On the U.S. Involvement in the Conflict with Libya
Get out. We’ve done enough to the Asians.
On Canada’s Involvement in the Conflict with Libya
Canada’s fighting someone? Come on, you’re going to make me pee my pants.
On the Birthplace of President Barack Obama
I don’t think it’s possible that Obama was born in Hawaii. Why? Because there are no hospitals in Hawaii. It’s a fact. I’ve watched every episode of Dog the Bounty Hunter and they spend quite a bit of time in our fiftieth state. Wait, is Hawaii the fiftieth state? Or is that California? I guess it doesn’t matter. Anyways, Dog has never once gone to a hospital in Hawaii during an episode, and that’s because the state only has beaches, jails, and adult book stores. The question you should be asking is not if the president was born in Hawaii, but if anyone has ever been born in Hawaii. And the answer to that is no.
On Where the President Barack Obama was Really Born
8 Mile.
On America’s Struggle with Obesity
Just watch Nutty Professor and realize how hilarious of a disease obesity can be. Then watch Philadelphia so you can realize how hilarious AIDS can be.
Today I received what I consider to be my first fan letter. A woman whom I’ve never met read one of my old articles from back in 2009 and took the time to write me her thoughts on it. The post she stumbled upon was one where I pitched a morning talk show called “Sean Milna-HO! and the Early Morning Dingleberries.”
In it I describe myself as a shock jock, and I introduce the reader to the other people on my talk show known as The Dingleberries. The Dingleberries consist of Eileen, a 26-year-old attractive coed from Nebraska, Phil the Gross, a 33-year-old Asian with elephantitis of the face, Sleepy Susie, a 22-year-old in an induced coma, and Fred Durst, a douche. Together we make the most out of control group of misfits the radio has ever heard.
My new fan found this particular post and was very enthusiastic about my picture of Phil the Gross.
Phil the Gross
Here is what she sent me:
“Wtf is wrong with you! I mean really, you think it’s funny to post a picture of someone that had a tumor in their face and then clearly state a lie about that young man. What if that was you sir, ma’am, what ever you are. You’re a pack animal and feast on peoples pain, what ails you? You must not have anything better to do with your time then to create stories about others.”
Receiving a fan letter is both humbling and overwhelming. This particular fan letter is typical: full of compliments and questions. And because I want to be as fan friendly as possible, I am going to respond to every question and compliment that was given to me by my new fan…
A Response to my First Fan Letter
Wtf is wrong with you! I mean really,
Although I believe that this is a personal question reserved for psychiatrists and first-time sexual partners, because this is a special occasion I will answer it:
Butt lice, extra nipples (seven), back-penis, nose hair that smells like farts, and dandruff plagued eyelashes.
you think it’s funny to post a picture of someone that had a tumor in their face and then clearly state a lie about that young man.
I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be that guy, but you’ve asked two questions so far and have used zero question marks. But I digress. The short answer to your question is yes, I do think it’s funny to post a picture of someone that had a tumor in their face and then clearly state a lie about that young man. But let me ask you a question: what exactly gives you the impression that this person is young? Is it his haircut? Or is it because you don’t think that someone in his condition could live a long life? If that’s the case, I’m slightly repulsed by your generalization.
What if that was you
Again, I’m really sorry, but I’ve yet to see a question mark. While tumor humor (rhyme!) doesn’t offend me, incorrect punctuation does (this excludes the incorrect use of colons and semi-colons since I don’t know how to use either). Please end each question with the proper typographical symbol.
In regards to your inquiry, I feel that since I still get occasional pimple at the age of 29, I can fully relate to someone who has unwanted extra skin on their face. You think he has it bad? I went to a New Year’s party at the age of 27 with a huge zit on my forehead. So I don’t have to ponder ‘what if’ I was this person because in a sense, I am this person. Only I have a much more adult haircut.
sir, ma’am, what ever you are.
I don’t know either.
You’re a pack animal and feast on peoples pain,
This is by far the most masculine thing anyone has ever said about me. It makes me feel like some sort of wild boar. Thank you.
It has also easily beaten out “Aint no Holla Back Girl” when it comes to what I want etched on my gravestone.
what ails you?
There’s that question mark! I was beginning to worry that your keyboard didn’t have one.
As to what ails me, I would have to say butt lice, extra nipples (seven), back-penis, nose hair that smells like farts, and dandruff plagued eyelashes.
You must not have anything better to do with your time then to create stories about others.
I heard that. In fact, I devoted an entire year of my life to this practice. But now because I’m working again I’m only able to do this every once in a while, and find the inspiration to do so when I receive angry letters from strangers who have an odd sensitivity for tumor jokes.
**This website was created to entertain, not offend. If the persons whose picture I used in my post is offended or hurt by my words, I will gladly remove it from this site. Luckily I wont have to because in all likelihood he’s dead**
The Good – Meeting new people. “What a delight. I’ve been cooped up in a putrid classroom with the same 30 kids for 7 years, and now I get to go out and meet new people. I’ll no longer be known as the kid who pooped his pants during the spelling bee! Look out world!!”
The Bad – Meeting new people. “Who the hell are all these freaks? Does that kid have a mustache? How old is he? And how does everyone already know that I pooped my pants?”*
The Good – You have more than one teacher. In grade school, you were stuck in a classroom for 6 hours a day, 9 months a year with the same teacher. Eventually you get to know this instructor more than you ever should. If Mrs. Williams has a headache, it means that she went to Applebee’s last night with all the other teachers who have headaches. If Mrs. Williams is friendly with the art teacher, it means that she’s ovulating. If Mrs. Williams is cranky, it means that the art teacher gave her a venereal disease. Why is she surprised? The guy has dreadlocks.
The Bad – There’s a greater probability of getting a dick for a teacher. It was a 50% chance is grade school. There was always a nice one and the mean one. But in junior high, you have eight different teachers. Chances are that at least one of them is going to be a dick. And they’ll make no qualms about it. “Sorry, but you’re in the real world now. We’re not here to baby you anymore.” I have two problems with that theory:
1) Junior High is not even close to the real world. You don’t give titty twisters in the real world. At least not in the work place.
2) Even in the real world, it is not acceptable to be a dick. That’s probably why the teacher flunked out of dental school and ended up as a shitty middle school teacher.
The Good – A variety of lunch options. It seemed like in grade school you had two choices: chicken patties or chicken patties. But in junior high they give you the opportunity to choose what you would like to eat, and I took full advantage. Every day I would get a Hawaiian Punch, a Fruit Roll Up, and a Nutty Bar. Man, I was growing up so fast…
The Bad – The seating arrangements during lunch. When did lunch become a showcase of how cool you are, or more specifically, how cool I’m not? In grade school everyone sat together. Even the conjoined twins were invited, and they grossed everyone out. Now my best friend from four months ago is sitting with a bunch of eighth graders who are dressed in all black and smoking, and he doesn’t want me to sit next to him. “Why not? Is it because of the shirt I’m wearing? I thought we both liked Ace of Base!”
The Good – The dances. It’s exciting. The school is basically giving you permission to touch someone of the opposite sex. That was never allowed in grade school. Of course the only physical contact you had with the opposite sex back then was when you would snap some girls training bra, but they still yelled at you for it.
The Bad – The uncontrollable erections that come with this new permission to touch someone of the opposite sex at a dance. No explanation needed.
**Fun Fact – The girls that dance the dirtiest at middle school dances are most likely to be future cast members on 16 and Pregnant.**
The Good- Most of the girls now have boobs. Where did they come from? They never had boobs before. How did Fran get boobs in three months? We called her Flat Fran. We even made her cry. I wonder if she’ll go out with me.
The Bad – You can’t stop thinking about boobs. It’s starting to affect your schoolwork. You didn’t even make the Honor Roll this quarter, and the kid who eats chalk made the Honor Roll. But then again, the kid who eats chalk might be brilliant.
The Good – Having to care about your appearance. You might think that this is bad, but it’s good. You know what’s bad? The two months you went in sixth grade without showering. The Bo Jackson shirt you wore three times a week that eventually no longer covered your nipples. The outbreak of head lice that you caused at your school. That was bad.
The Bad – Getting dressed for gym. In grade school they just requested that you wear sweat pants on the day of the week when you had gym class. But in junior high they make you go to gym every day, and since wearing sweatpants daily is a fashion faux pas (which I found out at 26), you are forced to have a gym uniform that you change into. And there is always one kid who has an incestuous family of 15 that has no problem with walking around the locker room in his whitey tighties. I wouldn’t even look in the mirror if I was just in my underwear, and this kid was prancing around trying to tickle us. He also ate chalk.
The Good- You get to use the bathroom more often. Grade school teachers give you two bathroom breaks a day and wonder why children pee their pants all the time. And when you go, you’re with all your other classmates. It’s like a madhouse in there. Boys pushing each other into the stalls, wet paper towels being thrown everywhere… it’s impossible to urinate in an environment like that. And god forbid you even try to go number two. If you do, kids will be opening the stall door, peeking their heads in, and eventually telling every girl in the class that you poop. But in junior high, between each period you get the opportunity to use the restroom. And getting a hall pass to use the bathroom during class is no longer as difficult as being granted permission to enter the White House with a bazooka in your coat.
The Bad – No recess. “What do you mean gym class counts as recess? We did fucking gymnastics the whole time.”
*I’m sorry, but you will always be known as the kid who pooped his pants during the spelling bee. That title will follow you around forever like it was Forrest Whittaker’s stalker** following around Forrest Whittaker.
Obviously I am referring to Shawn Hunter, one of the main characters on God’s favorite show Boy Meets World. Like every Shawn in this world, Mr. Hunter was cursed with the gift of great hair, piercing eyes, and BJ lips. But beneath the stunning canvas lies a man-child with more baggage than Octomom.
Like a full moon, you could count on a Boy Meets World episode where Sean has emotional issues to come every 29.5 days.
Three episodes a month Shawn would be as entertaining as a teenager can be. He would chase girls, cause mischief, and fail academically as if he had a severe learning disability. But then the fourth episode would air, and this carefree Adonis would turn into Issues McGee.
Name an issue. Any issue. Shawn had it.
Abandonment - Although his parents were borderline homeless, they had the funds to travel around the country chasing each other while Shawn was put into the care of his friend’s parents, his English teacher, and his long lost wealthy brother. He was passed around like a baby on Teen Mom.
Academic – Shawn never excelled as a student, which made him feel inferior to all of his smart friends. But it’s not all bad. Through the magic of terrible writing he ended up getting into the same college as Topenga, the valedictorian of a heavy populated school in Philadelphia (a city known for its racism academic accomplishments). Thank you Boy Meets World. You’ve proven that no matter how hard you try in school, you will always end up at the same crappy college as your friend that only knows 17 of the 26 letters in the alphabet.
Sexual – The guy was a pervert. Hands down. But he wasn’t the only one with sexual problems on the show. Look at Topenga. She wouldn’t even let her boyfriend of 12 years see her in a bathing suit until they were married. Maybe she was holding out for Fred Savage. I would.
It’s obvious that Shawn had problems. But who didn’t on that show?
Cory, who started out the show as a cute and witty 12-year-old, grew up to be a neurotic sex addict with the face of troll and the vocabulary of a 94-year-old Jewish grandmother.
Mr. Feeny was forced keep his homosexuality a secret because he worked in the public school system.
And Eric, Cory’s brother… I mean, what happened there? He started out the show as a ‘b’ student who strived to get into college. By the end of the show he couldn’t even formulate a logical sentence. The guy obviously had some sort of brain cancer that was being ignored by everyone around him who just thought he caught a case of “the dumbs.”
But Shawn was a complainer and always reminded us that he was given the short end of the stick. But he’s cute, so who cares.
Fact: When you are driving, the easiest way for you to express yourself to the motorists around you is to sport a bumper sticker.
The bumper sticker is a way to tell people you will never meet a little something about yourself. Maybe your ancestors came from Germany, and even though you’ve never been to Germany, you don’t like German food, and you’re scared to tell your Jewish girlfriend’s dad that your grandfather killed his favorite uncle back in the 40’s (crazy times), you want to represent the country you came from to complete strangers. There’s no better way to do that than by draping a German flag sticker to your bumper.
But unbeknownst to you, the bumper sticker you select most likely says something about you that you never intended. It’s like that sunset tattoo you got in Cabo San Lucas: you think it’s a symbol of the unforgettable time you had in the Mexican paradise, but to everyone else it just confirms that you got too drunk during Spring Break and slept with a tattoo artist. So when you choose to have a bumper sticker, be aware that the ones below give an impression of you that may not be what you were going for.
What Your Bumper Sticker Says About You
What You Think You’re Saying About Yourself - I don’t trust the government, and advise everyone to do the same.
What You’re Really Saying About Yourself – I frequently get caught breaking the law.
What You Think You’re Saying About Yourself– I love sex and women!!!
What You’re Actually Saying About Yourself – I have difficulty talking to women and have yet to see an actual female breast.
What You Think You’re Saying About Yourself – I can accomplish anything in my life!
What You’re Actually Saying About Yourself – Obesity has prevented me from accomplishing much in my life.
What You Think You’re Saying About Yourself – I am so proud of my child!
What You’re Actually Saying About Yourself – I’m so shocked that the retard can actually pull a ‘B’ average that I need to show everyone.
What You Think You’re Saying About Yourself – I want you to be careful driving around me, my precious angel is in the back seat.
What You’re Actually Saying About Yourself – Beware, my terrible driving constantly puts both yours and my child’s life at risk.
What You Think You’re Saying About Yourself – If they were elected back then, we wouldn’t be in the mess we’re in today!
What You’re Really Saying About Yourself – I’m dumb and can’t figure out how to get old bumper stickers off of my car.
What You Think You’re Saying About Yourself – I love my American Staffordshire Terrier!
What You’re Really Saying About Yourself – I’ve had sex with my American Staffordshire Terrier.
What You Think You’re Saying About Yourself – I love making the world a better and brighter place!
What You’re Really Saying About Yourself – My positive attitude annoys all of my coworkers at Home Depot.
What You Think You’re Saying About Yourself – I am a huge Packer fan!
What You’re Really Saying About Yourself – I’m a dick.
What You Think You’re Saying About Yourself – I love great music, and The Grateful Dead is great music.
What You’re Really Saying About Yourself – I have a stack of narcotics in my trunk.
What You Think You’re Saying About Yourself – The lord is the only one that can tell me what to do.
What You’re Really Saying About Yourself – My problem with authority has caused me to be unemployed for the last five years.
What You Think You’re Saying About Yourself – I want to live in a world of absolute peace and harmony.
What You’re Really Saying About Yourself – I chopped off my toe in ‘67 to get out of Vietnam.
What You Think You’re Saying About Yourself - I respect and cherish the Second Amendment of the Constitution.
What You’re Actually Saying About Yourself - I’ve killed immigrants.
I wanted to make two predictions on this website that, if either come true, will convince everyone that I am a modern day Nostrodamus. But unlike the 16th century Miss Cleo, my predictions will not be filled with loose predictions that can be interrupted in hundreds of different ways.
Nostro has been unjustly given credit for predicting almost everything that happens in this world. For example, he once said this:
The young lion will overcome the older one,
On the field of combat in a single battle;
He will pierce his eyes through a golden cage,
Two wounds made one, then he dies a cruel death.
People claim that Nostro-vagueness successfully predicted the death of King Henry II of France in this third grade poem. This is because King Henry II died a cruel death. So what? Predicting that someone in the 1500s would die a cruel death is like predicting that Snooki will get abortions. What wasn’t a cruel death back then? No one died peacefully in their sleep. They were either killed in a sword fight, contracted smallpox, or got decapitated.
So in the honor of showing some balls when it comes to predictions, I’ve decided to make two bold prophecies that, if either come to fruition, will prove that I’m much more talented than the Nos.
Prediction One
On July 18th, 2016, at 4:47:16 a.m. CST., the guy that played Potsie in Happy Days will be pulled over by a trans-gender police officer for failure to use his blinker on a right-hand turn in the city of Minot, North Dakota. When the cop realizes that it’s Potsie, she will break down crying. He will say the words, “Why are you crying?” She will say, “Because you killed my father!” Potsie, remembering his dark past, will run the cop over with his car and high tail it towards Canada. We will never hear from the gifted actor again, but the cop will survive the hit and ironically star in the wildly successful 2020 sitcom remake of Happy Days.
murderer
Prediction Two
It will rain in Pittsburgh on July 16th, 2011. Maybe.
Laws exist around this country that are so outrageous, it makes you wonder what caused them to be signed into decree in the first place. For example, in Eagle, Idaho bicycles are not allowed on tennis courts (SAY WHAT?!?!); you cannot carry a lunchbox down Main Street in Las Cruces, New Mexico (SO WEIRD!!!); and in Fairview, South Carolina it is illegal to save an African American from drowning (CREEPY!!!)
Below is only of portion of these crazy laws that still exist all over the United States.
In Gainsville, New York, it is illegal to smell like Indian food.
In Frankford, North Carolina, it is forbidden to watch episodes of Glee where the plotline focuses on the homosexual student.
In Bensenville, Illinois, it is forbidden to tell someone that they resemble James Van Der Beek unless they legitimately resemble James Van Der Beek.
In Tampa Bay, Florida, the only time it is legal to tickle someone until they poop their pants is during Hanukah.
In Hartsville, North Carolina, it is illegal to get a vasectomy if you are attractive.
In Dover, North Dakota, it is illegal to make a joke about Princess Diana’s death unless it’s laugh-out-loud funny (most are).
In Hunter, Wyoming, it is against the law for amputees to go to public swimming pools.
In Carol Park, Mississippi, it is illegal to be Japanese.
In Foxboro, Massachusetts, it is illegal to mistake Louis Gosset Jr. for Montel Williams (mistaking Montel Williams for Louis Gosset Jr. is oddly encouraged)
I love Thanksgiving. It’s the biggest drinking holiday of the year. For four days in a row Americans are allowed to get as drunk as possible. It’s like St. Patrick’s Day on HGH. The night before Thanksgiving you drink to celebrate the beginning of your vacation, Thanksgiving you drink to tolerate the Detroit Lions game, Friday you drink because there’s nothing better to do, and Saturday you drink because you’ve become addicted. By the time you get back to work on Monday your skin has turned a slight shade of yellow because you’ve contracted jaundice.
But there is one part of Thanksgiving that I’m not crazy about…
The Turkey
I don’t love turkey. If turkey requested me to be a friend on Facebook, I would accept him, but I would make it so he couldn’t see certain parts of my profile. I just don’t think it tastes that great. It’s OK… I mean I’ve eaten worse… but it’s just nothing to get excited about. It’s like meeting Ron Magers.
Not only is the taste not exciting, but the fact that it makes you sleepy just sucks. Before you eat turkey you feel as energetic as Ty Pennington. But by the end of your meal you feel like you’ve just finished up an orgy with the entire population of Beijing. And this is the time you are supposed to clean up. Cleaning up after Thanksgiving dinner makes me feel like Tito Jackson being woken up by Papa Joe at 3 am for an emergency rehersal of My Girl. It’s torture. All I want to do at that time is take a nap while whatever offensive show the TLC network is airing plays in the background.
I’m sure turkey was a huge deal at the first Thanksgiving. But back then tree bark was a delicacy. We’ve evolved. We have Fruity Pebbles now. And Buffalo Chicken Sandwiches. Can you imagine showing up to the first ever Thanksgiving dinner with a bunch of Buffalo Chicken Sandwiches? The place would have gone nuts! The pilgrims and indians would have had no time to fight each other because they’d all have irritable bowel syndrome. We could have avoided centuries of conflict and saved millions of lives. But no, the pilgrims had to have turkey. They ate, napped, woke up cranky, and decided to take everything they could from their dinner mates. Turkey turned religious pilgrims into crack addicts. It’s got to go.
It’s Monday again. Shit. It seems like hours ago it was Friday. But one football game and six Jagerbombs later and here you are back at your desk. Don’t you hate Monday? Of course you do. Everybody hates Monday.
For this reason I feel bad for Monday. Nobody likes him. He’s like the nerd in high school, only he doesn’t grow up to be wildly successful and overwhelmingly attractive (I was a nerd). In a popularity poll, Monday would lose to stab wounds, anal warts, and the WNBA. But it’s not poor Monday’s fault that we hate him. He’s been a day of the week since the beginning of man, when the cavemen referred to him as “Ugh.” But a book was created that ruined Monday forever. The Bible.
In this book, God declares that the 7th day would be the day of rest, making the day after the 7th day a complete pain in the ass. It makes me wonder what Monday ever did to God to deserve this. Did he sleep with God’s girlfriend? Did he tickle God until he peed his robe? Did he talk God into contributing a large amount of his savings to the Bernard L. Madoff Securities Investment firm? Who knows? But whatever Monday did, God made sure that he would be hated by everyone for eternity.
I think that’s unfair. Just because God holds grudges like O.J. Simpson doesn’t mean we should all dislike Monday. Monday’s a weekday just like the rest of them. So in my attempt to stick up for the little guy, I’ve come up with three ways to help make you stop hating Monday so much.
Pretend Monday Has Cancer – You’re always nicer to someone when you think they’re dying. Why do you think we’ve tolerated the music of R.E.M. for so long?
Do the same for Monday. Pretend these are your last days with him. It’ll remind you of the good times you’ve had together. Remember that one Monday when your aunt died so you didn’t have to go into work? What an awesome day. It was almost as good as that other Monday when you contracted the swine flu and had to call in sick. Or remember that one Monday when you had to miss work because a judge was sentencing you to four months in prison for exposing yourself at your nephew’s little league game? And what about the next sixteen Monday’s after that? Remember? You didn’t have to wake up early for work any of those days.
In retrospect those would have been terrible Saturdays. But when it comes to Monday’s those are the best you’ve had, so reminisce about these great times. And keep in mind that Monday is dying, so you should cherish the final moments you have together. But don’t be mad at Monday when he eventually outlives you.
Move to Vegas – I’ve never spent more than three days in a row in Vegas because I’m afraid I’ll contract mad cow disease. But I imagine that the one benefit of living in Lucifer’s science experiment is that Monday’s are great. That’s the day when all of the tourists are gone. The puke has been cleaned off the sidewalks, the prostitutes you order arrive much quicker, and your annoying coworker who brags about his ability to count cards has been killed and buried out in the desert. As long as you don’t work in the business of marriage annulments, Monday is probably the best day of your week.
Find a Job You Love So Much That You’re Excited to Go into Work – And after you accomplish this, quit lying to yourself. You don’t love working at Borders as much as you pretend to. You’re just trying to make your successful friends jealous. Remember when you missed the birth of your first child because of the midnight release of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows? That sucked, right? It’s probably what caused your divorce. Oh, and guess what! Your underage coworkers were caught with that beer that you bought for them and had no problem telling the cops where they got it from. Isn’t that going to violate the terms of your parole? Uh oh. How much do you love your job now? Asshole.
A drinking game designed to make the movie Precious a little more precious
**The Precious Drinking Game should be played with at least one other person and exclusively with Sierra Nevada Bigfoot Beer, the highest calorie beer available**
The Rules
1. Every time Precious is mistreated, mistreat one of your friends by making them take two drinks.
2. Whenever you can tell that Precious has her eyes open, take a drink.
3. Each time Mariah Carey comes onto the screen, have everyone in the room take turns naming one of her songs without repeating. The person who cannot continue must drink the rest of their beer while the other players sing Mariah’s ‘Hero.’ If you don’t already know the lyrics (loser), please press play.
4. When Precious steals the bucket of chicken from Kickin Fried Chicken, chug your beer the entire time she is running away without taking a breath. When she is done running, stop drinking and catch your breath while she does the same.
5. Whenever a character is diagnosed with AIDS, pass your beer to your neighbor without looking at them and demand they take thirty-two drinks.
6. Every time Precious hits one of her classmates, hit the fridge for another beer and finish it before Precious whacks someone else. Hurry!
7. Take a drink any time Monique makes you laugh, because this isn’t one of her comedic roles. You should be ashamed of yourself. She put her heart and soul into this character, and you’re laughing? She won an Oscar for this damn it! You know what? Take two drinks because you’re pissing me off.
8. Every time Precious is the victim of child abuse, have everyone share a story about a time when they were the victims of abuse. The person who comes closest to crying has to chug a beer for being a pussy.
9. Each player has to end every sentence they say with, “Based on the novel Push by Sapphire.”
Example: “Can we pause the movie so I can pee… based on the novel Push by Sapphire?”
If a player fails to do this, start the movie over.
Phil the Gross
What You Think You’re Saying About Yourself - I respect and cherish the Second Amendment of the Constitution. 
murderer
50% possible
The Turkey
