I just watched a commercial showing women seductively inhaling different forms of aluminum (tin foil, fences, a baseball bat, etc ). I guess the makers of AXE deodorant are implying that since their product is housed in an aluminum can that it produces a potent sexual elixir that simulates the pheromones that attract females.

At first, I dismissed this as advertising rubbish, but then I remembered a valuable tid bit of information I learned from my 10^th grade chemistry teacher, Mr. Wedig. He asked the class if anyone sniffed paint. Everyone said, “No”. He seemed disappointed. He then proceeded to tell the class that if they ever wanted to start sniffing paint and get really high, they should exclusively inhale aluminum-based paint. The reason being that the body mistakes aluminum ions (Al3+) for iron ions (Fe3+). The chemical reaction is euphoric. A hallucinogenic wonderland provided by a paper bag , a can of Krylon, and your red blood cells. Of course, eventually you would get jaundice, impotency, and color-blindness, but these trivial side effects would be negated by the unparalleled, iron-deficient, aluminum ecstasy. So perhaps the AXE commercials aren’t so misleading after all.

“I love, love, love Swedish Fish. I don’t like coffee or mushrooms. I once broke my collarbone in a Jeep that rolled. I might try a cigarette if I knew how to smoke. My mom is brilliant and can so out-cook your mom. I have never met my father, but I did see a photograph of his twin brother. I iron at least 5 days a week. I’m serious about it, too – distilled water only and heavy on the starch. I miss Eddie. I’ve an affection for hats and jammies. Scarves are real nice. I’m a private person. And am quite shy… until I warm up to you naturally over time or drink enough. I’ll have what’s recommended. I hate scary movies, but love to watch them. I buy myself fresh flowers. I went to the theater alone once and I’d do it again. Poetry and abstract art mostly frustrates me. I like to draw drawings.”

SUBTEXT:

I love, love, love Swedish Fish.

I love alliterating the same word.

I don’t like coffee or mushrooms.
I don’t like adult food.

I once broke my collarbone in a Jeep that rolled.
Never get in a vehicle that has taken ecstasy.

I might try a cigarette if I knew how to smoke.
I’m easily manipulated.

My mom is brilliant and can so out-cook your mom. I have never met my father, but I did see a photograph of his twin brother.
My Dad found someone who could outcook my Mom.

I iron at least 5 days a week. I’m serious about it, too – distilled water only and heavy on the starch.
I live in the year 1872.

I miss Eddie.
Eddie knew how to fucking iron.

I’ve an affection for hats and jammies. Scarves are real nice.
I have a bad habit of proclaiming my love for inanimate items.

I’m a private person. And am quite shy… until I warm up to you naturally over time or drink enough.
Don’t think about getting to “first base” if I’m sober, but if you get me wasted I’ll blow you in the “locker room”.

I’ll have what’s recommended.
Most guys recommend roofies.

I hate scary movies, but love to watch them.
I don’t like abusive guys, unless they tell me that they love me.

I buy myself fresh flowers. I went to the theater alone once and I’d do it again.
(See the “scary movie” comments)

Poetry and abstract art mostly frustrates me. I like to draw drawings.
I love to art art and write writings.

Old steel mills in Pittsburgh are being fired up to melt beams from Oklahoma City’s Federal Building, wings from Pearl Harbor and salvaged pieces of the Lusitania.

The government is still trying to incorporate fragment’s of the Alamo, panel’s from Space Shuttle Columbia and wood from Custer’s Last Stand.

The Smithsonian donated the only surviving material from the Hindenburg to be woven into the original Iwo Jima flag which will be raised when it fires its cannons on “terror”.

Think I’m lying click here.

WOUNDED SOLDIER #1:
MEDIC!!

MEDIC:
What??

WOUNDED SOLDIER #2:
MEEEEDIC!!

MEDIC:
What the fuck do you want from me?

WOUNDED SOLDIER #1:
MEEEDIC!! Help me!

MEDIC:
I’m trying to shoot people over here for God’s sake. Leave me alone.

*Karaoke is not art.

PETA’s president, Ingrid Newkirk once stated, “When it comes to feelings such as pain, fear, hunger, and thirst, a rat is a pig is a dog is a boy.”

In her eyes, we are all the same.

Yet, their name is PETA which stands for:
People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals.

Why do they differentiate between people and animal?

Aren’t animals and people equal?

You don’t hear civil right groups stating Whites for the Ethical Treatment of Coloreds and Miscellaneous People.

It should be Animals for the Ethical Treatment of Animals.

I understand why they don’t want to change their name because they would have to pronounce it Aye-EE-ta.

This could easily be confused with the Broadway musical Aida.

If they were smart, they would pair up with Disney and produce their own musical about a cow who falls in love with her owner.

Set in the outskirts of Chicago, Aeta is the exciting and passionate tale of a Moobian princess who falls in love with her owner, Farmer John. Aeta becomes the personal pet of Polly, the daughter of a meat packing mogul, who also is enamored by Farmer John. Aeta tells the tale of a story of love, devotion and betrayal spanning lifetimes.

I feel doctors should rename CFS

chronic fatigue syndrome

n. (Abbr. CFS)

A syndrome characterized by debilitating fatigue and a combination of flulike symptoms such as sore throat, swollen lymph glands, low-grade fever, headaches, and muscle pain or weakness. Also called chronic fatigue immune dysfunction syndrome.

They should call it CCFS or Convenient Chronic Fatigue Syndrome because they only get tired when its convenient for them…like a job. Or perhaps they should just call it LAZY which doesn’t stand for any thing they’re just lazy.

I’m so glad it’s hot again. Not because I especially like sweating, I like when it gets warmer because people who claim to be “suffering” from SAD aren’t whining as much.

seasonal affective disorder
n. (Abbr. SAD)
A form of depression occurring at certain seasons of the year, especially when the individual has less exposure to sunlight.

“It’s sooo cold and I’m sooo sad…blah, blah, blah (boo hoo)”

If they’re so sad because they need sunshine, why don’t they move down south or buy a fucking heat lamp. Of course they’re sad, their doctor tells them, “You have SAD.” They tell all their friends, “I have SAD.” They’re going to be fucking sad. The logical solution to the problem is to rename the “disorder” HAPPY which would be the acronym for Hypochondriacs are Perpetually Pathetic, Yes?

I am a nerd.

I have contacted the U.S. Census and Department of Forestry and have calculated the number of Christmas trees slain since 1830 here in the United States.

After hours of geekish research, I have estimated 2.4 billion Christmas trees have been wiped out.

With the average tree density of a normal forest, that equates to 75,000 square miles (roughly the size of the entire state of South Dakota).

If you assume the mean height is 6 ft. and were to stack the trees end to end, they would go around the Earth 118 times or create 15 columns extending to the Moon
(approximately 186, 000 miles away).

I then asked myself, “Who lives in the forest?”
I know that Winnie the Pooh lives in “The Hundred Acres Wood”. So feasibly, one could deduce that every hundred acres produces one Pooh bear. Since seventy-five thousand square miles have been destroyed, the blood of a half a million Pooh bears rest on the shoulders of the paganistic ritual of Christians.

A Poohicide.

Jesus was a Jew, but he also was an anti-Poohite.

Merry Christmas!

We are the only animals on the planet that celebrate it. It’s just an arbitrary point in space that we’ve invented. All we do is get drunk every time we go around the Sun.
Weeee! (one year lapses)
Yaaaay!! (365.25 days later)
Happy New Year!!!

We are eternally trapped in this boring cycle. Fuck that. I know that not everyone hates New Year’s like I do, and I can only encourage them to do one thing: Leave Earth and move to Mercury because they have a New Year’s party every 88 days.

Ain’t no party like a Mercury party because a Mercury party don’t stop.

A lot of sex happens on Mercury. They should rename the planet Herpes, the Greek god of STDs.

The only planet that should be able to celebrate New Year’s is Pluto (especially now that its been downgraded to an ice chunk. How humiliating?). The reason I say the citizens of Pluto deserve a party is because they have a New Year’s every 250 years. When it does happen they don’t even know what to do. They have to read it in their Plutonian bibles.

Ezhekial 3:17

And the Lord mixed margaritas.

Imagine the mayhem that would ensue as the ball dropped. Plutonians would come out of their houses and stick syringes of heroin in their eyes and have sex with parakeets screaming, “Happy New Year!” Now thats a DVD I would buy. It would make the backstage of Motely Crew concert look like the Lilith Fair.

Out of 32,300 web pages, Googleâ„¢ ranks my site #1 for the key words,
“Zimmerman Telegraph.”

Check it out here

I was impressed with my awesome web presence, but was saddened when I realized it’s spelled, “Zimmermann.”

On the other hand, Googleâ„¢ can only find 13,500 pages with the correct spelling.

I may have mispelled his name, but I’m still popular with mildly retarded fans of WWI who can’t spell either.

I realized that I’ve actually never engaged in the actual pursuit of a woman. My last girlfriend was pre-arranged. My best friend was dating her best friend. They eliminated all the normal guesswork that is usually involved with the initial “let’s get to know each other before we have sex” ritual. We were briefed with the same information about each other: recently single, intelligent, funny, disease and drug free, and looking to break our six-month bout of celibacy. Essentially, we were handed to each other on platters. There was no “hunt”. My friends knew what our particular tastes were and took the liberty to order the food and deliver it to our door. Take-outs are convenient, but there is something to be said about catching and preparing your own food.

Before her, I was pressed to go on a blind date by a stranger who had seen me perform and thought her roommate would be perfect for me. She described her as tall, beautiful, artistic, and athletic. Fortunately, she was very attractive and we seemed compatible on certain levels but that was purely coincidental. It felt analogous to a random person coming up to you and assessing your epicurean needs by their intuition alone. How would you feel if someone was talking to you and felt they had enough information about you to invite you to dinner but neglected to tell you what was going to be served. They only described it as delicious. Which is fine, but certain things have to be taken into consideration. Prior to dinner, you should know about food allergies, vegetarianism, lactose intolerance, kosher… etc. All this could have been discovered in the normal “hunting” process. In a blind date, the food is served in a sealed platter like a secret prize on Let’s Make a Deal from Monty Hall. You don’t know what you are going to eat until you uncover the lid.

I’m afraid if I keep getting use to people bringing food to me, I won’t know how to catch my own food. I’ll keep getting older and my taste will diminish. Now I will only eat carefully prepared meal, soon it will be meals-ready-to-eat, then canned foods, and when I reach forty I’ll settle for beef jerky.

The “hunt” is important. I just have to decide want I want to “hunt”. Some people like to go deep-sea fishing. Others enjoy big game. Personally, I like unicorns. They’re not easy to catch but if you do the pay-off is delightful. You haven’t lived until you have eaten unicorn tenderloin. Bon Apetit!

Falluja (or الفلوجة) is the Arabic word describing what happens when a man has an ejaculation.

INSURGENT® is a cleaning product designed specifically to eliminate falluja-related stains.

Used in a sentence:

I asked my buddy to borrow his laptop. At first, he was somewhat hesitant to lend it to me. I was slightly offended, then I realized he hadn’t cleared his “history trail” and was afraid that I was going to judge him. What kind of friend did he think that I was? I would never judge him. Then I started to look at all the sites he visited, and I started to judge him. Yikes!

I was deeply and morally appalled at the filth. Five hours later (after downloading RealPlayer, Flash, Quicktime, and Windows Media Player), I found myself watching a girl having sex with six other guys. I don’t know why this turns me on, but in some sick, perverted way it does.

I have to ask myself, “Am I a closeted misogynist?”

Personally, I’d never want to be in that situation because I wouldn’t know what position I would take. I’m too passive-aggressive.

“Okay…you got top…alright…bottom goes to Joe…great…Gary has the left hand…good choice…”

I’d end up being the guy kissing her, who always looks so sad and pathetic.

Then some guy would muscle in to get blown.

“Oh…you want her to do that…okay…I guess I’ll massage her feet. Oh…you want to have sex with her feet…by all means, please go ahead…I’m going to step out for a bit. It’s her Mom’s birthday and I want to buy her a card. If you guys want, I can come back and we can all sign it. That would be swell!”

A few things I’ve absorbed from MySpace:

The number of “Friends” in a MySpace profile is a direct correlation to the number of hours logged on to the internet and inversely related to that person’s actual social skill.

The beacon enlightens me how unproductive we humans have become.

When my beacon is on, I feel like Frodo Baggins when he slips on his ring and he becomes visible to the Nazgûl , Wraiths of the Shadow World.

MySpace creator Tom must get laid every day.

The saddest MySpace moment is having an actual physical friend not accept you as a MySpace friend and you receive the message, “You already have a pending friend request for this person.”

To add insult to injury, you see that the motherfucker is and logs in and out everyday.

Friendster is the equivalent of a pager.

Congratulations, and welcome to a new way of living. Hold your hands out …look at them…soon you will control their true ability…these flesh covered extensions of your soul are your answer to the universe. Once you have mastered this technique, you will be able to walk out and command any field on a blistery March day. Children will revere you, women will adore you, and men will fear you. You are the best of the best, I have personally hand picked you out of hundreds of applicants. Well perhaps not hundreds, but a number greater than the number of individuals who are present right now. Each one you have a story of — why you are here. Seekers of Wisdom. Hot shot fliers, who think they have a chance at The Big Game. All big fish from small ponds. You will look back at this very point in time and laugh at the shell of a person you are now. I applaud you. You will forever be in my debt. When people read your resume…and see that you trained with Kent Powers, you WILL be respected. In the next nine months, you will LIVE, EAT, and DREAM about kites!!! This will be your new religion, and I am your SAVIOUR. I will say this once, you will address me as Kent Powers. There are NO shortcuts or abbreviations in The Art of Kite Flying. The decision you have made will alter your reality. One word can define what we do, “Control!” Cerf-volant! Drachen! Aquiline! Cometa! Vlieger! Every language has a word to describe it. Kite! An invention developed 5000 years ago in Ancient China. This workshop will transcend mathematics, history, geography, physics, and psychology. I don’t like to drop names, but perhaps you know a few of my students: Steve Coates, flies with Skynasaur Kites their first “professional kite flyer”. In fact I just had lunch with Gary Gabriel, the vice president, last week. He professed to me that he wished all the new pilots would take my seminar. You are going to see that this career not only takes skill, but a tremendous amount of networking. Hey, if you got an eccentric, billionaire uncle ready to drop tens of thousands of dollars on you…more power to you. But if you are like the rest of us, corporate sponsorship is the key to success. Sure you could stay Regional, and grab a few cash prizes. Peanuts! Chump change! Trophies feed your ego, but companies fill your bellies with filet mignons.
You will learn how to axel, fade, 540s…the amount of tricks will be limited by your creativity. Perhaps someday you will be able to patent your own trick someday. In order to do this, you have to give up everything…carnal pleasures, luxuries, vices…and trust my every word. Gentleman, let’s fly.

I couldn’t sleep last night because of the pain, and was elated to finally fall into slumber at the crack of dawn. Only to be awoken by annoying song birds, a woodpecker drilling another useless hole, a squirrel trying scrape his way through my thru-the-wall air conditioning unit, and little fucking boy hitting a concrete wall with a sledge hammer.

Please free me from my prison.

Mah nishtanah ha-lahylah ha-zeh mi-kol ha-layloht, mi-kol ha-layloht?

1.)
She-b’khol ha-layloht anu okhlin chameytz u-matzah, chameytz u-matzah. Ha-lahylah ha-zeh, ha-lahylah ha-zeh, kooloh matzah?

2.)
She-b’khol ha-layloht anu okhlin sh’ar y’rakot, sh’ar y’rakot. Ha-lahylah ha-zeh, ha-lahylah ha-zeh, maror?

3.)
She-b’khol ha-layloht ayn anu mat’bilin afilu pa’am echat, afilu pa’am echat. Ha-lahylah ha-zeh, ha-lahylah ha-zeh, sh’tay p’amim?

4.)
She-b’khol ha-layloht anu okhlin bayn yosh’bin u’vayn m’soobin, bayn yosh’bin u’vayn m’soobin. Ha-lahylah ha-zeh, ha-lahylah ha-zeh, koolanu m’soobin?

Why is this night different from all other nights?

1.)
Why is it that on all other nights during the year we eat either bread or matzoh, but on this night we eat only matzoh?

2.)
Why is it that on all other nights we eat all kinds of herbs, but on this night we eat only bitter herbs?

3.)
Why is it that on all other nights we do not dip our herbs even once, but on this night we dip them twice?

4.)
Why is it that on all other nights we eat either sitting or reclining, but on this night we eat in a reclining position?

Why do we do this?

1.)
What time is dinner?

2.)
What are we having for dinner?

3.)
What are we having for dessert?

4.)
Who’s cleaning up?

What would Jesus do at a Seder?

1.)
Are Elijah and Miriam Easter bunnies?

2.)
Why do I get laughed at when I tell people what I believe in?

3.)
Why are a growing number of indecisive Jews for Jesus becoming transvestites?

4.)
Who are we kidding?

Why do Jews act crazy this time of year?

1.)
Why the hell are they afraid of bread?

2.)
Why do they get so many days off?

3.)
Why aren’t there laws to arrest them for using Christian blood in their satanic rituals?

4.)
Why are there so many Jews?

Watch 1,500 inmates from a prison in the Philippines perform Thriller: