Stuff I Thunk
The manufacturers of the drug Dulera wants me to ask my doctor if it can help me breathe better. If you’re having to recommend medicine to help you breathe to your doctor based off the advice of a commercial, I’d say you need to watch another channel for a second opinion.
In the spirit of crossover episodes, A & E needs to start a show that is a cross between Hoarders and Storage Wars. Hoard Wars. Here’s how I see it: The scavengers from Storage Wars could come in and bid on the houses of the Hoarders. This would either help speed up their recovery, or make for a very exciting ending. Auctioneers aren’t quacks like psychologists either. That shit is real. Whether you clearly heard what he said or not, you wiped your nose at the wrong fucking time and now you own whatever it is you bought. Whether you wanted it or not.
I’m flipping through the channels and….The man you all know as Joe The Policeman from the What’s Goin Down? Episode of That’s My Momma, RANDY WATSON!!!!
What if there was a Cracker Awareness Week? A White Freedom Fund Luncheon? Honkey History Month? Why are those of us who aren’t racist or supremacists worried about being aware, free, or interested care about what our history says our future has in store for us? Is it because we are lazy? I’ll be honest, if I were in charge it would be Cracker Awareness Week sponsored by Machaen’s Lawn Service – because “If you can’t do it, a Mexi can.” I’ve never really understood why anyone needs to be reminded to be aware of their race with a special event/day/month. I mean, you’re either stared at, stepped away from, looked down upon, tolerated, accepted or celebrated. Don’t matter what fucking color you were or weren’t, or how aware you are, them’s the options.
I had a friend in college I co-created named The Googler. He was 30ish, prone to wearing Glad Bags with a head hole in the rain, one golf glove on either hand for warmth during the winter, and handing out the most worthless of all analgesics, Ultram with the instructions to, “Take two Hoss.” He use to say “bristle”, “bristle up” and “bristlin” a lot to describe various states of awareness and excitement. For instance I’d say something like, “Hey Googler, what the fuck happened last night when you were talking to those chicks, before they kicked you in the nuts and maced you?” “Bristlin,” he would inevitably reply. If you disagreed with him, he’d tell you to “bristle up,” and express your disagreement either verbally or physically. To “bristle” really meant nothing more than to keep one eye open, an ungloved hand on a beer and the other firmly clinched on that bottle of worthless fucking pills an opiate would rather pawn than eat. In his honor, I’m bringing bristle and all it’s conjugations back. So, bristle up motherfuckers. There’s going to be a hole helluva lot of bristlin going on.
After rallying in support of Joe Paterno earlier last week, Penn State students came to grips with the reality that the football program hid and protected a pedophile. In their first attempt to acknowledge this wrong, 10,000 plus students took part in a rally in which they all held lit candles. These delusional bastards don’t owe nobody nothin, cause they had nothing to do with none of it. However, something as serious as what they say went down there requires a lot more than a live Freebird-like acknowledgement.
From this point on I think that, at the very least, no Penn State football player should be allowed to wear any uniform number under 18.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” now means something entirely different at Penn State. While pronounced the same, it’s often heard as “You fucking a kid with me?”
I wish I had thought this one up, but it’s already making the rounds: “If an older woman who likes younger men is a cougar, what do you call an older man who likes young boys? A Nittany Lion.
