Month: May 2013

Things to Remember on this Memorial Day Weekend by Benji Orlansky

This Memorial Day, while you’re home from work and manning the grill and drinking an American Made Coors Original, make sure that you don’t lose sight of what this day is all about: remembering things.

Listen. We get it. We’re supposed to remember the troops on Memorial Day. With all due respect to those who have fallen while defending this great nation and her freedoms, I’d like to take just a moment to tell you that there’s a whole lot more to remember this weekend than just those men and women who are better men and women than we are.

  1. Wear sunscreen. Just because you don’t live with your mom anymore doesn’t mean that the sun isn’t still a major threat to your health. No need to go crazy with the SPF 75, but just put something on. And not “tanning oil;” that stuff’s just baby oil in a bottle with bananas on it. If you’re worried about getting enough Vitamin D, drink a glass of milk, ya dummy.
  2. The last four digits of your social security number. Remembering the whole thing is nice, but you can always look that up, and if you’re giving out your whole social security number more than once or twice or year, you’re basically begging to have your identity stolen. The last four is all you really need off hand. Trust me–I’m a Semite.
  3. The Alamo. You don’t need to know what it is (a fort or something), where it is (Texas), or who won it (not Texas). All you need to know is that it’s a thing (The Alamo) and that Ozzy Osborne peed on it once.
  4. Whether or not you have children, and if you do, the names of those children. There’s nothing worse than getting daydrunk at a barbeque for six hours and then realizing that there are smaller people back home who rely on you for protection, sustenance, and love. Before you pack up the cooler and head out for the day, check around the house to see if you have any rooms that are decorated with standard “boy” or “girl” themes. If so, there’s a good chance that you have at least one child. Use context clues, such as a birth certificate or a soccer jersey, to identify that child by name and tell them where you’ll be all day and where they can reach you in case they can’t find enough money to order a pizza.
  5. Whether or not Benjamin Franklin was a president. He wasn’t. Neither was Aaron Burr.
  6. The name of a senator from your state. Inevitably, at any party, a political discussion will break out, and some asshole will feel backed into a corner and say, “Well, I bet you can’t even name your own senator!” Don’t fall for that old trick. Do your research and consult this list of current U.S. senators.
  7. That time that you were rolling your teacher’s lawn and your teacher came out and CAUGHT you! So scary at the time, right?
  8. Who the Beatles are. They’re some band.
  9. Where you left your sunglasses. Uh, did you check your shirt pocket, Knucklehead?
  10. Whether or not you were supposed to bring something for the barbeque. The answer is always yes. And don’t fuck around with that store-bought potato salad in a tub stuff either–everyone always acts like they’re excited about it but nobody touches it because it’s disgusting. You know what nobody ever brings? A centerpiece. I don’t care how casual the event is; a tasteful centerpiece will make everyone feel like some thought went into the planning.

Objectified by Andy Kushnir

worlds_best_dad_coffee_mug-r3db1ec96237149f8a6449e839a5cc0e1_x7j10_8byvr_216

Great, we’re fighting again. I feel like it’s always around this time of year that we’re at each other’s throats. Maybe it’s the changing of the seasons or maybe I’ve got that seven-year-itch, but lately we just haven’t been clicking. We’re supposed to visit my mom this weekend, but I’m just not sure Steven and I can keep it together in front of her. The bickering over every little thing, the snarky retorts, arguing over where to order out from; it’s just becoming increasingly difficult to live with. Steven of course is my “World’s Best Dad” coffee mug that I legally married back in 2006.

The first few years of marriage were laden with affection, we couldn’t keep our hands off each other! All my friends were jealous in our unabashed desire. We never fought! We agreed on virtually everything! My penis and balls were the perfect circumference to fit inside the rim of his mug!  Continue reading

Sir, I Think We’ve Been Having a Humorous Misunderstanding Based on the Words ‘Gyro’ and ‘Euro’

by Samuel Priest

gyrosLOGO

Okay, okay, I think I see where the misunderstanding has been. See, I’ve been referring to the food in front of me as “Three Gyros” and you’ve been nodding as if to say yes, that’s what they are and that you want them. But when you ask me how much they are to purchase, you think I’m just repeating “Three Gyros” G-Y-R-O-S when in actuality I’ve been saying “Three Euros.” E-U-R-O-S. These three gyros are three euros.

Boy, now that I spell it out like that, I feel silly at how much time we wasted not understanding each other.

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Times I Wish I Had a Boyfriend & Times I’m Glad I Don’t by Ali Barthwell

I Wish I Had a Boyfriend when:

  1. I’m sick and want someone to bring me hot & sour soup and watch episodes of Daria on the couch
  2. We need to fill seats at a show I’m in or our run will get cancelled
  3. I want a drink but don’t have any money
  4. I want dinner but don’t have any money
  5. I have to go to a wedding
  6. My family asks “When are you going to find someone?”
  7. I’m coming home drunk on the train and need someone to wake me up when it’s my stop
  8. My life is full of friends, family, work, and personal growth but I could use a snuggle buddy
  9. I realize just how much I’m spending on condoms a month
  10. I want to get laid but don’t want to work for it
  11. I want to see a movie starring Vin Diesel or “3D” in the title
  12. It’s cold outside
  13. I think that everything I’ve been doing is all for naught and should just go back to grad school because doesn’t that make sense? Oh god, am I really considering taking out student loans to go to grad school? Someone talk me out of going to grad school
  14. I’m reading a cookbook and none of the recipes serve one
  15. I want to get laid but I’m on my period

 

I’m Glad I Don’t Have a Boyfriend when:

  1. I need more time to figure out if this is a dress or a shirt in the dressing room at Forever 21
  2. Everyone is so cute
  3. Anyone is talking about Lebron James. Yes, he’s talented but a possible ego maniac and betrayed the poor people of Cleveland. Can we move on as a people?
  4. Game of Thrones is on and that’s Cersei, she’s the queen regent. She’s the blonde one; oh my god, you don’t remember? Jesus, this show is NOT that complicated. Why are you texting right now? You’re not even watching
  5. I read an advice column and someone signs their letter “Cheating in Chicago” and I live in Chicago
  6. A movie theater is doing a midnight showing of Spiceworld
  7. There’s a new cute guy working at the bar around the corner from my apartment
  8. Rompers are so comfortable
  9. I know I will get laid by a stranger tonight because I’m wearing my sexy dress and every other girl in this bar is a plain-ass brunette
  10. I see my friends latch on to doomed relationship after doomed relationship because they’re terrified to be alone

24 Rejected Monologue Jokes from the Past 2 Weeks by Samuel Priest

rejectedmonologues

Samuel Priest is currently a contributor to the Whiskey Journal Live show, a live talk show happening at 9 PM every Wednesday in May at Fizz Bar.  These are 24 rejected monologue jokes from the second two weeks of shows.  They were rejected for being “only funny if we picture you saying them, and you won’t be saying them.” 

 

-According to an unnamed source, the bombs used in the recent Boston attack were built in the same apartment the suspect shared with his wife and child. Police say they came to this conclusion when amongst the debris, they also found various legos and the end piece of a meatloaf.

-Famed billionaire Warren Buffett joined Twitter last week.  While famed millionaire Jimmy Buffett joined Twitter-RitaVille.

-A Death toll from a Bangladesh building collapse rises to more than 500.  Bangladesh?  More like BanglaDeaths!!! It’s a terrible tragedy, folks.

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Big Gun by Andy Kushnir

Hey y’all, I’m a big fuckin’ gun. I ain’t a small gun, nope. I’m a BIG fuckin’ gun. And let me tell you somethin’ y’all… I love bein’ me. But it seems like lately, everybody’s been all up in ARMS over me… sorry, that was a gun-pun, I love gun-puns y’all. Like, a lot.

But yeah, like why’s everybody mad at me and stuff? It’s like feast or famine over here ya know? Like you either love me or you hate me, like people aren’t this passionate about mayonnaise, and mayonnaise can kill you. Yeah, like if you leave mayo out for too long, harmful bacteria can build up and that stuff can make you sick and die. But if you take care of that mayo, and you refrigerate it, and you put it in the right hands, everybody’ll be safe. And then you’ll just have one bomb-ass sandwich. Continue reading

A Middle-Aged Woman’s Diary Entry Written on the Flight Home From the 2013 Nashville Polyamory Convention, by Benji Orlansky

ImageSunday, May 12, 2013: A Farewell

Another Nashville Poly is officially “in the books” as they say. Wow–writing that really hurts, emotionally and physically due to extreme joint over-stimulation over these past few glorious days. This is Jake’s and my fourth NashPoly, and while other cities like Philadelphia, Branson, Santa Fe, and Fresno have fine, enjoyable Polyamory events, no other place includes that secret ingredient on the buffet right next to the massage oils, feather ticklers, commemorative keychains, and prophylactics: Southern hospitality. Everyone’s perfectly polite at the orgies and key parties in Fresno, but only in Nashville will the bald, tanned, Tommy Bahama-wearing Adonises pull out your chair for you the next morning at the Bottomless Mimosas and Topless Diners Brunch.

Jake and I always have such a hard time saying goodbye to our friends at these events. We just parted ways at gate B27 with the DeFlorios, a lovely couple who own a sporting goods store in Peoria and sell lockets full of semen on Etsy. We met them back in Daytona in 2005, right after their son Jeremy (who won’t let them show us pictures of him for some reason) graduated high school–truly wonderful folks. Yesterday, in between lovemaking sessions, Lawrence and Beverly showed us pictures of their trip to Australia, and between the snapshots of the Sydney Opera House, the Great Barrier Reef, and the DeFlorios having a naked rumpus with another Poly couple in front of a village of Aboriginals, I’m pretty sure Jake and I will be spending our silver anniversary “Down Under!” Continue reading

‘The Olsen and Olsen Mystery Agency: New Blood’ by Cody Melcher

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“Mary-Kate, where did I leave my black Manolos?”

“Ash, I’m not your maid. And what I mean by that, is ask the maid.”

Ashley huffed. The door was on the other side of the room and the ten paces it took to get there were too much for her to put up with. She took a drag from her cigarette, then exhaled a scream, “Loretta, where are my black Manolos?!”

After a minute or two, a girl, dressed in an old maid uniform (not the sex dungeon variety) appeared in the doorway with a pair of black high heels. She dropped them on the ground with a huff, “First, I’m not your maid. Second, my name is Elizabeth. I’m your sister.”

“OK, Loretta,” grumbled Mary-Kate, “That’ll be all. You can go home now.”

“My name’s not–” and Mary-Kate closed the door. “I don’t understand when the help decided that it was fine to start talking. When did she even learn English?”

“I don’t know,” Ashley muttered as she slid the pumps onto the soles of her feet, “All I know is that I’m ready to get downtown. This week has been cray and I’m ready to dance.”

“You talk like you’re in an 80s movie sometimes, Ashley.”

“At least I don’t do coke like I’m in one.”

“OK, you know what, I’m done with your bullshit. And don’t even pull that two minutes older crap on me.”

“You wanna go? I can go all night.”

Suddenly, in a distant corner of their Manhattan loft, two phones rang. The girls stopped, their eyes locking on each others’. There were only two phones in the loft, and they were both in the attic. An attic that the girls thought–were certain–had been closed off for the rest of their lives.

“THE PHONE IS RINGING! SOMEBODY GODDAMN GET IT!” Yelled Loretta/Elizabeth. Mary-Kate and Ashley blinked and both headed for the door.

The stairs to the attic creaked as the twins ascended. Mary-Kate reached the door first and opened it with less effort than she thought a door that old and heavy would require. Maybe her juice cleanse WAS making her body stronger. She smiled to herself as Ashley joined her in the room. At the same time, their eyes fell upon the old wooden table, covered in cobwebs, and adorned with two rotary telephones.

“Why did we have rotary phones? Those were old even when we were kids,” wondered Ashley aloud.

“What happened to Clue?” Mary-Kate asked, pointing to the mummified remains of their dog lying in a chair next to the telephones.

“We don’t have time for these mysteries, Mary-Kate, the phones are still ringing.”

They both felt a deep, primal urge calling from the depths of their nature to start singing, but there wasn’t enough time. It had already taken them half an hour just to make it up the stairs, and yet, the phones were still ringing. The pair approached the table and, with a nod to each other, picked up the receivers.

“Olsen and Olsen Mystery Agency.”

“We’ll solve any crime…”

“By dinner–”

“Right, yeah, I don’t exactly have a lot of time here, girls,” Blurted a phlegm-filled voice from the other end of the line. A voice that sounded like it had not only seen better days, but better cigars. “This is Artie T. Vulture. You girls the same girls who solved a mystery at Thorn Mansion in Transylvania almost ten years ago?”

Ashley looked to Mary-Kate, “Yes, we are that Olsen and Olsen Mystery Agency. What seems to be the trouble, Mr. Vulture?”

“Natasha Thorn, the granddaughter of Mr. Thorn, who was the supposed ‘ghost’ of the original case,” Mr. Vulture stopped for a moment to cough, “has been murdered. And, since you have such a fine relationship with the Thorn family, they have requested that you come to sort this whole mess out. I mean, it’s a mess. Blood everywhere. She even had bees in her throat. It was a sick sick cluster–”

“Alright, Mr. Vulture,” interrupted Mary-Kate. “Say no more, we’re on our way.”

The girls hung-up their phones and exhaled sighs. At the same time, they were both thinking the same thing: what the hell were they doing taking cases this late in the game? They’d retired, hung up their hats, killed their dog through neglect. This was a young girls’ game, and here they were getting back into it. But, they’d made a commitment, and dinnertime was fast approaching.

“You ready?” Ashley walked over to the wall, picked up her trench coat (which, luckily, still fit from when she was in elementary school) and turned to Mary-Kate who was already dressed in hers (which, frankly, seemed a bit big on her now).

“I woke up this afternoon ready.”

And with that, the girls took their private elevator down to the garage and walked to their bikes. Using their Blackberries, they had mapped out the shortest destination to Transylvania, and, like that old dead guy once sang, ‘Get on your bikes and ride!’

The Definitive Guide to “Next Week on Mad Men,” Episode 607 by Benji Orlansky

Welcome back to The Definitive Guide to Next Week on Mad Men, your weekly guide to the popular web series, “Next Week on Mad Men” on amctv.com. I’d like to make a brief apology for last week’s Guide, as I did not accurately predict a “wacky madcap merger caper” episode, which ranks right up there with, “Don goes on a sexual journey and experiences no repercussions” and “someone dies and a bunch of rich white people pretend to be sad” as far as Mad Men episode archetypes are concerned.

That being said, this week’s episode of “Next Week on Mad Men” is a real doozy, so let’s get into it and figure out, definitively, what will happen on next week’s Mad Men.

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You’re Mad That Our Founding Fathers May Have Been Cannibals? Fuck You.

By Beez Waxman, Guest Contributor

Late last week, scientific findings seemed to point to the conclusion that our early American settlers cannibalized a 14 year old girl in Jamestown, one of America’s earliest settlements. Even though there have been references made to cannibalism in our nation’s history, these new solid findings sparked outrage and repulsion online. The New York Times were one of the first places to report the story, a link to that version is here: http://www.nytimes.com/2013/05/02/science/evidence-of-cannibalism-found-at-jamestown-site.html Guest Contributor Beez Waxman’s editorial is a response to online criticism, not of the article itself.

 

Beez Waxman

Beez Waxman

You’re mad that our founding fathers may have been cannibals? Fuck you.

Do you have any idea what real pain is? Have you ever known real struggle, what with your soft hands and your bulbous belly? Go fuck yourself, you and the rolly office chair you’re sitting in. You think you can judge the actions of starving people from a different time? Get fucked.

I’d tell you to imagine yourself in their shoes, but they were wearing completely different kinds of shoes.  I don’t know if you could even comprehend something outside of your cushy little life, what with your clean sidewalks and computer phones.  They had completely different shoes, you short sighted fuck.

What do you do during the day that you have time to get worked up over terrible things in history?  And why this?  There are a lot of terrible things that happened in history.

I bet you’re sitting on one of those fucking bouncy yoga balls at your office.  Continue reading