Thursday, June 25, 2009

Prank Of The Day: Blow Dryer

This is the kind of stuff I used to do to my sisters. And they still talk to me.

From Dookie.



Top 9 White Guy Afros Of The Day

From Maxim.com.

LEON TROTSKY

Even when this Bolshevik revolutionary was in exile, he continued to oppose Stalinist bureaucracy…and regularly scheduled haircuts.

RICHARD SIMMONS

The flamboyant exercise guru likes his hair the way he likes his ladies: big, sweaty, and ready to be conditioned.

ART GARFUNKEL

Sure, Paul Simon was far more talented than his ex-partner, but the Funkel’s ’fro accentuated that at least he was taller.

BOB ROSS

Just look at the happy little burnt-sienna mess of hair that sits atop the late The Joy of Painting star’s hippy-dippy head.

SIDESHOW BOB

Springfield’s resident homicidal maniac hates barbers as much as Kelsey Grammer (who voices the freak) hates driving sober.

PHIL SPECTOR

The pistol-packing producer showed up to his murder trial sporting this blond Afro wig and won. Suck it, jurisprudence.

BEA ARTHUR

How Rue McClanahan was the one getting laid in that house remains a head-scratcher.

GARY SPIVEY

Without a hint of humility, this professional psychic channels the cosmos through his mystical wig. He should really try channeling a gym membership.

MATT STONE

If you look closely, you can see the patch of gray that spawned "Uncle Fucker."

HONORABLE MENTIONS

The Drummer From Boston


Sammy Hagar "The Horrible"


Lindsey Buckingham


Dude from "Room 222"


Bob Dylan


Harpo and Chico Marx


Bert Convy



William "The Greatest American Hero" Katt


Don Henley


WTF? Video Of The Day: Project Grizzly

Testing a (supposedly) bear-resistant suit. HUH? It looks like something out of Monty Python.


Song I Hate Of The Day

(A rerun from last August. I need to go to Sam's this weekend and was reminded of the post. Was gonna take my iPod but it died. Turns out they are not machine-washable. Goddamned cargo pants -- too many pockets to check!)


I just got back from a Sam's Club run. I didn't tell my wife I was going because it makes her nervous. I'm an impulsive shopper, so on past trips I've come home with 1000 food service gloves, 30 cans of green beans and a giant tub of 250 pretzel sticks (that was April and my kid got tired of them after 146).

I also once bought several DVDs which, as it turned out, we already owned, so if anybody wants a copy of Billy Jack Goes To Washington, let me know.

The food service gloves were for my hands. I had a rash for a while, so my dermatologist gave me some cream to use at night and told me to wear gloves over my hands while I slept. Rubber gloves are too hot, so I saw the plastic ones at Sam's. Score!

They only came in a two-pack of 500 gloves per box, a little more than I need, but whatever. I wore them for about four nights until my wife made me stop because every time I moved in the bed -- which is a lot -- the sound of rustling plastic woke her up.

Besides, she said, I was never gonna get laid wearing those things and looking like a Subway "sandwich artist" or the albino bread guy at Morrison's cafeteria.

So now we have 492 plastic food service gloves; I gave one box of 500 to my friend Danna, a "be prepared" kinda gal like me, and she was excited. I'm still glad to have my 492, because if I ever end up changing diapers again
-- god forbid -- I'm gonna use them. (Update: I no longer have to worry about this.)

But I digress. Sam's pissed me off because like so many places I shop, they play the worst music over their loudspeakers and you're stuck listening to it while you shop. Then one of those shit songs gets stuck in your head, and you walk around all the rest of the day haunted by dreck like "Suddenly" by Billy Ocean (thanks, CVS), "Key Largo" by Bertie Higgins (Publix), or, thanks to Sam's today, "Mr. Bojangles" by the Nitty Gritty (Shitty) Dirt Band.

Can I tell you how much I absolutely hate the song, "Mr. Bojangles"? HATE. IT. Always have. Even as a kid I thought it was so GD lame, this ridiculous song about some rotten old scabies-infested bum who dances for nickels to support his gin habit. Who fucking cares?

And then there's the lame-ass lyrics. "He let go a laugh"? WTF? He was squeezing it in like a fart and it slipped out? You let go a fart, not a laugh. Actually, though, since Mr. Bojangles' breath undoubtedly smells like ripe ass, his laughs are like farts, making the connotation appropriate, if not brilliant.

Whatever. The song blows, and I'm rewriting the lyrics. If I have to have it stuck in my head all day long, I'm gonna make lyrics that I like.

The real lyrics (abridged version):

I knew a man Bojangles and he'd dance for you
In worn out shoes

With silver hair, a ragged shirt, and baggy pants

The old soft shoe

He jumped so high, jumped so high

Then he lightly touched down


He said his name "Bojangles" and he danced a lick

Across the cell

He grabbed his pants and spread his stance,

Oh he jumped so high and then he clicked his heels

He let go a laugh, let go a laugh
And shook back his clothes all around


Mr. Bojangles...

Mr. Bojangles...

Mr. Bojangles...

Dance...

My version:

I knew a song "Bojangles" and it sucked my nuts...
For forty years

A lame-ass tune in 3/4 time 'bout a homeless dude
Who gives a shit?!

He let go some gas, let go some gas

And then he shit his pants

Mr. Bojangles...

Mr. Bojangles...

Mr. Bojangles...

Die.


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