Who gives a shit about National Bubble Bath Day? We surely don't. National Find a Rainbow Day? Fuck that, too. For the really fun days, the ones that nobody else bothers to celebrate, visit . . . The Book of Daze℠.
Some photos cannot be shopped. They are perfect just the way god made them. Such perfection does not happen by accident, and wise, indeed, is the man who says "you can't photoshop this."
The Fuck It List
Ten Things You Should Quit While Not Going Gently into That Good Night
3. Seat Belts
4. FOX Fucking News
5. Paying for Music and Movies
6. Picking Up Pills That You Drop
7. Pissing Indoors All the Time
8. Talking Baby Talk to Children
9. Stupid-Ass, Dip-Shit, Old-Fart Hats
10. Bathing or Showering Regularly
Trigger warning! The content of this website may cause raging panic attacks in hypersensitive snowflakes who suffer from androphobia, galactophobia, emetophobia, corprophobia, claustrophobia, fear of taints, and other psycho-sexual maladies too numerous to mention.
Don't Call Me a White Person Anymore Aug 26, 2019 - 11:00
Recently I was informed by the entrail readers at 23&Me that I am no longer 1/500 sub-Saharan African or any other non-white subgroup. I was gutted by this revelation. "Yo, homie," I thought, "there goes your street cred and your offensive explanations for your curly hair and fondness for Korean fried chicken."
Then I heard another voice in my head, a decidedly WASPish voice, no mean feat for someone who is 79.6 percent Italian, per 23&Me.
"Remember, old sport," the voice began, "your are still the editor in briefs of the least influential website in southeastern Pennsylvania; but that's no excuse for being lumbered with a toxic ethnicity, viz., caucasian.
White person plays to unfortunate stereotypes: the chap with three teeth and a moth-eaten beard who's married to his cousin and who rides around in his pickup all day drinking Bud Lights and tossing the empties out the window—or some oaf with a row-house mentality, a hockey jersey, and a goatee who likes to go "coon huntin'" with his buddies on the weekend.
Lest anyone accuse me of striking an elitist pose, I should hasten to point out that some of my best friends are white people. I often tease them by calling them "creepy-ass crackers," and they don't mind at all. They might not like it if a person of color wearing one of those hooded thingies complained that he was being followed by a "creepy-ass cracker," but the rules of ethnic reference are a horse of another color and a topic for another conversation, I fear.