Where have you been?

Trying to help out a kid! Where the fuck have you been?

The One About the French

Burning with Culture

Sometime this week, my future at the company I currently work for will be decided by a grape-sniffing, Sarkozy-loving, continental. This middle-aged man will ash his cigarette, and through the thin veil of smoke ponder the deep philosophical significance of a bottom-line number, make some general assessments on personnel efficiency, and determine if this company can afford to keep me.

As beautiful as that sounds, didn't we fight a war to prevent this exact situation?

I fear globalization is just advertising campaign brought to you Cisco Systems and Monster.com.

what can a poor boy do?
Dr. Koala Dick

The Constitutional Convention of 1787

George Washington rallies support for the Constitution's ratification.

Dr. KD to Launch "Thousands of Ideas"

Ladies and Dudes,

After several months of drug induced hibernation and bitching about everything, Dr. Koala Dick is poised to launch thousands of ideas it has been keeping in a secret book that no one has ever seen. Seriously, there are thousands of them.

Said thousands are expected to shatter minds in China, India, South America, the U.K. and certain parts of Nebraska (I'm talking about you Greater Omaha Metropolitan Area!). Kaopectate has multiplied its shipments three fold in anticipation of these ideas' intestinal after effects on the greater populace.

Expect to see people doing a new dance, and wearing their hair in fashions that sicken Big Establishment. Dudes will have boners, and wet muff will abound. I didn't even want to have to tell you about that, but seriously I'm trying to prepare you for what is coming.

Fuck Culture,

Dr. Koala Dick


I still have my license to practice, bitches.

The Day After Mardi Gras Jamie reflects on her Acquired Bead Collection with Great Sentiment.

Chili Pepper Beads:
Jamie isn’t particularly fond of spicy foods, but the small chili peppers adorning this string of beads makes her smile. While she is not entirely sure why so many people enjoy the chili pepper as a decorative shape, (perhaps it is a phallic Freudian obsession) personally, the sight of chili peppers brings her back to her childhood. She recalls sitting in her Grandmother’s kitchen for hours listening to Grandmother bestow Grandmotherly wisdom upon her, while diligently preparing the delicious signature chili that Jamie’s Grandfather would obsess over. It also reminds her of how that creepy old guy (who kind of looked like grandpa) yelled, “hey hot stuff!” as he tossed this particular strand at her while she flashed her massive hooters in his general direction.

American Flag Beads:
Ever since before 9/11 happened, Jamie has been Pro-America. Europe can keep their accents and silly history. Jamie loves pick up trucks, strip malls, and American Idol. In fact, she would zealously support any American Idol over an Idol from any other country, no matter how good a singer they were, or how much they looked like Heath Ledger. While Jamie doesn’t have any relatives in the military, she did let any man in a navel uniform, army jacket, or any sort of cammo really, grope her breast as they desired. Jamie assumes this is probably origin of this particular bead necklace. As she gazes into the red, white, blue, and waving American flag shaped beads she reflects on how strong, and patriotic each of those fingers felt at they delicately twisted and tugged her nipples on the dirty street corner.

Dolphin Beads:
Jamie isn’t what her father refers to as a “liberal nut-job” but she understands the need to preserve the environment. She took a class about it in college she is pretty sure. She knows that people drive too many cars and build too many greenhouses and that every day this makes it harder for Dolphins to live. Soon we will only have dolphins in Seaworld. As she stares at the dolphin emblem on the bead, she can’t recall where she received this strand, but she finds herself relating to the dolphin; free, and wild, but soon to be permanently tamed. She recalls how she felt this exact sensation as she walked the four blocks down Bourbon Street from Canal to St. Louis Street completely topless letting her jumbo tits hang free, exposed, and wild for everyone to observe and enjoy, especially the homeless guy who she caught jerking off in the alley.


Super Bowl XXVI Commemorative Beads:
Jamie has never been to the Super Bowl. In fact the only time she has ever been a professional Football game she got too drunk Tailgating and had to leave at Halftime. Stadium Security preferred that she vomit in the parking lot as opposed to anywhere inside the Stadium. As her now Ex-boyfriend held her hair and told her he didn’t mind missing the game to be with her, she knew she was in love. She confirmed it again when he confessed how much he loved her as she gave him fellatio in the back seat of his friend’s truck while they waited for the game to end. While the sight of these Super Bowl beads reminds her of the pain of the love she lost, it also reminds her of the beauty we can possess as a civilization, the love we can exchange, and the love she received from the thousands of men who touched, fondled, and gazed upon her big sloppy love bombs during Mardi Gras.

John Steinbeck Asks:

Fashioned Facts

There are three essential axioms when deciding how to dress for your first day of work at a new office.


1. Accentuate Your Junk.
First impressions are everything. If I was making a first impression, I would want that impression to be that I have balls. No one likes an empty-sacker. This immediately lets your coworkers know that when they fight alongside you, you will bring cahonesn as well as--depending on just how large you go--several vicious swear words (wanking fucknut comes to mind!) to the table. Also, they will know that in the event they have to fight against you--remember, they already have fucked up families at home--it's going to be really nasty.

2. Dress Ambiguously Gay.
When I was growing up my dad always toasted his drink "to the confusion of the enemy". This would always be received with at least one confused look from a guest and a chuckle from my dad. My dad gets a lot of mileage out of his jokes. Unfortunately, there is something to his drinking logic. You want to keep everyone on their toes. You don't want them to know who you are right off the back. Being mysterious is good. As long as you don't have a defined personality, your coworkers can idealize you into something they want you to be. Then you can be that person and manipulate them to do things you don't want to do.
Your perceived gayness will keep other males on edge and give you a competitive advantage. Meanwhile, your supposed status as a non-threatening Male will drive sexy secretaries your way like a Dodge City cattle drive.
(Caveat: you may have to pretend that you enjoy "Grey's Anatomy" or that you care about what some slut celebrity wears to really sell this one).

3. Wear Glasses.
Be like Clarke Kent. You can be as clumsy and stupid as you want, but non-goggled coworkers will still automatically assume you're smarter than them. Be prepared to be asked what the capital of Ghana is, what 1123/3.76 is, what happened at the end of Finnegan's Wake, or how lasers work. Then, when you can't answer, be prepared to watch the person think they asked one of the most difficult questions in the world, because if you don't know it....shiiitttttt...who would? Seriously though, who the fuck knows how lasers work?

Sit back, clean off your glasses, and get ready to really enjoy hating your life.

expense your underwear,
dr. koala dick

Bob's Ross's predictably late plea to Legalize It

Ladies and Gentlemen.

I speak to you on behalf of my good friend, the great Dr. Koala Dick.

Let me begin by saying Eucalyptus is a plant, not a Killer. This is important, I don't like things that kill people. I once killed a person, I don't talk about it anymore, but I will say it was nothing to brag about. It certainly wasn't as amazing as Eucalyptus; a natural substance, enjoyed by thousand of koala's everyday. Need I remind you, Eucalyptus was once legal in OUR country. This country.

Uncle Sam grew eucalyptus. I painted a really happy picture of it. Check it out.

In 1920's skeptical immigrants and general public were tricked into believing outrageous lies about Euclyptus. Through a series of Yellow Journalism pieces backed by a heavy Aloe lobby from Mexico, the American public abandoned a plant that had treated their Koala's so well. You heard me right, people used to have pet Koala's, it was pretty sweet. I'm pretty sure I painted a picture of it. These days, Mexico not only provides 75% of America's Aloe, they control 80% of the black market Eucalyptus trade. Do you realize how much money the Government could be making on a Eucalyptus Tax. We could finally provide adequate school for deaf and blind children.

The Government wants you to believe eucalyptus is bad for you, and has long term harmful effects. This is because they are stubborn and don't listen to people who are trying to explain themselves. They are afraid to admit their mistakes. They just want to put everything before the court--which is ugly, I have never painted a picture of a courtroom.
Fact: There has never been a long term study on the effects of eucalyptus.
Eucalyptus has been proven to have positive effects. It relieves the pain of certain diseases. It has been known to prevent polio and the mumps. It makes movies funnier, music better, and sex more enjoyable.

Your parents probably have used Eucalyptus in their past. Most of my friends did. Look at them, they're rich and unhappy. Unhappy because they can't have Eucalyptus anymore. Don't you want to be rich. Don't you want to be happy when your rich.

If so vote yes on proposition H. Legalize Eucalyptus.

I'll fucking kick your ass if you don't,

Bob Ross and his pet baby raccoon "Mussolini".

Gatherers Unite

Election 2006: Stem Cells? More Like WHATEVER

Natolution

That's right, Natolution.

Elections are coming up. Tragically, some form of government will be elected.

While, I'm not personally running, I think this provides a great opportunity to talk about something I'm really interested in: Stem-Cell research.

For starters, I don't know who does the PR for Stem-Cell research, but if they were any good they would change that name. It sounds too much like something that could go horribly wrong. can you recall a time you talked about the "stem" of something in a positive light? No, it sounds creepy, spinal even. A Real genius would search for something more positive, such as Project Supernova, or The Fantastic Initiative; those both roll right off the tongue. I personally considered recommending something along the Tree of Life/Fountain of Youth line, but I want to see how that movie "The Fountain" ends-- this is just a guess, but it could end in tears.

There are several ads nationwide featuring Michael J. Fox persuading the public to vote on behalf of pursuing stem cell research. Why he needs to take out ads, and why there are people who do not follow Michael J. Fox's orders astounds me.
Michael J. Fox has literally(cinematically)traveled into the future, and he has seen what the Future looks like(cinematically), and he brought it back to us(cinematically). In case you forgot what it looked like, it had self-drying jackets and hover boards. I am a huge proponent of this future. Michael J. Fox could tell me to invest in shit-flavored bananas and I would do so without with a single question or reservation. He is my prophet (cinematically).

Michael J. Fox is attempting to take us by the hand and lead us to a new and better future. One in which we are not humans, but super humans. I'll admit, I have been a huge advocate of superhumanism ever since the first time I played "Mortal Kombat"

In case you are unaware, here are somethings I learned about Stem Cell research from listening to NPR:

Stem cells are the cells in your body that make new cells. Each stem cell is given a task to create a specific kind of cell. Prenatal cells though are tabula rosa. They can be manipulate to create any type of cell in the human body. By using prenatal stem cells you can literally grow, your hear that, GROW any cell, part, or accessory of the human body. Through genetic manipulation you can make these cells or parts entirely compatible with your body. Theoretically, you can have an entire farm of your Legs. You could find yourself waking up very early one morning to check out the new leg crop, and brush the dew off them. And oh yeah, they might be able to cure some diseases or something.

This is it folks, this is our chance to evolve. We were born with awesome brains that have no discovered how to make new even better brains. A portion of the country finds this frightening, amoral and unnatural. But what could be more natural than brains developing to make better brains. Just because Scientist make these deus-liek improvements in sterile white labs with scary coats on doesn't mean this isn't what and sensible deity had planned for us. What do you think God wore when he created man? What do you think the room looked like?

This progression. This survival of the fittest. This is natural evolution. Natalution.

Think you're body is pretty sweet now? Think it makes sense? I say, what about another set of arms? or a second brain? Think about how this could improve our society on even the most basic level. I mean, at the banal, laymen, proletariat, ground floor level. That's right, think of the Porn we would have. Four arms and two brains? I'm thinking crazy insane-not-even-in-the-karma-sutra-yet-not-like-i-would-know-because-i-never-read-it-
i-just-looked-at-my-girlfriends-cosmos-each-month sex going on. Not mention, the whole script would have the vocabulary of Shakespeare, and plot twists that make Hitchcock look like the guy who writes "That's So Raven" every week.

Wars would be so much cooler(cinematically)

Four armed people would give great hugs.

Shower time would be halved--benefiting the world water supply.

There would be a lot of jobs because we would have to start making whole new kinds of shirts.

And probably some diseases would be cured because scientists could hold more vials and apparently stem cell research might cure diseases.

Think about it. Listen to the Fox.


not a total pervert just a natolution advocate,
Dr. Koala Dick

there's a fine line between man and ape, and thats natolution and baby i want it.

PRESCRIPTION FOR SUCCESS: how to write a cover letter

Using the following sentences in a cover letter will yield mad responses:



My grammar skills are undefeated.

I am nearly incontinent at the possibility of working for you.

I want to work for a menacing gargantuan like Company XYZ.

I am fluent in French, Spanish, and Jive.

If you hire me, I will dedicate myself to frightening your enemies.

Experience watching Bloodsport has taught me the value of hard work.

My communication skills are impenetrable.

My research skills are crunk.

I am sweaty at the possibility of joining your team.

Company XYZ is barbaric and omnipotent, and that attracts me.

You won't have to worry about my strong moral compass; I will dedicate myself to serving your needs.

If you hired me I would be SO into it.

I have applied for several similar positions, but have been turned down because I am a nudist.

Bending the will of your competitors will be my primary objective.

I will assist your sales team with homemade cookies and brute force.

This summer I interned with conservationists at the San Diego Zoo; there, I learned to translate animal to human.

Most people have heard of me.

This is a perfect opportunity for me to demonstrate my skills while suppressing the urge to kill again.

At my previous position I was often late, but not that late.

My editing skills are legendary.

I have experience using Microsoft Powerpoint and can make presentations that are very enticing.

I am excited about the direction in which Company XYZ is headed despite the racketeering charges.

Thank you for reviewing my application; I will call your offices in ten minutes to check on its status.




This prescription for success is free, as a gift to you from Dr. Koaladick. We are, however, working on setting up a tip jar via PayPal; the plan is that somewhere down the line our readers will be forced to calculate 20% of a life-changing moment.

prehistoric ambulance chasers

Archaeologists in Quebec recently uncovered this cave painting, allegedly from the Upper Paleolithic era some 25,000 years ago. If the painting's date and origin are correct, it signifies the earliest advertisement for personal injury legal services in world history.

The arrival of personal injury lawyers has long been thought an important development in early homo sapiens society. In recent years, however, some scientists have disagreed, claiming it was in fact totally lame.

Great Moments in Boner History

Kierkegaard's constant boner:
























Though generally glossed over by modern biographers, it is a common understanding among serious scholars that in the years between his 12th birthday in 1825 and his death in 1855, Soren Kierkegaard had a boner that just would not go away.

Here's to you, Kierkegaard! One hundred and fifty years later your erectile prowess remains second to none.

Serious Things to consider

This much I know: one day I will wake up and I'll have a mustache. It is in my DNA. Furthermore, under no circumstance and by no revolutionary medical procedure--including those performed by foreign doctors in dubious circumstances--will I be able to remove this mustache from my face. Mustaches are like cockroaches, they have a pervasive, superhuman conquering quality about them. They are almost never associated with the term “ephemeral”—even when the discussion involves a massive nuclear exchange scenario. The morning I wake up with a mustache I might even like it. I'm not sure; I don't know how DNA works.

My grandfather had a mustache, my dad STILL has a mustache and the lineage of 'staches--according to the vast file of family photos I have assembled--seems to suggest this trend continues all the way back to Ireland before photographs and even portrait drawing had developed into viable technologies. Hair around the mouth is an inveterate family tradition. Somewhere in a cave in Africa, there is a painting of one my ancestors, extremely hairy under the nose.


With the inevitably and finality of this event confirmed, many questions remain.

What do I do now?

Do I rage, rage against the dying of the light? Or do I start now learning the habits and intricacies of this slightly hairier culture?

I mean Otto Von Bismarck had a HUGE mustache, and he wrecked France. Jeff Foxworthy... he's made a lot of money, right? Worst case scenario I could always go the Burt Reynolds bon vivant route. Sure he's made some bad life decisions, but he'll probably go down historically as a guy that nailed a bunch of hotties. I could do worse.

What new hobbies will I enjoy? Will model glue be involved? Should I stock up if I see a sale?

How much of my life will now be devoted to mustache maintenance? Will it be Mustache Zen Maintenance?

Will I want to trick-out my mustache? If so, what options are available? Flames?

How will this mustache improve my gruffness. When I bring this new gruff element to the table, will I reach a new dating demographic? And if so, is this babe demographic older or younger?

Will gay guys finally start buying me the number of drinks I deserve?

These are big questions. Any comments or suggestions would be greatly appreciated. I’ll try not to kill myself in the interim.

Note: Public-- mustache ride jokes aren't funny anymore.
dr. koala dick

Because there is an election coming up

FUCK PLUTO

Literally, everywhere I go, and I mean fucking EVERYWHERE, I hear the masses plea for Pluto's inclusion in our galaxy. Pluto-mania is degrading, and I'm tired of hearing about it. We are a superior galaxy without it; this is evolution. Pluto is an impostor.

Pluto isn't even an impostor.

Pluto is nothing.

Let me ask you this America; Do you know Pluto?

Do you know that in 1984 three virgins were raped during an incident in Texas where the manager of a fast-food establishment was fatally shot four times in the eye, and that they never found the killer? Did you know that Pluto killed that manager and raped those girls? Because Pluto did. How do I know that? Because Pluto had the audactiy to tell me.

Look at Pluto. Look at Pluto right now. Pluto is smirking.

Pluto is irrationally pro-life. He wants fetuses to live so he can kill babies.

Pluto once wrote a mass email to corporate America claiming to be the long lost son of Rod Stewart, and requested discreet loans to help him pay for a DNA test that would prove his relation and allow him to collect on his deserved portion of Rod Stewart's estate. Thousands of Americans lent Pluto excessive sums of money. Why? Because as Pluto and Maury Povich know, America loves a good DNA test. America is also a trusting country. You know what Pluto did? Pluto took the money and put in a Bahamanian bank account, never to be seen again.

Pluto invented the Canadian Lottery.

Pluto covered Stairway to Heaven, and to this day likes its own version better.

Pluto will eventually crash into us.

Pluto is a huge Dave Matthews Band fan.

Pluto is a vegan.

I'm Dr. Koala Dick and I'm against Pluto

WIPE THAT SMIRK OFF HIS FACE!

paid for by dudes for a most excellent galaxy

BREAKING NEWS: Doctor Koaladick Goes to Code Orange Job Search Shutdown Alert

Ever received a letter that looked something like this:

Dear Dr. Koaladick,

Thank you very much for applying for the part-time data entry trainee job. I’m sorry to say that we’re going to be hiring someone else for the position. We appreciate the time and effort you put into the application.

Sincerely,
jobs@internationalscrabblestatistics.com


Dr. Koaladick sure got one. And here was his reply:

Dear Jerks,

Slob on my job.

Thanks (facetiously),
Dr. Koaladick


Nobody turns down the Doctor for a part-time data entry job and gets away without a scathing retort. He didn't go through three and a half years of intense, near-militaristic training in Koala medical school and a grueling residency at First Koala Baptist Hospital in French Guyana only to be told he wasn't good enough at Excel. Fuck Excel. Doctors don't need it. Dr. Koaladick's job search lesson of the day: scathing retorts build respect in an industry and will only further your career through reputation.

3rd person all the way,
Dr. K

Ding Dong:

ENCOUNTERING RUDENESS: the supermarket

A supermarket may seem like a "super" place, but these bustling epicenters of gluttony can be veritable petri dishes for unnecessarily rude behavior. A supermarket always has an unsavory underbelly and, usually, it's the people who work there. Just politely force a supermarket employee to let you into a store's bathroom. On the way you'll see a hallway and a break room filled with folded-up boxes labeled "oranges," "ding dongs," and "home enema kits." This says a lot about supermarket employees. First of all, who leaves so many boxes lying around? Maybe they did it to complement all the sticky brown linoleum, but more likely these people just live like savages. No wonder they are so unhappy. Also, some of the boxes are big enough to make substantial forts out of. Let's try to demonstrate some creativity, people.

Supermarket employees tend to have the attitude of "look, I don't WANT to be here." But what supermarket employees don't realize is that I don't WANT to be there either. If it were up to me, humans would have stolen the secret of photosynthesis from plants long ago. Come on evolution, we need this.

But it's not just the employees. Complete strangers, evidently unable to handle the stress of produce, roll their eyes, sigh demonstratively, and generally act like big jerks when spoken to. This happens on a routine basis, noticeably more so in supermarkets in urban centers on the east coast. It's usually not an outright insult but a tacit implication of "I don't want to talk to you. I obviously hate sharing and didn't learn a damn thing from preschool. Want to play duck duck goose? I'll fight you." Sometimes it's difficult to respond to that kind of attitude. I say we do something, by silently walking away less and calling people "dickless" more. There's no reason we as a nation shouldn't be rude right back.

Watch as this baby is confronted with rudeness and struggles at first to find a response, but then digs deep to send a lasting message:


uh oh, that baby just got dissed


think, baby, think!


nicely done

And watch as this lady deftly handles a produce worker who looks like Moby (so many of them do) with a ready response.


this lady knows what's up in the produce section

See, it's not that hard. Just carry around an insult in your head in case you need to use it. I like "assbag" or "dicksmoke," and sometimes even the more obscure "jerkfuck" (what does that even mean?). Don't hesitate: when someone is rude to you, call them a name before it's too late.

power to the people
Dr. Koaladick

Three questions

When I hear people in the street arguing in arabic, or some vaguely clicky language that sounds like it's from the middle east, I automatically assume they're arguing about Israel. Question: Is this wrong? And would it be appropriate for me to tell them I think the solution to the whole Israel-Palestine conflict has something to do with Natalie Portman having twins with the future head of Hamas?


You remember that show Denver the Last Dinosaur? Remember how he was "your friend and a whole lot more"? What was up with the "whole lot more" part?


I recently recieved a free massage from a guy with the same name as me. I didn't like it, but I didn't hate it. Does this make me gay? And if so, should I have tipped him poorly?


stepping over passed out goth nerds all day long

dr. koala dick

LET'S GET RID OF THIS WORD!

Once when I was in fifth grade, I bought a sweet pair of Rollerblades. They were black and electric orange did I mention that they were sweet. They were so sweet that I had barely had them an hour before I smacked two rad, matching, No Fear stickers on the back of them. If Steve McQueen had a pair of Rollerblades, this is what they would have looked like.

After the stickers were affixed, I took them out for a spin grabbing my Easton aluminum hockey stick on the way. After five minutes of contemplating the intricacies of the Blades; testing their glide, turning ability, just how tight I could strap those babies around my feet, I came to the conclusion that these Rollerblades needed to be pimped out to the gills.

Always thinking ahead, I had bought a set of fucking sweet “Bullzeye” wheels (In Red) and Killer Bee Abec 5 bearings for the wheels at the store along with the blades. We did not joke around back then. I was twelve, it was 1995 and every kid I knew wanted to be a roller hockey junkie, and I wanted to be the junkiest of the junkies.

I went inside prepared the wheels, and took the original wheels out of the blades. As I began to insert my new wheel inside the blade there was a tightness, much like a tightness I would experience later in life, however this one was not natural. Even at the young age of twelve, I understood that there would be no getting this wheel into that blade no matter how hard I tried to jam it in.

Being the Sherlock that I am, I went to check the packaging for clues. Certainly I had bought the right size wheels. The instructions on the wheels claimed to fit any adult male size Rollerblade. This made no sense. I had Rollerblade ® Rollerblades, so they had to be industry standard size. And it was impossible that I had picked these sweet blades from the female section. I didn’t like figure skating, and as a corollary there was no way this could have happened--even accidentally, especially accidentally. I checked the package of the blades to see if they were any clues there or some sort of help number I could have my mom call to berate some poor sucker in Nebraska. It was on the Rollerblade box that I discovered the root of my problem. The Rollerblades were not adult male size, they were…….UNISEX!

First off all, the way society uses the term “unisex” is bullshit. It does not even corresponded to the Latin correctly. Obviously the term “unisex” when broken down ( uni and sex) translates to something along the lines of “one sex”. How does a word that means “one sex” refer to things that are supposed to be applicable to both sexes? How do they even do this with Rollerblades when the male and female foot sizing are on different standards?

This leads to another problem with the word. Things that claim to be unisex, never really are. Name one thing that you know to be labeled unisex. Is it really unisex? The only thing I can think of that transcends this rule is sleep, and that’s medical.
Whenever someone makes attempt to go the unisex route, usually we, as a society, are able to associate some gender specifications to their choices. Consequently, we then make value judgments on their decisions--“ Nice Kilt?”. We all know what moomoo's, pony tails, and cooking classes mean. Unisex attempts to be extra medium, and that is bullshit.

As you can imagine, twelve year old me was terrified upon making this discovery. Was there something wrong with me? Sexually…no (and I have the signatures to prove it). I had just been tricked once again by the corporate world fuckheads in part of their attempt to socialize the world so they could make millions of dollars while we all rot in low lit basements wearing orange sweaters. Ten years after, we all know what happened to Rollerblade ® and they’re decision to be unisexual. What’s the hardest part about Rollerblading? Telling your parents you’re gay. I returned mine. I did this not because I was insecure, but because you know who loves unisex? Communists, that's who.

This is why I decree we should eliminate this word for our vocabulary. If Ted Theodore Logan couldn't make a word sound cool, then it shouldn't be there in the first place.

The Equation

A little math I learned on the subway:



spring break Germany '07?

SOMEBODY DID SOMETHING ABOUT THE WEATHER!

Earlier this week, in an effort to improve weather moral, The National Weather Service announced plans to change the naming systems for all tropical storms and hurricanes. Officials at the monolith of geeks decided to make the move to avoid being a daily scapegoat like they were last year. NWS Spokesman Tom Krog articulated the NWS's stance, "Frankly we were all tired of the lack of respect we get from both the general public and the weather itself. It’s a shit job, and I went to college for four years. I promise you this, a Meteorology Major is way harder than Dentistry School. We decided it was time to show the weather who’s boss." The new system is aimed with increasing the public’s excitement with weather. Krog went on to explained the NWS's choices for the names, "The idea is to change storms names from their current state to objects associated with the current culture's nostalgia. No one wants to get hit by Hurricane Beta--it sounds like an STD". While the nation will still be bombared by massive storms in unprecedented numbers, The NWS hopes that the new naming system will give each powerful storm and “American Idol” like popularity. Below are some examples of the new naming system.




Hurricane Christmas is Coming


Hurricane Tracy Chapman


Tropical Depression Rollerblades

What I Learned One Semester in College

But does he like the "tradition" of kissing shirtless boys???

America Forced to do 230 Birthday Shots by Asshole Friend

America awoke late this afternoon with dark circles under its eyes. The previous night's July 4th bash had taken its toll.

This is not a common feeling for America, a nation known not only for apple pie, baseball, and assassinating people with missles from hundreds of miles away, but for holding its liquor (or so it tells chicks). However, late last night America's asshole friend Judd Mueller forced the proudest of nations to do 230 birthday shots, then shoved it into its own pool, permanently fucking up its cell phone.

This was only after Mueller, along with an entourage of America's loose acquaintances who had not been invited to America's very nicely catered party, shot roman candles at each other in America's garage. America, almost fully incapacitated by alchohol and busy chatting up an equally drunk Mexico, was unable to get it together and throw Mr. Mueller out before it was too late.

The scene was ugly as America, flailing in the pool and unaware of its phone's condition, swam to the shallow end and celebrated by shouting a rendition of Black Sabbath's "Iron Man."

Has America learned its lesson? Only time will tell. One thing, however, remains certain: if Judd Mueller does not buy America a new phone within 24 hours he will be shot from long range by a missile. How's that for insurance?

A Solid Proposal

Because Monkeys are our future.

NOT WITHOUT MY FISH TACO!!!

i'm beginning to suspect that college might have been just a diabolical advertising campaign concocted by the makers of KEYSTONE LIGHT.

also i think it's important to spend the fleeting days of youth establishing the basis for an insanity plea.

(they can hear us whispering!)

Terror From Above

Let the Eagle Soar.

Robo-Robertson

...and he can leg press 2,000lbs!