Happy New Year

Today is new years eve, and before I go out tonight and get my drink on with people I love and people I don’t know, I just wanted to wish everyone a safe and happy new year. See you all in ‘07.

Santa Writes Back!

Season’s greetings from your old friend Santa! My, oh, my, Johnny what a letter I received from you. Why, Jolly Old Saint Nick knows you haven’t been as good as you say you have, doesn’t he?

Now, don’t be shy. You know what Santa’s talking about. You just couldn’t wait to open your present this year, could you? Ho, ho, ho! Dear child, I saw you masturbating!

And it hasn’t been just once either! Oh, no! Santa’s seen you at least twice splashing away in the bathtub, three times in the attic with one of your mother’s old art-history books, and more times than even he can count spread out like a stunned partridge on that beanbag chair of yours!

Why, old Santa might just have a heart attack if he popped out your chimney on that cold winter’s night and, instead of milk and cookies, found his dear little pen pal shamefully hunched over the family computer.

Oh, what a naughty, prolific rascal you’ve been!

You see, dear lad, Santa’s been keeping a list. Just like the one you keep in your head of all your favorite classmates. The one you’ve checked so much more than twice. Except when Santa thinks about his list, he doesn’t rub his crotch feverishly against the smooth contours of his writing desk. Ho, ho, ho!

I see you when you’re sleeping, child, and I know when you’re awake. And, believe it or not, I even know when you’re just pretending to sleep, but really have your rosy palms down the front of your britches.

Yes, I suppose you could say old Kris Kringle knows everything there is to know. Well, not everything. You did teach me a thing or two about scented body wash! Ho, ho, ho!

Tell me now, what do you want Santa to bring you this year? A bright red bicycle? Some fun new board games? Or should I just have the elves wrap up a fresh batch of those satin pillows you enjoy straddling so much? Or maybe St. Nick shouldn’t bring you anything at all this Christmas. After all, Mrs. Claus knitted you a special pair of socks last year, and just look what became of those!

Oh, what ever happened to that sweet, freckle-faced angel we all loved so much? Such a bright little youngster, so good to your mommy and daddy, and quick to make friends. Now all you seem to want to do is play by yourself for hours on end. It makes everyone here at my workshop very, very sad. Why the reindeer haven’t been able to keep down their feed since hearing about how you slap yourself around. And Mrs. Claus, do you know what she did when she found out? She cried. She cried for the first time in almost 700 years.

Where before we enjoyed visions of gumdrops and candy canes, now we see you, once so dear to us all, kneeling against a plastic chair, spitting on two fingers, and putting them lordy knows where.

I must say, the sights you conjure up while you lie in your bed have even Santa Claus scratching his head. I doubt any of the high-school cheerleaders have ever even set foot inside a boiler room before, never mind done anything like that!

And other things—other terrible, frightful things. If your outlandish fantasies didn’t make me quake with disgust, I’d say you were the most creative child in the world.

Is it Clara? Is that who you think about when you rub yourself raw? Ho, ho, ho! Why she doesn’t even know your name, dear child! You didn’t really think you had a chance with her, did you? A pretty girl like that? But your face—it’s covered in pockmarks, for goodness sake!

Don’t cry now, little one. I’m sure some of the Barbie dolls you steal from your sister’s room find you very attractive. I bet they hardly even notice your embarrassing stutter, or that pungent and sickly body odor of yours. Or even how pathetic you really are, my child. What a sad, lonely, feeble little shit you are, and how your life—your wretched little life—will be filled with failure after failure, both personal and professional, until the stench of disappointment and heartbreak grows so strong that you’ll barely be able to breathe.

Well, it looks old Santa has to get back to work! Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night—except you, you sick little fuck!

- theonion

Have You Ever…

I decided that the first Have You Ever? did not go over well because no one comes to the site yet. But that won’t stop me from putting up another one. I did say I would do it bi-weekly, so here it is, the second installment of Have You Ever?

Have You Ever…been caught picking your nose?

I know I have, on more occasions than I would like to admit. Ninety percent of those embarrasing moments happened in the car. Which isn’t too bad considering you don’t know those people. That, and you just became a story to them that they will tell all day. Fifteen minutes of fame.

What’s your story? Leave em in the comments.

The First of Many

In the beginning, there was only one…the light bulb joke. It is THEE sterotypical joke, making it oh so easy to rag on any individual, population, religion or race. Its so amazingly easy to do. To serve this joke up well, you need to only fill in the blanks: How many (demographic group) does it take to screw in a light bulb? (add #). One to hold the light bulb (# minus the one) to behave in a way sterotypic to that group. For example, how many blondes does it take to screw in a light bulb? One - she holds the bulb and the world revolves around her. See, easy. Yet always so freaking hilarious. What light bulb jokes do you have? Leave em in the comments.

Letter to Santa

My sister just sent me this funny letter to Santa. Leave your thoughts. ENJOY.

Dear Santa,

You must be surprised that I’m writing to you today, the 26th of December. Well, I would very much like to clear up certain things that have occurred since the beginning of the month, when, filled with illusion, I wrote you my letter. I asked for a bicycle, an electric train set, a pair of roller blades, and a football uniform. I destroyed my brain studying the whole year. Not only was I first in my class, but I had the best grades in the whole school. I’m not going to lie to you, there was no one in my entire neighborhood that behaved better than me, with my parents,my brotheres, my friends, and with the neighbors. I would go on errands, and even help elderly cross the street. There was virtually nothing within reach that I would not do for humanity. What balls you have leaving me a fucking yoyo, a lame whistle and a pair of ugly socks. What the fuck were you thinking, you fat prick, that you’ve taken me for a sucker the whole fucking year to come out with some shit like this under the tree. As if you hadn’t fucked me enough, you gave that little queff across the street so many toys he can’t even walk into his house. Don’t let me see you trying to fit your big fat ass down my chimney next year, I’ll fuck you up. I’ll throw rocks at those stupid reindeer and scare them away so you’ll have to walk back to the fucking North Pole, just like what I have to do now since you didn’t get me that fucking bike. FUCK YOU SANTA. Next year you’ll find out how bad I can be, you FAT COCKSUCKER.

Sincerely,

Little Johnny

James Brown, the ‘Godfather of Soul’

Early Monday morning on Christmas 2006, the music world lost one of the greatest influences it has ever been fortunate enough to see. James Brown died at Atlanta’s Emory Crawford Long Hostpital of congestive heart failure due to pneumonia, saying “I’m going away tonight.” Brown was 73.

Brown - known vastly as “the Godfather of Soul,” “The Hardest Working Man in Show Business,” “Soul Brotha Number One,” and “Mr. Dynamite” - was known for his electric on stage presence and show stopping performances. His traditional show closing, drop to his knees and wail, is indelible.

Brown who worked the “chitlin circuit” in his early days with the Famous Flames (renamed the J.B.’s later), finally made the crossover from Gospel R&B to pop culture with his “Live at the Apollo” in 1963 (one of the greatest live albums ever recorded).

To this day J.B. has a resounding, deep, rich and linguring influence on music today. He set the blueprint for funk, disco and hip-hop. In an interview in 2003, Brown always confident and aware of his accomplishments said this, “Disco is James Brown, hip-hop is James Brown, rap is James Brown; you know what I’m saying? You hear all the rappers, 90 percent of their music is me.”

James Brown is and always will be the toughest act to follow.

May 3, 1933 - December 25, 2006
May you finally rest, and rest in peace.

Christmas 2006

So today is Monday, December 25, 2006. What a fucking day. I remember the days when I could barely sleep through the night, wait anxiously till 6am to wake up my little sister and then crash the parents room. That was then. Fastforward to present. Still waking up early, but for every reason that is not included in that wonderful memory of what xmas used to be to me. A bit sad about it to be honest, that I can’t get that back anymore. The closest I will get, and it will probably be better, is waiting till my daughter is old enough to have those same feelings about xmas. Right now she is still too little, but I shit you not, having kids around the holidays (even real little ones) is so damn tiring. And it doesn’t make it easy when your parents, and your fiance’s parents are divorced. What a neverending headache it turns out to be. Well, I shouldn’t say headache because everyone loves to see the baby, which is cute, but it is most certainly is tiring. I can’t wait till we get our own house and start our own traditions…everyone coming to our house to exchange gifts with the kids. But till then, I (we) will have to deal with all the running around. Ah the joys of parenthood.

Merry Christmas to all, and Happy New Year.

The Diaper Dude

It is known to many as the 007 of diaper bags. I just call it ‘The Bag’ because I’m cool like that. For dad’s it is a life changing buy. It gives us our independence, freedom, dad-dom. We no longer have to be stuck with the dreaded pink Coach bag around our shoulder. This bag is economical, stylish, big but not bulky while still leaving plenty of room for all your baby’s necessities. Truly a must have for all dad’s on the go. Its so damn awesome that even women are now looking to buy one for themselves.

Kind of rambled a bit about the diaper dude. Sounded a bit like a sales pitch. But if you have one, then you already know how cool you are.

Have You Ever…

This is something I want to try. I will basically, bi-weekly if I can, post a scenario that starts with Have You Ever…If you have, go ahead and share that experience with the rest of us. If you haven’t but know someone who has, then go ahead and share their experience with the rest of us.

OK, so here is the first Have You Ever.

Have You Ever…been caught masterbating?

I pose this question for one reason and one reason only. I caught an old man at my gym going to town on himself in the club’s whirlpool. What could be better than that you say? I was giving a tour of the club to a female interested in joining. I don’t think she saw, but still, I did and he knew it, and it was pretty fucking awkward.

So there is my story, I personally have never been caught, but I do have other stories of friends of mine, so if I have to take control of this first topic I will. Leave your stuff in the comments.

$280K Poem

This guy, some NY City businessman is such an asshole. He went out and bought one of 3 original copies of the poem, A Visit From St. Nicholas, all so he could read it to his friends at a christmas party he threw in his luxury Manhattan apartment. What a fucking prick. It must be nice to carelessly toss your fucking money around and buy some stupid fucking poem from the 1820s. Sure its old, and its forever apart of our holiday culture, but is there really a need to go rub your wealth in the face of us commoners just to read the shit to your friends? Go buy a hard copy at fucking Borders and be happy. Why am I so angry about this shit? Oh, I remember why…his guests ‘thought it was the coolest thing that was’. Pussies. And fuck Clement Clark Moore for writing the damn thing too. Read more here

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