Better to fog your spectacles than flog your testicles, amiright?

Eh, fuck you. It’s Friday and I have a brand new house to decorate. Catch you drips on the flip!

I’m a little teapot,

Short and stout.

Here is my handle,

Here is my spout.

When I get all steamed up

I will shout

That you’ll probably get gastroenteritis from non-pathogenic microbial bone-decay residue contaminating your tea, or possibly even contract cadaverine or putrescine from ingesting toxic doses of the substances.

…said the balloons that I was loudly popping in the face of your soundly sleeping newborn.

Add “tranquilizer” to the end of this thought and you’ve got my Saturday night.

Listen, you pretentious hippie posters, if I want to be judged I’ll go to church like a normal person. And by “church,” I obviously mean Judge Judy. She’s one tough cookie!

Just in time-ish for Valentine’s day, you can compare your love to… what, heartburn? Hemorrhoid discomfort? The burning itch of Herpes Simplex Vagina? If it’s anything dating me, I’d say that’s accurate. Just ask my boyfriend or my gynecologist. (They’re the same guy, by the way. My Uncle Carl.)

Do you feel voluminous, punk? Well, do ya?

Oh, that’s a genius idea, parents. Teach your dumb kids to draw on the bedding. Next thing you know they’ll be engaging in horseplay, thinking for themselves, or loosening their restraints long enough to dart into the living room, dial the maddeningly slow rotary phone you thought was “so retro!” and make a desperate plea to 911 before dashing back into the attic and pulling up the ladder just as they hear the sound of your keys crashing onto the tile floor as you, drunker and crazier than yesterday, yell and slur your demands for a gallon of whiskey and a vegan banana split before passing out face down on the futon bathed in the flickering glow of Nick At Night’s Perfect Strangers marathon. If that doesn’t sound fun, do yourself a favor and just go to Bed, Bath and Beyond like a normal person.

One night in the summer of 2006, I spent many hours drinking on a beach in Cannes, France with the guy who did the laughs for both Beavis and Butthead. The experience was incredibly odd, as he was totally normal in every way, but then I’d say something unbelievably witty – naturally – and a hybrid Beavis/Butthead laugh would come out. Also that night, I was asked on a date by a very sweaty dancing man with Alopecia, shortly before making out with a German guy with blonde dreadlocks.

And these, my friends, are some of the many reasons you should get into advertising: free 10-day trips to French Riviera, the meeting of D-minus-list celebrities, dance parties that resemble an episode of True Life, horrible champagne-goggle decision making of the Aryan-nation-cum-Reggaeton variety, and the audacity to start a blog solely for the sake of talking about these things. Also, these dudes are terrifying, no?

via that Bunghole, Alan McCoy

Coincidentally, Disposable Flask was my nickname in college.