The Out Of Context Collective

Let’s play around with my blog a bit, shall we? Today, I am going to go through every blog I’ve done so far, and take one line or piece of every one of them that I consider funny. I’m going to just put them here, in a list, with no context. We’ll see if things are more funny, or less, with nothing else to go on.

This also makes up for my lack of wanting to do a real blog today. Here we go.

How many times has the world ended in my lifetime now… five… six?

My Liberal Arts degree will no longer be impossible to achieve.

Keepin’ JIZZ OUT OF YOU!

Then just look at them with meat-juices pouring down my face, and smile.

But when a grown man talks about how one time he “ripped a big one while we were in the elevator, and it brought tears to his eyes”… I have a tendency to quiver a little bit.

He lines the halls of his mansions with your douche-baggety pictures of you pulling your shirt up and showing your abs.

I am no less a man because of the fact I can play my rib cage like a Xylophone.

So your baby was born without a head, your sister has a 300-pound tumor growing out of her 400-pound tumor, and your war-veteran brother-in-law has a piece of shrapnel in his left testicle that looks oddly like Ned Beatty.

A bus is a giant metal device filled with assholes, idiots, weirdos, cripples, old people, cheap businessmen, hippie college students, and a lot of guys named “Stewart”.

How in the name of Fuckity F. U. Fuckworth are those supposed to pierce the necks of unsuspecting villagers in the middle of the night?

I’m all for women’s rights, African American rights, Latina rights, Minority Female rights, Gay rights, Czech Transexuals rights, Half-Woman/Half-Echidna rights, hell, I’ll even support Invisible Skinned Peoples Rights!

That’s a potato with a ton of nails sticking out of is!

Not to mention the fact that I could finally use the little horsey ride outside of Wal-Mart without waiting in line!

If we drained just Rosie O’Donnell we could run a 747 to Europe.

A Hamburger with some 2-week old Seasame Chicken on top, and some of what we BELIEVE was that cassarole from last March. Tuna, perhaps?

Like hideous footwear, and things to stab into our faces to end the pain.

I have to be CAREFUL while removing the film, or else the trapped souls will escape.

It’s a human appendage going up your poop chute like some twisted Jim Henson porn video.

You want to be covered in I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter and have twenty six midgets in little dominatrix outfits lick it off?

Then you introduced me to mental stimuli and erections, and things got awkward for awhile.

And can that little guy stop peeing on things already?

And of course Space Hookers… er… I mean “Space Escorts”

OH man… I would FUCK that toaster, turn that bitch all the way to DARK.

The Hoff, is clearly displaying his man-nipples.

All that is left is to actually cover the thing in fatback and lard and call it a day.

You are delicious and nutritious, but more dangerous to eat than a cheap hooker.

Of course, the Pot-Fairy may go to prison for it, and you’ve seen Oz, you know what they do to fairies in prison!

This is going straight to Admiral No-Shit.

Ghandi was a trend-setter.

Sorry sir, we’ve discussed this with Anal Sphincter, and he see’s no way we can contain the blast.

Don’t use innocent Snicker’s bars for your evil half-assed schemes!

Sexy Professional Bowler.

Skip the cream cheese, and add some crack!

Please send me more pictures of your fuckin’ chicken.

I’d give my whole paycheck to watch a gang of lil’ 14 year old kids bring that dude to the ground!

And you spelt “Cuntface” with a K, you dumb ass.

Don’t tell me the Detroit Roman Catholics condone eating HIM

Now why don’t you get on your knees and let me put these scissors in your face.

I’m sleeping with your publicity stunt sheep

So here, from the bottom of my heart, I have given to you a Stuffed Squirrel Torso.

It’s as if they carved a statue of your face, then beat you with it repeatadle until shards of your own face stuck in your face.

Maybe I’m wrong, maybe that’s what the Queen of England calls her breasts.

So now I’m sticking charcoal in my pants?

You see, they are forced to trudge forever through a vile pile of their own fecal matter.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go light one of my makeup artists on fire for warmth.

The thought of something so beautiful and delicious like cream cheese being mixed with something that closely resembles the black pus that came out of the victims of the Bubonic Plague sends me into a dark place.

Then they have to spend the rest of the “ride” butt-scooting the way down while a fat kid leaps in and kicks them square in the back.

Giant mounds of butts on every corner, on every street.

I’m shocked we haven’t just started BOMBING the homeless.

I.O.U. one mentally-crippling fact that’ll leave you weeping like that did to me.

In fact, if a dude mouths off on his 18th birthday, feel free to kick him straight in the spine.

I saw Mommy doing something to Santa that involved beads and two of his reindeer

Perhaps they have their guts ripped out for eternity while wearing silly hats?

Just once I’d like to see a vasectomy on the sidewalk.

It wasn’t a picture of someone going up inside a girl with a coat hanger and repeatedly stabbing it in the head and tearing it out like a dead squirrel in a rain gutter.

Even Mr. Christ would have to kiss his Holy ass goodbye if a nuke came his way.

Unless it went something like “Hallelujah…. TORPEDO!”

I better get out of the bottom of the ocean or I’ll miss Ugly Betty

It ranks just under “having a pickle shoved in my anus”

Eat my frozen ass with a spoon you wimp!

Sometimes it’s just a giant purple foot sticking out of a toilet.

Toasters are better technology than the human brain.

I’m really surprised it wasn’t a Nazi Condom.

You’d never guess he was the type to invent a robot sex slave, would you?

It’s supposed to be like ExLax for your crotch

She is here today, wearing a vagina emblem on her helmet as a special homeage to her mother and her disorder.

I do not want Green Eggs & Ham, I do not want them Sam I Am. I’d rather have fried chicken and watermelon because I’m a negro, I am I am.

NO LIGHTBULBS FOR YOU!

I think I speak on behalf of handicapped ducks everywhere when I say that you are less useful than a duck that is lame, so it’s a little late for that.

I have this boil on my vagina that is shaped like President Hoover.

I thought maybe he was talking about that one time I ate some bad Mexican food, and I “went Green” for like a week, if you know what I mean.

Squirrels being swallowed up by a black hole is the definition of hillarious.

Well, out of context that all makes me sound like a psychopath. In context… it makes me sound like a psychopath. So, is this stuff more funny or less funny without anything else? And what the hell is your favorite? Not that I care, just askin’ to be nice. Now piss off.

Did Darwin Have A Theory On De-Evolution?

Compliments of Merriam-Webster

Fast: Characterized by quick motion, operation, or effect:

1) moving or able to move rapidly, swift
2) taking a comparatively short time
3) imparting quickness of motion
4) accomplished quickly
5) agile of mind

Could someone please send that definition to the makers of the “Fast Lane” self-checkout lane at Cub Foods grocery store, and it’s users if possible.

I’ve never been so astonished by human stupidity as I have been while watching people attempt to figure out the self-checkout lane. For those of you who haven’t witnessed these things in action, allow me to give you a brief summary.

Looks like some Star Trek shit, don’t it? It’s actually a fairly simple device. You follow the on-screen prompts, scan your stuff, bag it, pay and get the fuck out. Or so I thought. Apparently, what you really do is stare blankly at the screen and ponder each decision as if the wrong choice could activate a nuclear countdown and kill off the human population.

And it doesn’t even take a small amount of intellect to use one of these. In fact, you don’t even really need to be literate. It TALKS to you. Got that? It fucking walks you through it like a life coach. “Please scan your first item”. That means: Please scan your first item. “Please take your change”. That means: please take your change. It doesn’t get too much more clear-cut than that.

And if people telling you what to do is still too complicated, they also show you PICTURES! They give you moving pictures that SHOW you what to do. Now you don’t even have to comprehend speech, you just have to imitate what’s happening in front of you. Monkeys can do that, mother fucker, why can’t YOU grasp it?!

I spent twenty five minutes waiting in line to use one of these things the other day. There were FOUR of them, and each one was taken up by people who, frankly put, I’m surprised were even able to dress themselves that morning let alone get to the grocery store. And I got to watch as my fellow human beings de-evolved right before my very eyes.

As if I needed any more proof than this, allow me to tell you of a few more instances of human stupidity that are proving my point that we’re moving in the wrong direction in the evolutionary pathway.

1) “A Drunk” made it’s triumphant return to my life! – That’s right, it’s BACK! I sat in the exact same seat on the exact same bus and witnessed the exact same dumb-ass carving. At least I hope it’s the same one. I really hope someone didn’t repeat this process on yet another bus. As I stared at it AGAIN, I began to wonder if I was stuck in some kind of endless Groundhog Day-esque loop of suffering. As if I was being tested.

“Alright, Bob, we’re going to re-expose you to something that almost lead to a mental breakdown last time, and we’re going to see if you can keep from stabbing out both your eyes the second time.”

I can assure you I did, but it took a lot out of me. So I figured, why not wander the skyways in Downtown Minneapolis to cool my head a bit? Unfortunately, that’s where I witnessed case number two.

2) GUY Guys - Now, when you sit down to watch a television show or movie, you often see a stereotypical type of man: The horny perverted brainless slug type. You know the ones. The ones that drop onto bar stools and drop stupid pickup lines. The ones that say things such as “CHECK OUT THE TITS ON HER!” to complete strangers. The real die-hard jerk-off pigs. Did you know they actually exist? And they’re far worse than their fictional counterparts.

I had the unfortunate luck of being stuck behind two of these wonderful upstanding citizens as I walked. First and foremost: They were disgusting to look at. Fat, hairy, uncleaned, poorly dressed. They were pigs, without a doubt. And to make things worse, EVERY time a woman with a decent body walked by, they, as if their heads were attached to her ass via string, would turn IN UNISON and check out her ass as she walked away. I emphasis the concept of “In Unison”. It’s as if they were one. They moved as one. They widened their eyes as one.

Could they get more annoying? Sure they could. One of them could WHISTLE at a girl.

WHISTLE! I thought that was a myth. I didn’t think men actually did that to attractive women. I thought it was all made up. Nope. The guy whistled at a girl.

And to make matters worse, bozo numero dos decided to swing back with an even less classy response to his friends audible dumbassedness.

“That wasn’t me, honey. I would never treat a pretty lady such as yourself like that.”

Yes you would. But you figured if you pull out the “nice guy” approach, you’d… what, get a blowjob right there on the escalator? I didn’t see the girls face, but I could actually FEEL her eyes rolling from where I was walking.

I couldn’t take much more, so I cut my loses and got onto the second bus to make my way home. I could make it home without anything else terrible happening, right?

You know by now this is not the case. Wish I would have known that before getting on the second bus. ’cause if I knew what I’d witness 30 blocks later, I’d have thrown myself UNDER the bus instead of getting inside it.

3) Mr. Sag E. Pants - Who’s that coming up the aisle towards me? Why yes, it’s Mr. Sag E. Pants. And boy are his pants a-saggin’. So much so, that he is actually HUNCHED OVER holding the waistband of his pants somewhere around the gray area between his shins and knees. It looked as if he actually froze in time JUST as he was starting to pull them up. And he was WALKING like this. Either he was in-transit mooning the bus driver, or he was taking a dump on the go. That, or he’s a moron. I’m leaning towards the latter myself, how ’bout you?

I’ve never understood the pants-sagging clothing fad. I can understand if the pants sag A LITTLE, but down to the tops of your fucking FEET?! And in the dead of winter, no less. Why not just fuckin’ go pants-less? It’d save you a ton of trouble.

Now, as I think about this, I think about one of the worst things I’ve ever witnessed. And yes, I will share it with you, but I’m going to give you a moment to prepare. Consider this a warning. What I am about to show you could damage you greatly. If you are in an area without a vomit-recepticle, may I suggest getting a bucket handy before moving to the next piece of this blog.

Are you good? Alright, let’s continue shall we.

Someone once informed me about pants actually manufactured to appear sagging. Here is a picture, in case you don’t believe me.

That’s pretty bad, ain’t it? Don’t worry, I wouldn’t put it up if I couldn’t make it even worse. If you’re still with me, let’s take a look at the FRONT of these beauties.

Well, that’s just plain ol’ hideous, ain’t it. I’d wear them, if I didn’t have ANY sense at all. I mean NONE. Not ONE inkling of sense in my whole being.

It did get worse, however. Apparently, out there somewhere, there are also pants that exist with BOXER SHORTS stitched to the waste. So basically, it’s boxers, then pants, all in one. I luckily can’t seem to find a picture to back this up, so maybe it was only made up by the demons in my head. Oh, and if you do find a picture: Please do NOT feel free to send me the picture. I don’t want to see it. I can’t take it. It’ll destroy me.

One good thing DID come from this though. It made it so I don’t feel AS bad about the High Heeled Sneakers.

So let’s keep the ball rolling with a news story that struck my eye. About the latest in technological advancement. I’m of course talking about the ROBOT GIRLFRIEND!

That’s right, the Roxxxy Sex Robot is here! Too late for Christmas, perhaps, but just in time for Valentine’s Day! No more shall you be lonely on Valentine’s Day when you have THIS pretty lady at your disposal:

Sure, I’d hit that. Or flee from it in terror, not sure yet.

That, by the way, is the creator who is fondly adjusting her head. You’d never guess he was the type to invent a robot sex slave, would you? He doesn’t look like a creeper at all.

These are all just cases that are slowly draining my faith in mankind. As if I had much faith left to sap out of me to begin with. I do believe, however, that it helps push my case that the human race is actually de-evolving.

We’ve already seen it in speech. Back in Elizabethan times, we spoke with such elegance and word-variety. As it kept going, as we reached America, our language began to slowly get filled with contractions, shorter words, and slang.

Then we reached the internet age. As we began “web speak”, new, shortened versions of words came into practice. “Ur” replaced “Your”. “Thx” replaced “Thanks”. “Rly” replaced “Really”.

Then came the abbreviations. LOL. IDK. TY. They came in waves, more and more as years progressed.

Then we got to the text-message stage. These became over-used. No longer were there a few of them, we basically ended up with abbreviations or shortened words for almost EVERYTHING that could be said.

We even got to the point where people started saying them OUT LOUD. I’ve heard, on more than one occasion, someone say “LOL” out loud. It hurt my ears. I, of course, told them to STFU!

This is really only one step away from caveman speak again. Communicating with grunts and roars. We will start dying off in droves because we can’t understand that “OOO GAH GRRR” means “Look out, you’re about to be hit by a garbage truck!”

The human species is going to de-evolve itself out of existence. And I, for one, say good riddance.

Or is that “GR”?

The Big 5-0 (In Hindsight…)

It’s been 22 years and some change since I popped out of my mum’s uterus and onto this cold, dark blue-green ball of crap.

Today marks a milestone. A fictional one I invented just for myself, but fuck you it’s a milestone now! That’s right: This is the 50th blog. 50 times now I’ve managed to sit down, type up a bunch of really angry shit, and not have to be commited to an institution.

I’m going to attempt a little retrospective of all the shit that’s gone down. Really, this whole thing is just an example of a miracle. A miracle that I have yet to murder someone. A minor miracle, perhaps. But it’s still a miracle. This little collection of rants to keep me stable has hopefully been amusing in the last few months, and as long as someone laughs, it’s worth the time. Well, sorta. I guess. Not really, but I have nothing better to do.

This whole thing started on Facebook. Where I, much like the rest of the mindless lemmings that occupy the collective that calls itself the “World Wide Web”, have gone to waste time that could be spent doing something more productive. Like putting paper clips together to make a chain, for example. I managed to load up the “Notes” section with various levels of rants. Some funny, some dead serious, some just about shit that happened that day.

You’ll notice in May, a series of blogs appeared. That’s when I realized some of them were kinda funny. So I stripped the ones off Facebook people had laughed at, and slapped them on a blog site. A blog site I hoped to fill with funny blogs and build a little website for myself. This, as you can see by the next few months: Didn’t happen overnight. I did an average of ONE blog a month for the following few months. Things moved slow.

Eventually, I was letting someone read the blogs, and their positive reaction sparked something in me. I began to feel that writing it may be worthwhile. Not having readers sorta leaves you unmotivated to write stuff that drains this much out of you, ya know?

So, in the last few months, I’ve managed to churn out quite a few blogs. Most of which make me look like a narcissistic, over-zealous, out of control douchebag. But fuck if they’re not somewhat funny.

The development of a blog roll helped actually get me readers. Which to me, is a huge-fuck-shock. People are willinging reading this crap?! That’s simply astonishing. That seriously baffles me. Why… fuckin’ WHY do you put yourself through it. Other than the fact half these opinions probably make you wish you could bitch-slap someone through means of email, it’s just a bunch of angry jibberish anyway! Ok, occasionally I stumble upon a point, but most of the time it’s just me complaining about shit that’s barely relevant to you or to ME even! It’s not even well-written most of the time. Perhaps the occasional “LOL” justifies it, but probably fuckin’ NOT!

You know what “Funny In Shadows” is supposed to mean? It’s a representation of me as a person. I use comedy as a coping mechanism. To keep me from doing serious harm to society. The world is loaded to the brim with total, undiluted shit. And it’s difficult for someone like me to deal with. So, I crack jokes about anything and everything. I find humor in dark places, and use it to get by. Hence, being funny in the shadows.

Has it been fun? Certainly. I enjoy doing this, and someday hope to take this to the stage. I’ve only done stand up four times on stage, but have written for many years. Some of this stuff is material I wrote for the stage, while other stuff is either on-the-fly ranting, or brought up during the day and molded into something tangible to put up here. Either way, anything that’s funny here has a chance of being refined and puked out into a microphone in front of a room full of drunks who don’t give a damn what I have to say. This is the hobby I choose for myself! Ain’t it fuckin’ glorius.

With that said, recently the activity has picked up here. I’ve gotten a lot of hits and readers, and a little random publicity as well. My last blog, about homeless people sparked another blogger to write a blog that seems completely dedicated to what I had to say. If you want to see what I’m talking about, check it out Here. Cristina Cordova apparently liked what I had to say. And thank her for it. Even if it proved one thing: When an opinion is stated on the Interwebs, assholes will crawl on up outta the fuggin’ woodwork and piss and moan and bitch about what you had to say. Sometimes they won’t even READ what you said and bitch about it anyway. Staggering level of douchebaggery. More so when they bitch about things I wasn’t even talking about. But hey, that’s what the interwebs is, and I’m hollerin’ about shit I’m ignorant to just as they are. Only I’m fuckin’ funnier.

The other obvious crossover came at the expensive of not only my tastebuds and stomach, but perhaps my sanity as well. It also happened to be the most-read and most talked about blog I’ve written yet. I’m of course talking about Chapter 2 in the Vegemite Saga. When I finished writing that blog, I actually didn’t think it was that funny. I thought it was mediocre at best. I wasn’t happy with it, really. You could say it “left a bad taste in my mouth”. Ha ha. However, it got rave reviews, and I guess that’s something.

One thing I’ve done little of since starting, is talked about actual stories in my life. I don’t lead an exciting life, so very few stories do I have. However, the few I’ve come across have really seemed popular. Perhaps I’ll have to go out and suffer more so I can have entertaining shit to whine about. I’ll die for your amusement. How very Christ-like of me. Except for the me being a douchebag thing. Perhaps the most popular of my stories was this one, which is about everyone’s favorite subject: POOPIE!

Now, some of the humor in here is obviously from a dark place. I use sarcasm (ZOMG really?!?!), and a lot of tongue-in-cheek jokes. Such as the fact that in this blog, it really sounds like I’m asking people to hurt kids. I do not, in any way, actually condone the abuse of children. Now, beating the fuckballs out of adults? I’m a-okay with that. In fact, if a dude mouths off on his 18th birthday, feel free to kick him straight in the spine. Twice! Just make sure he’s really 18 first. If you have to check ID, do so.

Also, in this blog I actually started things out by saying “Hitler Did Something Right”. Now, don’t think I like Hitler. I don’t. I’m 100% on the “Hitler was a douche” bandwagon. I have nothing more to say on that matter. Just wanted to make my Jew buddies clear on that. Hitler = Bad. Jews = Awesome. Ok? Ok…

Did you also notice I actually suggested kicking a women in the uterus in this blog? Yeah, uh… don’t actually do that. That’s just not cool. I was being facetious. In fact, if anyone kicks a woman in the uterus, I’m gonna have to kill you. Women deserve better than that. After all guys, they’re smarter than us. Way the fuck better than us too. Now ladies, don’t get ahead of me, you’re doing all you can to catch up in the “shithead” race that is life. And I’m proud of you, really. Way to fight for equality by also fucking up sometimes. It does make us feel a little better about being useless sacks of testosterone.

I’ve written various blogs about news stories too, in a desperate attempt to be topical. I’ve taken shots at NASA, Global Warming, something about some big-ass kid playing football? Granted, you don’t care about these stories, and neither do I. But at least it’s funny to whine about!

I’ve also attempted several recurring segments in the short time I’ve done this. Pretty much none of which have reaccured. Like my Weird Things Found On eBay and Complaint Department pieces. I do, however, have things planned for both of these in the future. Once I get my computer back, the eBay one should return. And I have list of minor things to complain about for the CD as well. So, shut the fuck up and WAIT, dammit.

I’ve managed to write down a pretty decent list of things that I’d like to cover in the next 50 blogs. Various ideas and things that’ll eventually be up here. I’ll also continue to search for weird products, such as the Subtle Butt, High-Heeled Sneakers, or the Krispy Kreme Bacon Cheeseburger. And will continue to find bizarre stories, like this delightful one about a Food Processor. I’ve got a few new segment ideas as well, so I can have more non-recurring recurring things to whine about. Fun shit.

Looking over the blog, I guess I gotta talk about my blog roll as well. I love you all (‘cept the Friggin’ Loon for the whole “Sending me fuckin’ vegemite” thing! I want my soul back, dammit!). The first two real peeps I’ve had on here were Oma over at Blurt and the dood who’s over there Shoutin’ from the damn abyss , you two have been faithful readers since I really started working on promoting this place, and I’m happy for it. Of course, I also kinda hate you guys. Seriously. But it’s good hate, not hate hate. Ok? Ok. And of course there is the possible red-headed love of my life and maybe future Miss Counter Culture Clown Shiny, the Unabridged Girl . You still make this bitter, cynical asshole smile sometimes. Oh yeah, the rest of you are cool too I guess. But you gotta lot of catching up to do before I love you more than these four (yes, that includes “teh loon”.)

Also, Alex, I know you’re reading this inbetween nerd-treks to the fuggin’ WoW website, but I suppose I owe you a bit too. For being the only one to find the ChocoRat blog as funny as I do. The only one. Fuck it, that’s damn funny bloggin’ boi. However, I do owe you a major ass punting for being party to stumbling upon the whole Muskrat thing. Fuckin’ hell, my life would be better knowing that that didn’t exist. I.O.U. one mentally-crippling fact that’ll leave you weeping like that did to me. You’ll get it someday.

But hey, this fuckin’ thing has gone on a bit too long now, so it’s time to let it slide. Just know that some crazy shit is still there, I’m never dry when it comes to things to bitch about. I promise to attempt to maybe try to keep it up sorta. And if you guys keep reading, fuckin’ good for you. I’d love it if you promoted. Tell your friends. Pimp me like a Blog-whore. I want readers dammit!

Either way people, thanks for an interesting first 50. And here’s to maybe… 6 more before I snap and call it quits. Naw, I’ll stick around. See ya’ll at the 100th Aniversary! I’ll probably be blogging from prison at that point. Or hell. I bet they use dial-up in hell. And AOL. Fuck, that’s gonna suck…Anyway, thanks. Seriously. Thanks. I do appreciate it.

Now go do something productive, fuckers!

Subtle My Ass

Clothing.

It serves several purposes in our life. It helps protect us from the elements. It serves to some as a form of expression. Sometimes it’s used to advertise a band or a product. And it also keeps you from being naked. And trust me, there are A LOT of people that need clothing for this purpose. I don’t care if they’re hot or cold or want me to know what they like, I just really don’t want to see them naked. Thanks clothing!

However, perhaps the most important use of clothing is undiscovered by most of the people walking this great planet: Absorbing gas!

Alright, so this probably isn’t considered “clothing” more as it is an accesory, but the point is still there. Recently, I discovered something known only as the Subtle Butt.

The Subtle Butt, as I understand it, is a pad of some kind that actually absorbs, for lack of a better term, Southern Winds. Of course, they refur to it as a “Gas Neutralizer”. But we know what it is, really. It’s a FART EATER. It eats farts, there for it’s a fart eater. Don’t try to get all high-tech on me Subtle Butt.

Gas Neutralizer. Really? That sounds like some kind of advanced military weapon.

“Hey Sarge, we want those people over there dead or close to it.”

“Well Private, why don’t you launch a gas neutralizer over there and watch them all implode.”

“…it’s an honor to serve under such a great man…”

According to this page, it consists of two layers. The first is a “soft fabric with antimicrobial treatment”. First off, let me just say this: If I’m cramming it in my pants, it fuck-damn better be soft! I’m not shoving some sheet of sand-paper down my drawers just to “neutralize gas”. Sure, the gas problem is taken care of, but now my ass is raw. Soft = IMPORTANT TO ASS-WEAR!

And is it just me, or is “antimicrobial treatment” one really fucking advanced term to be used in regards to something made to absord farts? Once I figure out what the fuck “antimicrobial” means, I’m going to probably be pissed about it. Time to dial up Wikipedia, and figure this one out.

“An antimicrobial is a substance that kills or inhibits the growth of microorganisms such as bacteria, fungi, or protozoans, as well as destroying viruses.”

This certainly seems to imply that my ass leaks “protozoans”. Sweet merciful crapballs that sounds rather frightening. Or perhaps it actually can cause FUNGUS to grow?! Basically, the word is a broad term used to describe things like antibacterial spray and other things like that. Basically, they don’t want the fart eater to be a DIRTY fart eater. ’cause, well, that’d be gross!

Anyway, back to the Subtle Butt. The second layer of this fine product is described as such:

“Activated carbon with vast surface area to which stench adheres and gets neutralized.”

Now that is one scary, scary sentance. Let’s start off with “Activated Carbon”. Let’s head back to wikipedia and find out what the hell THAT means!

“Activated carbon, also called activated charcoal or activated coal, is a form of carbon that has been processed to make it extremely porous and thus to have a very large surface area available for adsorption or chemical reactions.”

So now I’m sticking charcoal in my pants? Sure, that sounds fuckin’ smart. Sounds to me like a fabulous way to start an ass-fire. Or turn my ass black. Either way, this doesn’t sound good to me.

I also love the term “Extremely porous”. I have no joke about it, just thought it was a cool sounding term.

It would appear this “activated carbon” is good for stopping chemical reactions. Which is great, because when I find out I’m shoving a form of fuel down my pants, there may be a couple of those chemical reactions going off. What happens when urine mixes with coal?

Anyway, back to our description of layer two. Let’s tackle the next phrase in that sentance: “Vast surface area”

What are you trying to say, you bastards?! “Vast”?! Fuck you! What makes you think I need “Vast surface area”. Why not just cut the rhetoric and euphemisms and say what you want to say: “LOTS of room for your fat ass”. Wow, Subtle Butt, you’re just cruel.

“Stench adheres and gets neutralized.”

Stench. That’s fantastic. Could have used one of many words. Odor. Smell. But no, they went with a more extreme word. A stronger, much more unpleasant word. Stench. What are you eating that causes you to emit a “stench”. Then again, if you need a product like this, stench is probably a very fitting word.

So the second layer catches the stench, and eliminates it. Like some kind of stinky terminator. Kudos, Subtle Butt. Until now I never hated the word neutralized. But now…

Alright, let’s take a look at the company that makes such a fine product. Pond Inc. out of Irvine, California. They have a whole slew of products of this nature over at Garment Guard!

Among the list of products that are fairly simple and useful, we have our Subtle Butt.

“Subtle Butt™ is a disposable gas neutralizer made of activated carbon fabric with an antimicrobial layer. Each 3.25-inch square shield is held onto the inside of underwear or pants with two self-adhesive strips. Subtle Butt effectively filters flatulence, absorbing and neutralizing its odor. “

There is more in that one paragraph than my feeble mind could ever possibly handle. I may need to start drinking just to cope with this. Alright, let’s dive right into it.

“Disposable gas neutralizer”

Disposable? Let’s fucking hope so! I’m sure as hell not keeping something like that in the drawer next to my socks! And I would hate to find out how you clean something that’s filled with farts. I could imagine it would be the same process they use to clean bus seats: They Don’t.

“Each 3.25-inch square shield“

I’m not sure I even want to go there. Nevermind, yes I do. SHIELD?!?! Are you shitting me! A SHIELD! A shield is used to defend your life! How bad are your farts that you need a SHIELD!

“Sir, I’ve brought your shield. What do you need it for?”

“To protect myself against swords, arrows, and post-Gas Station Burrito farts that may be sent my way!”

I’m starting to get worried that this product is made for, and by, clinically insane people. Perhaps it’s made by the same people that made THESE!

“held onto the inside of underwear or pants with two self-adhesive strips.”

For some reason, I read this sentence as “Held onto the inside of your underwear, and if you aren’t wearing underwear, your regular pants work I guess… you pervert.”.

With two adhesive strips. Folks, listen. There are certain words, phrases, that do not belong in sentences involving the “private sector”. One of those words is “prickly”. One of the most important is “Adhesive”. Adhesive makes things stick together. And ass-cheeks are two things that should not live in fear of this. Just sayin’.

So, I clicked on the product page. And discovered the greatest picture that has ever happened upon my eyes. Just head over to this page and see for yourself. That there is a major win if I ever saw one.

Below, we find a tiny picture that has the instructions for this product. And yes, they too are fuckin’ hillarious.

Step 1: Peel off adhesive and stick Subtle Butt onto the inside of your underwear or pants, exactly where you think it goes.

Well I don’t know about you, but I’m in tears right now. Laughing and crying tears, at the same time. At least these people realize this product is hillarious, and have a bit of a sense of humor about it.

The next step is my personal favorite:

Step 2: Go for it. Let ‘er rip. Have at it. Cut loose. Break wind. Gas it up.

I almost feel like writing these people a love letter now. Because no matter how hard I try to wrap my head around that “instructional step”, I can’t seem to figure out HOW it’s not the funniest fucking thing ever written.

The third step talks about throwing it away and getting the fuckin’ adhesive off your underpants. Which I really think you should consider. I could only imagine what adhesive in your underpants looks like. A white, sticky substance in your pants. And after all that smiling you were doing while wearing them!

More research on this site shows a few things.

1) I have no life and spent entirely too much time invested in websites selling Fart Eaters.

2) These are apparently for sale at Nordstroms. Which scores them extra points on the awesomeness scale.

3) We can CONTACT THEM! Oh joy!

Let’s focus on the third one, shall we. Awhile back, when I discovered this site, I did indeed send them an email. I used the same tact and grace that I do when writing this blog. And even with all that, they still haven’t sent a response. How rude!

Ultimately, I’m sure this product is helpful for people with over-active colons and severe gas problems. I’m sure it’s a fine product. However: It it horribly silly! And it’s way too advanced of a technology for my liking. It’s as if NASA spent billions of our… tax… dollars… SON OF A BITCH! I knew this sounded like some space-aged shit. Damn you NASA, you didn’t spend that money on blowing up the moon! You spent it on Fart Eater research. I’m on to you, you bastards!

Anyway, this whole thing stinks, so I have to go. But let it be known, that if this sparks your interested in this product, and you purchase it. I don’t want to know you.

Fly Shoe? Don’t bother me! (aka Can I use the laces to hang myself?)

Every day, closer to death. That’s the way life goes. However, things are being expedited on my end. Mother Universe, in all her bitchy glory, has decided to plant things on this planet to make things go that much quicker. Things that appear in my eyeballholes, head towards my brain-unit, and eat away at my well-being from the inside out.

Today, we shall discuss high-heeled sneakers.

Deny it all you like. Your left brain can phone up the ol’ right brain and try to convince it that such a thing is not possible. You can ask every fashion expert on the planet to prove me wrong. But they exist.

This is why I’m convinced their is no God:

I will personally send you some Handi-wipes to clean up the vomit on your keyboard. However, the Handi-Wipes will not help cleanse your soul. Sorry. You can blame that one on me.

I witnessed these on another human beings feet. I’ll repeat that. Not only do these exist, but I saw them on the feet of another biped. Makes you tear up a little, doesn’t it?

Alright, let’s take a step back in time and apply my theory of everything to this. My theory of everything is as follows: If it exists, it was someone’s invention. Makes sense. Everything from lawn darts to Aaron Eckhart’s absurdly perfect hair were created by someone, somewhere. This theory also applies to the high-heeled sneaker-shoe.

Follow me now, if you will, on a journey from idea to creation. Counting along the way ALL the people that were fucking demented enough to think that these were a good idea. We shall start with The Creator. The Creator, a fashion designer or manic depressive sociopath who escape an institution, came up with this idea. Perhaps in a dream? “I had a dream last night, I got invited to a Formal Relay Race, and had no good footwear! It was horrible!” They scribbled it down, and took a step back. And thought, “Yes, that there is a masterpiece.”

And indeed they are, just LOOK at that beauty:

Someone please kill me…

Now, the next step. Presenting these to a shoe company. To the man in charge, The Don of Shoes, if you will. And guess what? He looked at them, and despite the fact he has a brain in his head somewhere, said: “Hell yeah, motha FUCKA!”*

*Apparently, he isn’t very professional…

Now, The Don took The Creator’s idea, and presented it to his manufacturing company. The head of manufacturing, The Builder, looked at this cataclysmic idea, and said that not only could it be done, but it will be done. What The Builder should have done was walked down to the floor of the plant, tossed himself onto the giant machine that puts the stitches into the shoes, and let himself be torn into a bloody pile of flesh. This would have been far more pleasant, I’m sure, than having to deal with the task of making high-heeled boot-sneaker shoes.

But this is not what happened. Instead, The Builder took this to his workers, The Grunts, and told them to get on it immediately. Fuck the pretty dance shoe and the stylish pump, we need to get to work on this useless project IMMEDATELY. TOP PRIORITY!

The Grunts, you see, are divided into two distinct groups. The sneaker people, and the high-heeled boot people. These two groups do not play well together. However, in a beautiful showing of love and unity, they have come together. These wonderful shoes of epic disaster have brought together once-enemies! It’s a beautiful thing. Almost makes me want to cry. Or slit my wrists, I haven’t decided.

Now it’s time to order the supplies. The Grunts put in the order to The Suppliers. We would like boot-heels. And sneaker materials.

“In the same order?” Asked The Suppliers, knowing that such a combination is asinine.

“Yes sir! You see, we are combining the two, into a Hybrid Shoe. Something which has never been seen before!”

The Supplier should have responded “You have not seen it, for a reason. You see, a boot and a sneaker together is A SHITTY SHITTY DUMB DUMB IDEA FUCKFACE!”

But instead, The Supplier boxed the stuff up, and sent it out with a smile on his face. You see, The Supplier loves to see a dream come to fruition. Even one as horrifying as this one. The Supplier, needless to say, is a terrible masochist. The likes of which you’ve never seen.

He even sent pink materials! That’s right…

THEY COME IN BRIGHT PINK!!! Oh Joy!!!

Alright, shoe built. Time to get this on the shelves, since SO many people have been waiting their entire lives for this moment! It’s like the release of the final Harry Potter book! Alright, maybe it wasn’t THAT awful… but close!

Let’s including The Store Manager in the list of people who saw this as a good idea. They saw them and said, “Of course! This is what has been missing from my business all this time! This is going to make me rich beyond belief. I, merchant of Death, shall sell these to unsuspecting, slightly-mentally handicapped people, and I shall make a fortune off their not knowing any better. Kinda like Steve Jobs does!” He then told The Stock Boy to put them out on the shelves. And The Stock Boy, against everyone on the Earth’s better judgement, complied. Making poor, minimum-waged paid Stock Boy just as liable as everyone else.

But, how do we let the general public know?! Well, we advertise of course. We get the word out. The Advertisers are involved now too. The Photographer who takes wondrous glamour shots of the beautiful shoes.

Glamour shots like THIS ONE:

Alright, now to the last piece of this puzzle of terror: The Consumer. You and me. Supposedly intelligent humans, walking on this planet, using our hard-earned money on things we need. Things that will make our lives more enjoyable. Like hideous footwear, and things to stab into out faces to end the pain.

Let’s do a quick tally.

The Creator
The Don of Shoes
The Builder
The Grunts
The Supplier
The Store Manager
The Stock Boy
The Advertiser
The Photographer
The Consumer

Look at all those people. ALL those people, plus many that I didn’t represent here, thought that THIS was a good idea.

Guess they couldn’t create a Half-Shoe, Half-Pile of Feces, so they settled for this!

Alright. Let me just sum this up quickly. You know, before my sanity is completely destroyed and I go ape-crackers on everyone around me, tearing off people’s flesh and kicking them hard in and around the shin area. This is my summary:

Whoever did this to our society, deserves to pay. Just because you HAVE an idea, does NOT mean it was a GOOD idea. In fact, it probably wasn’t. Most ideas aren’t good ones. In fact, very, VERY few ideas ARE good ones. Very few. Oh so few.

And this one wasn’t even close.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to work on my latest idea. It’s a Hybrid Hat that combines all the respectability of the Top Hat, with the childhood fun of a lil’ spinner beanie hat! I call it the… Top… Spinner Beanie Hat! It’s going to be amazing when you want to go to a grand ball and still have a little bit of fun. Either I’ll work on that, or drink a gallon of lead paint and leave this mortal realm. Haven’t decided yet. Leaning towards the latter.