So anyway, I stopped at Boswell Books to pick up my copy of 1Q84 and of course I had to put on a good show. So I was properly pressed, wearing a wool driving coat and a matching scarf and gloves set. Oh sure it was like 50 degrees, but i needed to make a statement. I needed to be literary. So I dashed into the bookstore and and looked around frantically (one literary point for me), saw the book and darted towards it. I picked a copy and fondled it for a bit (another literary point) and walked to the register.

The sexless glob behind the counter picked up my book and and said “This is such a great book” (1 literary point).

OH! Now who the fuck is this? Trying to out-literary-cockstrut me? THIS SHIT IS ON, MOTHERFUCKER!

“Yeah he’s a great writer (1 point), I’m so glad this book has finally been released here, in the US (bonus), I read an excerpt from it in the New Yorker (DOUBLE BONUSES!).”

Suck it counterbeast! Go back to your 20-oz Mountain Dew and your virginia ham Lunchables.

And it was just like that. I flopped it out and measured all ten inches of my literary dick. The ink sniffing, money taker was certainly defeated.

“We got one advance copy here, and I’m almost to page 700.”

WTF? Thou wuzzist not ready for that shit indeed. So picked it up my book, flopped the meat back over the barbed wire and walked out.

I lost, boys. I lost.

Double Down

I got this lady in my life. She’s pretty much the closest thing I have sister. We’ll call her Yella. So Yella’s son “The Hache” just got himself a skateboard. Dude’s on it young, 6-years old-ish.

I swear to god, if that kid ends up skating mongo he’s out of the fucking will.

Triple shot Thursday

It’s Halloween weekend and you’re probably still looking for a costume. I know I am. I’ve always wanted to go as Oscar the Grouch. Full on, with Bruno carrying my ass around in a can. Such a costume is some serious work, so I’ve never done it. That, and the logistics of peeing are mind bokkling.

Whatever, here are my suggestions for you this year.

• Brian Wilson (San Francisco Giant)
• Brian Wilson (Eugene Landy Puppet)
• Girl in a poodle skirt
• Guy in a tuxedo shirt
• Dabney Hiscock (Early 2oth century British porn star)
• Keyes and Hayek (Economists, companion required, and you better learn the raps)
• Gert Mallets (Early 2oth century British queen of anal)
• Dong Frowley (Early 2oth century British porn star, aka Come On Your Face Michael; half asian)
• Paddy Munch (Early 2oth century British  porn star of Irish decent)
• A canoe
• Kate and Julia Morkan (Sisters, elderly porn tag-team queens in early 20th century Ireland. These bitches hosted some killer orgies, especially around Christmas; companion required)
• Clive Nutts (Early 2oth century British autofellatio master)
• Rumorator (Fatsuit, kimono, cigarettes)
• Harold Plundercunt (Early 2oth century British bookkeeper, amateur porn director)
• Frank London (Early 2oth century British pornstar, only did guy on guy on guy work)
• Moai
• Moishe Oofnik
• Clara Analman (Early 2oth century British porn star, she once blew like 40 vicars in one hour)
• Maneki Neko Case (Figure it out)
• Lenehan Milkbreath (Early 2oth century British porn star, rumored to have 27 literary centimeters)

• Things I keep in my socks
• Names for businesses near airports
• Colors I can’t really see very well
• Potential Halloween costumes
• Asians I know
• 50 ways to leave a Paul Simon concert
• Things I would sleep on
• Places I have found my keys
• Albums I should have never bought
• Classic AIDS jokes
• Proper names for a Doberman
• Pros and cons of yogurt
• Classic paleontologists jokes
• Letters of the alphabet
• Numbers
• Blog names that would have been better than Rumorator

• If you really loved America, you’d give me a couple dollars.
• You look like you might be up for a fight. Come with us.
• Hey baby, you ever suck a white man’s dick? (this may have been addressed to the girl walking ahead of me.)
• Oh now you’re gonna walk?
• Fuck You.
• Fuck you, asshole.
• Go fuck yourself.
• Get fucked.
• I will piss on your leg, mother fucker.
• Take your ass back to Showbiz pizza with that act.
• Really? People over 16 still do that?
• Where’s Canada?
• You’re kind of an asshole.
• How did you know we were here on Earth?
• I mean, it’s a good size.
• Fuck off.
• Shamrock Shakes? It aint even Easter.
• Oh, who the fuck are you Rahm Emanuel?
• I will throw a fucking brick at your head.
• You mean you’re not gay?
• License and registration please.
• You owe me the souls of seven virgins.
• Oh! Fuck this guy.
• Did you just fart?
• Sir, can you please put your shirt back on and take your seat.

I’m starting to believe Wisconsin’s Governor and official corporate pawn, Scooter Walker, may have planted rogue agents among the protesters. Agents to spread illness around. How do I know this? It’s because everyone who has been involved is ending up with Rally Hack. Frankly, my throat feels like shit.

Last night I was doing some at-home remedying/witchcraft and whatever came out of my nose and throat tasted like a farm. Believe it. I’ve been to farm. Shit was farmy.

Part 2.

Catholics fire up their Lenten studies tomorrow. And you’ll know who these cats are because they will either talk to you about what they are giving up for lent, or, for the ones who are way into it, they’ll have some ash rubbed on their faces. That’s some leftover pagan meets Apocalypse Now style for sure.

But yeah, it’s all about what they are giving up. Sometimes they’re like “I’m giving up pizza, or sodas, or doughnuts.” Pssht. Why don’t you try something a bit more demanding? Spend your 40 days and 40 nights not being such an asshole. Or “I’m going to try to stop nodding when I stare at the boobs of the girl who pours my cappuccinos.” Make some real sacrifices here cafflicks.

Forget it. A few years ago, I gave up listening to people talk about their silly Lenten give-ups. That was only a few years after I gave up their god. But if you’re still on that train, I’ve compiled a list of things you might want to consider giving up this Lenten season.

• Spend forty days making sure there is left directional use with that left turn.
• Quit telling me you zeach and tindy to be ironic.
• Give up being smoke-free. ¡es hora de fumar!
• Quit crying.
• Stop oppressing.
• Stop snitchin’.
• Stop closing the door to bathroom stalls. Jesus bonus if you leave the door to the greater bathroom open as well.
• Please stop playing that Mumford and Sons song.
• Stop Facebook liking things that are impossible to like. You cannot honestly like punch cards, self check-outs, or one dollar bills.
• Stop holding out girl.
• Start stunting.
• If you sit near me, you could consider trying to stop talking to me.
• Stop the war on workers
• Stop hiding, stop hiding, stop hiding your face.

You’ve got a few hours left before the no fun starts. Go rip it up.

So I took the time out of my busy schedule of reading Craigslist Missed Connections to wisdom bomb all you would-be Valentiners. Valentines Day means different things to everyone. Some people are looking for the love of their life to surprise them, other people are thinking “maybe I’ll push for a three-way with her roommate tonight,” and still others will just be playing Call of Duty. But whatever your plans may be, here are some tips for an even better Valentine’s.

• Wearing an Aaron Rodgers jersey is a bad move. Wearing a Ben Roethlisberger one is an even worse move.
• Start working out this weekend so you can brag about your routine.
• Shower.
• Even though you’re both guilty of it, don’t mention to your date that you’ve been stalking their moves on Facebook for the past three weeks.
• Gentlemen, remember the Extra Optical Inch. Ladies, Telly Savalas.
• Get your sex soundtrack set up. Kick it off with Fugazi’s Repeater album. If your date isn’t down with it, you’re not  down with them.
• The two-dates-in-one-restaurant routine never works. Better Option: A quickie in the mop-room with the hostess or busboy.
• KY His & Hers. Trust me I know.
• Keep your dinner costs down with crystal meth, aka the Auburn Appetizer, aka Minnesota Slim Fast, aka the Shakesweight.
• The number one Valentine’s Day movie is Dumplings.
• Scope out a few tumblr accounts. If your dated isn’t as deadfucksexy as the people tumblr-ers repost, you should probably just stay home.

Enjoy!

I’m not talking about simply washing your hands. Yet a lot of dudes still haven’t seen the rulebook on that one either.  That hand washing knowledge is out there, so now let’s build on it. Make sure you’re shutting off the water while you’re lathering your hands. This isn’t Torontario. The water isn’t free until everyone is.

So lets get into it

10 Tips to Proper Men’s Room Etiquette

• Always take the taller urinal. I never trust a man who opts for the lower urinal. And please don’t drop some line about dong length. If you really were hung like that you’d be in gay pornos. Seriously.
• Don’t bring your coffee into the men’s room unless you want me to pee in it
• Whenst going in to drop some wolfbait, and faced with the option of several stalls, take the one closest to the door or urinals. Letting any other restroom users wallow in the smell of your hot shit is a fucking key power play. If you can, finish your session, and step out the great the people you just dominated.
• If you’re having trouble peeing, sing this song to yourself:

  This is my personal jumpstart song, but you can borrow it.

• Never be afraid to piss on another man’s shoes.
• If there is a divider between the urinals and both are full, be sure to apologize to the other uriner for the missed opportunity to look at your penis. Then stare down at your own peen and shake your head in approval.
• As CLK once taught us, a men’s room is a place of openness and trust. It is completely acceptable to remove your shirt.
• That handicapped stall is for retards. For real. It is.
• If someone chooses to use the men’s room to talk on the phone, it is completely acceptable to make super loud, gratuitous fart noises.
• If you’re ever thinking to yourself, “Is this guy a bathroom attendant,” He probably isn’t. No matter how long he stands around watching you, do not accept a breath mint on the way out.

And I’m thinking (lights are blinding my eyes) “I’m Funny-ish, funny-eque. I should be on this #NoHobo mess.” I considered a bunch of snappy one liners. Some 160 minus hastaggery equals proper quipping.  But in the end, I couldn’t do it My shit wasn’t funny-ish-est.

But I guess that’s why there are blogs. So I can give you my list of rejected  #nohobo tweets

• This chili could use more ketchup flavor. #nohobo
• Sometimes a man’s beard on your back is just the warmth you need to get through a winter night. #nohobo
• I can tell we’re in Cleveland by the way the air tastes. #nohobo
• It’s like god is speaking to me through John Popper. #nohobo
• Double Sixes! Boxcars! #nohobo
• I like that Nick Visconti’s style #nohobo
• The fuck is a Red Lobster? #nohobo
• Ahhhh…tis the life of port town whore. #nohobo
• Imma turn this shoelace into a few “magic bracelets” which I will give to kids at the park. OOOO look at that magic—I’m not wearing my pants #nohobo
• Don’t drink out of that bottle. That one’s piss. #nohobo

Once again social media proves itself to be The Tower of Babel, The Fountain of Youth, and Finnegan’s Wake all rolled into 42. This was delivered to me today via twitters.

It makes Torontario seem like a decent place.

A bit of back story here: Broder vR has been laying low in Torontario. To hide his identity, he’s changed his name to Wu. I’ve heard he’s like a Charlie Chan figure up there. Especially when he drops wisdom like “They say Obama’s a socialist, but somehow all I got is jack shit and student loans.”

Anyway TheyCallMeVice, which may be one of the most heated twitter names ever, says I am to come visit.
I say not unless they have snow or mountains or beaches where I can sit and drink out of coconuts.

She says she’s They drink out of whatever. Still encouraging my visit.
She obviously doesn’t know what kind of disappointment she’s asking for. I’m like the Pit of Carkoon but with let downs, rather than pain and suffering.

But I’d like to go. I’ve heard they have a plaque in the middle of the city that reads, “We are a humble people.” It’s just a small plaque, obviously. You may have never noticed it, and that’s okay, it just remains there, guiding the Canadanesian lifestyle.

Still they like to drink out of whatever. These seem like my kind of people. That said I’ve compiled a list of things I would drink out of if I were to got to Torontario:

• A water fountain at the CN tower.
• Sydney Crosby’s glove.
• A cup that I took from a stranger’s house, because Michael Moore says they don’t lock their doors.
• The throat of a virgin whilst at some sort of black mass.
• A Labatt Blue bottle half-full of warm piss.
• Something something The Weakerthans
• Right outta the faucet. SAVAGE!
• The Great Canadian River.
• WHOA
• A fucking polar bear skull

You know this is legit.

Certainly you understand I am no stranger to the superfluousness, but sometimes we as a species just go to far.

por ejemplo:

FRAMES -snowboarding shortfilm teaser from Flatlight Films on Vimeo.

We DO NOT need a slower snowboarding video. What we need is a shrad flick that can keep me awake for more than seven minutes.

Then again maybe this is in a whole different class of videos, and needs to be enjoyed for the simple fact that high-speed cameras make it look pretty cool.  It’ll be like when Audi got kicked out of rally racing.

Or better yet they should market it as “The Snowboardingest Slow Movie Ever!” because really, the high-speed cameras are the star of this show. And I don’t think anyone can take the crown of “Slowest” from Standard Films.

Just looking at their website put me to sleep. This post was supposed to go up yesterday, but I was comatose.

Some other things I would like to do in life, just to say I did it:

• Whaling.
• Conquer Mario 2
• Own a megaphone
• Prepare a Thai meal that doesn’t turn out garbage barged.
• Aubrey Plaza
• Marijuana topiaries of classic scenes from Richard Donner films

In Other News

Illegalnadian Broder