Radical

While I'm out this week, living large in the land of thousand lakes, (aliteration), here's to hoping everybody is having a RADICAL week.

Keep it radical!

Taste's Like Gold!

I love Chicago!

This was taken last February after copious amounts of Maker's Mark.

And until last week I had forgotten it was on my digital camera.

Which now, the statement of Taste's Like Gold, definitely applies to the Maker's I was drinking.

Huzzah for Maker's Mark!

Well it's been a month, here's a new post.

Got dang! The holidays seem to fly by faster and faster every year.

Between working 80+ hours a week for the past 3 weeks and recovering from a broken thumb, time has flown.

But just like that spider in your shower you can't seem to kill with the shampoo bottle, the site is still moving. So tell everybody that Christmas is here and Just Shit Talking is opening all your presents, stealing the batteries and eating all the green Lifesavers in your holiday themed Lifesavers book of Lifesavers.

Today, I bring you an Elephant.

Stay tuned for more shitty graffiti gifts!

Happy Thanksgiving Suds!

I'll be taking a few days off from the site so I can eat my weight in giblets, take some more photos and work up a few more rants. I promise it won't be for that long. Gimme a week.

Seems all this turkey and thankfulness has zapped me of the ability to put together swear laden paragraphs.

Be sure to celebrate this long weekend with a few glasses of your favorite suds and enough cranberry sauce to choke a goat.

I'm out!

Drippy Dick! Reader Submission Tuesday.

Thanks to Troy Burkhart for today's photo.

This is kind of how the weather feels today. Drippy. Seems we've slipped into a bit of Seattle mode today.

In thinking about the weather, do we really still need weathermen, weatherladies or weathersluts (male or female)?

I don't care about barometric pressure. Just flash up what's going to happen over the next five days for 30 seconds and we're good. Or how about taping the signs to kittens and letting them run around on screen for a minute or two.
_______________________
Whenever, I post a blog entry, Blogger always asks for "labels" or words that allow people on the internet to search and find this post.

Over the past couple of years, people have found this site using a myriad of words.

It now gives me great pride to add "drippy dick" and "Troy Burkhart" to this list of words.

Nothing interesting.

I'm running on fumes today—3 AM, radio scripts, freelance and reruns of The Wire.

So, to keep the consecutive M-F streak going, here's something from Craig Ross.

Seeing this let's me know that I'm not the only person who enjoys reading random stuff on bathroom walls. It's as though the person who wrote this was putting an ad up for me and this blog.

Alright, enough for now, back to the daily slug fest between my eyelids and my laptop.

Friday Reader Submission — Toy Story 2 was ok!

It's Friday and I'm really not in the mood to be long whhhhinded.

So, today's image comes from the majestic Aaron Enneking.

Little known facts about Aaron:

• He invented toast.
• Coined the phrase, "white people".
• Obsessed with Angela Lansbury (ask him to see his collection of her tasteful nudes).
• Brittle. 
• Scared of "white people".

Since I've never seen any of the Toy Story movies, I'm going to have to agree with the scribe.

Until Monday

VGL MWM

Well, I had to look this one up for a couple of reasons. One, I'm not hip to the Craigslist/internet personal ad sex slang, (I'm looking at you Nicole and Billy Cooper) and two, I don't pick up dudes. (For those that don't know, VGL is Very Good Looking. And MWM is Married White Man.)

So what can we learn from this post...

1. The Very Good Looking Married White Man is named Matt.
   
2. He's "thin" and looking for dudes—as this was in a men's room.
   
3. He's requesting you be over 6 foot. Sorry women's volleyball team.
   
4. From seeing that Matt has "tested safe", I'm assuming this isn't Matt's first rodeo and has probably had a number of gentlemen callers and ballers.
   
5. Matt is "very discreet". So discreet that he's listed his phone number on a bathroom wall at a gas station beside a major interstate that gets on average 150 men a day using it.
   
6. "Local". This was odd to me. I think you'd want to have sex with the truck driver who's blowing through town. Why would you want to have sex with a dude you might run into down at the IGA while you're getting groceries with your wife? Again, Matt, you're married, come on buddy think things through.
   
7. "935-273-8424" I'll give $5 to somebody if they call this number, talk to Matt and report back on his thoughts about this being posted on the internet. I'll also require the effectiveness of this bathroom wall personal ad. 

Jessica Simpson, also awful.

I agree.

Today's post is a shortie as well.  Sorry folks, got more bacon than the pan can handle.

I leave you with this picture of one of the biggest clods in music/entertainment/breathing.

Who needs an excuse to blaze one?

Well, the work load is finally catching up to me today. So, there will be no rants about Katherine Heigl, companies I can't stand or how I really don't care for fried pickles.

Instead, I leave you with this simple question.

Katherine Heigl is Awful.

Look, this isn't going to be the manliest post I've ever made, but here we go.


I hate Katherine Heigl. She makes shitty movies that some how, some morons pony up $10 to watch. I don't know any of these people. And if you're reading this post, chances are you don't know any of these people either. Nobody does.


Who the hell are these people?


My best guess is some where an orderly is loading up a short bus full of individuals who have their names attached to their shirts on colorful scraps of  construction paper and an "if lost, return to" card in their pocket.


The first three times I saw Katherine Heigl, I thought  "Shit, Charlize Theron looks like shit!" 


That's right Katherine Heigl made me utter a double "shit" sentence. 


Her movies usually center around her being some type of love lorn female trapped in world where she's super competitive and trying to have it all. Or she wants to bone some dude, but she doesn't want to admit that she wants to bone that dude because it would mean some how it goes against some law of nature that nobody abides by. Fuck, what am I talking about, that's the same damn movie. That's all of her movies. 


Have I seen any of her movies. Yes. One. Can I tell you the name of it? No. But it was probably something like "The Crazy Things We Do To Bone Dudes That We Don't Want To Bone But Should Probably Bone Anyway, Oops." 


I don't need to see her movies. I can't. Just the trailers cause my mouth to fill with a lactic bile. Plus, they're all the same. Don't believe me? Well.... I looked up her next movie. 


It's called, "One for the Money." Here's the description, "Unemployed and newly-divorced Stephanie Plum lands a job at her cousin's bail-bond business, where her first assignment puts her on the trail of a wanted local cop from her romantic past."


Guess who she's gonna bone? Oh wait, she already apparently boned the cop she's chasing. So, I'm going to guess she catches him, fondles his junk and they both run off to South America where they raise pygmy goats and keep the chickens awake with the sound of her rumbling uterus and her quest to be the best South American TV news reporter and crêpe chef. 


Katherine Heigl, you're awful.

What happens when you cross Vaginas and Jawas?

If you've seen Star Wars you know a...
Jawa (n.) Typically short rodent-like natives of Tatooine. They were passionate scavengers, seeking out technology for sale or trade in the deep deserts in their huge sandcrawler transports. A band of Jawas was responsible for locating C-3PO and R2-D2 and selling them to Luke Skywalker's uncle Owen Lars.


And if you're a human, we know a...
Vagina (n.) Well, I think we all know what this is.


As to Vagwas, I assume it's a Jawa's Vagina. 


Any other guesses?

Reader Submission Wednesday!

Yeah, I can't make an aids joke. That's just too far for me.

My advice—maybe don't call this number. If you happen to own this number, maybe get yourself tested.

Since most of my photos from friends are sent to me in the wee hours of the morning, I'm not sure if this was sent by John Jacobsen, Keith Raines, Nick Demille or Craig Ross. Either way, thanks for the photo and keep them coming.

Keep a sock on the pickle!

Suck Mine!

Over the past few months, several large companies have piseed me off.

I dedicate today's post to these ass clowns! I invite each of you to SUCK MINE!

• All-State—Why? My basement floods, it took 173 days for them to pay for the water back up. 173! That's almost 6 months. You're lucky I don't Herman Cain your genitals.
• Zimmer & Kohl Contractors—In the flooding of the basement these contractors screwed us over royally. Swore at us, upped their bid by $10,000 two days AFTER they were supposed to start construction. I've already posted the story here, I can't repeat the whole thing here.
• All-State—Yes, back for the second round. After closing a bank account, you somehow forced the bank to open the account back up and caused us $127 in late fees.
• Arby's—Good Mood Food puts me in Bad Mood Throw Up Mode. I hate this campaign. HATE IT! I don't know what clods at Arby's approved this but these people should be drug out in the street, have headphones strapped on them and have this horrible jingle blared into their ears until they have gone deaf or start bleeding from their eyes. 
• Thrifty Car Rental—45 minutes in line for a car with only 2 people in front of me is toooooo long. How about you hire people that don't smell like they've slept under a bridge for a week? Also hiring people who can type would really fucking help.
• Hampton Inn—Apparently, your hotels are infested with mobs of feral cats as your hotel rooms smell like cat piss.
• Home Depot—This is a fun one. I opened a credit card. Never got a bill. Never got said credit card. Never got an account number. Finally I got a couple of phone calls. Learned they couldn't give me an account number over the phone. So, I went to the store to pay the bill. The store told me I couldn't pay the bill. After 3 phone calls and 20 minutes, a person on the other end of the phone told me she couldn't give me my account number but she could give it to the customer service desk employee. HOW CAN YOU GIVE MY NUMBER TO A COMPLETE STRANGER, BUT YOU CAN"T GIVE IT TO THE ACCOUNT HOLDER?

There's my list. What company would you like to tell to suck it?

Pobody's Nerfect

Let's start Monday off with a dick joke.

Nice job catching the uncircumcised-ness of this photo goes to Keith Raines.

Let's see if I can get through a week with a post everyday—but then again, Pobody's Nerfect.

PENIS FRIDAY! EVERYBODY'S GOING NUTS!

Classy.

Way to not write "dick" or "johnson" or "schlong". This guy decided to go the medically correct route with "penis".

Of all the things to write, this was what somebody chose? Perplexing.

This Just In!

I'm back! Yes, I know I've said these words before, but this time I really, really mean it. I've got a stockpile of great shots and finally the time to do this right. So call a buddy and tell them to move their internet browsing ass over to Just Shit Talking. We're back on track, but still way off course.

So what's happened since I last posted? Let's run down the list.
– I may or may not have been picked up by three African American prostitutes on the streets of Chicago. They may have also been undercover cops, I'm still not sure. It was weird. I bought them Red Bull.
– I broke a laptop.
– I broke a terrabyte hard drive.
– I broke an iPod.
– I broke out two teeth.
– I broke my thumb.

Yup, fall so far has been a regular unicorn rainbow farting contest.

Oddly enough, only the last two items on that list are related. A horrendous bike wreck left me with a face that looked like that kid from Mask and a lisp that made me sound like Cindy Brady on human growth hormones. While the teeth have been replaced, the thumb still sits in cast. Typing is hard and if I ever find the guy who almost ran me off the road, I'm going to smack him with this cast, break out his front two teeth and make him pay my medical bills. Watch out fucko in the red Chevy Cobalt.

Enough about me, let's talk about Hondo—he wants to pee in your butt.

Apparently, he isn't the only one. According to the always politically correct Urban Dictionary, so does G-Money. And up until the beginning of this posting, I never knew "LMPIYB" stood for "Let Me Pee In Your Butt".


Must we abbreviate everything—ASAP, EOD, LOL? What happened to the days when you could simply just ask your partner, "Hey, can I pee in your butt?". There's nothing sexy about saying, "Hey, baby, LMPIYB." 


Abbreviations are killing how we communicate. The more we create, the closer we are to devolving into grunting like cavemen, pigs and Jagermeister sauced up teenagers. Conversations in the business world are littered with way too many of these epileptic sounding sound bytes. And anymore, there are multiple meanings for each thing we abbreviate. 


For example, yesterday, I had to write something for work. Somebody handed me an abbreviation I wasn't familiar with (p.s. my job requires I know between 25 and 3000 abbreviations for medical terms, government agencies and bizarre-ass things that should never be abbreviated in the first place). So I googled the abbreviation. Low and behold the abbreviation has 19 different meanings. 19! 


So with that, I've reached my limit with abbreviations. I'm done. In fact, the next time I get into a conversation that goes something like this, "Well the ROI on this POD project are just to much to put against the FYB." My response is going to be, "Yeah, you're right, the LMPIYB numbers are really down."

This is now what you get for using abbreviations around me, especially one that has 19 meanings. LMPIYB!

Guess what? You got...

Veneral disease a horrible thing.

Could be herpees.
Could be clammidiya.
Could be goneahreea
Could be ADS

You never know.

Put a sock on the pickle.

"Fuck that Hoe"

We're back!

But I just don't have the energy to make jokes today.

So fuck that hoe!

Blow Job Week—Thursday

Not sure how to ask for a beeg?

Try this phrase.

No sense in pussyfooting around the issue. It's direct. It's short. It's simple.

How could anybody be possibly offended by this?

Try it out with your favorite prostitute first before you try it out around the house. Just so you can practice the perfect articulation of the phrase and get a few dry runs in. You don't want to bobble the pronunciation and look like some kind of tongue-tied rube.

For instance, where are you going to place the most emphasis? Is it on the "Suck" or the "Mine"?

Do you need to repeat the phrase over and over? Is saying this once to your partner really enough? What if your partner has been eating corn nuts earlier in the day and one is lodged in his/her ear? You wouldn't want them to miss this phrase. Work on your volume. Make sure you project.

What happens if you develop a stutter mid "Suck"? 34 years of no stutter and then one day—BAM—now you have a stutter. You don't want your partner confusing this phrase with an Indian dish because some of the transistors and connectors short-circuited in your wiring. Maybe see a doctor or a speech pathologist in the weeks leading up to the usage of "Suck Mine".

Practice. You think Martin Luther King didn't practice, "I have a dream"? This isn't improv night down at Giggles. Don't botch this. Lines this succinct don't come around everyday.

Blow Job Week—Wednesday

Blow Job Week continues. Huzzah!

Today we have a little non-traditional Shit Talking photo.

This was still taken in a toilet (let's just say the toilet was an abandoned Circuit City, I'm sure the homeless have popped a squat here).

Anyway, Libby wants you to know that she's into more than just BJs, she's out to provide patrons a "real good time".

So if you want to dial up Libby, call 241-9192. Area code 502.

She what specials she's running today.

Blowjob Week Continues

Well.

Blow Job Week continues.

Live in the middle of Tennessee?
Just passing through while hyped up on adderall?
Want some type of venereal disease?

Call 931-217-1015.

Short & to the point Monday!

It's Monday.

It's kind of shitty. 

I awoke to 4 puddles of cat vomit this morning. Of which I stepped in two. Barefoot.

I then put my hand in fresh bird shit on my Jeep.

I also picked up dog poop.

So if anybody wants to pee on me, that's all I need for the human expulsion quadfecta.

So let's not ramble on today.

If you're in the mood for a BJ, call Angela Parsley 597-7532. Area code 502.

Give her a ring.

Ooh! Ooh! Um, things you'll find on Pete Townsend's laptop!

"Newborn Porn"

It may have happened 9 years ago, but Pete Townsend's child pornography case still piss me off.

He had pictures of a two year old getting raped on his computer for, "some kind of document relating to Internet porn". Well it's been 9 years and his master thesis has never been released. 


Shit, Hitler somehow published Mein Kampfe. 
Charles Manson has released over 5 albums from behind prison walls.
You can even find the Unibomber's manifesto online if you dig around.


But Pete Townsend roams free trolling Russian-child-rape-bondage sites and we are left without his master work. Why?


Come on Simon & Schuster or Golden Books, let's get this thing published!


Eh, this gives me one more reason to hate The Who.

Eats Shit!

Who eats shit?

I eat shit.

Sorry for shutting this thing down for almost a month again. At this point, I'm becoming more sporadic than conversations with a dementia riddled grandparent.

Sorry, I'll try to do better.

Anyway, the chains are off. And it looks like semi-normal posting will resume.

Thinking there might actually be two posts today.

Gangs R Pussies

Several years ago, I lived in an "emerging" neighborhood. One day, I came home to find two gentlemen on my doorstep. One guy was in his 40s. The other couldn't have been more than 16.

The older one proceeded to bust out a rap on me that went something like this...

"Hi, my name is Anton and this Horatio. Horatio is an ex-member of the Latin Kings. And I work for (insert anti-gang neighborhood association here). Together, we're trying to help people like Horatio stay out of gangs by selling subscriptions to (insert newspaper here). If you don't buy a newspaper subscription from us, he'll more than likely drift back into the gang...."

(from here, I'll embellish slightly but you'll get the point)

"...break into your house, rape your wife and spray paint all over your garage door. There's also a good chance he'll eat your cat, whip you with a hot coat hanger and then sell drugs to orphans. Then he'll kidnap those orphans, stuff their tiny buttholes full of drugs and smuggle them over the border and sell them into white slavery. Where those kids will grow up to be suicidal, Russian roulette playing, coke addicts who worship Satan and turn into cannibals. Then before you know it the Latin Kings will have so many enslaved white folks, they'll set them loose on the midwest like an army of rabid, Angel Dust fueled dogs. Farms will burn, churches will be turned into brothels and the entire nation will forced to wear wife beaters, shorts that are three sizes too large and grow shitty, pederastic mustaches—even the women."

So with a back story like that, how could I not subscribe to the newspaper.

Now, you would think an organization that specializes in drive-by shootings would be good with delivering newspapers. Instead of slinging bullets, they're slinging printed words. You would be wrong if you believed this, in the two weeks we had the newspaper, it showed up three times.

Gangs. You're Pussies! Stick to spray painting garage doors and shopping at K-mart.

Poll Dancing. What's Your Favorite Bathroom?

"This is my favorite bathroom. Look at it!"

This was tossed to me by either Amy Wathen or Lauren Collins. Sorry ladies, pics were flying that night at this Germantown institution.

Anyway.

I've taken a lot of bathroom photos and probably been to 10,000 bathrooms in my life.

Some people will say the bathroom at 21C (here's a video of it y'all) here in Louisville is their favorite. Some will claim their home thrown.

I will claim the Intercontinental in Chicago. It's quite. It's calming. It has full stall doors. And it's helped me out on numerous emergencies in the downtown Chicago area.

So what's your favorite? Hit up the comment section.

Homophobic Wednesday & Donkey Boners!

One of my favorite days of the week—Homophobic Wednesday! Another chance for us to prove America's ignorance.

This photo came from John Jacobsen or Keith Raines—sorry fellas, I get a lot of texts.

I really could care less how Payne went from "HILAROUS" to a "HUGE FAG." What I really came to talk about is "Donkey Boner President."

How cool of a political title! Such regality. Imagine one dude, leader of the free world's ass erections. Measuring. Calculating. Staring. This is the change we need.

If you haven't guessed yet, I hate politics.

Individuals doing good for the country went away a long time ago when corporations got involved. Now, it's about which back room deal will benefit a politician's back pocket more. Mitch McConnell and Barack Obama care about the same thing—money. Barack writes books and is funded by just as many corporations at Mitch McConnell.

(McConnell just seems a lot seedier, with that horrible, slow Kentucky drawl. He's kind of like watching a stroke victim with mental retardation. I want to feel bad for him, I also want to scream at the TV whenever I see him, "GET THE WORDS OUT ALREADY YOU INCREDULOUS SHORT BUSER!!!")

If it isn't one of these two asshats making terrible decisions based on their corporate sponsorships, you've got the 635 members of Congress and the Senate to fuck it up. And if you don't think they've had their pocketbooks molested too then go ahead and believe in unicorns, the Loch Ness Monster and free oral from tranny Vietnamese hookers.

This is why I hate politics—in two paragraphs. It's also why I'll be voting for Donkey Boner President next election, because it's just as important to this country as having a President of the United States of America.

...Was Here. Was Not Here.

I see a lot of the "(Insert Name) was here." bathroom graffiti.

Much like dogs and cats, many of us mark our territory when we pee too.

Honestly, these bore me, come on people, we can do better than this.

Worship the Beast Friday!

Not sure what everybody is into this weekend, but if you're milling about and have nothing else going on how about pledging your allegiance to Satan?

Come on.

He's got the whole eternal/after life thing going on too.

Sure, you might not float on a lilly white cloud while angels/strippers fan your ass with palm leaves but he's got things the man upstairs simply doesn't—guns, whiskey and State Fair Food for starters! Need another reason? How about David Koresh? Tell me you wouldn't want to have a conversation with him about Waco in Hell's Snackatorioum.

And what do you have to suffer through? Your own personal definition of hell? For me, that would be trapped in a room full of screaming infants, which the older I get, the more often this keeps happening. So much so, that I've started to deaf from it—its either the babies or all the speed metal and braying of the goats I'm slaughtering in my garage.

Anyway, if anybody needs me, just look for the giant pentagram burning in my lawn.

Hail Satan!

I'll take a dump in your mouth!

This was nabbed from a certain women's bathroom in a certain bar by a certain Lauren Collins or Amy Wathen.

More important than that.... What the hell is going on in women's restrooms?

Has it really devolved into something out of the webpages of Urban Dictionary. Is it Two Girls and One Cup part Deux?

Years ago I worked in a bar and made friends, one of which was named Mary. She was a school teacher from August to May and a waitress from May until August. She told me one day she got distracted in the women's room by how many females didn't wash their hands.

So she started lingering a little bit to see just how few women weren't washing. After a week of doing this,  she swore it was 80% that didn't.

Guys may get labeled as disgusting and maybe our stats are higher than this, but either way, it's just gross. Wash your hands!

And for all the disgusting, crude artwork I find in men's rooms, this is pretty astonishing for a women's room.

Wash Your Butt!

Well here's some good advice for a Friday.

You don't want to be all stinky if you're gettttttttting it ahhhh-nnnah this weekend!

Next week I promise, more ambition with these posts.

Cokeheads Get Things Done!

It's Thursday. And I need cocaine.

With a mountain of a month to climb, a coke habit might not be a bad thing to pick up.

I'd add more to this post but I've never known a cokehead, nor have I ingested yayo.

Maybe I'll just settle for a short walk and some tea.

Here's to Crocs and Condoms

Usually, I go on and on with long-winded copy about whatever I post.

Today however, the picture says it all... "Here's to Crocks and Condoms, 2 Things I'll Never Wear."

Just perfect. Enjoy your summer day of shoeless banging.

Even though "Crocks" is misspelled.

People Like Shit.

Amy Wathen grabbed this at a Bearno's Pizza. 


At first, I had no idea what "Like a G6" meant. Come to find out it's the song they play while they're  waterboarding prisoners at Guantanamo. Since I'd never heard this sonic ice pick, onwards to the YouTube I went...

If you've watched the video above or even if you didn't, let's talk about the levels of horror this musical bag of flaming dog poop creates:

• The song is supposed to be about a G6 private jet. Only problem, there is no G6 private jet, there is a G4, there is also a Pontiac G6 car, which looks like this:

(Believe it or not, this is how they come direct from the factory.)

• 70 million people have watched this thing. 70 million! That means 1 out of every 5 people you know has seen it and is certifiably, mentally defective. 70 million people is roughly the same number of people that were wiped off the face of the earth in WWII—that's entire countries! That's MORE THAN the combined population of New York, Los Angeles, Chicago, Houston, Philadelphia, Phoenix, San Antonio, San Diego, Dallas, San Jose, Jacksonville, Indianapolis, San Francisco, Austin, Columbus, Fort Worth, Charlotte, Detroit, El Paso, Memphis, Baltimore, Boston, Seattle, Washington, Nashville, Denver, Louisville, Milwaukee, Portland, Las Vegas, Oklahoma City, Albuquerque, Tucson, Fresno, Sacramento, Long Beach, Kansas City, Mesa, Virginia Beach, Atlanta, Colorado Springs, Omaha, Raleigh, Miami, Cleveland, Tulsa, Oakland, Minneapolis, Wichita, Arlington, Bakersfield and New Orleans.

• Did they film this video at the old Benihana and the condemned Red Roof Inn? I think I see Hildalga the Mexican/Russian tranny maid in the background breaking it down with a pork chop.

• I notice everybody drinking. Then everybody driving around to get more liquor. Hey, wait a minute, there's no designated driver here! Well this is just illegal.

• This song is not about just drinking, it's clearly about drinking cough syrup. "When we drink we do it right gettin slizzard. Sippin sizzurp in my ride, like Three 6." Sizzurp is code for cough syrup and soda. I'm beginning to think the folks at Robitussin have a lucrative deal with some record labels. Pepsi and Coke have washed their hands of music and superstar endorsements, thanks to Madonna having sex with Black Jesus and Kobe Bryant raping everything but a Sprite can. So since mainstream sodas have pulled out of the music biz—insert Robitussin—who gets the chance to have their product glorified, while creating an entirely new revenue stream. Mark it down, it's my new conspiracy theory!

• Are we entirely certain these guys aren't the Black Eyed Peas? The one with the long hair and the mustache looks way too much like Fergie.

• What qualifies Dev to sing anything? How much did she make for this song? Why do I feel like she lives in a nicer house than anybody reading this? Why do I also feel like she'll lose this house in the next month, develop a crack addiction and end up on A&E's Intervention next season? 

All in all, this song and video prove that idiots control record labels, (no shock), 70 million Americans are idiots (also no shock) and Robitussin is gettin' paid son!

So next time you're in a major 'tussin drunk, start humming this tune because the person 5 seats down from you will hum it back.

TiTuesday?

Thanks to Lauren Collins for today's, "What the hell are we looking?"

Cast your vote:

create a free poll on pollsb.com

Yo Momma Got Rubber Nipples

Sorry for the long lay off between posts.

Also sorry for the Zimmer and Kohl Construction rant. While I expected nothing done about the situation, I did contact the Louisville Better Business Bureau. Even they, won't do anything about it, not even revoke their BBB status—even though mine was the 6th complaint filed against them this year. Thanks Louisville Better Business Bureau, you're on my list of places to throw flaming bags of poop at.

Anyway, we're back and back with "Your momma's rubber nipples."

I'm not sure if rubber nipples is really an insult or not. On one hand, nipples are already kind of rubbery. If somebody's did have rubber implants would that be the worst thing? Sure they'd look odd, but people are doing a lot weirder things out there.

For example...

I watched John Waters at Bonnaroo this year discuss several really bizarre sexual fetishes. The oddest was men who replace the skin of their testicles with a clear plastic material so their partners can watch the production of sperm, kind of like a really perverted fish tank.

So, while this may have been an insult at one point, this is probably a sexual fetish now.

Thanks go to Lauren Collins for snagging this one. (What kind of bathrooms are you going to?)

Zimmer and Kohl Contractors are the DEVIL!!!!!!

I don't normally use this blog for personal problems but one of the main reasons I haven't posted lately is we've been dealing with a company to repair our basement. It hasn't gone well.

Before I begin this rant, let's imagine if Satan ran a company.

Here would be their operation guidelines:
1. Be late for appointments OR don't show up at all.
2. Make them move all their furniture the night before a job, then don't show up for the job and then laugh at them.
3. Swear at customers, get angry with them and call them liars.
4. Make sure your tactics put a strain on marriages.
5. Lie. Lie often. Lie well. Lie until you're out of lies.
666. Gouge them on prices. Quote them something really low so they take the bait, the screw them over at the last minute so they have no choice but to pay you more money.

These are just a few of the things Satan would do with a company. Oh wait he did!

He has risen from the depths of Hell to take the reigns of Zimmer and Kohl Contracting!

His anger for being locked in such a deep dark pit for all these years is now flowing through the streets of Louisville to innocent people who just want work done on their house.

Here's my story with these cretins. These deeply evil, cash hungry wicked beasts.

In April, our basement flooded. So my wife and I went through the process of getting bids from several companies. One of those companies was Zimmer & Kohl Contracting aka Satan's Construction Crew. I wish we would have never, never, never done this.

Their bid was the lowest of the five we received. When we asked why they came in lower than the other bids, we were told it was because they worked in volume and that's how they could keep the prices low.

This sounded legit to my wife and I, but just in case we put back some extra money to cover any additions to the estimate that might occur after the job was completed. They took our check and vanished like a ghost.

So after fighting for over two weeks to get on the schedule and getting anybody to call us back, we finally got on the calendar for May 24th. When May 24th arrived, we were told they needed to come back to our house to measure. Which was odd because they had been to our house 3 times already and had measured twice. Is Hell on the metric system? We thought that must be why they kept coming back to measure. It's a difficult system to master.



At this point I'd taken off 3 days worth of work for them. They'd missed two appointments now.

So we called and they said they would send out their contractor "Bin". Great, some progress—or at least that's what the devil would make you think. (P.S. This Bin fellow is apparently a wanted criminal. NICE TO KNOW NOW!)

When he did arrive at my house, he was visibly angry. He stormed into my house, brushed past my wife and in a tone that can only be described as furious Jack Nicholson from A Few Good Men, began berating me. "So you have the tile? Where are the supplies? We're not supplying that! No! No! No! You are wrong!"

My response was no, because the estimate included the tile. He told me "no you're wrong." I said, "No, I'm not." At this point I produced the estimate, which LINE 1 of the estimate said they, Zimmer and Kohl, would provide and install all materials.

He then told me there was no way he could do the job for the price on the estimate. I asked how could he suddenly could come to this conclusion when he'd had the estimate for 5 weeks. He said, the person who did the estimate didn't know what they were doing and they should be fired. (Coincidentally, the guy who did the estimate was the nicest person we dealt with and I honestly feel bad for him.)

Bin then filled out a check for the deposit we had given Zimmer & Kohl Contracting, threw it at my wife and I, slammed the door, saying, "I took time out of my schedule to come out here, I don't need this!"


This outburst was also followed by some mumbled swearing.

So after calming down, I called the person who had done our estimate. He apologized and worked with Zimmer and Kohl to come up with a new price. He produced one for about $3000 more than the original price. Which my wife and I agreed too, this was our own fault for doing this. But like I said earlier, we had put aside money in case of overages, and this was honestly about what we thought they would be based on the other estimates we had received.

So we scheduled a date with the guise that we wouldn't have to deal with Bin again after his outrageous behavior. Who walks into somebody else's home and disrespects them like this? They agreed and were supposed to come out to our house so we could sign the new estimate on May 28th.

I then receive a call from them on the 28th telling me that the front office had kicked back the 2nd estimate and had assigned a new dollar figure to it. This estimate was for $10,000 above the initial estimate. How the hell do we go to MORE than double the job in two days?

Is the Zimmer and Kohl on the Canadian Monetary system?

At this point I had to walk away.

Now, I sit in my house which has all the furniture that was in the basement crammed into our living room, hallway, extra bedroom and sun room. Our house is maze because we moved everything out of our basement because they were supposed to be here to do the work. So instead of having a completed basement, I have an empty hole and a garage full of old carpet that they were supposed to hall away.

Of all the horror stories you hear about slimy, underhanded, greedy contractors and construction companies, Zimmer and Kohl fit them to a "T". Seriously, they are a walking cliché. They did nothing right in this entire process. And here I sit with a house that I have to navigate with  map and hatchet and a garage full of moldy carpet.

Stay away from Zimmer & Kohl Contracting. I'm not sure how a company that's been in business for over 40 years can survive with rude, pompous employees like Bin.

Tell your friends fellow readers. These guys are just evil. I could have had my basement repaired 3 times in the amount of time it has taken for this situation to get remedied.

Enough.

RIP Nate Dogg

RIP Nate Dogg. (I have no idea Herbie Miakle is.)

Okay, I'm a little late to the Nate Dogg funeral. Sorry. But after prolonged mourning, I can now pour a little of my 40 oz. out on the curb and pay tribute to one of the key members of the G-Funk Era.

In 1992, like almost every other white male suburbanite between the ages of 13 and 24, I bought a copy of The Chronic. Having parents that were VERY conservative meant this album—that dropped more swears than a drunken George Carlin—got the Anne Frank treatment. I hid this thing in ceiling tiles, mattresses and at one point duct taped it to the back of a toilet tank in an Italian restaurant.

But it was worth it.

Engrossed in the word play, the production and the ability to sound unlike every other rap album previously released is what kept Dr. Dre's album in my CD Walkman™for months. You've got the slow whine of creaky keyboards on nearly every track, long forgotten Parliment samples and an amazing mix of real instruments—which many people don't realize or take for granted. (There's more flute on this record than a Jethro Tull greatest hits collection, go back and listen to it.) Weaving all this together before the use of Pro Tools must have been incredibly arduous.

This album not only introduced us to this unique sound, that would later go on to define a huge transition in rap, it also introduced most of America to Nate Dogg, Snoop Dogg and the D.O.C. Before this record Snoop was selling coke and drifting back and forth between prison and gang life. Think about it, can you imagine a world without Snoop Dogg today? He's in Pepsi commercials, he's appeared in over 40 TV shows and movies, and has made 11 records in the 19 years. Not bad for somebody who was once on trial for murder.

While Dre produced one hell of a record, Snoop Dogg was the undeniable star of this record. He has more memorable lines in one song than Dre has on the rest of the album. This was Dre's biggest chance to cash in ever. How much confidence did it take for him to take a chance on an unknown rapper and member of the Crips? Without this record, Snoop would probably be dead. And without Snoop, Dre would be producing Debbie Gibson records in Bangladesh.

And speaking of big, this was also the biggest tribute to weed we'd ever seen. Sure marijuana got it's fair share of repping in hip-hop before this record but Dr. Dre went over the top with it—the physical CD has an enormous pot leaf on it and, again, the album is called "The Chronic"! Counting the weed references would be like counting gravel at a quarry. This album might as well have come with a case of weed lung and a pack of Zig Zags.

To a 14 year old, this record had everything—dirty lyrics, an unmatched swagger, hatin', a handful of hazy, drunk and drug fueled videos, and a sound that didn't fit into anything else in the rap.

So RIP Nate Dogg and RIP G-Funk Era.

Kentucky Derby Port-o-Potty Reminder

As the decadence and depravity descends on Derby City, let me issue a simple reminder to all who are attending or are thinking of attending this year—Remember to Breathe.

The Kentucky Derby Infield port-o-potty situation is worse than a Vietnam front line trench full of soldiers who've been involved in a month-long stand off. Think about it, where do you think they shit in the middle of a battle? Yeah, it wasn't in woods.

Mix poop, puke, urine with the mud that will be quicksanding patrons this year and you one disgusting soup.

Also you have these jackasses...

Don't get me wrong, I love the Derby and I think Port-o-Potty Racing is funny. It's one of the purest sports left on the planet, (yes, I know all the horses are on roids and not just any roids, horse steroids, the kind Barry Bonds injected). But at 34, my knees, nerves and mind can no longer put up with the puddles of fecal matter and frat boys that invade this annual event.

Which is a shame. Because who doesn't love paying $8 for a Coors Light and watching for an errant breast baring.

Frankly for $8, EVERY Coors Light should come with a nip slip. Strip joints don't even have the nerve to charge $8 for Colorado swamp water.

Anyway, if you're heading out, here are some tips for surviving the Kentucky Derby:

• Buy some boots. Sandals, flip flops and tennis shoes will fall victim to the mud pit that the infield will become. Seriously, you'll be standing in shit (figuratively and literally) for 2/3rds of the day and need to wear something that will defend you from fecal foot.
• Don't look down. Port-o-potties are the Devil's Playground. Chances are at some point, some sick fuck has tried to use a turd as lipstick or as a Sharpie. The less you know about what's going on below your line of sight, the better.
• Drink. Yes, you'll spend more cash than a fleet of executives on a Vegas business meeting, but it's essential to enjoying the fact that you'll only see a real horse once the entire day.
• Smuggling in liquor. It's a must and it's totally possible. I'm not giving away any secrets but let's just say, false bottom coolers are easier to make than you think. Get out the E-xacto.

And remember to breathe. Take one big gasp before you head into the Port-o-Potty and watch out for Port-o-Potty Racers.

Whoop Ass Wayne

Will somebody please call this number?  206-333-4004.

Some fool giving you trouble down at the Pic-N-Save?
Got a bully who keeps stealing your shoes?
Want a clown for your kids birthday party, but not just any clown, the kind of clown who can punch parents in the face when they come to pick up their kids?

Call Whoop Ass Wayne. 206-333-4004.

Seriously, will somebody call this number and tell me what Wayne has to say?

In other news. I'm not the only person to find Whoop Ass's graft.

Check out this...

It's from a blog called Philosophy From a Bathroom Wall.

Pretty good stuff. My favorite is this one...

This is actually sad, as the Marlins are one of the worst run organizations in Major League Baseball. At least hold out for Cubs World Series tickets—I know I would.

Here's the link to so more of PFABWs photos.