I was happy to hear on TV that Mercedes has done over 14 million miles of testing on their new C-Class auto. Last I knew about testing was that you had to drive around a soccer field to see if it worked. That type of testing worked with that lawnmower engine kiddie tractor I built in 6th grade. Actually it didn’t because the tires were made of duct tape and carpet. Then again I only got to use about 2 gallons of gas before the cops took it away.

I am hereby passing my carbon footprint/global warming guilt to Mercedes. I haven’t done the math but I think 14 million miles worth of gas is more than I wasted on a 6 mph lawnmower engine kiddie tractor that the cops took away.

Maybe i’m overreacting but dude that tractor was sweet.

Fuck you and we wish you the best of luck on election day.

I made a few mistakes tonight. I usually do shit like that. Mostly when i’m hard up for something like uhm, masturbating. I know i’ve written about some great strokin’ lotions, but sometimes they’re not always available to use. When you grab your roommates pumpkin hand repair cream, don’t use it. I figured this out the hard way. I watched 18 seperate 30 second porn clips (I’m not paying for porn) before I realized I was super hungry for pumpkin pie. The hunger just happened to be for Mrs. Smith’s original. Not her personally, but Mrs Smith’s frozen pumpkin pie. I decided to wrap up the session and go to the store and get one. They’re inexpensive but I knew it was going to be delicious so I tipped the cashier. Don’t think I haven’t eaten whole ones before without tipping, I was feeling saucy. Not to stray, I cooked it exactly as shown on the box (the pumpkin box, not hers). I like to follow instructions and I know people have various tastes but seriously Mrs. Smith, you have to take into consideration that people may burn their dick while trying to pleasure themselves in your delicious pumpkin pie. Please, let’s cut the baking time down a few minutes if only for the people who want to have sex with your previously frozen delights. Seems reasonable.

Quality control is more than just a good tasting pie. I don’t know what kind of penis testing you have with that thing, but you might want to get some test subjects with less dongular callouses. Either that or move your testing facilities completely out of Turkmenistan. Outsourcing dongular testing doesn’t ensure accuracy or precision in international testing.

Anyways, I don’t care how good it was. I’m sensitive you know.

Happy Halloween.

New York is so big I tell ya. Nothing like going out and doing a little people watching. Sometimes I go out and look at people and just cringe. The cringing slows down after a second or two and turns into curiousity. Curiousity of what the hell their parents might’ve looked like.

I swear to god that I think I saw Mr. Peanut out on the street the other day. I can’t be totally sure but I know he’s the only walking peanut i’ve seen in the past year. How can you mistake him really? Top hat, monocle, cane, no clothes, he’s a peanut. Take your pick what part is funny to you, but it’s funny no matter which one you choose.

I didn’t know what kind of thing could have spawned an individual like Mr. Peanut so I decided to take it upon myself to try and figure out his true origin. Along the way, I have imagined many scenarios, and this is the one I think actually happened.

On the set of Sesame Street, the number 8 decided to leave The Counts private dressing room since she felt violated by all the talk that 7 actually 8 9. 8 went out to clear her mind at a local coffee shop. While at the coffee shop 8 accidentally bumped into an older George Burns who just happened to be wearing a monocle at the time. They met and decided to go out to a show and see some old timey musical. After the musical they went home, ate peanuts, drank kirschwasser and listened to the little orphan annie radio show. They held each other and kissed once while George Burns prematurely ejaculated through his pants into 8′s 5 hole. 9 months later Mr. Peanut was born.

Seriously, where did that fucker come from?

Before you go out and buy a grill, make sure you get one with the side stove cause you might put this thing in the middle of the nowhere and not near your house which has an actual stove. It’s not like you can put a pot on the actual grill or figure out how to use aluminum foil. Get real.

The side stove, bringing you grill value since whenever it was invented.

I once almost convinced my girlfriend to have makeup sex, but she thought I used wayyy too much lipstick.

Been no plans since.

Due to the overwhelming popularity of my previous game Pancreas Hammer, I have decided to come up with another game. Although this one is less physical but the goal is ultimately the same; to win.

The game starts with 2 or more players. Each player has a carton of egg beaters, a shot glass, a list of their favorite jokes. The first player starts off with a joke while the second and third player each pour a shot of egg beaters. The joke reader then yells “punchline” when he’s about to tell the funny part of the joke, and the other two players do a shot of egg beaters. The trick is to make them laugh when they’re shooting egg beaters so that it comes out their nose. The first two people who have egg beaters come out their nose are eliminated while the other player is the winner, and the Master Beater.

The rules after you become the Master Beater aren’t clear, but since you have all that extra protein in your body, feel free to do whatever. If you have any suggestions, put them in the comment section!

I will never forget being a kid and having to hear all these bullshit stories flying out of everyones mouth. One of the best stories I ever heard was shortly after I went swimming in the public pool. We were probably about 11 and this conversation started just as we climbed the ladder and exited the pool. I wasn’t thinking about gash or cooties at that time so I was all ears. The conversation as I remember went like this.

Friend – They started putting this chemical in the pool you know. If you pee in the pool it turns red to tell the lifeguard that you did.

Me – *Uncomfortable pause, Eyebrow raise* I climbed the ladder to land. (It was basically one of those ORLY moments.)

Friend – One time I saw this girl pee in the pool and it turned all red in the water. It turned her pants and all the water around her pure blood red. I never told you because I wanted to know if you ever peed in the pool.

Pool pee chemicals? Come on. This is a complete lie. Even Snopes verifies it. There is no way that the idea is even partially feasible, but when you’re 11 years old, the moon is made of cheese and Apple IIe’s are great gaming consoles. Our friend did not know this at the time, and I doubt he ever will, but the thing was; we all peed in the pool. Unfortunately I hadn’t gone through puberty, so I didn’t have the pubes to call him a liar.

I also did not have the pubes to tell him that he swam in a pool with some broads period blood.

Sometimes I pretend Feist is the new Debbie Gibson, only instead of getting old she dies in a plane crash somewhere in the Ozarks. Upon death Apple commemorates the 47th generation iPod that comes in limited edition black ABS plastic to her. This particular Feist-pod will live in ipod history, but only until the following week when the 48th generation limited edition black ABS plastic William Hung iPod comes out.