|
Last week, I was invited to the annual Bisexual Conference. Doesn't sound half bad. I think non sequitur can be pretty funny. But that's because I eat a lot of peanut butter. I'm half Irish and half English. Every year on my birthday I send myself a letter bomb, but I'm alive today because I always recognize the handwriting. Damn, I'd really like to help you. If only there was some way to make me give a flying fuck. People ask me, "Who are you voting for, Bush or Gore?" The choice is clear: I'm voting for the rich-kid son of a famous politician. I quit smoking pot after college. Two weeks ago, I finally graduated. Young girl: God, you're practically old enough to be my father. I don't mind when a woman laughs in the bedroom. It's when they point and laugh. If ABC really wants to shock viewers of Monday Night Football, they could do a lot better than Dennis Miller. Here's my idea: Let's bring back O.J. When I was young, I would think, "Life sucks." Then I got a little older, a little more mature, a little wiser and realized all I could say for sure was, "My life sucks." Lovejoy's Bar Manager: Doug gets to do anything he wants in this bar. If he wants to enter through the back door, you've got to let him in through the back door. Strippers? Forget about it. Who wants to watch live naked women you can't fuck? You might as well drink near beer, snort baking soda and get the full faux effect. I prefer hookers. What you see is what you can pay to get. When I left the microphone my entire body started shaking uncontrollably. I had accidentally said something sincere and was having a bad reaction to it. My arms shook violently and my knees wobbled. I felt gimpy and distorted like Hunter Thompson on ether, Joe Cocker before the final chorus or Eddie Money anywhere. I thought, just let me get back to the table, please, please, please and I swear the next time I'm asked to do a toast I'll say, "How the fuck you all doin'?" Like most Sagittarians, I don't believe in astrology. The NYPD threw 42 bullets at Amadou Diallo. I know this is an undeniable fact, because I heard about it on NYPD Blue. Far be it from me to tell police officers how to do their job, but I think anything over 37 bullets is just show-boating. I also heard only 19 of the 42 bullets hit on target. This is understandable. You have to fire a few warning shots, right? Hard drive crashes make a great excuse for nearly everything: Excuse: Sorry I haven't sent you e-mail lately. My hard drive crashed. Ha! Like anyone would deign to drink tap water? I ask you, do you drink tap water? Do you? The only water I drink comes from the supermarket. And it's laced with hops. Like me, my dog Spike leads a minimal existence. He's got a small house in the backyard, an impressive collection of sticks and a rubber ball. I often wonder if he thinks, "All I have in the world are a few sticks and a ball, but every time this motherfucker Jasper shows up he hurls my stuff clear across the yard. I hate this asshole." Will: "You know, I tried writing like you for awhile," Can I give you some advice? This is good advice. A lot of people on the Internet pretend to be someone they aren't. This is part of the fun. Likely, you've tried it at least once. Bald guys will pretend to have long hair, fat guys will pretend to be thin, men will pretend to be women and women will pretend to read my column. There's a whole lot of pretending going on. Get into it. You can only work so many hours a day and two's my limit. Cigarettes contain nicotine, carbon monoxide, cadmium, strychnine, tars and several other toxins. Can you imagine the hassle if you had to go out and collect these substances individually every day? As we headed to the car, my buddy's girlfriend turned to me and said, "You're not going to bring that stinky thing in here, are you?" I quickly checked my fly, but she was talking about my cigar. In stock car racing, there's a driver called Dick Trickle. (I ask you, is there any better time in history to write a humor column?) True, he has no control over the last name. But he could have done something about the first name. I'm thinking the name Dick Trickle is a date-breaker. Jason, by the way, is an animal science major. Don't laugh. It's not an easy major. You have to employ a mind-boggling amount of geometry to execute the perfect cow tip. Hmmmmmmmmmmm. Cow tips. I'll never commit suicide. Why should I shoot myself? That's what the cops are for. I think the things parents tell children affect them the rest of their lives. My mother used to tell me, "Your mouth will get you into trouble," and, "If you don't apply yourself, you'll never amount to anything," and the one I really hated, "You're a lousy lay, just like your father." In general, job interviews suck. Here's the question I hate the most: Question: "Where do you see yourself in the next five years? Answer: "If I'm still here, I see myself on the roof of that tall building outside your window, pumping your sorry skull full of lead." God forbid they ever create a pill to increase penis size. The line at the doctor's office will make the million-man march look like a block party. I am not gay. That was a nasty rumor started by that guy in California who sucked my cock. If we can't have separation of church and state, could we at least have separation of church and sports?
|