Let me just say for the record that I am completely aware that cartoons and sitcoms are not a true depiction of real life. In spite of what you may have heard or gathered, I’m not a total idiot. I just can’t help, when it comes to the vast inconsistencies between the lives of television characters and what I go through on a daily basis, to struggle to with the clear and glaring dichotomy.
Take Family Guy for instance. Great show. This show has blessed me with countless hours of hilarious entertainment but I’ve never been able to get passed the idea that Peter Griffin actually owns a home? He lives in Rhode Island for Christ sake. Do you have any idea of the cost of just an average domicile in Rhode Island? Initially, Griffin works at a fucking toy factory and then gets a job at a brewery. Like, oh yeah sure, I’m totally buying that a guy bottling beer for a living can easily afford a coastal home among some of the most overpriced real estate in the entire United States. Plus he lives in-between a police officer and an airline pilot. The financial demographic of those two professions are markedly higher than a beer swiller.
Homer Simpson is a fat, stupid moron who carries every characteristic of being a retarded dipshit and yet I’m expected to believe that he’s a somehow found employment as a nuclear engineer? I think not and I have a very difficult time watching this show knowing full well what a giant fuck up this guy is.
This line of thinking is not reserved just for cartoons either. Do you remember Al Bundy on Married With Children? I hated this show. It was unwatchable drivel. On the show, Al made his living peddling shoes. Am I supposed to buy into the very idea that this pathetic sack of shit, imbecile working as a shoe salesman can somehow afford a split level 4 bedroom house on the north-side of Chicago? Nothing against the shoe salesmen of the world, a noble career, no doubt. I call horseshit. His wife didn’t do a god damned thing to help out either.
You probably aren’t aware of this but I may be one of the more prolific male Pinterest users on earth. Somehow this electronic goldmine of information has been labeled as a stop on the WWW for women. Because I love a good recipe, I live by a mantra of “I cook, therefor I Pinterest.” I mean, I don’t really have a mantra, I think they’re stupid but if I did have a mantra it would be something like that. Here’s my problem though, why does every god damned recipe have to come with a mother-fucking story? Jesus! can I just have the ingredients list without all the horseshit? Apparently, in this day and age of every idiot thinking they should have their voice heard, (insert picture of me here) I have to scroll thru some epic saga of how great grandma brought her recipe for chili nachos over from the old country and how she once rubbed it on her husbands feet to relieve bunion pain.
Stranger still, as I continue to scroll thru the other posted recipes for bunion relieving chili, I see the same god damned recipe that was supposedly some big family secret printed on the back of a Kraft macaroni and cheese box. Tell you what, skip the ridiculous story and just give me the freaking recipe.
Moving on, I’ve noticed a developing aggressiveness in the pop-ups on various websites requesting that I sign up for their newsletter or whatever bullshit they happen to be purveying. They kindly request my email address but if I’m not interested then, in an excessively nasty manner, I am to click a button labeled, “no thanks.” At least it used to say “no thanks.” I’ve noticed, lately, an uptick in the less than gracious manner in which I can opt out of their offer. Now I’m seeing things like this from an offer to receive the latest diet pill:
Yes! I want to lose 20 pounds in my first month of using Fat Burner and I agree to accept a new bottle every 30 days for the low price of $39.95 until you can find a way to cancel. Good luck with that!
Click No! if you wish to retain your disgusting and disfigured fat body. Bear in mind that you will continue to have no friends and probably die a lot sooner than our valued customers who clicked the Yes button. Go to hell you overweight pig!
This next one, I kind of felt, went a bit too far:
Click “No Thanks” if you think you don’t need Cialis. By clicking “No” you’re saying that you’ve given up and are admitting to a being a limp dicked loser and that your flaccid penis suits you just fine. You, further, have no problem with the pool boy taking over the job of servicing your wife. Time has passed you by you useless piece of shit. Why don’t you just crawl under a rock and die.
Lastly, I, from time to time, like to review the top few search terms used to find my blog site. I have been getting a less than comfortable amount of traffic from people searching the phrase, “but flap underwear fucking.” Please note that I type them as I see them. Clearly the crowd frequenting and amused by my brand of humor does not know that the ass part of the human body is spelled, “butt” and not “but.” I’m not really surprised by this but still thought it should be pointed out.
My favorite, by far, has to be, “does Barbra Streisand have Fetal Alcohol Syndrome?” I’m not sure I’ve ever mentioned Fetal Alcohol Syndrome or Barbra Streisand in any of my posts. I mean, I might have mentioned Fetal Alcohol Syndrome in my piece about how I found Cameron Diaz to be less than attractive but I certainly never accused Barbra of being a victim of FAS.