I Told You: The Next Guy That Drinks Out Of The Milk Carton I Have In The Fridge Gets It

I Told You: The Next Guy That Drinks Out Of The Milk Carton I Have In The Fridge Gets It


Ah, apartment dwelling. Everyone wants to do something, but no two people want to do the same thing. Everyone surreptitiously eats everyone else’s food, so everyone stops buying any, and eventually you order takeout for every meal. No one fights over anything important, but blood is occasionally drawn over possession of the remote. And no one can get a female of the species to stay in that apartment for more than fifteen minutes at a time after she’s seen the bathroom. 

It’s A Bachelor Party? Gee, I Hope There Wasn’t A Stripper In The Jetta

It’s A Bachelor Party? Gee, I Hope There Wasn’t A Stripper In The Jetta


(A little coarse language)

Ah, farm country. You can stuff 84 times the manufacturer’s recommended maximum charge of tannerite into your buddy’s old beater and let rip. It’s like Hunter S. Thompson is your wedding planner.

No livestock were discommoded by this explosion. What happens to the livestock when all the beer has been consumed is none of anyone’s business. What happens in Podunk, stays in Podunk.

The Bee Whisperer

The Bee Whisperer


There’s no nervous laughter in this world that can compare to nervous assistant laughter.

Of course the operative word in this procedure, like so many other touchy situations, is calm. Keep Calm and Carry On, as they say.  The true borderline sociopathic boy is calm — in a frantic sort of a way, of course. We’d calmly get that queen into the box, and calmly wait for all her minions to join her in there, calmly seal the box with lots of tape, calmly address the box to someone we don’t like, and then calmly drive to the Post Office and mail it.

On The Plus Side…

On The Plus Side…


Well, they’re robots. Robots! We love robots. They’re making robots.

Then again, what the hell is this nonsense? Disco dancing robots? Where are the lasers burping out randomly, killing passersby? Where are the rotating knives? I demand they scurry all over the place and emit noxious gases. Even if they’re only a foot tall, any sef-respecting robot should be able to at least take off a foot. A one-footed arch-enemy is way, way easier to triumph over.

The one with the giant silver brain seemed to have potential. Nothing on six legs toting a silver brain around isn’t built for evil. Well, except for this thing. It does some sort of spidery Macarena, and that’s it. Where’s the plan for world domination? Intergalactic battle plans?

Bah. Kids these days.

(Thanks to DadofHomeschoolers for sending that one along)