Blog Archives

Amnesia Lane: Halloween Pumpkin Carving: Gateway to Mass Murder

Yeah, it’s almost December and we’re just now putting this into the AMNESIA LANE chute.  Don’t care.  READ IT!  Who wouldn’t want to read about Roode’s pumpkin carving inadequacies?

I Hate Glee. What Are You Going to Do About It?

By Roode–

If you’re a regular or semi-regular reader of mine, you’ll know that I have a profound dislike for most everything.  Don’t get me wrong, there are plenty of things I like.

OK, so this pretty much encompasses all my “likes.”

Perhaps, television is both my favourite and most hated of life’s little staples.  It’s a harsh mistress; dressing up for you all pretty like one moment, then pissing all over you the next.  God knows I hate television networks.  These wonder-tards are responsible for some of the worst decisions in entertainment history.  Fuck it.  I’m talking about FOX.  FOX has been anally raping its viewership since the dawn of Married:  With Children. Let’s check the score:

  1.  Arrested DevelopmentCANCELLED
  2. Terminator- The Sarah Connor ChroniclesCANCELLED
  3. Lie to MeCANCELLED
  4. FuturamaCANCELLED
  5. Family GuyCANCELLED
  6. DollhouseCANCELLED
  7. FireflyCANCELLED

Then, there are the shows that FOX execs gave a collective, “fuck it” and greenlit baffling shit like:

  1.  Who’s Your Daddy:  Fatherless child + paternity tests + slut mother + a group of guys who couldn’t keep it in their pants + TV audience + cash reward = eventual suicide
  2. Married by America:  The viewing audience could now get involved with helping young couples fuck up their futures
  3. The Littlest  Groom:  He’s a midget!  Get it?  [It actually pained me to type “littlest”]
  4. Babes:  Fat chicks.  That’s it.  There’s nothing else.
  5. House of BugginJohn Leguizamo’s latest tragically unfunny attempt at replacing “In Living Color

Even more ball-smashingly painful are the shows FOX, not only keeps on the air, but seem to have an L. Ron Hubbard type following.  Again, let’s go to the board:

  1. American Idol:  Definition of beating a dead horse and making it sing.
  2. X Factor:  What they’re calling “American Idol,” but with Simon Cowell and Pepsi.
  3. House:  Look, he’s a cranky ass, drug addicted, pompous, douchebag doctor.  We get it.
  4. Are You Smarter Than a 5th Grader:  Short answer:  No
  5. Glee:  Fucking Glee

Although I can shake my fist and send human waste to FOX for the first two lists, there is no one to blame but the American people for the last.  What the fuck is wrong with society?  “But, Roode,” some of you are no doubt saying to your monitors like I give two shits, “if you don’t like these shows, don’t watch them.”  If you’re one of the people who just said that, punch yourself in the kidneys as hard as you can.  I’ll wait.

Or, have Batman do it.

The excruciatingly painful root canal of a problem is that these entertainment equivalents to eyeball AIDS don’t just stay on TV.  They’re everywhere.  They spill over into every other aspect of life:  water cooler chat, trite morning show coverage, bullshit marketing shenanigans, and a host of other methods designed to shove this camel piss down your throat.  For fuck’s sake, you half expect the doctor to give you a rectal exam with an official “GLEE” probe.

“Collect them all!”

Glee. Fucking Glee.  Outside of “reality” shows, Glee has to be the prickliest cactus that has ever been shoved up my ass [figuratively, sickos].  It combines all the things I hate in life:  singing, high school drama bullshit, singing about high school drama bullshit, hair styles from the 80’s, poser-hipster-geekdom, a Barbara Streisand wannabe, and all the douchebaggery contained therein.

And this goofy fuckstick.

Impossibly aggravating twirling paraplegic aside, I’m completely baffled as to how in the fuck this show became the runaway success it is.  I guess it has all the ingredients of an asinine network TV show popular with the toothless public:

Unrealistically pretty high school “teenagers” + mismatched couples + painfully dubbed singing + forced and contrived gay character(s)

=

RATINGS GOLD

Alright, maybe most of that is superficial for a list of reasons why I hate this show more than a punch to the yam bag.  But, it’s a goddamn TV show.  What else do I need?  It’s television cancer!  The background music, itself, is enough to drive one into a murderous rage.

I tried to watch the show once [read:  woke up on the couch while wife was watching it].  I timed myself.  It was exactly one minute until I was filled with homicidal rage.  It’s like fingers on a chalkboard.  It’s not any ONE thing.  It’s EVERYTHING.  Individually, I’m pretty sure I could stomach each vomit inducing annoyance for an hour-long show.  I hate singing in a television show, but I managed to put up with episodes of The Simpsons that shoe-horned musical sketches into the show.  High school drama on TV makes me want to set fire to an orphanage, but I was able to sit through Veronica Mars.

Kristen Bell might have had something to do with that, though.

But, all those little annoyances in concert is like being hit with a bag of oranges.  It’s a constant left-hook, right-hook combination.  It’s one of the few situations when running headlong into a wall is the better of two evils.  Take the hits too long and you’ll end up like Sylvester Stallone in Rocky V.  No, not the Rocky character.  I really mean Sylvester Stallone.

Poor bastard couldn’t tie his own shoes with help from Mr. T.

Glee has become oh so fashionable!  Why, everyone who’s ANYONE wants to have their songs shit on, ham-fisted into a “plot” then have the very essence changed to discuss the problems of kids in wheelchairs not being able to get enough blond poontang.

Look, I just really fucking hate this kid.

Ah, that’s what FOX wants you to think.  Every now and then an artist is able to withstand the evil and money to protect his work from being shat out the prime time sphincter.  Who?  Who dared defy the FOX gods and deny them their power and inefficient hybrids?

Dave MOTHER FUCKING Grohl!

Back in March of 2011, Dave declined to give the rights to his song, “Everlong.”  [Read:  Go fuck yourselves]  Grohl feels that musicians shouldn’t feel pressured to bow down to Glee’s awesomeness and beg to give them any song out of their catalogue the studio wants.  Check this:

“It’s every band’s right, you shouldn’t have to do fucking Glee,” Grohl, 42, told The Hollywood Reporter. “Dude, maybe not everyone loves Glee. Me included. I watched 10 minutes and it wasn’t my thing. “

Translation:  Fuck you, Ryan Murphy, creator of Glee.  Your shit absolutely DOES stink.  Not only that, but we can see what you ate for lunch.

“Someone’s not eating enough roughage.”

But, I suppose Dave Grohl’s story isn’t indicative of the norm.  Well, that would be true if Slash and Kings of Leon didn’t do the same damn thing and FLAT OUT REFUSED to let their music be a part of that bile gargling sing-com.  I can only hope this becomes some sort of movement within the music industry that has musicians actually KNOW what their songs are being used for when they accept a fat check. Just say NO, Alice in Chains.  JUST SAY NO!

Do these fuckers look like they WANT to have “Check My Brain” or “Man in a Box” used to sell toilet scrubbers, let alone be butchered on Glee? Layne Staley would come back from the grave and kick EVERYONE’S ass!

The ONLY redeemable decision this holocaust of a show ever made was just chance.  Heather Morris was hired, originally, to work out the coreography for the mind numbing dance scenes.  She worked with Beyoncé and knew a thing or two about choreography.  It was her job to teach the cast of mouth breathers how to dance well enough for prime time television.  I guess she did pretty well, because they ended up hiring her to play Brittany Pierce in a recurring role. In the second season she was made a full cast member.  I wish I understood why.

·

Oh, yeah.  I see why.  Excellent job!

Sincerely,

Roode

Standard Hell’s Kitchen Personalities We Get Every Season

By, Tresckow—

As we’ve pointed out before, Hell’s Kitchen has become, to us, a necessary evil.  I stated watching since season 4.  I don’t remember why.  Some combination of being drunk, bored, and…  well, that’s really it.

Whatever the case, I was drawn in.  Maybe, it’s because I enjoy seeing dumbasses getting their chocolate chutes stuffed with Gordon Ramsey‘s shoe.  Maybe, it’s because of the occasional cute female contestant.

One thing I’ve noticed, over the seasons, is that there are a few enduring contestant personality types.  No matter how many seasons the show has aired, these fuckers don’t learn.  It’s like they go on the show without ever have actually seeing it.  I’m not even sure how that shit is possible.  Doesn’t it make sense to do a little research on the company that’s about to interview you?  You want to know everything there is to know; especially who their ideal candidate is.  Above all, you don’t want to make the same mistakes previous applicants have made.  But, fuck that.  If you’re going to crash and burn, do it Hindenburg style.

The Over Confident Douche

Example: Keith from Season 2

Confidence is important in many avenues of life.  It shows that you know what you’re doing and, at least, have half of your shit under control.  However, when you don’t have any of your shit under control, it’s down right ridiculous.  If you consistently and constantly fuck up there is no reason to be full of yourself.  OK, I’ll concede that (most of) the chefs wouldn’t be on the show if they at least didn’t know their ass from a stock pot.  Even so, their ass-chappingly outrageous hubris smothers their talents like a fat man on a scooter.

Note: There are millions of photos titled “Fat Man on a Scooter.” All of them are terrifying.

One second they’re on the “confessional” cam talking up their mad skills and referring to themselves with bat-shit retarded nicknames (See: K-Greese from season 2 above).  Sure, they have the world by the balls, until it’s go time.  Then see how fast they go from “I can rock this shit!” to crying in the fetal position.

The Pretentious Asshat

Example: Benjamin from Season 7

Over confidence is one thing.  Being an outright fuck-tastic asshole about your skills is another.  Fine, you’re a good chef.  Maybe you’re even one of the best ones in the contestant pool.  Stop being a condescending bastard about it.  Take the chuckle head above, Benjamin from season 7.  This guy ended up with a god complex Bill Gates would envy.  When not belittling the skills and ideas of others, the little turd actually tried to usurp control from sous chef, Scott.  That’s sort of like making a grab for R. Lee Ermy’s bullhorn.

That’s not CGI. There really is fire everywhere Scott goes.

The other thing that irked the piss out of me was his incessant use of the word, “Oui.”  Fucking say YES like every other human being in LA!  That, alone, justifies a colonoscopy with a rusty pipe.

The Clueless Wonder

Example: Bonnie Season 2

As good old Bonnie from season 2 shows us, Hell’s Kitchen is chocked full of clueless dipshits.  They wander around from station to station in the kitchen with a perpetual “Huh?” look stamped to their faces.  These people can’t tell time, remember what they’re cooking, and consistently confuse Chef Ramsey with someone who gives an ape shit.

Think back to high school (assuming you graduated/attended).  If you’ve ever taken a science class with a lab assignment there’s a good chance you were saddled with a clusterfuck partner with a perma-duh expression.  Maybe YOU were that kid.  Hey, I’m not judging here.  In any case, these dopes are less than dead weight.  In the event of a nuclear attack, we can cram ourselves into their thick skulls to stave off radiation.

Oh, and there is NO way I’m not mentioning the waste of precious oxygen and space,  Lacey from season 5.  The pant load shuffled from station to station, hoping no one would notice that everything she did turned into a steaming pile of suck.

Not a thought in her head.

The Delusional Dipshit

This dillhole refuses to accept reality.  No matter how many times they get a verbal beatdown or a vocal raping, they honestly believe that Chef Ramsey wouldn’t have done so if he didn’t “see potential.”  OK, so you set fire to the kitchen, accidentally ground Ramsey’s dog into pate, and took a dump on the fish station.  You’re only getting yelled at, because he BELIEVES IN YOU!

Pictured: Tough love.

“Chef Ramsey wouldn’t take the time to read me the riot act, call me a donkey, then throw my raw fish in the air where he proceeded to shoot it like a clay duck with a .45 pistol he conveniently on him, because I’m a walking fuck nut.  I KNOW he see something in me.  He wouldn’t have shot my raw fish if he didn’t care.”

While we’re at it, let’s kick over a few corpses and look at each season’s clusterfuck who has destroyed everything he’s touched.  I’m talking; everything was raw, except for the things that were SUPPOSED to be.  He sneaks undercooked meat into the microwave with fingers crossed to fool the chefs into thinking it came out of the oven that way.  Oh, my personal favorite, absolutely knowing what he’s doing is wrong but attempts to make some sort of Vegas casino Harry Blackstone shit to slide his monstrosity across the hot plate.   Then, during their confessional sessions, they tell the audience how he rocked the service or challenge.  He’s going to be the winner hands down!  Christ, people!  You fuckers as supposed to be chefs.  The third time you bring a piece of meat to the hot plate, still cold and horrifyingly under cooked you need to get the fuck out of Hell’s Kitchen and never walk into any kitchen again.  March straight to a doctor and get tested for autism or cholera or something.  There has to be a physical reason for that much stupid.

The Saboteur

Example: Sara season 2 giving us hand gesture colloquially know as the “Mister Burns.”

This fucker is a combination of the delusional dipshit and pretentious asshat.  On one hand, he knows he’s a cooking abortionist.  On the other, their ego won’t allow them to admit it.  So, in order to succeed, this slap happy fart knocker has to throw a monkey wrench or two into the works.

No, not this kind of “Sabotage.”

This joker has thrown so many people under the bus he might as well be charged with serial homicide.  It’s not just that he Bill Clintons his way around the rules, it’s that this sick bastard actually gloats about it on camera.  Hey, numb nuts, you think you’re super cleaver, right?  Has it ever occurred to you that Chef Ramsey could be watching the dailies of the show recording?

The Near Dead

Examples: Larry, Season 2 who didn’t make it past the first episode Tom, Season 2 and his ceaseless case of what we can only call “The Sweats,” and Robert from seasons 5 and 6. I mean just look at the guy.

For the love of all that is holy, if your ass can’t walk up a flight of stairs without needing to camp out midway and finish the trip the next day DON’T FUCKING WORK ON A REALITY SHOW!  Hell’s Kitchen has been a sad parade of the morbidly obese, infirmed, and plaque ridden.  Many a season has had a contestant that needed to go to the emergency room for some sort of debilitating issue.  Robert had to drop out of the finals in season 5, because he was two steps away from a full on heart explosion.  In season 6, this portly summabitch almost passed out when peddling some sort of bicycle contraption.  Season 2’s Larry didn’t even make it to the first dinner service before his ass was bounced to the hospital.

Antonia Boregman from season 8 just flat out disappeared.

Don’t get me started on Tom from season 5.  This hapless turd had to have come from 15th century England, because he had a constant and inexplicable case of sweating sickness.  Let’s just say he put a little bit of himself in every meal.

Yum.

*Side note: Being sweaty is perfectly forgivable in certain cases.

Photo courtesy of Ren.

The Sexist

Jason- Season 4

This sexless wonder-tard unleashes a never-ending barrage of sexist comments, but doesn’t understand why women think he’s a pig.   Take Jason up there from season 4; this whiny, snail-like, Humpty Dumpty motherfucker had enough problems cooking Spam and not shitting on the floor.  The sexism is really the only quality the series could showcase.  Take a look for yourself to see this train wreck of a ball sack at the 1:55 mark.

In an effort not to be a one hit wonder, Tom from season 5 joined the “I hate bitches” train.  Sweaty got all pissy when he was chosen to be on Virginia’s team in the finale.  But, what did he care?  That handsome son-of-a-gun could get any woman he wanted.

Oh, yeah. The whole fugly thing.

The Psycho

Joseph; retired Marine and all over batshit crazy contestant from season 6.

Finally, we’re at the most entertaining, albeit banana sandwich nuts, Hell’s Kitchen personality.  Whether this window licker is talking to the voices in his head, getting into a karate fight with imaginary friends, or just plain losing his shit one thing is clear–  they’re all making sandwiches without bread.

Let’s take Matt from Season 4.  There were more than a few times when it was completely conceivable this fucker could have gone completely ballistic and wore someone’s pancreas as a hat.

“BRAINS!”

In, not surprisingly, his last appearance as a contestant, this simple bastard started what can only be described as a nuclear grade meltdown.  Check the video, below.  At the 3:07 mark he starts  smacking himself on the head and whimpering.  Not crazy enough?  At 3:39 he makes an oh so subtle death threat to Christina.  NO?  You fuckers want blood.  Alright, how about at 3:05 mark where he can be seen going through a range of pants-shitting emotions, all of them insane?

Then, there’s Raj from the current season (8).  It became quite evident after his third karate fight with the refrigerator that he was destined for the laughing academy.

There are just no words.

But, the elite of the giggling shit-flingers is most definitely Joseph from season 7.  This chuckle head went through too many obstacle courses without a helmet.  Not only does he seem completely incapable of answering a question without going completely John Rambo, he decides that this whole Hell’s Kitchen thing is bullshit.  It’s time for motherfuckers to throw down!

Hey, I’m all about throwing a dash of UFC into Hell’s Kitchen.  That’s appointment TV!  But, Joey comes off as a slightly retarded steroid popper.  This whole scene was so goofy-stupid, yet enthralling.  I’m still not sure it wasn’t completely rigged.

As long as this damn show is on, I’ll watch.  It’s a long spiral to hell.  I don’t want to watch it.  I’m an educated man.  I know better.  But, it’s like a traffic accident on the interstate; no matter how gruesome it is, I simply cannot look away.

We’re ALL to blame.

Mailbag: Roode Pretends to Care About Reader Mail

By Roode

Damn it! Why the fuck do we have to acknowledge that there are people reading this shit? When I was brought on board, it was explicitly promised that no one was reading this wblog (no, that’s not a typo). Tresckow is calling FWTC a “wblog“. You know; website + blog = bullshit buzz word.

Ohhhhh hold on! Here comes another FRESH wblog!! With pieces of grass?

 

Ren, Adel, and I went in circles to see who was going to address this round of reader mail. Tresckow is out of the running, since he put on his big boy undies last year and waged war with your email. So, I guess this is the point when ‘ol Roode gets all behind the scenes and answers each one of your letters to show you the inner workings of FWTC. That shit isn’t going to happen. I’ve avoided this for the better part of a week. Adel provided me with print outs of your mail. I promptly threw them into the toilet. Here’s a little known fact: large amounts of printer paper WILL kill a crapper. The fix it dude had to make the trek to our place so he could fish out half of the emails that were stuck in the plumbing. It wasn’t pretty. 

“Man, what kind of asshole would jam printer paper in a toilet, then flush over and over, THEN hit it with a hammer?”

From: SillyJilly11
Do you really think any of this is funny? It’s childish and sad.” 

Fuck you.

From: Gillybit
I’ve noticed a lot fewer hate letters to FOX. Did Roode give up?”

The short answer is that I just don’t give a shit anymore. Terminator and Dollhouse were canceled, regardless of ratings. TSCC had a shit pile more ratings than Dollhouse, but the colon suckers at FOX went with the cheaper product, then fucking canceled it within two months. It’s exhausting to chastise a major network as much as I do. As long as Sons of Anarchy live, I’ll delay my murderous rampage for another television season.

Try me, FX. I fucking dare you.

From: Dillhef.pog
Are we going to be treated to another Saint Patrick’s day rant?” 

What is that, sarcasm? I can’t tell. Just in case it is sarcasm, eat shit then punch yourself in the nuts. If it isn’t, then punch someone else in the nuts. Either way, I have no idea. I’m guessing Ren, our resident Mick, will handle that. It’s a day of fist fights, alcohol poisoning, and rekindling a decades long hatred of the British. That’s all up Ren’s alley. She’s a fucking alcoholic. And that means something coming from someone who drank a combination of sour mash and Listerine.

Mmmmm. Minty with the slight taste of blindness.

From: Tyrell
How can I send in a story to you?” 

Well, Tyrell, we usually frown on random submissions, but I’ll give you the inside dirt.

  1. Print out your submission and seal it in a brown envelop. It has to be brown.
  2. Go to your nearest Home Depot and slip the envelop under one of the display toilets in the plumbing section. Do NOT substitute a Lowe’s. Repeat: Do NOT substitute a Lowe’s!
  3. Before you leave mark the drop toilet by writing “I.P. Freely” on the lid in permanent marker.
  4. Go outside and ask a random elderly woman if she would like to take it in the pooper while gyrating your hips.
  5. Send us an email from jail and let us know how it all turned out.

From: Nos
What’s wrong with your site? The pics in some of the articles are gone.

Shit happens. Don’t care.

From: Taquilfd
“Is any of what Ren wrote about her Canadian thing true?”

Canadian thing? The ill advised trip of whiskey fueled chicanery to Alberta? Or are you referring to one of her lady parts being Canadian? I know nothing about the latter. But, the whole article was true. She even left some of the more unbelievable stuff out. Maybe someday Ren will tell you about how she got out of being charged with lewd behavior with even lewder behavior. Here’s a hint, it involves lap dancing and a riding crop.

Ren still gets emails from that guard.

From: Calweego
This is just a shitty rip off of Cracked.

That’s not a fucking question fucktard. This is what we call a declarative statement. “Is this a shitty rip off of Cracked” is a question. Just like, “Would you like it if I found you and stuffed your ass with hot coals?” Or, “Did you know your girlfriend was boned by the entire roster of the San Diego Chargers?” Here’s a particular favorite of mine, “Do you know what being castrated with a spoon feels like?” Now, those are questions!

And, yeah, we’re pretty much a shitty Cracked rip off. We’re just a shit load poorer and have less exposure.

From: Tatargus
Why are you guys so hard on Michael Jackson? He was the world’s best performer!

Dude, it’s not the fact we’re hard on MJ. It’s the fact that we’re pretty sure MJ was hard on kids. In the biblical sense.

From: Kourtican
What’s the obsession with Billy Mays?

Seriously? You’re kidding, right? No! You’re serious! Billy Mays was and always shall be a credit to the species. The world died a little when he was called to that big direct shopping infomercial in the sky. To this day I wander around stores not sure what will clean my windshield or how I can talk on my cell while I drive recklessly at speeds not easily attainable by a Plymouth Duster. Simply put, Billy Mays IS ALL THAT IS MAN!

And we like his beard.

From: Pizoo kola
I am offended by your constant use of the word ‘retard.'” It’s insensitive and downright rude.

How can I put this?

Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard Retard.


From
: Dalton
Is Ren cute? She sounds like she would be cute.

Cute? I don’t know. She’s just something we came up with to scare children like pop quizzes and Jack the Ripper.

From
: BVlnk
So what, is everyone there related or something?

So, no. Does it matter? Who gives a shit? Out of the four of us, three are related in some way or another. I, Roode, maintain my own company; like a cowboy. On a steel horse I ride. Because, I’m wanted. Dead or Ali.. FUCK! I knew that bullshit generic rock station I listened to this morning was going to come back to haunt me!

Fuck you, Bon Jovi.

From: AmberlyThrower
網路交友18禁地航海王影片ㄇ美女圖片情慾免費情色電影台灣美女寫真貼圖區色情聊天室性愛情666avcom免費下載18禁小說一夜聊天室人之初貼圖後宮電影院入口成人情色歐美素圖qqav性愛姿勢a片直播a圖a片美女桌布

Yes? No? What is the capital of Nebraska? What about this site has ever lead you to believe ANY of the columnists speak anything but broken English?

From: Barlow
Roode seems to hate spending time with his family. What’s his deal?

What’s my deal? Probably seething hatred. I kid. I don’t hate my family. Not all of them, any way. I dislike the idea of liking them. Go to hell!

From: Kotterly
Did anyone get arrested at Adel’s wedding?

No, although I’m pretty sure there were a few deportations.

From: Pasquall
Is it OK to stuff a Thanksgiving turkey with bread crumbs before I put it in the oven?

According to this site :

Most turkeys are too large for the internal temperature of the bird to reach sufficient temperatures quickly enough to kill bacteria present in stuffing which has been refrigerated. For this reason, you should plan to prepare the stuffing separately. 

For more information about preparing food safely, visit the USDA’s safe food handling website.

*Author’s note: Why the fuck would anyone send us a question about preparing a Thanksgiving turkey?

Sincerely,
Roode


Halloween Pumpkin Carving: Gateway to Mass Murder

By Roode

Kids love Halloween. It’s the one time of year they can get free candy that doesn’t involve creepy old men in bathrobes. Adults love it, because it’s the one time of they year that dressing up like Tyra Banks isn’t exclusively for drag queens.

Remember when Jamie Fox was funny? Of course you don’t.
§

I don’t dress up. I don’t trick or treat. I don’t have kids so I’m not forced to pretend I give a shit. This may surprise some of you, but I’m not a happy go lucky holiday celebrating person. I wouldn’t put up that fucking Christmas tree if I didn’t get a guilt trip from the wife each and every “have to buy new strings of lights because the ones from last Christmas never fucking work” year. I suggested we just forgo the tree one year. It was like I proposed we put on cleats and go kitten stomping.

My bags are always packed for the latest guilt trip provided by The Wife Travel Agency.
§

Last weekend I hung out with Ren. I was bored and sober. I knew that belligerent Irish drunk had booze. I had wifey in tow for a low key Saturday evening. Adel was out of town making plans for her wedding (that’s right kids- more on that another time) and who the hell knows what Tresckow was doing. Maybe storming Poland?

Tank rental is surprising affordable.
§

I was quite happy to sit there, watch TV, and suck down Guinness. The hens were yapping in another room and Commando was on TV. Awesome! Beer, violence, and HDTV. I defy you to come up with a better combination. Defy you, I say!

Somewhere around the part when Schwarzenegger is slaughtering the island army lead by Nick Tortelli Ren had the most horrible idea since CNN’s coverage of the Michael Jackson funeral. “Hey! Let’s make Jack O’Lanterns.” Bitch.
Sure, I protested. You married guys out there know resistance is futile. Over the years my “Fuck it! Whatever!” switch developed a hair trigger. I learned about three years into married bliss that it’s the path of least resistance that gets you laid. So, when someone has a fucktarded idea like this and the wife is into it, fuck it. I’m as powerless as Valtrex is on TilaTequila.

This fucker is pretty much always set to “on.”
§
I knew I was in for a rocket ship to a ball taggingly painful night when it took the girls 30 minutes to find the right pumpkins. It was the like the Goldilocks of pumpkin searching. This one is too small. This one has too many bumps. This one has a funny looking stem… damn it! At this point I didn’t give a shit if the son-of-a-bitch was oozing blood while demonic voices chanted an ode to Satan. Why the fuck can’t women find ANYTHING in under half an hour? Holy yeti piss, the fucker’s going to end up a rotting corpse on the stoop anyway.

Pictured: Good investment.
§

After buying four medium sized pumpkins (four, because the odds of fucking up are excellent when you’ve been drinking since 3) we carted the orange bastards back to the house. First off, let me say it’s completely fucking ridiculous the amount of goddamn work you have to put in just to cut the top off. Then, there’s a shitload of stringy, gag reflex slapping innards that have to be scooped out. This shit looks, feels, and acts wrong. Not only does it feel like goopy, stringy shit from a camel with diarrhea, it’s nye impossible to keep it in one place. If you’re lucky, it just falls on the floor like so much spaghetti of the damned. If you’re not so lucky, it can find its way into your pants. Don’t fucking give me that look. It happens.

Look at this putrid, stringy mess and tell me you don’t want to blow chunks.
§

It’s not over yet. Oh no, there’s more labor intensive bullshit waiting to play ping pong with your dangly parts. Now you have to scrape the meat of the friggin thing. There’s nothing remotely appealing about that phrase. Scrape the meat? That conjures up all sorts of fucked up Donner Partyimages.

Delish.
§

Hold on! Before you start scraping chunks of pumpkin meat, you need to know two things; 1) No kitchen utensil in the known world is built for this and 2) if you take too much out the whole fucking thing will collapse. Who knew this was a science?

I don’t know, Bill. Maybe there is no cure for Jack O’Lantern carving rage.
§

Of course, my wife is a friggin genius with this shit. She’s the artsy crafty one. I’m the one that gets pissed off and dynamites random things in nature. Ren, the dumbass that came up with the idea, redefined suck. She bought one of those stencils that is supposed to help you carve designs. That fucker was too complicated for a drunken Mick. It didn’t end well.

After giving up on ever stenciling this thing right, she decided to carve the fucker with a hammer.
§

Well, that gourd was out of commission. Mine, on the other hand, was still in the race. Sure, it frustrated me a little…

The fucker had it coming.
§

This sucks! Who started this butt fucking tradition anyway? Liquored up, pissed off people shouldn’t be asked to hack the almighty shit out of produce. That’s how Bundy got started.

Bundy.
§

After another (4) beer, I went back to the taunting, round poop stain. OK, I just stabbed it a few times. It’s fixable. I’ll just get to work cutting out the nose and smile. This shit has to be getting me brownie points with the wife, right? RIGHT? Besides, I know I can do better than Ren’s second attempt.

I’ve never seen a Jack O’Lantern with Downs Syndrome before.
§

I decided, then and there, that I would not be defeated by a piece of fruit… or vegetable… whatever. With each slip of the knife and fucked up tooth, I started to fantasize about setting fire to all its smug ass brethren. All of a sudden I understood punkin chunkin. Its not a bunch of drooling momma’s boys who smell like a mix of body odor and Red Bull (not exclusively, anyway). It was mankind’s way of getting back at those sack lickers.

This may have cost more money and time than any sane person would invest,
but, it must be therapeutic to see that mother launched into the air and disintegrate on impact.
§

When the dust settled, there were three Jack O’Lanterns. Mine looked like it was married to Ike Turner. Ren’s did an amazing Sling Bladeimpersonation. My wife’s… that’s not important. Shut up!

One of these days she’s going to fuck SOMETHING up and I’ll be there to see it.
§

If the night wasn’t rage inducing enough, this Jack O’Cock Knocker saved the best for last. As soon as I picked it up to carry outside the asshole started to cave in. Remember that whole don’t scrape too much of the meat off thing? Well, guess what? I didn’t fucking pay attention to that at all. The face started collapsing faster than Michael Jackson’s cosmetic surgery (yes, two MJ references in one article. I’m not proud).

Stick a candle in his skull and it’s the spitting image of my imploding Jack O’Lantern.
§

It was over. The damn thing didn’t even stay together long enough for me to make it out the door. I snapped. To quote a great philosopher, “That’s all I can stands and I can’t stands no more!”

Wise beyond his years.
§

I bellowed “Fuck you gourd!” OK, so it was a bit loud and I’m pretty sure someone called the cops, but I didn’t give a shit. This sadistic orange fuck has toyed with me for too long! I let it drop to the ground and I nailed the mocking tea bagger in the mouth. That’s right, pumpkins everywhere can eat me. It’s on now. Every assclown pumpkin I find will die. I hereby declare my plan for pumpkin cleansing! Pumpkins, watch your backs (wherever the fuck your “backs” are). It’s war now!

He was, but the first to fall!
Sincerely,
Roode