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Presented without comment. Well, except for this one: seriously??

Nature Inspires

Look at THIS LOOK AT THIS IT'S AMAZING!

Read the comments, that's where the real beauty is. My favourite is the critical review "May Have Side Effects" in which a one-star reviewer writes "The effect that this t-shirt has on women is pretty impressive. Unfortunately its natural healing powers reversed my vasectomy and I impregnated nine women in two weeks before I realized. They all had twin boys. Now I have 18 sons and spend most of my money on child support and condoms."

Guys. What the fuck. This bath tub faucet looks exactly like E.T. Too bad it doesn't spew skittles.

FAT TUESDAY IS COMING

Guys, it's a holiday called Fat Tuesday. What the eff more do you want? This upcoming Tuesday holds the potential to be the world's greatest fucking holiday, and what's more, it could be the last FAT TUESDAY EVER. So who cares if you die fat, you'll die happy. I for one am already working on my fat lineup of fatty foods and various bottles of beer and wine I will be throwing down my gullet in honour of our lord Jesus. Or whatever it is that Fat Tuesday is really about. It's like St. Patrick's -- who knows or cares what the flying fuck you're celebrating? Snakes? Guinness? Tiny shorts? Try excess, just like every other major holiday. So, friends, lets take this quaint little religious holiday with its cute paczki(pronounced poonch-key, believe it or not, crazy Poles) and pancake breakfast traditions, and turn it into ANOTHER HOLIDAY OF LUSTY OVER CONSUMPTION.

I know I might sound glib, but I really mean this, guys. This Tuesday I want to eat a fuck ton of stuff that's bad for me under the guise of it being some sort of holiday obligation. Don't think that means I'm giving anything up for lent though.

TO A FORMER FLAME, FROM MY WISER SELF: DOUCHENOZZLE, YOU SUCK

I contemplated making today's song-to-celebrate-before-dying of the day Judy Blue Eyes by Crosby, Stills, and Nash. Then as it fuzzed out of my radio, it started to make me think about the dude I mistakenly crushed on for the entirety of my middle and high school careers. Chris Kucera, if you're out there, I should never have let you stick your tongue in my ear. My tiny, deformed, toddler's ear (do not use this kernel of information to sneak up noiselessly behind me because you think I won't hear it coming -- I pack HEAT, motherfuckers; I have the reflexes of a cat even if I have the ears of an alien). Because then you stopped IMming me after that and started going out with some chubby girl named Mavis (FUCKING MAVIS ARE YOU KIDDING ME RIGHT NOW??). Anyhow, your loss, dumb ass. Though I admit, in spite of your wandering eye (tongue), I adored you most ardently all the way through the very end of my senior year. Then there was that time over some university summer that you totally tried to put the moves on me and I pretended I didn't know what you were all about. Stick your tongue in my ear once, shame on you, you fuckwit, if you don't come back to do it again really soon. Because of course by the time you tried it again, I had realized how much hotter/funnier/smarter/more interesting I was than you and got my kicks making fun of you with my girlfriends instead.

So uh... Judy Blue Eyes was out. Luckily as I was pulling into the driveway, FUCKING BITTERSWEET SYMPHONY CAME ON.

Fuck yeah.

Let this little anecdote serve as a lesson to ye readers out there: Don't ever name a girl Mavis.

Also, Chris Kucera, EAT YOUR HEART OUT!

*note: not actually mine. mine are nicer.**

**according only to the opinion of this author.***

***ahhhh, shut up.

Dear Facebook, please stop suggesting dead people I could be friends with

I get it Facebook. If you had it your way, people would continue living forever, providing you an inexhaustible vein of personal information to exploit, while you occasionally change the layout they use to keep track of whose gotten fat since high school. Heck, if you could come up with a way to keep us alive indefinitely, we might even let all that slide. Unfortunately that’s not the case, and as long as pedestrians keep using earbuds and people think they’re smarter than zoo warnings, they’re going to keep keeling over, and you’re going to be left with their ghostly profile. That’s not what I’m taking issue with here though. Posthumous Facebook pages have slowly wormed through my knee-jerk 21st century discomfort to become an acceptable part of society. Indeed some people go so far as to save prerecorded messages to be uploaded to their profiles following confirmation of their death. Fine. But maybe you could put a little bit of that unbelievable profit marging into identifying those people that have died and tweak your friend suggestion utility to stop suggesting I know them. To your credit, you’ve been great about suggesting people I really do know, and kind of want to still be friends with, but it’s jarring when a face I recognize shows up in the sidebar and instead of finding out their current girth, I have to wade through sympathies from friends and family, and the certainty that they will never accept a friend request from me. Unless there’s Facebook during the rapture. Wouldn’t that be something?

No you're the rump!

Phal's Dad – ‘You know there was a bomb stretch at the courthouse’ Phal – ‘Threat’ Phal's Dad – ‘Stretch’ Phal – ‘The’ Phal's Dad – ‘The’ Phal – ‘Threat’ Phal's Dad – ‘The Stretch - whatever you know what I mean’.

#bombthreat #davidbeckahmsexplosivepackage #onitlikeTSA

UNCANNY RESEMBLANCE OF THE DAY

I can hardly even believe this with my own eyes. Fabulously, his picture comes up when you google pictures of Mrs.Brady: Billy Ray Cyrus, everyone!!!

Holy crap folks. The only difference is his bangs are all blown back from the speed boat ride he has clearly been taking. She definitely had a better colourist, though.

Grammar Facists

Oxford Comma: FRONT RUNNER FOR PUNCTUATION OF THE YEAR!

And you guys all know how much I like the exclamation point.

OMGWTFSOPHAL

This whole mop water thing is a gift that keeps on giving. Maybe dropping your phone in mop water could be the new breading?

72 HOURS....NOT DEAD YET

Maybe it's because I'm delirious, but today we celebrate a song I heard on the radio that doesn't actually fucking blow. Also, reading the comments on this video on YouTube I learned some interesting things about mashed potatoes, which according to urban dictionary means almost everything you could think of.

Huh. Ridiculously thick ejaculate. Huh.

#ruinedthanksgivingforever #justlikemommadethem #gag #ohgodgag

Sophal's dad has been sent to destroy you

Dad - 'what is an arena?' Sister - 'oh it's like the KRock Centre, a place to play and watch sports.' Dad - 'dont lie to me - i know it has something to do with planes. I saw it on the news.'

Phail, everyone!

#phonephail

Song of the Day or I'LL SLEEP WHEN I DIE

Originally when I used to listen to the radio and enjoy it, I thought up this idea where our song-to-celebrate-before-dying of the day could be the best song me or Graham heard on the radio. Of course, then I moved to Peterborough. Christ, the radio stations here are terrible. This song of the day thing has been torturous on me, and its only been ONE DAY. Enjoy my continued anguish because Graham says he doesn't listen to the radio. Fucking awesome.

So ladeez, what do we think about this one? Hot or not?

Isn't he a dynamic dancer? I think he may have coined the stereotype of the awkward white guy dancing. Also, that hair! It has so much volume it looks like he's under water. Super impressive.

#mulletmadness #tinyheadorbighair

Eggsaster

Sophal just rotates into my life like a comet. I am obsessed with this girl, though. It is my pleasure to introduce her in this segment, uh… Peter, Phal, and Merry. Hush, I’ll think of something better later, but for now it’s just because we can.

And so my story begins…a single message today, from a friend no less, stopped me dead in my tracks. The friend was Sophal, I won’t make you guess. Sophal texted me today, the most horrifying goddamn thing.

I’ll take you back maybe 5 weeks, to where Sophal and I were making whoopee pies. Cue her combining the filling, me combining the cookies. I crack an egg, and then another. TEARSOFJESUSWHATTHEHOLYSWEETFUCK?

This, on top of my beautiful butter and sugar, this horrifying bloody hen period. I was shaken, I squealed like a pig before it becomes bacon. Sophal ran to look, ugh, gag, I can’t even write this with that thing staring me in the face. I’m scrolling down. Okay, Sophal ran to look, and we were both fucking mortified lurching around in the kitchen blindly searching for spoons. Eventually we fished the damn thing out, and began debating the merits of starting over. We are pretty lazy bakers and it seemed a shame to waste the other ingredients for one bad egg (!). So we made the stupid things anyways, and fed them to our unsuspecting friends. I just couldn’t look at them without gagging. I can reasonably say I have never been so eager to get rid of cookies in my life.

Anyhow, now you’re up to speed, so flash to this morning, where Phal was greeted with this sight, staring back up at her from the frying pan:

Sweet fucking Christ. I’m gagging. Agh. So of course she had to tell me about it. Memories of that bloody goo swimming in my cookie batter rushed in. I couldn’t keep that ghastly image of the back of my eyelids, or my nausea at bay. So today goes to Sophal, who gets more shout outs than anyone else ever on TRL!

Oh my god! This day took a turn for the better as I was looking up pictures of Carson Daly. Initially I was searching for the Carson-Daly-frontward-gel-spike, but I got distracted by this DASHING gentleman. Look at him, he is a breath taking-ly handsome older man. Wow.

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