I Think I Have It Figured Out. Don't Move...

Calling someone an "asshole" is appropriate when they are full of crap or hot air.

If you're thinking you don't have to cooperate with the police, here's what fun is in store for you. And yeah, it's funny

Jet propulsion works by sucking air in, heating the bejeezus out of it, and forcing it out the back end. The expulsion propels you forward at anywhere from 4 - 2,100 mph. I want a little jet engine on my car, along with Venturi channels to lower the CG through turns.

You can't hire robots to do your work. Robots don't interview well, and forget trying to get them to do paper work.

You're going to have a bad day if the first words of the morning are "Man... that's a lot of throw-up."

The term "ass-less chaps" is both egregious and incorrect. All chaps are "assless." That's what makes them chaps. Otherwise, thems are pants. Okay, pants with the front cut out, but nobody talks about "crotchless chaps." If you're willing to wear chaps, you don't care if you get some sun on the groceries, eh fella?

Ashlee Simpson is an amazingly well-trained karaoke talent, with sub-par looks and no natural ability. I bet part of her brain complains that she "has to work all the time" while her friends have it easy going to college. She's a pack of Kools away from a brutish parking-lot tongue-bath at the whim of Lil Bow-Wow. I don't want her to die, just to lose the ability to vocalize anything.

Magnetic propulsion, people... keep your eyes and stock options on it. Bullet trains. Bullet cars. Bullet... shoes? Well, whatever it is, someone will try and sell you a blinking battery for it.

I saw a sticker on a car this morning that made me want to wretch after throwing poop on the car after wretching on it. The car is a black, 1996-98'ish BMW 540i, driven by a co-worker whom I happen to know is 25 at the most. It is parked far away from other cars in the lot, which only entices me to park as close to is as I possibly can.
His sticker is a black background, with a 2"-high, white W, with smaller letters beneath it that say The President.
This is the same guy who got his initials tattooed on his ankle when he was 20.
At first I thought the guy was just another parentally-blinded Republican who is worried about his inheritance more than his individuality. I know him well enough to tell you that he knows less about politics than your average devotee of "The O.C." He wears shirts buttoned to his Adam's Assle - even without a tie - accompanied by a pretty sweet bracelet. I was dead sure this guy was buying his personality out of a 1999 issue of "Future PromiseKeepers Monthly."
Then I realized, no, I just hate grown men who go by their initials.

The Red Hot Chili Peppers are a great band. I like the music of theirs that I don't even like. "Knock Me Down" was my introduction to them. I heard "Scar Tissue" this morning. I think it would be enlightening to play music with them or surf with Anthony Kiedis for a day.

I wish I could surf. I'll have to find another way to bait sharks and bank robbers who don masks of former Presidents.

The Violent Femmes are the most over-rated band of all time. Each time I hear the de-tuned plunking of "Blister In The Sun" I want to leg-sweep every ''WOOOOO''ing, head-lolling, hand-raising 23 year-old "rebel" chick with the fervor of every "YEAAAAH"ing, head-lolling, hand-raising 32 year-old "artsy" guy trying to slip inside that sleeping bag. If you like the Violent Femmes, you can look forward to acid flashbacks and a lot of slimming clothes, at least in color.

Quick question... Should I still be Raging against The Machine, or are we cool? I figured my rage would draw attention to me, making it more difficult to bring it down with subversion... so... yeah. RAAAAH and what-not. Rage. Grr.

I was asked to perform comedy at a High School, and I couldn't do it. There's no way I could go in there and not launch into a speech about how every single one of those kids should get their GED and leave behind the BS that is High School. But then the teachers would be pissed at me for emptying their dating pool.

Dat Phan isn't funny.
Margaret Cho isn't funny.
Tina Kim isn't funny.
But I repeatedly repeat myself...

Opinions are like assholes. They are easily defeated when empty and weak.

The more I hear Mitch Hedberg's jokes, the more I realize how easy it is to write in that style of comedy. There are a couple Seattle guys straight-copping Hedberg's act. I can't wait for their chasing of the dragon while making $150 every two weeks as a feature. Is Hedberg washed up? I shouldn't comment as to his cleanliness, but let's hope he takes care of himself long enough for his stellar "Clean & Sober-er Tour" to get cut short by a kite-high feature shooting him in the foot.

According to all eye-witness accounts, Michael Jackson is truly a Smooth Criminal. How F'ed up is that guy? He's Biblically F'ed. Thrown from the mountain F'ed. "Jesus Juice?" How dare he use the name of Jesus to take advantage of young boys. I sure hope he's sought counsel with a priest.

For about 30 minutes this morning I forgot what day it was. I couldn't remember if it was the 27th or the day I swap the neighbor's morning paper with a Polaroid of my exhaust pipe. I know he loves my car, so I toy with him. (see, Hedberg jokes ain't hard)

A guy I work with, who would make David Brent look like William Wallace, apparently has a girlfriend in Bangkok, Thailand. I asked him how she fared with the tsunami, and he said she was fine, and that he's going to visit her in a week, and that he was going to ask her to marry him. I think that's a little weird, but apparently proposing is formality with these mail-order brides. (the first half of the story is totally true, the second half is the mind-crossing thought I had when he mentioned proposing marriage. It's also how my jokes about the tsunami were born. now go back, and close the curtain behind you)

Everyone's got a little kink to 'em, something that turns them on in a way they cannot and should not explain. You'll know what I'm talking about the next time you see someone staring at a sign. You may see "Watch Your Step," but in their head, that person's sucking Rosie O'Donnell's big toes. (thus concludes a thought that grosses-out Chad Roberts on two levels)

Seriously, Alicia, I see a great future for us. I love you, like, ACTIVELY Love you, I can feel it happening as real as I can feel my muscles growing larger than Tony Moser's again. I know my birthday's coming up, but I already have you and I'm so happy, I really can't think of anything else I want. Sorry for cutting the queso in Mexico. And on the phone. These things happen, but let's get past them. That's why I bought those candles :^) I know you say it all the time, but yes, I know that I am all kinds of charming. Really though, I LOOOOOVE You.

Space may be the final frontier, but it's made in a Hollywood basement,
and Cobain can you hear the spheres singing songs off station-to-station,
and Alderaan's not far away, it's Californication.
Star Trek. Kurt Cobain. Princess Leia's home planet. All in 7 seconds of a Chili Peppers song.

The best suggestion I've yet to hear regarding late-Spring activities:
Pony-keg and Kickball in FreBall field on 4th and 43rd. Guys kick opposite foot, 5-innings.
And don't crowd the plate, fruity, I'll buzz your tower.

Killorn O'Neill is, at best, an average from-scratch cake baker, but a kick-ass fount of egregiously hip pop culture knowledge. Good enchiladas, though. Hello crazy dreams.

Geoff & Alicia sittin' in a tree... YOU KIDS QUIT TRYING TO LOOK UP HER SKIRT!!!

My girlfriend teases me a lot because she knows I don't hit women.

Have you ever heard of this guy? Neither has he.

I'm out. See ya.
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Take Me Home

My Non-Funny Blog.