Monthly Archives: September 2011

Cool Your Jets, Bieber

Taken from, Photo courtesy of Getty Images

Ladies and gentlemen, I just found out about a seemingly innocent, heartfelt incident that happened earlier this month.  Justin Bieber, teenage heartthrob and pop musician, took out his girlfriend, Selena Gomez, on an incredible date.  From what MTV tells me, Bieber took Gomez to a personal steak/pasta dinner in a rented out Staples Center, and then they watched Titanic.  On all accounts, this seems like a highly romantic date, and one that we should be smiling cutely at as if this event were a puppy with big, floppy ears getting scared and slowly backing up from the evil Roomba that is clearly out to get him.  However, Justin, wherever you are (I hope you’re reading), I’ve got some things I need to say to you.

Justin, although I usually use this blog to make fun of people or things, I really want you to listen close, because I’m being as sincere as I can possibly be.  You need to cool your jets, man.  You’re 17 years old.  You’ve got your whole life ahead of you, and I don’t want to see you waste weeks, months, maybe even years attempting to get over getting your heart broken.  You kids are young, you are both living your lives in the public spotlight, working on your careers’, who knows what you two will feel in just a little bit of time.

It seems as if you are becoming more and more obsessed with this girl.  And I know, I know, I’ve heard nothing but great things about her, but you need to make sure you keep your feelings in check.  You picked Titanic?  That’s not nearly as romantic as you think it may be.  Now, I like my girlfriend, she’s pretty cool.  But do I want to die for her in a freezing Atlantic Ocean?  Not particularly (Sorry Laurie, I’m too much of a man to die.  Wait, shit, I meant too much of an endangered species).  And not to mention that steak is a poor choice for a date meal.  I mean, yes, steak is good, but it makes you seem like a caveman, which just doesn’t seem to mesh well with the fact that you wear women’s pants.

You need to protect yourself, Justin.  While I know you feel infatuated with this young woman, you need to realize that she is young, too.  She has her whole life ahead of her as well.  Not only that, but she is at an awkward time in anybodies life.  She’s 19, and she’s at that point where a lot of women in college are getting drunk and letting their inhibitions go and truly discovering and exploring their sexuality.  I mean, I heard that women’s vaginas talk to them and tell them what they want and/or need.  Don’t believe me, Justin?  Check out my friend Willofawillow’s blog.  So what makes you think that your gal Selena’s vagina isn’t talking to her?  Telling her what she should be doing, what she should be having done to her?  Why wouldn’t she be exploring and discovering her sexuality?  Maybe since she’s in the spotlight so much she hides it pretty well, but believe me, she’s having thoughts about things that are illegal for you to do at this point, and at some point, sooner or later, she is going to need to address the fact that you simply cannot legally provide for the things she needs.

Justin, I just want you to be happy.  Please take into account what I’ve told you here, and keep it close to your heart.

Forever and Always,



Solidarity in Wisconsin

As some of you may have heard, Wisconsin and it’s citizens are under attack.  A nonprofit vegan’s group has decided to put a billboard up right outside of Green Bay defaming cheese by telling us that it is extremely unhealthy for us.  Go ahead, read that and tell me that you are not disgusted.

As a lifelong Wisconsinite, I cannot tell you how offended I am at this.  Cheese is a way of life for us in this state, as it damn well should be.  The issue that I have with this billboard is two-fold.  First, we need to look at the economy of this billboard’s message and Wisconsin in general.  We all know that we are currently in a recession (or recession-like time period, for you uber-liberals), and that unemployment levels are rising.  Globalization is taking more and more jobs overseas.  Since Wisconsin is the state that leads production of cheese in the country, it is quite obvious that cheese consumption and production is a vital area of our own state and local economies.  If we were to do what this billboard wants us to do and cut the cheese out of our diet, we will be no better than what those asshole (Republicans/ Democrats) (circle one) in Washington who are killing jobs with their overly zealous (tax cuts for fat cats / spending).  All we Wisconsinites are trying to do is to take charge of the economy, support our local businesses.  You know, buy ‘Merican.  But these hippie (I’m assuming here, but they’re from Washington.  State, that is.) are trying to get us to stop consuming cheese, which could easily be likened to state suicide.  I mean, how would you feel if a group told people in Michigan to stop buying Fords?  How well would it go over if you told Swiss people to not buy utility knives or those metal water bottles?  Or told all those bitches in LA with low self-esteem that they can’t buy breast implants?  Cheese is vital to our economy, and we are here to support it.

The second side of me being offended is that they are insinuating that we, as Wisconsinites, are fat.  Oh, I’m sorry, I meant overweight and/or obese.  I, personally, am offended.  Some people look at me and call me fat, but for fuck’s sake dude, I’m a panda bear.  I am well, WELL underneath the average weight of an adult male panda, which is usually around 350 pounds.  But that’s beside the point.  Have you ever been on a farm?  Do you know the kind of work that they have to do?  Have you ever met a farmhand?  Honestly, it’s like a beef, cheese, and corn diet will automatically make you 6’5″ and 325 pounds.  and a lean 325 pounds at that, those guys are just big.  Everything about them is honestly like 1.5 times the size of normal people’s.

But the issue is, they seem to think that they know what fat/overweight/obese is, and they want to tell us that we are too damn big.  Well, listen, I’ve got some news for them.  We know we’re big.  And we’re OK with that.  If we live in a state where we have to be slightly unhealthy in order for our state and economy to function properly, then so be it.  But don’t tell us we’re too fat.  We know what amount of fat is OK and when it gets to be too much.  We all even have our own little ways of knowing it.  Like, if we wear a large t-shirt and our lovehandles are CLEARLY defined because it is so tight, then we are too big.  If a lady’s grannie panties by the end of the day ALWAYS end up looking like a thong, then they might need to go for a bike ride.  Or better yet, get a stationary bike (Not because they’re fat, but because of the drunk drivers (this is Wisconsin (safety first!))).  Or if we are a man and we lay down on our side to go to bed and we put both of our hands underneath our head because we can’t find a pillow that has that just-right amount of lift without being too fucking hard and our tits are touching each other, maybe we’ve gone a little too far with the cheese.  Or if, when we’re having sex, our stomachs are so big and so heavy that they press against the stomach of the girl and when our bellybuttons match up just right the air gets compressed so much that it is forced out of our bellybuttons and in between our stomachs making a farting noise that makes you laugh you ass off but not stop thrusting (priorities), then and only then, will we lay off of the cheese.

But until the day comes that those things happen, we will continue to support our local and state economies, we will continue eat cheese, and goddamnit we will continue to be beautiful.

Until next time,


Facebook Statuses

So one thing that I’ve started to notice these days is that there always seems to be some chain thing going around the Internet about supporting victims of crimes or people who are dying or just plain down on their luck.   Now, I don’t necessarily have a problem with this, but I do have a problem with people having a problem with me for not reposting.

First off, I am nobodies personal Facebook whore.  I don’t care if some poor girl from Michigan has cancer and the Make-a-Wish foundation will donate money if I repost, or if some dumb-ass hyper-emotional (probably) teenager has a grandma who’s dying of cancer, I’m not giving up my personal Facebook to these assholes (Although, I would think it would be hilarious if the Make-A-Wish Foundation’s policy was, “Yeah, we got that cash, but we’ll only donate it to the surgery that will save your life if you can get a million people to agree with us that your life sucks).  I have very important things I have to tell my friends on my Facebook status, like when I update my blog, or when I accidentally do something stupid that isn’t too embarrassing.

Secondly, those Facebook statuses are nothing more than a grotesque announcement to the world about just how arrogantly self-centered the poster is.  It’s as if the people who post it are coming out and telling us, “Look at me.  I’m such a good person.  I support causes x, y, AND z SO MUCH that I am doing something about it in my personal life.”  Listen.  No…Read.   Just because you post shit on your Facebook doesn’t make you a good person.  A good person goes and visits the family member dying of cancer, or donates their own money to the dumb bitch who needs surgery.

Finally, I’m pretty sure people with cancer or people who are dying would much rather we went on living out our lives than spending it wasting away in front of a computer screen to tell the world about someone dying of cancer.  Take my Great Aunt Kate, for example.  A few years ago, she was diagnosed with breast cancer.  She’s 94.  Chemotherapy would kill her far quicker and more painfully than the cancer will, so her best bet is to just sit around and wait to die.  If I went up to her and showed her that I updated my Facebook status to reflect how I supported her in her fight against cancer, here are some of the questions she might ask:

~How come you don’t visit me anymore?

~What’s Facebook?

~Are you married yet?

~Who’s that girl who sends you messages asking why you don’t talk to her anymore?

~Is that a picture of you smoking?

~You know smoking is bad for you, right?  You could get cancer.

~Will you quit for me, your Great Aunt Kate?

And so the conversation goes.  But, alas, not everyone sees the world the same way I do.  Eventually, young Padawans, you will, and then, truly free will you be.


A-Holes, Thy Name is U: An Exposition on People Who Go By Their Initials and The Death of The English Language

Hey folks,

I hope you are all doing well this week.  Me?  Not so much.  I’ve been running into a lot of assholes lately, and there’s a big revelation that I’ve uncovered about the human race:  nearly every one that is an asshole goes by their initials.  Superficial?  Maybe.  Insightful and absolutely right?  I’d like to think so.  So I decided to take a deeper look into some of the more famous assholes who went by their initials.  Here is the cream of the asshole crop.

JD Salinger:

Sure, I have to respect Salinger for being one of the better American writers in history.  In addition to Catcher in the Rye, he has published several other books of shorter stories and novellas, and numerous other short stories (short stories being the first works Salinger started writing, as well as his first claim to fame).  But the issue with Salinger is not about the quality of writer Salinger is, but the reclusive way of life that he took to after finally making it.  After he published Catcher in the Rye, he didn’t publish another novel, and only released a handful of short stories and collections.  Instead of pursuing his dream further, Salinger simply got himself a nice little apartment and lived there, presumably not doing anything.  To me, there is not anything worse than someone who has a talent and has gotten to the top and then just decides to quit.  That’s why Michael Jordan and Barry Sanders and JFK were assholes.  (Boo-hoo, your chances at reelection are dropping because of the civil rights laws that you publicly say you support are causing you to lose votes.  It’s just so sad to see someone support doing the right thing.  But fuck, dude, you didn’t need to get yourself shot.)   But it’s like Salinger is that guy who “retires” as soon as he has enough money to do so.  It makes you want to just look at him and say, “Come on, dude, you’re going to get bored of jerking off all day in like a week.”  Salinger never did.  Last published work: 1965.  Died:  2010.  45 years of jerking.  Impressive, but he’s still an asshole.

M. Night Shyamalan:

Ah, yes.   Don’t get me wrong, “The Sixth Sense” was one of my favorite movies when it came out.  But on the other hand, he does possibly the biggest asshole thing to do:  he ruins his shit on purpose.  He adds these ridiculous twists to his movies as if to say, “Hey, all you struggling artists out there, you know how you work your ass off to create the best possible piece of work?  Look at me.  I take otherwise decently written and fairly well directed movies and destroy them with a half-assed attempt to be creative and different, and I don’t even stop to revise or rethink the twist before we film it, so I’m stuck with movies about aliens who are allergic to water coming to a planet where (forget the fact it’s 2/3rds covered in water because that’s why they went to fucking Iowa where there is no Goddamn ocean you Goddamn trolling fucks, (although anybody who has seen the movie Field of Dreams knows that there is almost always an eerie fog (I’ve actually never seen the movie, but I assume there is fog in it somewhere), which would have, again, melted the shit out of the motherfuckers)), the air at sea level can hold up to 4% water vapor in it’s total volume, meaning that with every breath those aliens take, they ought to be melting from the inside out. As they would if they were to eat pretty much anything on Earth, especially human beings, since we are, in fact, basically a water balloon with a bunch of carbon and other shit.  Admittedly, that would probably be a better ending, but then I wouldn’t be able to have a feel-good aspect to the film when the person most likely to die first (the little girl), ends up being the hero because she can’t just pick up her fucking shit around the house. Besides, like I said, I don’t rethink this shit.”  Maybe he wouldn’t say that.  Asshole.

DJ Tanner (From Full House):

Let’s just list off some of the asshole things that this young lady has done in her life:  She has run away from home that had both John Stamos AND Bob Saget (but I’m not quite sure if that justifies her or makes her even more idiotic), she dropped her dad’s wedding ring down the sink, she apparently was a “bad kisser,” which makes her not returning my date request somewhat of a relief to me, and she was also very bossy and a jerk to Michelle Tanner at Disney World (or Land, maybe?  I don’t know the fucking difference) which caused Michelle to run away and get lost at the happiest place on Earth.  Everyone knows that bullying is a very bad thing and can have major consequences.  I mean, it’s possible that Michelle Tanner now has an eating disorder because of all the trials and tribulations that she had to undergo because of her older sister.

But the worst part is that I think she’s racist, because in one of the letters that I sent to her, I asked her out on a nice, harmless, non-committal coffee date.  She, like a bitch, never replied, and I’m pretty sure it’s because I’m part black.  But, in the next episode of Full House, she was eating blackberries.  Blackberries?  Really?  Come on, this is the 21st century, I thought we were past this whole, “Oh, I heard that all black bears like blackberries.”  Listen, asshole.  Number one, I’m not a black bear, I’m a panda bear, don’t mix up the two, because when you do it’s offensive to my heritage.  Number two, not all black bears even eat that shit.  I certainly don’t.

Anyone Named DJ:

Now that I think of it, I don’t remember a single person named DJ that was cool or anything but an asshole.  I mean, if a girl is named DJ, just look at the section on DJ Tanner and all those bitches probably did the same stuff.  And if a guy is named DJ, chances are he’s one of those assholes who gels his hair into a kind of spiky look, wears thick rimmed glasses that make you hate yourself because you were thinking about getting the same kind, and overtly pretentious.  I’m talking really pretentious.  Like so pretentious that he would have the balls to ask a landlord if he could knock down a wall because he felt he was upset that the only apartment available was a studio.  Either way, this “name” sucks, and so does everyone who goes by it.

DJ Pauly D (From Jersey Shore, co-founder of the GTL movement and the MVP Super-Douche Group):

Douchebag Parmesiano.  Young American of Italian descent, marinated in the finest all-unnatural tanning oil, slow-roasted under the most HIV- and Herpes-free light bulbs New Jersey has to offer, slathered in our own house-recipe hair gel, and served in an Ed Hardy getup.  7.95

ee cummings:

ee cummings has long been revered as one of the greatest American poets of all time, and seemingly justifiably so.  He has enjoyed a long career, many awards and accolades, and a large following in the literary scene.  However, I have an issue with one of the stylizations that he pioneered:  the decapitalization and depunctuation of some of his poetry.  He has been known to say that he did so because he felt that the form of the poem should write the poem, and basically if you do it right, you don’t need capital letters or punctuation.  Besides being somewhat arrogant, to me, it has an absolutely unforgivable side-effect: the destruction of the English language.  Yes, I know he didn’t mean to, and he probably didn’t realize that his work would lead to such a travesty, but I can and will still blame him.  We live in a society where apparently people don’t think it’s necessary to follow the rules of our very own language because doing so would take up too much time or too much space and, let’s face it, we’ve all apparently got better shit to do.  I mean, we’ve got the “text speak,” and “leet speek,” and people are writing shit like, “lol,” and, “cya l8er,” and even Usher had a hit song called, “OMG.”  But kids nowadays say that it’s fine because they understand it, and since it’s a text message, or written online somewhere, that they understand it, much like cummings’ justification for his style.  (However, I will give cummings credit on this point.  When I’m texting a cute girl I’m crushing on, I will usually intentionally not send it in perfect English, (I usually end up just sitting there looking at a draft of the text for an hour or so trying to decide what word to misspell or what punctuation mark to leave out while still making my point clear) because, let’s face it, cool kids can’t fuck with proper English).  But it’s not just a pet peeve of mine either.  Have you ever seen those commercials where they put up part of a text and a lady or old guy provides the voice over saying, “This was the text my son was reading when he crashed his car and died”?  Almost every one of those texts has the same bullshit shortened language.  Perhaps if they had revered the English language as they ought, they would have taken the time, pulled over like a responsible person, and give their text message the proper attention it deserves, maybe, just maybe, they’d still be alive.  And besides, anyone who watches Californication, and has seen that episode where David Duchovny fucks (go figure) the chick who says, “lol,” and uses the term “bj,” you should understand that this shorthanded use of language isn’t just limited to writing, but some people actually use it speaking (although, when it comes to the term BJ, I’ll give credit, because there isn’t really a romantic way to refer to fellatio.  I mean, all the terms for it kind of seem a bit grotesque, if you ask me (How romantic can it really be for a woman to hear, “Hey, how do you feel about blowjobs?” (Not that that gets in the way of me saying that exact thing to women (I’m so smooth.)))).  Plus I don’t really think cummings was really that thought- or emotion-provoking.  Plus his name was cummings, which prevents anybody with a life from talking about him without pausing for a second to try and come up with a joke that hasn’t been done yet about his last name being cummings.

By no means is this list complete, but I think for now this should suffice.  So as you go about your life, watch out for assholes, they’re everywhere.

More posts coming soon.  It’s back to the self-depricating shit pretty soon, too.

Take it easy,


Parking and Figure Skating

Welcome back my friends-

It’s been a while since I last wrote.  I wish it was for a good reason, but if any of you have ever seen a panda in real life, you know we generally just sit around and don’t do anything.  So that’s what I was doing for most of the time.   But recently, something big happened in the panda world.  Lil’ Wayne released his much anticipated album, Tha Carter IV.

Now, some of you may be saying, “Why the hell is that important to pandas?”  Well, it’s simple.  Lil Wayne has been known to sport the “Panda Adidas.”

Lil Wayne's Panda Sneakers

We pandas view this as an endorsement by Weezy F. Baby of pandas, the panda lifestyle, panda products, and anything panda.  Yes, yes, I should be appalled that he is wearing one of my brethren, but us pandas are selfless, and I, for one, would be honored if I were slaughtered and turned into a pair of kicks for the founder and CEO of Young Money Entertainment. But what this comes down to is Lil Wayne has given me inspiration to return to my pursuits of gaining fame and fortune by virtue of a bitchy blog, and most importantly, someday becoming neighbors with Wayne on I Don’t Give a Fuck Avenue.

A few weeks ago, I was presented with a particularly anxiety-causing situation.  I was parked in.  In my own driveway.  Now, if it were one of my parents’ cars parking me in, I would have been fine with it, for I could have just grabbed the keys and parked it in the street myself.  However, this was different.  One of my aunts was over and decided to park in the driveway, despite the ample parking spots in front of the house with plenty of shade.  But no, she decided to park me in.

Normally, most people wouldn’t think twice about going up to their aunt and saying, “Hey, I’ve got to head off to work, do you think you could move your car?”  Not with this aunt.  Engaging her in conversation is likely going to end with you crumpled in the corner endlessly nodding and saying, “Uh-huh,” to her mind-disintigratingly boring monologues that always end with, “Isn’t that interesting?” about any number of foreign-to-anybody-with-a-fucking-life topics from the Royal Lineage to figure skating (No, not the Royal Wedding.  Just the lineage).  I mean, I’m a 22 year old male.  My knowledge of anything remotely linked to figure skating is limited to two people:  Michelle Kwan and Scott Hamilton (And the only reason I care(d) about Michelle Kwan is because my parents raised me in a white neighborhood, and as a ten-year-old Michelle Kwan was only the second Asian I had ever known to even exist at that time, so I thought she was damn hot (needless to say she’s dropped down to about a 7 now that I’ve grown up and the females I deal with on a daily basis are much more developed (Nothing’s better than boobies)).  But Scott Hamilton, on the other hand, was the fucking man.  I mean, I don’t even care if he’s figure skating, he still would go out there in a three-piece-suit and leave in a frilly, giraffe patterned frock and neon pink nickers.  And on top of that, he did motherfucking backflips.  I mean, who cares if he’s old and can’t really nail the triple sow cow anymore, but how many people do you know can do backflips standing on solid ground?  Let alone of ice, slippery as hell, wearing a pari of razor sharp women’s shoes?  Wrong species or not, if I was a female I’d let him take me to town any day (I assume he still has moves wearing nothing but socks).

But really, is there anything more selfish than parking someone into their own driveway?  It’s says to that person, “Hey, I know you’ve got shit to do, but I just wanted to sit around here and tell you about my week.”  It’s like a living funeral.  (“I know you all love me and are going to miss me when I die, but I want to fucking see you say it, bitch.”)  Just be happy we still talk to you when we do.  Enjoy other things in your life.  If we’re too busy to see you, every once in a while it’s actually for a moderately decent reason.

But whatever.  I got to work on time, just a little scarred.  I promise to you all I will actually keep up with this shit.  Just like I quit smoking.  And took the GRE.  And never accidentally almost got a girl pregnant.  And didn’t move back in with my parents.  And got a good job.  But for real this time.

Take it easy,