Respect

The most respect I ever commanded was when I had jury duty. The entire courtroom has to stand when the jury enters the room. They also look at you as you walk to your seat.

I generally wore a sweater to jury duty. Others chose sweats emblazoned with NFL teams. Others chose to look like forgetful, old women.

This got me thinking — what would it take to command that much respect all of the time? Namely — what do I need to do to make it so people stand up every time I walk into a room, regardless of where or when?

A few ideas:

-Find a closed door to a room where children are sleeping. Slip a deadly snake under the door. Wait for them to get bitten, which cause them to stand. Enter the room.

-Shout, “there’s cocks in your asses!!” as soon as I come in the room.

-Distribute a false scientific report to major media explaining that sitting when I enter a room will give you AIDS.

-Give AIDS to anyone who doesn’t stand when I enter.

Any other ideas? Please share your thoughts in the comments section below.

I Came in the Coffee

You, er, might not want to sip that hot coffee in your hands. Yes, I know it’s organic from Whole Foods, French Roast even, but there’s one little thing you should know before you drink it:

I just came in it.

Yes, just now, when you went get that fax. I know, you were only gone for about 30 seconds, but that was apparently enough.

You see, I have a cumming problem.

Whenever people leave the room, I get a boner and I cum. It’s not even like I get turned on by it, it’s just something that happens without my control everytime someone leaves a room that I’m occupying.

As you can imagine, fast food restaurants are downright cumfests for me.

But look at it this way – you were bemoaning the fact that we were out of the office non-dairy creamer, now you have a free source of cream in your coffee anytime you want! Plus, my cum is rich in zinc, which is a great immunity system booster during flu and cold season. So really, you should be thanking me.

No, no, the police aren’t necessary. We can work this out like two grown — hey, where are you going? No! Don’t go out — ooooooooooooooohhhhhh boooooooooy.

Oh you’re back. I have something to tell you, just know when you left to call the cops…I came in your hand sanitizer.

Hipster Balls

My other sports blog has officially migrated, it is now something that I like to call: “a site” — I know, sounds like mumbo jumbo. Just head on over to my new “site”, and you’ll get it.

Still rough around the edges, so expect new and exciting things, like Beaver Boxing.

My Humble Balls

I started a sports blog in case you care to hear my inane sports related ramblings. Enjoy!

Check out My Friend’s Twitter

Hey guys, my friend started a twitter, you should check it out!

twitter.com/MacGyver420

Deb? It’s Jack.

Hello? Deb? It’s Jack. Deb? Hello? Are you there? It’s me Jack.

Deb? Is that you? Hey, it’s me Jack. Deb? Is that you, Deb? It’s Jack. Deb? Is this Deb? Hey, Deb. Deb? It’s Jack. Deb, are you there?

Are you there, Deb? It’s me Jack. This is Jack. Deb? Hey, Deb. It’s Jack. Jack, this is Jack. Deb, it’s Jack. This is Jack. Is this Deb?

Deb? Deb, hey, Deb, it’s Jack, is this Deb? Hello? Deb? Deb, it’s Jack-jack, ol’ Jackie. Is this Deb-Deb0? Hey. Jack. Deb-Jack. Jack, it’s Jack. Is this Deb? This is Jack-jack, is this Jack? Deb, are you Jack? Jack, it’s Deb. Is Deb-Deb Jack? Deb, Deb. Deb? Deb. It’s Jack. Are you Jack? It’s Deb. Jack, it’s Jack-Deb. Are you here? It’s Jack-jack. Is Deb? Deb is Jack. Is there? It’s this. This Deb? Jack. Jack is Jack. Are this? This? This? This?

It’s Jack. Deb?

The Sock and the Garbage Can

“Where is the sock?”

He asks me, I don’t tell him about tying it around his throat at night, the trickle of snot, the wiping up of floors. I used it to spot mop, once.

“What sock?!”

I’m lying to the interrogator, he’s a total dick. He smells like English cheese and his teeth are dirty.

“YOU KNOW GOD DAMN WELL WHAT SOCK!!!!”

Again and again, repeating the question. We go on like this for — hours? Days? Months? — he asks me about the sock, I tell him I don’t know what he’s talking about, “what’s a sock? I only wear sandals!”

He doesn’t buy it, he’s a smart one. Not like the last dummy they sent, he gave up after a few hours.

The sock is hidden. I put it in the trash can.

Twitterpated

Until I learn how to incorporate it with my blog, add my twitter RSS feed to your igoogle, or whatever the latest widgety clusterrfuk homepage you’re using.

In Last Desperate Attempt to Seem Relevant, Bush to Repeal Everything, Ever

WASHINGTON D.C. (DNNN) – As George “Dubya” Bush’s long, arduous tenure finally comes to a complete fading out, the soon to be ex-president has been ever increasingly seeking to make a few more inane, shortsighted and what some would call “retarded” final executive decisions. From repealing gun laws in Tennessee to supergluing Dick Cheney to the toilet, it seems the president’s antics have become even whackier than before.

“Let’s git’ this booger movin’.” He was overhead saying from the White House lawn as he spelled out “SENIORS RULE” in the grass with salt pellets.

It appears that on his final day, his destructive behavior has hit an all time high — the president has repealed everything.

“That Einstein fucker was one smart dude. Ya gotta respect that. But Mr. Einstein, smart fucker, I’m the decider. And guess what, according to U.S. law, space and time do not exist.”

Bush took out a list of stuff he thought it was especially clever to have repealed: “Pigs. Heh, I love those little fuckers, but sorry little piggy! Tortillas. I already repealed one of those after my morning coffee, if you know what mean.”

“Nycuk! Nycuk! Nyuck!” He giggled every few seconds as he read through the list.

It is unclear if congress will bother to do anything about it, as they have hit “about the midway point” in a game of Lord of the Rings Themed Risk.

Things to Do Today

1. Call mom.

2. Eat the oatmeal.

3. Reference Family Guy 12 times, Simpsons 17 times, and throw in at least 2 obscure ’80s TV sitcoms.

4. Wash the cat.

5. Buy a bongo.

6. Call Condi Rice, apologize for last night.

7. Find Condi Rice’s number.

8. Seriously, where the fuck is that number.

9. Listen to that damn mambo jumbo from the wife.

10. Start a new blog — www.wherethefuckiscondiricesphonenumber.com