“Gobble, gobble. Booble-ooble-ooble-ooble-oop!”

Planes, Trains and Automobiles (1987) - A F***ing Car Scene | Movieclips

“You can start by wiping that fucking dumb-ass smile off your rosy fucking cheeks. Then you can give me a fucking automobile: a fucking Datsun, a fucking Toyota, a fucking Mustang, a fucking Buick. Four fucking wheels and a seat!… And I really don’t care for the way your company left me in the middle of fucking nowhere with fucking keys to a fucking car that isn’t fucking there. And I really didn’t care to fucking walk down a fucking highway and across a fucking RUNWAY to get back here to have you smile in my fucking face. I want a fucking car, right… fucking… NOW.”

Happy Thankshanukkah!

In 2013, Hanukkah and Thanksgiving will coincide for only the second time. The last time was 1888, and the next time will be in the year 79,811. I’m not Jewish, but I’m celebrating it. I missed my last chance, and next time it rolls around I’ll probably be too old to care.

Insula Magnetum

A full 90% of these fuckers at the North Pole are complete assholes. I’d have told that fat bastard Claus to go fuck himself.

“Hey, remember that birth defect we all, including your own father, mocked and derided you for? Well I just found out that it’s useful to me, so now I want you on my team. Congratulations!” Fuck you, you obese cocksucker. Guide your own goddamned sleigh. I hope you crash into a mountainside and die of hypothermia. I hope your dick freezes and snaps like a candy cane. You spend all fucking year KNOWING you’re going to be flying in winter, and you don’t do a god damn thing to prepare for it. Go to AutoZone and buy some fucking halogen hi-beams. You live in a fucking castle with an army of worker elves and magical flying animals; I’m pretty sure you have the resources to acquire the same technology found in a 25 year old Ford Taurus. Lazy fucking prick.


“…you don’t get the Purple Heart for staying in the foxhole. Life isn’t lived from a point of safety, or from waiting for something to happen. That’s the slow death. The one that doesn’t matter. The one that doesn’t win the war.”


Pictured: Not me.

Once, while waiting for a tow, I busted out my guitalele and played on the street. The tow truck driver liked it so much he asked me to keep playing while he fixed the engine. Musically speaking, that was a pretty awesome day.


Tonight’s episode: “Hofbräuhaus”

Hofbräuhaus is officially no longer worth the fucking bother. What a waste of goddamn time. It’s an hour wait to be seated to wait another hour for mediocre, overpriced food and “live” entertainment that plays two fucking songs then disappears for forty-five minutes while the worst polka Muzak in the world plays.

My sister-in-law just asked if they have pinot noir or shiraz, and the waiter just said “I don’t really know what beers we have.” That should tell you all you need to know.

Also someone should explain to accordion boy that he has ONE FUCKING JOB. Play the goddamn accordion. But no, every song is preceded by a ten minute monologue telling us how much we’re supposed to enjoy the song THAT HE IS NOT PLAYING. And then he tells us how much tips and shots are appreciated. So is doing your job, polka douche. Jesus fucking fuck, he’s talking in the middle of the song now…

Four of our party are done eating. Fucking done. The rest of us have yet to get our food. They no longer serve shotskis because “people were getting too drunk.” You can still order all the individual shots you want, though, so that makes sense. And all the formerly hot waitresses now look like a slightly less hairy version of me. Fuck this place.

Why does every musician in every polka band look like they’re being forced to perform at gunpoint? They’re playing “Touch Me” by the Doors. On an accordion. Just the way Jim Morrison intended.

This has been another chilling episode of…


My phone’s dictionary doesn’t contain the word “broccoli.” When I type in “broccoli” it autocorrects it to “neocolonialism.” Who the fuck programs these things??

I’m just saying, even if you absolutely loathe broccoli, it has got to be a million times more likely that you will type “broccoli” than you will ever fucking type “neocolonialism.” I’m not sure I’ve ever even heard that word before.