Animals I Could Do Without: Pandas

These guys have the right idea.

Call me a grouch, but I’m really getting fed up with the public’s collective boner for pandas. It’s bad enough to see adults turn into five year old girls upon seeing a panda at the zoo, but I draw the line when pandas are starring in movies and taking jobs away from hardworking human actors.

I was minding my own business the other day, enjoying an episode of “Planet Earth”, when what should appear on the screen but the world’s most overrated animal, the giant panda. The pussy ass, freeloading giant panda. And this giant pussy was sitting there, gnawing on a stick of bamboo, with her stupid little retarded cub and a sorry expression on her face, as the voiceover spewed the usual media song and dance about the dwindling supply of bamboo and the endangerment of the species. The whole scene was enough to make me want to puke my last meal all over the forests of the Orient.

Pandas need to stop making excuses. You would think a panda, being giant and all, would have the requisite strength and combat skills to not only survive, but fulfill its duties as a bear and fuck some shit up. While the rest of the animal kingdom was carrying out business as usual – having tons of sex, pissing on things, eating babies and other smaller animals – this massive ball of pathetic was doing nature’s equivalent of watching Will & Grace reruns with a pint of Haagen Dazs, wondering why her husband is no longer faithful. No wonder they are on the verge of extinction.

I have been told more than once that my hatred for pandas is merely a product of my bias for the American grizzly. You see, for as long as I can remember, I have carried a strange premonition that some day I will have to fight a grizzly bear. Coincidentally, I have a similar premonition that I will die on the toilet, like Elvis. This leads me to two possible conclusions: either a) I will be mauled by a bear while taking a shit, or b) I will defeat the bear, only to be dropping a deuce and/or furiously masturbating at an advanced age, when I am suddenly gripped by a heart attack, or an exploding sphincter. I would tend toward option b), because I’ve always envisioned the battle happening in a public place. Like, I would be at a nice dinner with my family, and glance over my shoulder to see the grizzly a few tables over, thumbing through the wine list. We would toss the menus, exchange death glares, and have it out.

Here’s my point: you’re goddamn right I’m biased. Would a grizzly ever let itself become endangered? Would it sit there as its population shrinks and cry like a little bitch? Hell no. It would go kill something, and then find a female to fuck. Were a grizzly and a panda ever to face off, the grizzly would show him how we do things in America. He would rip off the panda’s head, tear out the bones, grind that shit up, start making that real money. Probably eat the little retarded panda baby too.

I won’t stand idly by and let this embarrassment of a species slowly pussify us all – it’s time for us to do the right thing and turn to violence. There is actually one panda to whom I will grant a reprieve – of course, I am talking about Sexual Harassment Panda.


But all the rest of them need to hurry up and die. Jesus, what a disgrace.

Characters I could do without: Stewie Griffin

Let’s face it: Family Guy hasn’t been the same since the South Park episode where it was suggested that the Family Guy writing staff consisted of manatees instead of single Jewish guys. Even before this episode, I took issue with Seth MacFarlane’s plagiarism of classic TV comedies. Obviously Peter Griffin is a fatter, more human-looking version of Homer Simpson. And I would be floored to find out that Meg isn’t directly based on Cliff Huxtable.

The first problem I have with Stewie is that he looks like the lead character from Hey Arnold without having smoked bongs for a half hour straight. He is arguably the most famous character of the show, although this title should clearly go to Asian Correspondent Tricia Takanawa.

Stewie started out as a talking baby who was obsessed with killing his mother. He somehow transformed into a homosexual with an inexplicable British accent. Also, the fact that some can understand what he says and others can’t frustrates me. When he does say something, he makes references so obscure that you need Wikipedia open just to identify which washed up celebrity is talking about.

What pisses me off about Stewie is that he is such a fucking pussy (Shocking. A fag from England?) Remember the episode when he runs into his adult self? Turns out that “Stu” is a 35 year old virgin who reads Parade Magazine. In this episode, Stewie attempts to cheer up Stu by playing the “glad game” where you list things that make you “glad.” First of all, what an enormously bisexual game. Who uses the word “glad”? Second of all, these are the things that Stewie lists: pinwheels, a big wedge of cake from the fair, a doo-dad to wear in your hat. All of those things are less exciting than a handjob from Mother Teresa.

In sum, take (yet) another note from the Simpsons: Maggie doesn’t talk. Babies usually don’t.

One Brass Band I Could Do Without: Ozark Mountains British Brass Band

Last one to penetrate a cousin is a rotten egg!

I typed OMBBB into Google to see if our blog would be listed. And it wasn't. BUT, here's the good news people- Google nailed OMBBB.741.com. For the few of you who are not familiar this is the website of the Ozark Mountain British Brass Band. Finally a hit band to come out of Northwest Arkansas. You were due! Anyways, to the band: I would like to be the first to extend a giant FUCK YOU from our team to yours. Your website looks like it was made by a fucking 4th grader. You're making us both look real shitty. I don't care if you are "the only organized British brass band in a 4 state area," I heard your holiday concert on December 5th sucked balls. You know why you are the only British brass band in 4 states? Because its not normal, that's why. Why can't you just watch Nascar, drink bud heavy, fire your guns off in the air, and talk about how Jews are ruining the economy like the rest of the Arkansas hicks? You have to run around organizing British brass bands and ruining perfectly good acronyms? Fuck you guys.

On a serious note, if you have a minute you should really check out the website. You even have the ability to e-mail the band members! For us groupies, or as we call ourselves-OMBBBoopies, this can be a real treat. For example, I got the opportunity to reach out, via email, to my all time favorite Flugelhorn player: Drew Morris. Best day everrrrrrr.

People I could do without: Virgins

At every party you go to, there's one person who stands out like a sore thumb. You can tell right away who it is. It's that person who's clearly not having as much fun as he or she could be. They drink from their cups with timid, insecure sips. They tuck themselves away in the shadows, seemingly safe from their fellow revelers' judgmental gazes. They crack jokes that are neither funny nor offensive. They tell boring, bland stories that leave a bitter, metallic taste in the mouths of everyone who has the misfortune of being within hearing range. No, I'm not talking about foreigners and no I'm not talking about hipsters. And no I'm not even talking about foreign hipsters. The pariahs I speak of are the scourge of the world...virgins.

Before I elaborate on my unwavering disdain for virgins, let me first say that the virgins of which I speak are not those that simply have yet to find their way into the welcoming bosom of the opposite sex. That's understandable, because in these days of economic and political turmoil, getting a quick bang session together is tougher than a windowless van full of fresh-off-the-boat Albanians. I'm no Casanova or anything, but I'll be goddamned if I don't at least try to get lucky as often and in as demented a way as possible. As long as you try to make it happen, or at the very least, want it to happen, you're all right with me. The virgins I refer to are those that actively seek to preserve their sexual purity and along the way, make sure that every single soul within a 5 mile radius knows that their nether-regions are off limits. They wear brightly colored wristbands and charming t-shirts with such witticisms as "Cele-bate Good Times" written proudly across the front. All the while, they just pray that passerbys will ask them what their agenda is, so they can launch into another one of their long-winded diatribes about the discipline and will-power it takes to abstain, as well as the fruitful bounty that awaits them on their wedding night. What these dunces fail to realize is that by having waited 30 some odd years to finally knock boots, they'll be as skilled in the sack as Mike Damone, but not nearly as cool. The end result will be hours of crying and self-doubt, on what should be the most important day of your life. This will have a significant effect on your marriage, as your partner will look at you like a complete failure. As the marriage further deteriorates, your partner will begin sleeping with the mailman, the pizza delivery boy, and everyone else she can get her hands on. This will leave you a timid and broken man, causing your children to walk all over you and steal money from your wallet to pay for tickets to Hoobastank concerts. Your office productivity will slip and you'll be fired and replaced (ideally by the guy who's been diddling your wife. It's my fantasy, play along.) With no job and no prospects, you'll quickly be slapped with divorce papers, abandoned by your children, and become the joke of the entire town. Well played, virgin. I hope it was all worth it.

"(sobbing) Is this what I saved myself for?"

To make matters even worse, the negative impact of virgins on our ecosystem is further amplified by the tendency of a good number of people, particularly men, to try to "take someone's V-card." When you ask these suckers why on Earth they would put in the time and effort necessary to topple some stupid virgin's wall of chastity, the inevitable response is, "Well, it's the challenge, dude." Oh, it's the fucking challenge, is it? If it's a challenge you want, pick up the violin. You won't have to tell it you love it before it lets you play. Or try learning Russian. I can guarantee that you won't have to take your textbook on dozens of expensive dates or let it cry on your shoulder before it gives up the goods. Deflowering virgins isn't some Holy Grail. The fucking HOLY GRAIL is the Holy Grail! I can picture some smug asshole in an Argyle sweater and a scarf pretentiously draped over his shoulders reading this and saying, "Well, Mary Magdalene was actually the Holy Grail," and then fondling himself as he thinks about how smart and well-read he is. Before you de-pants, remember that Mary Magdalene was a prostitute. So, if your line of thinking is that the Holy Grail wasn't just a chalice, then it was actually a total whore. That's fine with me. But by putting forth the effort it takes to deflower some broad, all you've succeeded in doing is perpetuating the ridiculous notion that it's worthwhile for women to remain celibate. The long-term consequences of this trend are dire. Some social science theorists predict that as more people abstain, society will devolve into an anarchic, post-apocalyptic type state, in which blood-thirsty, brain-eating virgins will roam the barren wastelands, looking for remaining members of the Resistance to bite, infect with their virgin toxins, and subsequently convert to celibacy.

A band of virgin marauders advancing on innocent civilians.

Approximately every 7.3 seconds, a young man or woman decides to abstain from sex. The future looks bleak, friends, but there a few of us out there that will refuse to become indoctrinated into the celibacy agenda. Know this, virgins. We shall go on to the end. We shall fight you on the seas and oceans. We shall fight you on the beaches. We shall fight you on the landing grounds. We shall fight you on the fields and in the streets. We shall fight you in the hills. We shall never surrender. Viva La Resistance.

Criss Angel: Kill yourself

According to Wikipedia, Criss Angel is the star and creator of the A&E Network show Criss Angel Mindfreak. If you are like me, however, you know him as the dude who seemingly parks his meat in anything he wants. Recently, this douche-of-the-decade candidate has been delving into the pastrami curtains of Holly Madison, better known as Hugh Hefner’s ex. Other stallions in his stable of exes are Britney Spears, Pam Anderson, Cameron Diaz, Paris Hilton, Miss Nevada, and all types of other whores. Ok, so that list would be more impressive if this were 2001, but still, you get the point.

Did I mention he is a magician? I guess there isn’t much else out there for the popular “Hot chicks that are into magicians” fetish. Exhibit A. Exhibit B. Now, I’m not saying that magicians don’t have sex appeal, because that would be a lie. But, Criss Angel? Really? It would be hard to find a bigger douche in a Hollister. On Long Island.

Not surprisingly, Criss Angel is actually from Long Island. Second, he dresses like, I don’t even know. A vampire? Not scary enough. A biker? A goth? Also, I guarantee there is something weird going on with his cock. I can see him having a Prince Albert or maybe some kind of chain that is woven through his sack.

What happened to magicians pulling rabbits out of hats? Did I miss the meeting where society collectively came together and decided that we wanted our magicians to be suicidal maniacs that constantly put their lives in danger for our amusement? I won’t haze you by putting the youtube clips of him doing his “tricks,” but here is a short list of the stunts he has pulled: walking on water, levitating, floating between two buildings, causing a Lamborghini to disappear, surviving in an exploding C4 Crate, cutting himself in half in full view of an audience and getting run over by a steamroller while lying stomach down on a bed of glass.

I think I have found the cure for my current state of unemployment. Get a job as Criss’ assistant and make sure I “forget” to unlock the hatch so he can escape. That, or stab him in the skull.

One Ad Series I Could Do Without: Wendy's THREEconomics

Let me start by saying I don't have a fucking clue what a company does when it wants to run a new ad. I think that maybe they hire an ad agency? And then they make the ad? Or the agency does? Either way, I have been watching a lot of television recently and I am certain of a few things. Someone important at Wendy's is either retarded, or was asleep at a meeting when the most recent series of ads got the green light. We all know what I am talking about here, THREEconomics.

If you haven't seen the ads, consider yourself fortunate. I don't feel like describing them and to be honest, I searched the internet for half an hour earlier but I couldn't find one. How is that possible? A girl named Wendy has her wedding video on youtube, but I cant find one of the 5 commercials that each air 43 times a day? Its almost like they knew someone would write a blog about how bad their commericals are and didn't want to provide a link. Damage control. A tip of the cap, Wendy's

Anyways, how can a company spend millions of dollars on a group of commercials which are so incredibly annoying? Did they test market them? To people who spoke english? They have an Asian guy in them, with a bowl cut, and they still aren't funny. Asian guy with a bowl cut? You cant miss there. Just show him, no words- and then cut to the Wendy's logo. I would be dying. I want to laugh at the commericals anyways but the incessantly annoying dialogue keeps getting in the way.


I seriously wonder what marketing mastermind put these commercials together. Maybe the "priceless" guy? Maybe the Nike Swoosh and "Just do it." guy? Or was it, perhaps, this lady...

Wendy's, for christ sake, cut your losses. Move on and chalk it up in the 'L' column right under: 'didnt think of monopoly first,' and 'woman finds human finger in chilli.'

Strike Him with Lightning: Pope Tim Tebow

If you are reading this and are a fan of the Florida Gators: congratulations on literacy. You are a part of a proud few. Now, why don’t you go over to the Tim Tebow photo above your dining room table while we talk about… uh, rap music. We’ll get you when we’re done.

It’s easy to hate an athlete because of their on-field success. It’s even easier to hate them when they are a complete douche off the field. Above all, though, haters line up to cast judgment on a player when he acts like the dead skin between his toes tastes like Fun Dip. Tim Tebow falls into the last category.

Academic achievement

I’m always skeptical when a big-time college athlete is a member of an all-Academic team. Without even looking, I can predict that the majority of the scholars on these lists have majors such as Communications, Exercise Sciences, or Agricultural Journalism (I’ve actually seen that one). But Tim Tebow takes the prize with his major: “Family, Youth and Community Sciences.” What a fucking joke. This cupcake major makes “Peace and Conflict Studies” sound like rocket science. Commentators are quick to point out that Lord Tebow has a 3.77 GPA but if you ask me, its embarrassing to have that low of a GPA considering required courses range from “Contemporary Youth Problems and Solutions” to “Fund Raising for Community Nonprofit Organizations” I’m beginning to question whether or not they even make textbooks for courses like these.

Also, Tebow was homeschooled. I wonder if he managed a 4.0 from Teacher Mommy.

Holier than Thou

Tebow’s “academic” achievement is just one of the reasons that the sports media holds Timmy boy on a golden pedestal above the rest of the nation’s youth. Everyone that has turned on ESPN in the past few months must be well acquainted with Teblow's extensive volunteer work. Tebow’s parents are devout nutjobs -i mean- missionaries; Timmy was even born in the Philippines. (looks like a normal family) Every summer, Tim heads back to Southeast Asia to pose for pictures with orphans, preach to adoring, hungry crowds, and… fondle the nutsacks of young Asian boys?? Yes, Sir Tebow even helps cut the foreskin off little children:

"The first time, it was nerve-racking," Tebow said. "Hands were shaking a little bit. I mean, I'm cutting somebody. You can't do those kinds of things in the United States. But those people really needed the surgeries. We needed to help them."

What the fuck? Why hasn’t anyone brought up the fact that Timmy has an interest in tiny johnsons? And why are we letting a college student with no medical training touch the reproductive organs of children? Wait, he has a 3.77 GPA? Carry on, then.

A little while ago, a photo surfaced which claims to be the girlfriend of Tebow. Rumor has it he is attracted to her … passion for Christ.

I could do without Tim Tebow thanking his “Lord and Savior Jesus Christ” after receiving award after award. But the national media has anointed him as OUR savior. Take the national championship game. The announcers on Fox described Tebow as Gandhi-esque: “It’s such a cynical, sarcastic society… often times looking for the negative on anybody or anything. If you are fortunate enough to spend five minutes or twenty minutes around Tim Tebow, your life is better for it”

Ironically, while this circle jerk was taking place, Tebow went ahead and got a 15-yard unsportsmanlike conduct penalty by, of all things, taunting while his team was ahead 10 points with just two minutes to go. After a first down, Tebow was seen giving the ultra-douchey “Gator chomp” into the face of an Oklahoma defender. Instead of condemning the behavior, the commentators called his act “maybe the first thing he has done wrong in his life” while laughing it off. Even when replay was shown on the act, the commentators defended it, saying that "he was backing away, which is good." If this had been a player seen as a thug, I assume that these commentators wouldn’t have been as nice. But, as usual, Tebow can do no wrong.

Things I could do without: Umbrellas

Mary Poppins: Now this bitch knew how to put an umbrella to good use

That's right, umbrellas. Oh, I know what you're thinking. "What?! Umbrellas?! But they protect you from the rain!" Shut the fuck up. What are you, afraid of water? Fucking pussy. I only know of two things that are afraid of water: cats, and the aliens from "Signs". And last time I checked, people don't piss in litter boxes, and our skin doesn't melt when Joaquin Phoenix hits a glass of water at us with a baseball bat.

I live and work in New York City, a city so connected by public transportation that the most anyone ever has to walk is about four blocks. And yet, every single time so much as a drop of rain falls from the sky, you'd think it was pouring napalm. Suddenly, walking down a crowded street turns into walking down a three-times-as-crowded street with thousands of metal wires coming at you at eye-level. While all these selfish umbrella-bearing bastards saunter down the street, completely unaware of their new spatial occupancy, I'm busy trying to find my way through them and not go blind in the process.

Now some might say, "But what if it's absolutely pouring and you need to walk far to get to wherever you're going?" But seriously, how often does that happen? Everyone knows that Americans are far too fat and lazy to walk places anymore. And even if that does happen, you're gonna get fuckin soaked anyway, so you might as well save yourself the trouble of carrying an umbrella. How bout wearing a hat? Or a raincoat with a hood? You ever think of that? Of course you didn't, because it has been ingrained in your mind that every time it rains, you better not forget your umbrella. God have mercy on your soul if you forget that umbrella.

Wisen up, people. Umbrellas were invented before the luxury of modern transportation. Back then, they were a pretty cool idea. Now, they're fucking stupid. Stop using them.

People I could do without: Apple store employees

General rule of thumb: any store that refers to the section where salespeople stand as the “Genius Bar” better have some fucking smart people working behind there. Like Stephen Hawking. Or Bill Gates. Not Seth, a Jewish, upper-middle class philosophy major who drives a Honda. (side note: I would bet Plummer’s first child that the douche in this picture is named Seth. Or Eli.) Look at Best Buy and their “Geek Squad” department. Now this is the dude I want working on my computer:

Listen, Apple store employees, you think you are Allah’s gift to consumers because you know how to work an iPod? Look around. That’s an Orange Julius across from you. You work in a fucking mall. Stop treating me like I don’t know how to use the Internet. These people are so utterly condescending that it makes me wish the iPod was never invented. That’s right, I’d gladly have a Zune if it meant I didn’t have to go into your store anymore.

One thing I hate is salespeople coming up to you in a store when you don’t want them to. It’s even worse in the Apple store, because there are 59 goddamn employees working at a given time. Whenever I’ve been in there I just want to turn and say “Listen, Thom, to be honest, I’m just really stoned and want to play with shit.” Apple store people, and MacNation as a whole, act as if you are breathing less potent air if you don’t have a Mac (“they don’t get viruses, you know”) and if you recently make the switch, they act like you have just recently began to see in color instead of black and white.

Also, how can you have the dude who played a cheerleader in Dodgeball as your spokesman? What a pussy. The PC guy from those commercials was in porn in the 80’s. Look it up.

This guy fucking SUUUUUCKS: Kanye West

First off, let me say this is going to be a difficult post to write. Back in 2003/2004 no one was riding the College Dropout band wagon harder than me. In fact, I even journeyed to Utica, NY for a Kanye Concert. Thats right people, Utica. Anyone who knows anything about the city of Utica can attest that nothing short of a blow job from 1998 Carmen Electra would make the city worth visiting. I am getting off topic. To the point.

So there are a few things that are bothering me with Kanye after listening to his newest album: 808s & Heartbreak. First and foremost: What the fuck am I listening to? It is not rap. I really have no clue what it is. Is it...singing?... singing and techno? Just techno? Is Sean Kingston singing in the background while a monkey fucks a record player? I don’t get it. I think that if Musiq Soulchild, Beck, La Bouche, and Sarah Palin's retarded daughter were to collaborate it would sound a lot like Kanye West in 808s & Heartbreak.

Secondly, and more importantly: the content. Apparently Kanye’s girlfriend or wife broke up with him or something?!? BAHAHAHA... Who gives a shit? But seriously, he dealt with the situation like we all would… by writing, recording, producing, and releasing 12 tracks of unadulterated pathetic misery. But don’t worry folks, he isn’t selfish- he was nice enough to be equally pitiful as a guest on Young Jeezy’s Put On (which I still think is the best song of 2008, even with Kanye’s abortion of a performance). Listen Kayne, I am no therapist, but the last time I got broken up with (which was when I was in 7th Grade) this is what I did to get over it: AIM the shit out of every bitch on my buddy list, drink a shit load of Mountain Dew, and stay up real late playing Twisted Metal 2. This is what I didn’t do: run around whining like a bitch and ruin perfectly good Young Jeezy tracks. You might want to try my way next time, because god dammit, America’s getting real sick of your bitching.