Idiots on Parade, Volume I

Jen: “Hey look y’all, he’s taking a picture of my Bud Light sticker!”
Cameraman: “Uh…yeah…Bud Light sticker…”


Just because you’re not touching her now doesn’t mean you’re not going to jail later.


Kyle, you’re here because mom said I had to bring you. But stop touching my friends!


Forget showing her your “Oh” face. You’re more likely to be busting out the “mace” face once you make your move.


No matter how much we get hit on, we’re sticking together tonight, deal Bev?


Grrr, look out boys, we’re sexy babes with attitudes and we’ll rock your…wait…can I start over?


Cameraman: “OK, everybody say ‘douchebag’!”
Smirky McTrustfund: “Dou… wait a second…oh I get it!”


Anything to draw attention away from your face.


It’s good to see everybody keeping a safe distance.


The sweatband keeps the hair gel from running into his eyes when he rocks Galaga!


Kyle, I’m not gonna say it again!!


First the Mexican immigrants take our jobs, now the Finnish immigrants are taking our chicks!


The Dildo Bandito.


Brokeback Mountain 2: Don't Worry, She's Only My Sister.


First the Mexican immigrants take our jobs, then the Finnish immigrants take our chicks, and now the Russian immigrants are just creeping everybody out.


Somebody’s roofie was money well-spent.


Sorry to break it to you dude, but praying about it isn’t going to get you a hook-up, either.


Yep. Right out the neck of your shirt.


I’m serious mom! Get out of here and stop doing that!


I’d love to see the look on his face in the morning when he realizes how big her nose is.


Hey buddy, help me out. How many losers are in this photo?


Hesitantly, she agreed to the threesome. Sadly, she ended up watching from the chair in the corner.

Death of an Innocent

Sorry, boy. We're gonna have to put you down.


After years of debate, name-calling and untold numbers of slap-fights, the International Astronomical Union finally decided to downgrade Pluto at its recent conference. As a result, the former planet will henceforth be referred to as a “dwarf planet.”

The ACLU quickly filed a lawsuit on behalf of the Little People of America, Inc.

Pluto no longer meets the newest, stringent criteria laid out by the esteemed group of social cripples as to what constitutes a planet. Of course, as any astronomer worth his NaCl will tell you, Pluto’s oblong orbit overlaps with Neptune’s. Such behavior simply can no longer be tolerated if a heavenly body in the Milky Way expects to remain in the elite company of such proud and noble planets as Uranus.

With the reclassification, the domino effect began immediately. Several other celestial objects, like the creatively named UB313 – recently being considered for promotion into the ranks of planets – have now been downgraded to the prestigious class known as “small solar system bodies.” Making them vulnerable to ridicule and milk money shake downs from the likes of Venus, Mars and even the toady-ish Mercury from here on out.

Ever the optimist, and clearly the party planner for the conference, UB313’s discoverer Michael Brown jumped in to defend his baby's demotion to third string proclaiming, “UB313 is the largest small solar system body. That’s kind of cool.”

Yep. So cool the ladies must be swarming Mikey B like the dark matter mapped by observations of gravitational lensing in background galaxies.

Also feeling the effects of the announcement are Star Trek conventions across the country. Outraged at such a decision, disgruntled misfits are canceling reservations in droves, opting instead to sulk in the relative comfort and protection provided by their parents’ basement rec rooms. On the plus side, video game manufacturers' stocks and online porn site memberships are expected to skyrocket, balancing out the overall revenue stream.

Food For Thought

What does the Food and Drug Administration do?

Are they just a rubber stamp agency content with simply labeling the products that are being offered for public consumption? Is it just a tedious assembly line process manned by mindless drones? Or should they, at some point, be expected to step in and take action?

I always assumed they were looking out for everyone's best interest. Trying to keep us all reasonably safe. Sure, I understand that we¹re supposedly semi-intelligent adults in a free society, and are expected to be able to make the choices that we consider right for us. But when would opting to consume 1,170% of the recommended daily allowance of cholesterol in a single serving of a product that may or may not be found on the food pyramid be in ANYONE's best interest?

Using such logic, the good folks at Armour could introduce these products, as long as they were properly labeled:

Ebola and Eggplant Frozen Dinner Entrée
Ingredients: Eggplant, sodium nitrate, water, flour, flesh-eating virus, red dye #5

Vanilla Ice Cream with Fudgey Chunks and Sparkling Glass Bits
Sugar: 28g; 20% RDA
Fat: 17g; 21% RDA
Carbs: 2g; 1% RDA
Shards of broken glass: 51g; 2,600% RDA
Sodium: 0g; 0% RDA

Great for Grillin' Mad Cow Burgers
Warning: Ingesting this product will cause brain deterioration, cerebral bleeding, convulsions and death. As with any raw meat, make sure that it is thoroughly cooked before serving. Wash hands after handling.

Granny Mae's Flaming Oatmeal
Percent of your daily recommended value:
Vitamin A: 8%
Vitamin C: 4%
Fire: +/- 99%*
Niacin: 8%
Calcium: 65%
*Percent daily value based on average radiant temperature of 2,500 degrees Fahrenheit. Your daily values may be higher or lower depending on your threshold of personal combustibility.

Shit on a Shingle
Ingredients: Shit, shingles, natural preservatives.
Serving Size: 4 oz. (113g)
Servings Per Container: About 4

Enriched Uranium Pops Cereal
Caution: The Surgeon General has determined that consumption of this product may be hazardous to your health, either through radiation poisoning or by terrorist organizations looking to make a nuclear weapon out of your stomach. Or a dirty bomb out of your colon.

Dirt
Ingredients: dirt.

McRib Sandwich
(Oh wait, this one's actually out there. God help us all...)

Does this shirt make me look crazy?

Man, I gotta dump this girl fast...

Dateline: Orange Beach. Come as you are.

If you have no conscience, go to Vegas. If you have no morals, go to South Beach. If you have no sense, go to Detroit. If you have no shame, well, Orange Beach is waiting.

On the beach proper, it’s perfectly acceptable for men to walk around shirtless. Up the road in the grocery store produce aisle, apparently the same is true. Regardless of one’s physique or preponderance of body hair.

And the wife beater tee is the preferred choice of apparel for any five star resort restaurant. It’s a status symbol. Or maybe it’s a defense mechanism. I don’t know. But whatever it is, it screams at me not to approach. Either because I’m not worthy or I’m not likely to survive the ensuing biting.

Cigarettes aren’t optional here. That is to say, they’re mandatory. As a non-smoker, I’m doing my best to avoid detection by the Nicotine Squad of the Department of Homeland Security. If I’m found out and they go Level III Body Cavity Search on me only to discover that I have no tobacco on or in my person, somebody please place a call to The Johnny Cochran Law Firm on my behalf. Tell them to play the race card if they have to. My wife is 1/3 Cherokee.

But all kids love it here. It’s a great big wide-open playground everywhere you look. It even inspired one little girl to forego the otherwise cumbersome trappings of the bikini top and pull a South-of-France bear-chesting on everybody at the pool. While it’s not tasteful, since she’s roughly 6 years old, it’s at least excusable. Her 11 year-old sister, however, gets so such slack. The DHR office in these parts is either defunct or simply overrun with other topless adolescent female bather cases to investigate.

Because I know it’s wrong to look, I’ll avert my eyes. Because her father figure sports a wife beater, I’ll condemn in silence. And because the stain on the front could be jelly from this morning’s breakfast, but most likely dried blood from last night’s dinner, I’ll do so from a safe distance.

El Birthday Loco

Yesterday was my buddy Brian's birthday, which is notable.

His wife threw him a party, which is festive.

We met at a Mexican restaurant, which is also festive.

We had to get a babysitter, which is expensive.

The kids love having a babysitter, which is heartwarming.

We arrived late, which is embarrassing.

The party wasn't a surprise, which is relieving.

The Mexican restaurant is owned by Asians, which is unusual.

The margaritas contained tequila, which is expected.

The bathroom was "unisex", which is trendy.

The bathroom contained a mop and cleaning supplies, which is unsettling.

The bathroom had no toilet paper, which is illegal.

The bathroom, instead, had a roll of paper towels, which is objectionable.

The party was "bring no gifts", which is acceptable.

Someone brought a gift, which is unacceptable.

She thought Brian was turning 40, and included a card that said, "Happy 40th", which is logical.

Brian is not yet 40, which is hilarious.

Walk This Way

Because you've really got no other choice


I used to think that being without my car for a day would be a horrible, hellish experience. But not anymore. Having had to let the wife use mine while hers undergoes some repair work so as to ensure that it not kill us on the way to the gulf coast next week, I now realize that access to instant, unrestricted transportation is overrated.

For instance, today I was able to sit at my desk without the interruption of a real lunch hour. Talk about focusing on the business at hand! The screaming monitor-induced migraine and office chair bedsores are simply gentle reminders of a productive day.

With no reason to leave the building, I wasn’t bothered with today’s summer heat. Or, consequently, any of the fresh air accompanying it. No sir…the cool goodness of canned, re-filtered industrial strength o2 is just fine by me. It’s made in a lab, so you know it’s good.

I also spared myself the risk of exposure to unhealthy UV Rays. Instead, I basked in the glow of the 4,000-watt desk halogen, gently lulled into a state of relaxation by the steady hum of the flickering overhead fluorescents. It’s like I’m at the beach already.

More time in my office meant more quality time with my coworkers. It meant their uninvited pop-ins, the passing of their bucks and the re-telling of their stories felt much less disjointed than usual…condensed into a steadier, more user-friendly stream of cheery, forced face time.

As sort of an unintentional by-product, I realized that, in some little way, I was helping the environment. My wife taking me to work means one less car on the road, one more person carpooling. Sure, that one car is on the road twice as long, having to make round trips instead of one-way jobbies from my house to my office, but it’s the thought that counts.

And perhaps best of all, the safety provided by the concrete and steel of my building offered protection from mudslides, cougar attacks and assaults by Seventh Day Adventists. The way I look at it, another day, another potentially fatal encounter avoided.