of “we’re not ready for a baby.” After you teach the dog to not shit on your pillow, not puke on the TV, and not bark when someone knocks on your neighbor’s door, you and your spouse decide “Aww, we’re so ready for a baby.”  Pregnancy is beautiful despite the gas and shitty attitudes and you have a healthy baby. The birth was a C section with an epidural because, let’s be honest, it’s 2011 and you’re not a Quaker. You bring the bouncing baby home from the hospital.  You place the bundle of joy in the crib in its room that you have had ready since the first trimester.  Despite many sleepless nights, you and your spouse couldn’t be happier about the life you brought into this world. The long awaited day rolls around. The father is preparing lunch and the mother is sitting Indian-style with baby in front of her. She helps baby to his legs. He stumbles a bit. Sneezes. Then lurches forward. Baby is walking! Oh…my…GOD! Dan, look!  The baby is walking!  Then, out of nowhere, Frank the pit bull leaps from the shadows and tackles the baby. There is nothing the husband and wife can do but look on in horror as the dog gnaws baby’s face off. It is a horrendous sight. They CAN be sad. They CAN be upset. But what they CAN’T be is surprised. HE’S A FUCKING DOG. IT. IS. A. DOG!

That wasn’t Skippy infusing his political leanings. That is Skippy simply saying that domesticated animals are a retarded idea. Keep those fucking things in the wild. Just because the Egyptians had pets doesn’t mean we’re supposed to do it.

Shit, that was heavy.

Onward we march.

Actually, back tracking a bit. When was the last time you saw an Asian walking a dog?  Great question, RIGHT?! I know! I mean aside from Calculus, Engineering and Computer Science, they know something we don’t.

Ok, let’s rock on.

I shit you not.  There are people in this world who feel public transportation is for poor people, but yet they are not above taxi cabs. All I want is some consistency.  These uppity dick shovers can hate public trans all they want, but if they are going to hate it because poor people use it then they need to hate money (occasionally), oxygen, the kidness of others, and McDonalds. Oh, also Dane Cook. I bet America’s homeless population LOVES him.

Forward march!

Zoos suck. Done deal. You convince me that Zoos are fun and I will convince you that I love a dick in my b-hole.  Standard conversation: Hey Mike, what do you want to do today, roller coasters? No. Go bar hopping? No. Go to the beach? Nah. Let’s go to the zoo. YES! Let’s go to the zoo and watch sad animals shit on fake rocks while ugly fourth graders throw unsalted popcorn at them. Perfect. Vomit. Mouth kiss. You’re my best friend.

Pushing forward.

I’m a baseball fan. And by baseball fan I clearly mean, I love going to a place where I know that I’m not the only one paying $11 for a beer, $9 for nachos, and $45 for a hat I know an illegal immig…I mean street vendor…can sell me. Baseball games are fun. However, much like the Designated Hitter rule, stadiums should implement a Designated Asshole rule. What this would entail is a section of the stadium that is roped off for guys in cut-off t-shirts, unsupervised kids, and old men who record player’s stats. Thank you. Do that.

Ahhhh. And finally.

Let’s say you go to a restaurant with heavy foot traffic in front or you stop at a gas station in a secluded section of a city. You need to pee (or poop, and therefore have no self respect).  You go to the cashier or attendant and ask where the bathroom is.  They say “Yesh, eet ees around bak.” And then they hand you a key with a fucking block of wood attached. Has this ever happened to you? Yes. Yes it has. All I can assume is that the object is there to prevent theft. One, when was the last time you heard a story on your local evening news of cops gunning down a guy with a bathroom key that wasn’t his. NEVER. EVER. Two, if you really want to stop me from taking a bathroom key then please attach it to something that I definitely wouldn’t take. Perhaps an interracial baby. Or a Christina Aguilera CD. Simple. Clean.

High school reunions are in existence simply for people who were fat in high school, have done nothing since but gotten skinny, and want to show themselves off.

So…

See you at our 10th anniversary LTHS,

Skippy BangBang.

Friday, June 10, 2011

Smoke & Mirrors & Dum Dums…

Good morning Jeggins:

First of all thank you!  I never once thought, in my lifetime, I would be able to see denim covered camel toe.  Levi Strauss and the gold rushing ‘49ers would be proud to know a faux version of their all-American, tough-as-steel, lower torso apparel can now be found attached to a twenty-something KISS FM supporter from Highland Park waiting in line at Bull & Bear while screaming at her boyfriend on her Blackberry about how she isn’t crazy. SHE’S…NOT…CRAZY TIM!!! She also wants a puggle, dip shit.

No no, please cover yourself in a poofy, black blouse and a huge belt jacked up to your owner’s jam jams.  The continuity of the body you’re on looks great! I can only imagine how happy you are when I see you on a dance floor dancing like a lost butt nugget to GaGa’s Alejandro.

Cottage cheese ass has never looked so good.  Pass the Lawry’s Seasoned Salt please.  Also, nice fake pockets nerd.

Warmest regards,

Skippy

P.S. – We know you and Spanx are tight…friends.  Please pass this word along from BangBang.  Hey Spanx – Stop letting women think it’s ok to quietly cheat.  If your owner feels like a patio seat cushion from waist down, Nickelodeon Gak from muffins up, but their abdomen is like Kevlar…we get it.  We know you’re there.  You’re not hiding anything.  Thank you for doing for women’s waistlines what the comb over does for men’s balding heads.  You’re only appropriate as a wetsuit or as Lance Armstrong’s bike shorts. Cheers.

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Hey upcoming film “The Expendables”:

Thank you for being “Reservoir Dogs” on human growth hormone.

Can’t wait to see you,

Skippy

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Hey there Lost:

You’re a great example of a ridiculously amazing idea…in theory.  So was Napoleon’s invasion of Russia in the Winter of 1812. Oozing with creativity, foresight, and the seamless weaving of intricate character arcs, I haven’t seen something try so hard to be so cool since…well…Smash Mouth.  You just have a bit more douche spice in your stew than Smash Mouth.

Do the world a favor and just fade in the white background noise of past television shows.  If the human race could possibly harness all the time wasted discussing your story line and the brain power humans pissed away attempting to analyze your themes & subtext, we could have actually accomplished something productive like…say…the total extermination of Brendan Frazer movies or bringing Dunkaroos back.

I haven’t seen something more needlessly dissected since Tupac’s autopsy. He was shot.  Case closed.

Go find that island you took place on and stay there.

Beat it,

Skippy

P.S. – Thank you for informing me what it would be like to see the love child of “Lord of the Flies” & “Swiss Family Robinson”…on ‘shrooms.

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Hello Prince of Persia:

Really? I mean…REALLY!?! Jake Gyllenhaal as your protagonist? Listen, a little five o’clock shadow and long hair doesn’t make you a badass.  You hear that Rosie O’Donnell?  That is, of course, unless you are Viggo Mortensen. Viggo…call me.

Donnie Darko is not a fucking action hero. And let us not forget about Brokeback Mountain.  Unless “Prince of Persia” is going to take place in Sodom & Gomorrah circa the Old Testament, Skippy’s not buyin’ it. You should have cast yourself better.  Also, America is not going to forget that you started out as a video game. I hope you flop. I hope you flop uglier than Kirstie Alley jumping into a pool.

Jake is deep, he’s emo, and he’s a great actor to boot…I get it.  But, let’s be real here, man.  You aren’t going to win any Academy Awards.  Making JG your star kinda gives America a reason to go see you.  Why not substitute Gyllenhaal with Vin Diesel or maybe Ernest and finally overtly admit to your own eminent failure to launch.

You are the definition of slippery slope my friend.  What’s next and where does it end? Pacman the movie featuring Michael Cera?  Mortal Kombat: The Sonya Blade Story featuring Demi Lovato?  Super Mario Bros. featuring John Leguizamo?  Wait…shit.

God damn it,

Skippy

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Yo North Korea:

We know you did it, fags.

United,

Skippy & South Korea

Post Script – Kim Jong Il – You are the Asian love child of an over weight Buddy Holly and Nick Nolte’s mug shot.

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Happy Memorial Day Weekend tiny dancers!  Honor Memorial Day…by remembering nothing.  See you at your local gang bang!

The Audacity of Grope,

Skippy BangBang

P.S. - If you accidentally “Reply All” to something, there is absolutely no need to “Reply All” AGAIN and say “Sorry my bad. This was meant only for Skyler. It was my RSVP to his house warming party in Roscoe Village.”  When we read your accidental ”Reply All”, us reasonably intelligent humans with solid logical minds can deduce that you are embarassed by your own cro-magnon level active reading abilities without it being said. “Reply” and “Reply All” are similar as shit. That “All” comes out of nowhere! You just learned how to wipe your own butthole too. We get it. Wait…Oh shit, there is a fire in your kitchen, go get some matches and put it out! Hurry!

Friday, May 28, 2010

Lessons from the Airstream

We enter through the side door of a 1967 Airstream mobile home. The trailer smells of buffalo chicken strips, two to three stale butts, and Sure aerosol antiperspirant spray.

Skippy is seen standing with one leg on a navy blue Lay-Z-Boy recliner.  He is wearing seersucker shorts, black socks, worn-in white puma shoes, and a black button down shirt with his hair parted. A dribble of marinara sauce adorns his right cheek. He slowly licks his lips and breathes deeply.

Human beings are odd creatures. In all honesty, stop for a second and think about some of the exchanges you have had today.  If you work in a corporate setting, I’m sure you have had a Corporate Cordial or two today.  What is the Corporate Cordial?  Well, it is that weird moment when you are walking through your office and you are about to cross paths with someone you know.  You can’t ignore them because you don’t want to seem like a reclusive beaver that listens to Slipknot, drinks Diet Mountain Dew, and is preparing for 2012.  But, on the same token you don’t quite have enough bull shit to strike up a conversation without blurring the lines of “Oh man, that’s a killer story” and “Stop talking before I travel back in time to the moment just before your conception and ram a fork through your father’s vas deferens.”.

So this culminates with you and said co-worker crossing paths and all either of you can muster is a crooked smile and a muddled “Hey, what’s goin’ on?”.  Really? REALLY?! Thousands upon thousands of years of human evolutionary progression, advanced mental development, and ridiculously peppered history has brought us to a moment sponsored by Gap Khakis, swivel-chair ass, and repressed sexual advances where all we can do is use our beautiful language to converse like autistic chimps drinking moonshine? FAIL.

 Always be weary if a Priest ends a conversation with “Keep in touch.”

 Let’s switch gears a bit to pride.  Let’s chirp about the LOGO channel right quick. If you don’t know what LOGO is, it is the cable television network that caters to the LGBT community.  I have Direct TV, so I get LOGO along with shitty signal if it’s too sunny outside and 68 formats of MTV. There is only so much Engaged & Underage I can watch before I begin wishing the Union had allowed the Confederacy to secede. Back to my dumbass story…I was watching the TV guide channel the other day just after I convinced myself to not purchase a Slap Chop. 

 Side note: I just found out that the Sham Wow dude was arrested for assaulting a hooker in a South Beach hotel in March, 2009.  Why did he attack her you ask? Apparently, she tried to…wait for it…bite his tongue off.  HO…LY…SHIT…YES! Why this hooker is yet to receive a Nobel Peace Prize and a reach around from the Dalai Lama is beyond me. 

 Anyhoobastank, I’m watching the TV Guide Channel and the LOGO channel was showing a made-for-TV movie entitled “The Gay Bed And Breakfast of Terror.”  (This is no bull shit.  Go right ahead and Google her.) To begin with, the phrase “Gay Bed and Breakfast” is just a little redundant if you ask me. Just look at that title…the only thing in this world less creative is Dane Cook.  We all know and love the rainbow culture.  Regardless, we all have seen what happens when their collective mind works together; they come up with the most outlandish, ridiculous shit…cough cough…Lady GaGa…cough…the 80s…cough…Excuse me…cough…tandem bicycles…cough…Shit, I’m sorry.  Ok, I’m good.  Just watch 30 seconds of one of their parades. Why did their creativity have to end with the naming of this canned movie? So I have taken it upon myself to come up with a few titles they can use in place of the above mentioned while still capturing what the initial title attempted to express:

1)        “Dildoes, a Futon & and an English Muffin.

2)        “Sleep over with Uncle Lance Bass.

3)        “San Francisco is out of Pinot.

4)        “Uh oh…Kohls stopped selling Jorts!

5)        “Top Gun 2” 

I think the engineers who design toilets so the water splashes my toothless mouth graduated from the exact same university as the chemists who design old women’s perfume so as to make elevators smell as if they were just the scene of a 1-800-Flowers company orgy.

Skippy is exhausted after that rant.  I’m sorry if that was difficult to follow. Wait, just kidding.  Sorry I’m not sorry.

At spiritual Starbucks, all drinks are Tall, Venti, or Mahatma Grande,

Skippy BangBang 

Friday, May 14, 2010

A little scatter brained…

Well, first things first.

How are you?  Really?! Me too! I love us. You’re my best friend.

So, how about that BP oil spill huh? Crazy…right? According to cnn.com, the oil mass has begun making land fall near the Mississippi River delta.  In a related story, The Situation & Snooki were seen standing on-site with their heads in the water eagerly awaiting the arrival of the free hair product. Jersey Shore joke…check.

This morning, a headline on cnn.com read “Alaskans still struggle after ‘89 oil spill”.  I feel the headline should be revised to say “Alaskans still struggle…with being Alaskan”.  Boom!  The Inuit can beat it.  Being the 49th state to enter the Union is like being the best reader in dyslexia class or the fastest sloth.  In all seriousness, the only things they have to look forward to each year are the Iditarod, which is only followed by bearded dudes who drink Icehouse and Michael Vick, and Bristol Palin’s gynecological check up.  Geography joke laced with arguably topical humor…check.

Caffeine-free Diet Coke?  Really?! I guess I’ll use that to wash down my meat-less burger, my cupcake with no frosting, and my car with no gas. Everyday living joke…check.

Bicyclists…I get it.  You want to use the road too.  I can get on board with that. But if you emo rim jobs want all the perks of the road, then you absolutely have to fucking adhere to the rules of the road.  Stop at stop signs, yellow lights mean watch the fuck out, and don’t get pissy if I sometimes don’t see you, your indie beach cruiser, and your helmet with Ron Paul stickers on it.  There is a reason why everyone wants to open the door of their car when they see you approaching in their rear-view mirror.  And I secretly want to grab your ass when you pull up next to my car as well.  More everyday living jokes…OMG!!!

Ok…women.  Listen up. You’re extremely sensitive to the climate of every room you walk into and I understand that, but stop commenting on it.  I don’t give a rottweiler’s taint how cold you think this room is.  Put a cardigan on and shut it. Speaking of rottweilers, if all men are dogs, then take a hint from your own conclusion; feed us regularly, pet us from time to time, take us to the park and let us sniff other dogs’ asses, and clean up after us when we shit.  In turn, we will then be faithful, loyal and leave you alone.  The poo poo hits the fan when you dress dogs/us up in weird mini-clothes and put one of those zappy collars on us/them. That’s when they/us run away.  Dogs don’t try to put different coats of fur on you, do they?  Sexual commentary jokes…BANG BANG POW!

I don’t wipe down machines after I use them at the gym.  Deal with it. Socially unacceptable practices joke…It’s gettin’ hot in hurr!

Anytime I see a 7-11, all I can think to myself is “Mmmm, look at all that potential diarrhea.” So I was at a 7-11 yesterday because I felt like disrespecting my digestive system.  I walk inside, after ignoring the homeless guy that apparently comes with every 7-11 store franchise, to get the usual fare; a beef jerky, a pre-hard boiled egg, and a diet Mountain Dew (oh, the coroner who does the autopsy on me when I die is in for a real treat. I bet my insides smell like Jared Fogle’s sex life).  I go to check out and as I am being told that the total is $8.76, my eyes spot the Slurpee machine.  Ahhh, the immaculate Slurpee machine.  But me being me, my eyes then fall upon the Iron Man 2 collector cups and I begin to analyze them.  Who, in their right mind, value these goods?  Paying $4.00 for a cup that changes colors in the sun and holds sugar ice water must be a reason why radical islamic factions hate us and bulemia exists.  I then realized that the same people who enjoy these cups are the same people that wear cut off shirts in public who are the same people that will forever tell you they don’t like Michael Jackson as a person but they love his music who are the same people that argue golf is a sport who are the same people who bring their fucking babies everywhere. 

Being stuck between a rock and a hard place means something entirely different in the pornography industry.

BangBang outout,

Skippy BangBang

Friday, May 7, 2010

A Legal Racket…

If a motivational sales speaker existed (think Tony Robbins, Gary Busey, and Gordon Gecco mashed into one), this is what I feel a snippet of that vocation may be like…

Les:         

Of course, Mr. Lee Ming.  I couldn’t agree more.  I’ll discuss shipping rates with my team.

Enter Les Tooling. Balding. Pacing the room as if he is on cocaine, had 3 pots of coffee, and just main lined a 5-hour energy.

Les:         

Wow.  All I can say is wow! I cannot believe that you all are just going to sit by idly while you get embarrassed by E.L. Fudge like that.  It was digusting; absolutely grotesque!  So embarrassing that I would rather be seen wearing crocs, a Lacoste polo and leaving Adam Lambert’s condo than experience that again.  Be honest with me.  Kristy look at me. Put the Blackberry down and FUCKING LOOK AT ME KRISTY! Do any of you care?!  Do any of you honestly give a flying Rabbi’s cunt that you are about to lose a multi-million dollar account?! Those are fucking ASIAN DIPLOMATS! Rice fed, no bull-shit taking, daughter disposing Asian DIPLOMATS.  THEY DON’T GIVE A FUCK!  To them, it’s all about the bottom line and, bottom line, you guys showed up today with your thumbs up a Jonas brother’s ass and your brains at fucking HOGWARTS. Wake the fuck up! I’m Leslie Tooling. MY COLON IS BLACK!

Les silently gathers his thoughts but still steaming and pacing.

You hired Les Tooling to help you sell.  But it’s REALLY fucking hard to help you sell when your idea of a pitch includes the words like, kinda, and OMG. I don’t like to lose. I FUCKING DESPISE LOSING! I handle losing about as well as a masochistic anorexic handles Thanksgiving, except me losing involves more cutting myself. JESUS CHRIST MAGGIE. NOW YOU?! No one gives a shit..no…no, shut your mouth. SHUT YOUR MOUTH.  I WILL SKULL FUCK ROBERT PATTINSON!  No one gives an Arab cunt about Team Edward. Especially not ASIAN DIPLOMATS!  THEY DON’T GIVE A FUCK! Holy shit, I just remembered that you morons are about to piss away a $23.9 million dollar account.  You retards might as well be selling drool bibs.  At least you could sell them to yourselves and make some sort of commission!

Les silently gathers his thoughts but still steaming and pacing.

It’s like you girls are that killer whale at Sea World.  And those Asian DIPLOMATS are that sexy whale trainer.  You have two choices.  One, wow the audience, play smart, and you swim away with a treat. Two, you grab that hooker by the pony tail, drag her underwater and never let go because you’re scared and confused because you’re in captivity.  THE PONY TAIL IS IN YOUR FUCKING MOUTH!  Let go or swim deeper.  PICK ONE YOU FUCKS!  I’m Les Tooling. THE PARTIES IN MY HEAD WILL MAKE YOU WEEP!

Les silently gathers his thoughts but still steaming and pacing.

Enough fucking talking.  More doing. Does any empty head out there have any suggestions?  Don’t be shy.  Pretend like your pants are down and you’re in a closet with your bearded Uncle Chaz.  FEEL THE FUCK AROUND AND MAYBE YOU’LL COME UP WITH SOMETHING.  Thank god!  Yes Nicole?

Les stops pacing to listen.

Hahahah! Samoas? TAGALONGS?  NO!  Does your skull still have a soft spot?! 

Les begins going ape shit again.

THEY ARE CALLED CARMEL DELITES AND PEANUT BUTTER PATTIES FOR A FUCKING REASON! What? Oh, the Asian DIPLOMATS found the name Peanut Butter Patty offensive?! FINE!  Change the fucking name. Give them whatever they want!  If these Asian DIPLOMATS want a fucking Honda driven by a Thin Mint with a spring roll riding shotgun…FUCKING MAKE IT HAPPEN!  I’m Les Tooling! I PLAY HARD TO GET…HARD!

Les takes a seat and begins to level with the girls

Listen.  You are Girl Scouts.  Never once in American History has there been a racket like yours.  I would give my right dick to be eleven and from Wheaton right now.  The God damned Chicago Tribune reformats their layout and still can’t sell a newspaper for a dollar, but you successfully peddle boxes of mediocre goodness for nine dollars with eleven cookies per sleeve.  And where does that money go!?  They beautiful thing is that the buyers of Girl Scout cookies don’t give a shit.  Not…one…shit.  Your organization has nothing to show for your years of service and America couldn’t care less.  The price goes up, people buy more. Shits fucked up. I’m exhausted.  Just go out there and be cute.  Pucker your little buttholes and man up. If they roadblock ya again, just tell them your Dad is autistic or something.

Lights down.

Mo money, mo gobblins,

Skippy Bangbang

Friday, April 30, 2010

Bumper sticky situation…

I was driving on 90/94 West the other day and I was behind a PT Cruiser.  After I decided that I dedicated sufficient time to imagining how big of a douche the driver is, I couldn’t get my eyes off his back bumper.  On his bumper was a McCain/Palin ’08 sticker.  WHAT IN HITLER’S BALL BAG IS THAT STILL DOING ON THERE? What’s with presidential election bumper stickers and people deciding they don’t need to be removed?  I know at least one person out there has seen a vehicle with some antiquated election sticker on it.  If you haven’t, it’s yours. McCain lost so right off the bat you’re an asshole for voting for the losing team; a losing team that was comprised of a geriatric veteran and a delusional MILF.  Secondly, you are basically saying “I can’t let go of the past” and are probably the same person that puts more than one honor roll sticker on your car for your child.  If you have to advertise on your car that your kid is smart, chances are…YOU weren’t that kid in school.  On the opposite side of the coin, don’t think it’s acceptable to have the bumper sticker that says “My student beat up your honor roll student.”  No he/she didn’t.  And if he/she did, HIGH FIVE…looks like Intervention and People’s Court have some fresh material coming through the pipeline. 

Then you have the fuck birds who still have the Obama/Biden ’08 stickers on their car.  These nerd cakes are just rubbing it in.  Don’t think too highly of yourself though because if you are white and you have an Obama sticker on your car, we know you don’t have any black friends and this is your compensation for that.  The winning team isn’t much better than the losing team.  The winning team is comprised of a geriatric Leslie Nielson look-a-like and the love child of Oprah and Alfred E. Newman. All I am saying is that people who leave Presidential election bumped stickers on their cars after the election results are revealed are the type of people that should wear orange floaties outside of a pool.

Speaking of the odd forms of Affirmative Action, who the dick are these people still wearing Obama t-shirts?  This is basically the same concept of rocking the Obama sticker on your car except that you have to choose to put the shirt on everyday which makes you seem more like a consistent taint sore as opposed to possibly just being one a few months ago and being too lazy to change it.  I then had an epiphany that people who still sport Obama clothing are the same people who still keep Tab in business who are the same people who wholeheartedly believe “Go Cubs Go” is a decent song.

Quickies

Recently released retail sales reports stated that Wal-Mart is now the single largest purchaser of flannel world-wide. Coming in a very close second: lesbians.

Man, that vegetable is kinda cool.  Ya, he’s rad-ish.

Ray Charles was an amazing artist.  He was so good, he was out of sight.

In light of recent allegations, cnn.com reported that a stock broker for Goldman Sachs was depantsed on the floor of the New York Stock Exchange while he had a erection.  I guess you could say his firm went public.

1927: I scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream!

 2010: iPpod, you pod, we all scream for hearing loss.

 

Pogo sticks, thimbles, and Adam Lambert,

Skippy BangBang

Monday, April 26, 2010