No, seriously, you probably shouldn't read this.

The Fear Sets In... At some point in your life, if you're like me, you'll find yourself single and bored. Most of your friends are married by now and some of them have kids. The rest of your friends are busy with work or buying a home or still appealing that court conviction, I don't know. Who can keep up? The point is, when you find yourself in that situation, your options are super limited. You work with old guys, married guys, and too young guys. And who the fuck wants to go out alone? What if some weirdo approaches me at the bar? I barely have enough roofies for myself, thank you. Eventually you give in (or up, not sure) and try online dating. After all, it IS free, right? And you get to screen your suitors! Win-win, bitches, amirite? Well... not exactly. I feel like it is incumbent upon me to share my ups (there weren't any) and downs with my experiences. I sifted through the crazy so you didn't have to. Men Think they are God's Gift to Me (Misogyny...

An Homage to Roby Fusspucker * *For the sake of the anonymity of the parties involved, all names have been changed to protect the innocent. It was 08:15 on a damp, quiet night on a Wednesday, last October... Roby Fusspucker had set off in his 1998 Buick Regal to join some friends for a lighthearted dinner and drinks at his neighborhood Chili's . Little did he know that this would be a night he would look back on in infamy. Roby met his friends Marsha Knubbrubber and Craig Slischt, two friends he'd known since business school and met frequently at American franchise restaurants. When it came time to order, Roby chose from the beer list a drink popular with housewives, Stella Artois. "May I see your ID?" the waiter asked. His name was Paul Wienerpluhg and he'd been working double shifts for three days in a row. "Sure," says Roby and he slides his ID out of his duct tape material wallet before gingerly handing it to Paul. Paul looks at the ID and...

A Personal Rant. Lincoln's Birthday If you take a look at your calendar, and I'm sure you do because that little voice says, "Fuck my eyes, that stupid, goddamn Valentine's Day is in two mother-fucking weeks." Well, before you freak out about missing that opportunity to take a whore to Applebee's, let's take a gander at the 12th, which is Abraham Mother-fucking Lincoln's observed birthmus. This is as good as it gets, bitches. That's right, we still celebrate the first Republican Party President's observed birthday. We celebrate Washington's, but that makes more sense. First off, because he wasn't a republican, but secondly, because he was the first president. This isn't even Lincoln's actual birthday, what makes Lincoln so special? "Lincoln Freed the Slaves!" you say. O.K., sure, I'll give you that, but read this quote: “I will say then that I am not, nor ever have been in favor of bringing about in anyway...

Do you share a house, apartment, or office with someone? Are they a fucking douche bag? Do they take advantage of you cleaning the place a little too much? Do you have fantasies of murdering them with a hammer and dumping the remains in a mine shaft because of it? Here's a solution I have tested personally that will keep you from murder charges, with one caveat: patience is essential . Step 1: "Borrow" something semi-valuable of their's. Be smart about it; nothing too big, but something that they can't replace as easily. Think 'key to a safe,' 'lucky coin' or maybe something with sentimental value, like pictorial evidence that they fucked 75 year old Gertrude when they were wasted. In most cases, this is all about timing. If they travel frequently, you can get away with snagging a favorite pair of shoes or cuff links. The broader the item, the broader the effect, too-- take away a favorite kitchen item, get the kitchen cleaned, but take away som...

Thanks for agreeing to see me, boss. I wanted to turn in my Annual Review papers and also if I may, explain why I think I deserve a raise. You see, when I first hooked up with this outfit, I was just a simple strainer. Since then, I've moved up to team leader, and quite frankly, I've done a great deal to turn this meth lab around. If you look over at that cardboard covering the window, you'll see that marked on it in bright red, it says, "Accident Free for 3 Days," and that is undeniably an improvement from three days ago, may God rest Carlos' soul. It was my quick thinking that kept Carlos' burning body from getting out of control and threatening the rest of the house. In fact, the only reason we have fire extinguishers is because I suggested it after Leroy wouldn't shut up about how bad his skin grafts itched, day in and day out. I've had to act as shift leader when Duane is "occupied" in the corner of the room more frequently lately....

We all do it. Sometimes a tweet is mediocre. I won't care if it's got a mistake in it. But occasionally, there is a tweet that makes me laugh, literally out loud and it has to be perfect, but in my excitement I fumble through the furious thumb-typing on my phone or iPod and after it's posted, I step back in anticipation and read it for the first time. Lo and behold, a mother fucking, goddamn typo!!! I'm going to discuss the stages I go through when this happens: Stage One: Denial What? No fucking way! I did not just post that with a missing letter! I must be reading this wrong! Stage Two: Anger NO FUCKING WAY!! OMG!! I fucking hate you phone! You stupid piece of shit! ARRRRGGGGHHHHHH!!! FML!! Fuck it SO HARD! Stage Three: Bargaining Please, for the love of all that is holy, please let no one have starred that yet!! I will stop swearing at children, if you'd just...no, I can't promise that...I'll stop looking up German porn on Bill's computer at work ...

1:30am It's day three of losing internet connection...I've gotten so desperate for WiFi that I find myself waking up in the middle of the night laying in the college library parking lot clutching my iPad. Three days! It's so cold...so cold. I collect shoes, couch cushions, whatever trash I can find to keep a fire going. It won't be long until we all turn on each other out here. I've sharpened an old toothbrush I found into a shank. I must protect my WiFi at all costs. 2:00am I found a couple unbroken beer bottles not far away. I'll have to use them to store my urine if I'm going to have anything to drink. Already the natives have been circling me, testing my reflexes and perimeter boundaries. I stabbed one in the face but he got away and now I'll have to fashion a new weapon. I'm running low on supplies though. Even as I type this I'm eye-scanning the area and I see a hubcap, a rubber trash can, some broken glass, and what looks like a Wendy...