Five Ways To Figure Out If You Like Guns

Five Ways To Figure Out If You Like Guns

Clickbait is such a fun word, it almost feels dirty, but in my heart I know that it’s a necessary evil. I’d much rather have people read my drivel than waste their time on an inferior site, so it’s important to reel them in at any cost. I feel like the Pied Piper of Hamelin — minus the whole child killing thing. The point is that I have to use my wicked ways to attract viewers, or this site drops in readership faster than Bill Clinton drops his trousers at an intern convention.

Err — I mean, here’s five ways to figure out if you like guns:

1) You like guns

2) You also like other types of guns along with your standard selection of guns

3) You’re interested in guns and gun accessories

4) You like to gun gun while you gun gun gun so you can gun more guns, gun

5) You own a firearm and actively practice shooting at a designated range because you enjoy shooting and other related activities

Now that you’ve read the top five ways to figure if you like guns, you can finally take a good, hard look at your extensive rifle collection and decide if that’s really something that you’re into. If none of these apply to you then maybe it’s about time you take up knitting or collecting decorative doilies.  No need to thank me — I’m just doing my job, so you don’t have to.

Everything Is Terrible, Nothing Will Ever Be Okay

Everything Is Terrible, Nothing Will Ever Be Okay

The end is nigh, nigh I say. We’ve gone from a world of infinite possibilities to a world of a single possibility, and it doesn’t look good. The only thing we know for certain is that this guy is never going to stop clapping and there’s nothing we can do about it. He’s like the terminator, but for clapping: The Clappinator. Terrifying.

I don’t think the world will recover after this. Sifting though the ashes of our once-great society after it’s put to the torch by the Clappinator doesn’t sound very appealing to me. You can count me out. I’m going to go start a new society with blackjack and hookers. It’ll be like when King Henry the VIII separated the English church from Rome, except with less dead wives and more funny hats. I prefer my wives to be alive regardless of their ability to fart out heirs. At least, I think that’s how it works.

Now’s the time to plan ahead; where will you be when the Clappinator rains down fiery death from the heavens. I’ll be on my space platform in space with enough canned beans to create a civilization of fart-based lifeforms, and my not-dead wives. Beat that.

(Update: we have another contender for the bringer of all death and misery in the world.)

They’re Miners, Not Minors

They’re Miners, Not Minors

Explosions — I like explosions.

I’m sure that’s the general consensus, but I like to really drive things home that don’t need an explanation. I’m like Captain Obvious, if he was promoted to admiral and given complete control over the nation’s radio stations, so he could transmit every obvious tidbit over the airwaves ad infinitum. But I’ll say it again, because I have no shame and an appalling amount of time on my hands: I like explosions.

It’s thoroughly invigorating to watch something that’s supposedly solid get blown to bits small enough to shove up your nose if you were so compelled. It’s like taking a good dump or pretending to care about current events. There’s an immediate sense of release followed by a satisfaction that money can’t buy. Unless your money can buy dynamite. That’s the best kind of money. Dynamite money.

Breathe In, Breathe Out; For The Love Of God Man, Breathe Out

Breathe In, Breathe Out; For The Love Of God Man, Breathe Out

I’ve never had a yoga — perhaps I should rephrase that: never have I ever yogad. Wait, that’s not right either. Yoga have never I? Well, you guys get the idea. I’m no expert, but I think he’s taking this breathing thing a bit too far. Unless of course he’s not yogaing. Err — yogalizing? Whatever, breathing isn’t everything. It’s all about bending your body into funny shapes to impress girls and frighten men. Or is that the other way around? I’m just guessing, I don’t know how to yogamatize and I don’t think I ever will.

One thing that I do know about is advertising. I don’t know what this guy is selling, or if he’s even selling anything, but I want ten of them and I want them now. I’ve been mesmerized by his magnificent hyper-pornstache, and I’m willing to pay an absolutely exorbitant price for anything he’s offering. I’m pretty sure that’s how Chester A. Arthur got elected, but I’ve been wrong before.

If you aren’t voting for presidential candidates based on their facial hair there’s something deeply wrong with you and you should seek medical help.