Who gives a shit about National Bubble Bath Day? We don't. National Take Your Grand Kid Out to Lunch Day? Fuck that, and your grand kid, too. For the really fun days, the ones that nobody else has the imagination to celebrate, days like National Ain't Woke, Do Not Disturb Day℠, National Ignore the Ban on Plastic Straws Day℠, and others visit . . . The Book of Daze℠.
Your Virtual GanjaScope
A half-century's worth of smoking pot/hash/shatter/live resin carts has led us to conclude that horoscopes are more fun and more accurate when you're stoned...and they're even better when the person who wrote them was stoned, too. If you're looking to turn over a new leaf, visit GanjaScope.
The Grammar Prick
Meaner than a 250-pound lesbian Language Arts teacher, The Grammar Prick will split your head if you split an infinitive, dangle a participle, or dare to misuse penultimate. Visit The Grammar Prick.
There's a Saint for That
There's a saint in every pot, and a prayer card for every condition. Just tell us where it hurts you, and we'll tell you whom to call and where to send your donations. Let us pray.
Here's to a Brighter Day
Brights neither seek nor accept any supernatural "explanations" for life. If that sounds like a bright idea to you, click here.
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A Barrel of Laughs at the Gastroenterology Office: You Can't Photoshop This Aug 12, 2019 - 8:36
WEST GOSHEN, Pa.—When was the last time you had a good laugh in the gastroenterology office? A really good laugh, not some tight-ass snortle, but a full-on, stuff-coming-out-your-nose production? I didn't think so. There’s more laughter at funerals than at the gastro’s. Of course people who attend funerals usually don’t spend the night before shoving M80s up their asses and doing Drano shots.
For whatever reason, people in the gastro’s appear to take their butts seriously. Their expressions are sphincter grim, and their voices decorously split the difference between a funeral director’s and a golf announcer’s elocutionary style.
I was dropping someone off at the gastro’s last week, synchronizing cell phones for a later pickup, when I noticed the banner hanging above the check-in counter, “Ask us today about our Patient Portal.”
Upon seeing the banner I was consumed with projectile laughing. Wave after wave of unseemly, uncontrollable, orgasmic howling the likes of which I hadn't seen since the last time I did mushrooms.
(If astronomers want to know what happened before the Big Bang, may I suggest that someone saw a funny-ass sign in a gastro’s office on an otherwise routine afternoon and, if you’ll pardon the expression, lost his shit.)
"Fuck me swinging," I thought. "Ain't no portals in here I'm particularly inspired to ask about." I could barely finish coordinating with the person whom I was to return for later. (She, I might add, was not amused at my amusement.)
I rounded up what was left of my composure and was about to make a semi-dignified retreat when the nurse said to the person who was getting more annoyed with me by the minute, “Don’t worry, ma’am, you’ll be able to make the call after you wake up.”
“Probably butt-dial it," I thought, crabbing my way toward the door as if I needed a rest room.
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 Pug Bus Interview
Enjoy the interviews nobody else has the sack to do. We aren't afraid to stop totally at the surface, because no matter how beautiful a person might be on the inside, you've still got to look at him or her when you're speaking to 'em..Read on.