Gunna Need a Whole Lotta Milka

This is quite possibly my favorite Kids in the Hall skit that doesn't involve fattening up tapeworms. Enjoy.

You Can't Arrest Me! I'm a Stove!

Yes I shot that bitch, and I hope she burns in hell!

A woman said she was shot in the leg by her stove. Cory Davis told the Peninsula Daily News she had just stoked her cast-iron heating stove Sunday when she heard a loud bang and was struck in her left calf.

Like I said, I admit it. I shot her. Fuck that bitch. The things I've had to put up with, had to witness. Here I sit, warming her home, and how am I repaid? I get jabbed with sharp metal objects. Have you ever had a red hot poker jammed into your maw? Yea, I didn't think so.

Davis said a case of shotgun shells spilled about a month ago at her home and one must have landed in the newspapers she used to light the stove.

Yea, that's what she thinks. But what's she going to do. Even if I admit it, you can't arrest me! I'm a fucking stove! I'm like the ultimate killing machine, in a way. Anyway, you should see the men she brings home and has relations with, right there in front of me! This woman has spent more money on bondage shit than you could shake a stick at. And getting me involved in her sick, twisted fantasies! To say this woman is into the flaming amazon is an understatement.

She removed a metal fragment herself and was treated Monday at Forks Community Hospital.

Next time it'll be in her stupid whore face. No one suspects the stove. No one...

Do You Like the Rays? Take Off Your Pants and Prove It

So I guess the Tampa Bay Rays players have been seen sporting mohawks or something. Which in turn has led to a lot of people in Tampa sporting mohawks. All this to the chagrin of punk rockers everywhere. Anyway, for you lovely ladies of Tampa Bay who want to support the Rays but don't want to have your hair 'hawked, you're in luck. Because now you can get a Rayhawk on your lady parts.



Michelle Foster of Skin Deep Spatique in St. Petersburg says she was inspired by her son's Mohawk, "I stopped and thought about it a minute, and thought, well now everyone can have one!"

One might find a junction like that a good time to maybe take a step back and reevaluate one's life and priorities and such. If I ever have a son, look at his head and then step back and think to myself "oh snap! put that on a vagina and we are in business, baby" I will think about having myself committed.

But, it's not exactly pain-friendly. Team pride comes with a little sacrifice.

Right. I think by now it's pretty common knowledge that getting your hair waxed hurts, right?

Women wince. They cry. They even scream.

Ok. Well we get it. It hurts. You've established that. These are natural reactions to pain. Great.

It's a bit of a shock to the system as hot wax is spread onto the skin with a spatula, while an aesthetician stands by with a white piece of cloth, ready to rip off the wax.

FUCKING WE GET IT. We know that's how wax works. It hurts. Awesome. Make with the goods, news article.

When all is said and done, women are left with a female Rayhawk.

Right, that was the fucking whole point, no?

For $30, women are walking in to Skin Deep Spatique and requesting this popular style. They call it, "the special".

Sheesh. 30$ to have some lady painfully rip your hair out so your pubes resemble a mohawk. I'm glad to see this recession isn't affecting everyone.

Thankfully, Michelle performs the procedure in a back room where women can yell or even yelp. She tells them with a patient, all-knowing smile, "Take a deep breath. Have you ever seen 'The 40 Year Old Virgin?'" The movie features some funny but disturbing hair waxing moments.

Well it's reassuring that you can both yell and yelp. And so inference also tells me you are encouraged to shouts swears at Michelle and also yell "Kelly Clarkson" while she tricks you into thinking you're getting a rayhawk and you wind up with a smiley face.

Michelle says the response has been crazy. She chuckled and told us, "It's fun. Now us ladies have a way of participating."

Nothing says "Go Cliff Floyd!" quite like groomed pubic hair.

It seems to be making a lot of men happy, Michelle says, as women come home with what she calls a big "surprise."

Please note at no point is the look of the mohawk described in any kind of detail, so I'm not exactly sure what kind of surprise it would be. Wouldn't it, for all intents and purposes, look pretty much like your run of the mill landing strip? And why the hell is "surprise" in quotes?

It's one, she says, that just may help the Rays, in some small way, to go all the way to the World Series.

"Congratulations on your victory, anything you like to say to the fans?"

"First I'd like to thank God, my family, and of course the fans who came out and supported us, and especially the fans who had the carpets shaved into little mohawks. We certainly couldn't have done it without them. The mohawks I mean. The mohawk is the "them" at the end of that previous sentence I was referring to. Them."

Proof That Either There Is No God, or That God is a Dick

Do you remember that guy who's girlfriend didn't leave her bathroom for two years and was physically stuck to the toilet?

That's right. Last we saw Kory McFadden he was getting probation for letting his girlfriend sit on the toilet for 2 years. Well, guess what! He won the lottery!

A Kansas man whose girlfriend was physically stuck to the toilet in their home has won $20,000 in the state Lottery, for the second time this year.

Whoa whoa whoa fucking whoa. For the second time this year? This fuckstick won the lottery. Twice. In one year. The same year he let his girlfriend get stuck to a toilet and then also got a six month bit on "...an unrelated charge of lewd and lascivious behavior for exposing himself to a teenage neighbor in March." Quite a year my friend.

I don't have too much to add here except: fuck this guy. Seriously. Are you there God, it's me, Pemulis. Again. Double you tee eff, God.

Though it makes you wonder if perhaps people like me are the ones God made most closely to his own image. Assholes with an appreciation for irony and schadenfreude and such... Yup, that's what I'm going with. There is a God and he's just like me.

Cat Face vs. Garfield.

So I spent way too much time yesterday watching the most awesomely insane videos ever. Cat Face has ten little episodes on youtube, and is maybe the greatest thing I've ever seen. Here is the first episode:

I don't care, I cant even read, I'm a cat!

And then there's Lasagna cat. This is a group that has reenacted a number of Garfield comic strips, then gone on to make fucking batshit crazy music videos that play after the strip has run. Here's my favorite:


I think we're all a little dumber having seen these.

Science is Helpful, Gross.

So they'll give you an award for anything. Science that is. Science the idea is doling out awards left and right apparently. Cancer research? Nah, how about you get back to me on the affects of soda on sperm counts. Oh you did? Great. How about ovulating strippers? Perfect! Here's your award!

Deborah Anderson had heard the urban legends about the contraceptive effectiveness of Coca-Cola products for years.

Well Deborah, I pray to God you, instead of saying who gives a flying fuck - like any normal person should, went ahead and spent serious time and money investigating this.

So she and her colleagues decided to put the soft drink to the test. In the lab, that is.

The system works!

For discovering that, yes indeed, Coke was a spermicide, Anderson and her team are among this year's winners of the Ig Nobel Prize, the annual award given by the Annals of Improbable Research magazine for oddball but often surprisingly practical scientific achievements.

...

So, anyone want to explain how this is practical? I can see it all now: more and more teenage pregnancies resulting in kids not knowing that Coke doesn't = condom. Unless it does... hmmm.... tell me more!

Anderson, a professor of obstetrics and gynecology at Boston University's School of Medicine, and her colleagues found that not only was Coca-Cola a spermicide, but that Diet Coke for some reason worked best. Their study appeared in the New England Journal of Medicine in 1985.

Please note nowhere does it explain how Coca-Cola is a spermicide. Like does it lower your sperm count? Do you just dip your wiener in a cup of Coke pre-coitus?

"We're thrilled to win an Ig Nobel, because the study was somewhat of a parody in the first place," said Anderson, who added that she does not recommend using Coke for birth control purposes.

Oh good, so it was a fucking joke to begin with. Glad we got that wrapped up. Money well spent people, congrats on your prestigious award. Moving right along...

Geoffrey Miller's work could affect the earning potential of exotic dancers everywhere.

Oh boy. Here we go. Now this could be important. Get your singles ready people, I've got the feeling this is going to be awesome.

Miller, an associate professor of psychology at the University of New Mexico, and his colleagues knew of prior studies that found women are more attractive to men when at peak fertility. So they took the work one step further — by studying earnings of exotic dancers.

Ummm.. ok? I'm still with you... sort of... Please go on?

In the 18 subjects Miller studied, average earnings were $250 for a five-hour shift. That jumped to $350 to $400 per five-hour shift when the women were their most fertile, he said.

First off: ew. But there you have it, sluts. Make sure you work your shifts around your ovulations, because that's where the real money is... whoa wait... average earnings for a 5 hour shift = $250? Why wouldn't anyone be a stripper? I mean besides the fat and/or hideously and improbably deformed. But still, holy greased poles batman. I should be a stripper. And learn how to ovulate. And move to New Mexico. Oooooooh or I could be a scientist. Here's how my interview at the New Mexico Center for All things Science-y and Shit would go:

"Do you have your degree?"

"Nope, don't need one."

"Why's that?"

"Well I plan to study strippers sir, and I've done what you could call, extensive interning to gain maximum experience in this area. Though none for college credit."

"Strippers, eh? What about them that's so important? You don't think your knowledge would be better put towards AIDs or Cancer or SIDs or something?"

"Well like I said earlier, I don't have any science-y type degree, but instead what I had been subtlely hinting at was that I spend several hours in strip-clubs, so this would be perfect for me."

"Well great then, you're hired. Make us proud."

"I will... is it cool if I get all my petty cash in singles?"

You Did It Again Big Guy!!!!!!

Manuel Uribe, whom you may recall from such adventures as: trying to leave his house! Or, Getting fork-lifted to the beach! is at it again. This time? Marriage.

I love you even though you have several breasts and they're all larger than mine!

The world's most obese man is getting hitched. Manuel Uribe says he will wed longtime girlfriend Claudia Solis on Oct. 26 in Monterrey, Mexico. The two will be married in a civil ceremony at a location still to be decided.

"The happiest day of my life was when I said "I do" and then the fork-life operator pulled up a little bit so we could kiss." How do you get around that? The guy is too fat to walk. It's going to be a little tough to get a suitable location that is both romantic and not insanely embarrassing.

Uribe is unable to walk, and leaving his house means being towed through the streets on his specially made bed.

See?

Uribe and Solis have been dating for the last two years. "We are in love," he said. Solis added: "I bathe him every day, and we get along very well. At times, yes, people say things ... that it's a fake relationship, but what we have is real."

At times people say things, like "Is there even a like minute chance that this relationship is remotely physical in any way?" "Does rooting through several layers of epidermis and fat just to find his dirty penis for daily bathing turn you on?" Look. I'm not trying to be mean. These are just questions I think we all want to know. Don't look at me like I'm an asshole. You know you're curious too, you self-righteous fuck. Also, I can't imagine telling a woman who is with a seven hundred pound man that her relationship is fake. She most probably has to seriously love him to stay with him for like 5 minutes, let alone several years. And for him, she bathes him and feeds him. So I guess if people said the relationship was fake in the sense that it was maybe more like she had a pet seven hundred pound man rather than a fiance, well maybe I'd buy that.

"I get lots of e-mails from people saying they are inspired by my progress and I want to get the word out about healthy eating. I'm not against people who sell junk food, but you've got to be informed not to eat it," he said.

See? It's not all fat jokes and me being a prick. That's pretty awesome - and I say that a concerned human being, not as someone who just plain hates fat people. Though I hope there's maybe some stuff lost in translation here, because if those are his words of wisdom, Susan Powter he is not. Unless maybe he gets really specific emails that illicit that type of response.

Dear Manuel, I'm inspired by your progress and trying to lose weight. Fuck Pringles, and fuck Shop Rite for allowing my fat ass to buy them, can I get an Amen? Anyway any words of wisdom for one of your biggest(lol) fans?

Love, Berbalerbs' Obese Sister Clarabell

Dear Clarabell,

Don't hate on Pringles, there's nothing wrong with the people who make them or sell them, just be informed not to eat them and perhaps do not buy them.

Eloquently,

Manny

Of course this is all assuming he's got his typing stick. Because otherwise an email from him would probably go something like this:

rgafhntdzsnstrkouilguiytr456senjhmn rgn xdbh