If you ever walk by a television and the song ‘Danger Zone’ is coming out of it, whatever you do…don’t look at it. It’s Top Gun.
Every morning I start a pot of coffee and walk away while it brews. Every once in a while I return to find that I forgot to turn the machine on. So, I pour a few shots of Bailey’s Irish Cream into the coffee pot and turn it on with authority.
The only difference between using my finger to tend to the inside of my nose and using a tissue is the opinion formed by the asshole that’s staring at me.
Every scooter I’ve ever been stuck behind has a maximum speed of 10mph less than the legal speed limit, which is just fast enough so IT gets through a yellow light, but just slow enough that I can’t. Who wants to play Urban Calf Roping?
I’ve been to the New Jersey Shore. It isn’t worth much. Someone estimated that Hurricane Sandy caused $20 billion worth of damage there. I want that person to measure my penis and publish the results.
They said Jerry Sandusky is getting a mandatory 30 years but they don’t mean that. He’s going to die in a few years and they’ll take him out. I think there should be a rapist wing in prison where they serve their sentences dead or alive. That way the next convicted rapist gets a dead body as a roommate. That would make for a good roommate sitcom to fill the void that Bosom Buddies left behind.
When I see a guy at a bar wearing a replica jersey of a famous professional athlete I get a little irritated. But when I see a girl with him I become downright angry. What kind of girl would follow around a grown man playing dress-up? Then, I got to thinking: If there was a girl dressed up as a famous porn star I would definitely follow her around. And that’s how I explain to children that you should always put things into perspective.
Heavy walkers should pay double to rent apartments above the ground floor. Also, all outside boozing decks should be rigged with a seismograph and a trap-door. Have you noticed that my solutions to my problems double as my entertainment?
I’ve decided that since I don’t have children I shouldn’t have to abide by school zone speed limits. I’m sick of slowing down for things I don’t care about.
Every form of restraint put in place to wrangle assholes is a waste of my time. I have to ease over extra asphalt because some punk kid was racing around a parking lot. They should replace speed bumps with a couple of sensors and a spike strip. Nothing is funnier than watching someone replacing a flat tire they got for being an asshole.
Some men are so arrogant they name their sons after themselves. Although, I have to admit, it would have been pretty funny if Jesus was named God Jr.
There are exactly a few reasons I’m having a hard time taking the Olympics seriously:
- The stories the media thinks I care about are: a Chinese swimmer might be ‘doping’, Badminton players are throwing matches, a male soccer player is a racist and a female soccer player is catfighting with a retired female soccer player.
- The fastest human on the planet gets the same award as a guy that rides a dancing horse.
- The opening ceremonies has become the world’s most polished turd.
- I want to root for the people that don’t have back-stories, but they don’t exist.
- If the winner of your contest is decided by a judge, it’s not a sport or a competition.
- It’s the Summer Games. Every event should take place outside.
- Some asshole decided to hold the Summer Games in a city that doesn’t have a summer. So now, the greatest beach bodies on the planet are covered up while playing beach volleyball on a fake beach.
The Olympics should eliminate sports that aren’t using the best athletes. I’m pretty sure handball was created by the kids that weren’t picked to play other sports. It’s a bunch of rag-a-muffins playing on a basketball court trying to throw a softball into a hockey goal. Here’s the new team USA: Me, Jennie Finch, LeBron James, Drew Brees and Derek Jeter with Jonathan Quick on goal. Now, give me the Gold Medal.
I barely care who can swim across the pool the fastest and I completely lose interest when they complicate swimming. I just don’t care who’s the fastest at the slowest form of swimming. You will never hear, “A kid was drowning so I butterfly stroked to his rescue.” Or, “A shark was chasing me but I got away using the breaststroke.”
When I’m traveling via automobile and I get to the point where I want to stop for the night I drive to the town’s supermarket to scan the parking lot. If I see grocery carts scattered all over the place I get back on the highway and drive to the next town because, clearly, the people in this town suck it. What they ought to do is handcuff the person to the cart and make them bring it back inside for the key. Handcuffs solve a lot of problems.
I keep getting invitations to my high school reunion. I thought the whole point of Facebook was to eliminate crap like that.
I’ve noticed that the amount of unsolicited complaining a person does about the world being out to get them is inversely proportional to that person’s overall worth to humankind. There’s only one real solution to their problems: Let’s get ‘em.
They’re saying Jerry Sandusky is on suicide watch. But they won’t tell me where I need to go to watch it.
I don’t know who started flashing the heart-shaped gang sign and I don’t care. But I better not catch anyone else doing it…ever again. That’s not even what a heart looks like. The next time you want to express your heart-felt emotions to someone make a fist and stick it in their face. A fist is a much closer representation of a heart.
A person worked hard to learn business and open a restaurant. They set up contacts with distributors, menu makers and advertisers. They have to jump through flaming hoops dealing with government regulations. They have to constantly clean up after everyone that walks into the restaurant. They employ a staff that cooks what you order when you order it and another staff to bring you the order. And when that food is placed in front of you, you grab hands and pray to your God to thank Him for the food. He didn’t lift a goddamn finger (pun intended)…you inconsiderate asshole.
During the holidays you guys bring plates of meticulously arranged cookies into the bar. It’s always an assortment of made up crap with nuts and fruit. You never have chocolate chip cookies. Chocolate chip cookies are the best…ever. Quit trying to better them. They’re so good that instead of waiting for the cooking process people just eat the dough. How do you feel knowing that raw dough is better than your original idea?
Have you ever done something so stupid you stop and yell at yourself, “What the hell did I just do?” (e.g. put coffee grains in the machine without a filter, put shampoo in your hair before wetting it, etc.) That’s how I feel when I greet someone with a rhetorical question and that person takes it literally. They turn into a horse race announcer listing their problems.
“How are you?”
Aaaaaaannd they’re off…
When someone pulls out a checkbook be prepared, because the next thing out of their mouth is going to be, “What is today’s date?”
I always emphasize the year, “June 14th, TWO-THOUSAND TWELVE!”
“Uh, yeah, I know what year it is.”
“No you don’t. If you did you wouldn’t still be writing checks.”
If I had a time machine I would go back to see Adam and Eve. I’ve always wanted to see people that don’t have belly-buttons.
I’m well aware that an overwhelming sense of sadness rushes through your veins when you see someone who doesn’t have a dime to pay for their medical repairs. The problem I have is that some of these people have done nothing their entire lives except eat lard, smoke cigarettes and collect welfare checks. But I’ll meet you halfway. I’ll help you pay for their medical attention. However, once they leave the hospital they are under my discretion and supervision. And when they go back to their old ways I’m taking away any medication and future surgeries. And when they die, I’m burning the body. I call this TerryHereCare. I have a feeling this Bill will fly through Congress.
There are more than 300 million people in America. That will end up being a lot of dead people in 50 years and your outdated burial rituals are going to waste an inconceivable amount of perfectly good land…forever. No one is that important. Can you just bury the body long enough to have your little theatrics then dig it up, burn it and make way for the next cold, lifeless body? Good, now each town will have a recycling cemetery the size of a convenience store parking lot. As a reward I should get half of all the land I just saved you.
People are always asking me why I’m sitting in the corner of the bar. After I explain to them, in great detail, that I am the center of the universe, therefore, I am never in the corner of anything they go right back to leaving me alone.
We should all get to pick a group of people that will no longer be allowed to get married. Insane people went first and they picked homosexuals. Ok, my turn. I pick the religiously motivated, sexually abstinent. First off, nothing is funnier than watching someone die a virgin. But more importantly, their children end up being those creepy, delusional, brainwashed kids that wear white button up shirts and blue pants lugging backpacks full of bibles door to door. I’m sick of them interrupting my porn time. Problem solved.
If you refrain from being on one end or the other of a penis going into a vagina because your favorite novel tells you it’s forbidden until the government gives you a piece of paper certifying your matrimony then, while you’re there, the government should also hand you a piece of paper certifying your insanity.