Online Dating Screen-Names to Avoid, Avert, Reject and Repel

July 8, 2017

Online Dating NamesThey say the best things in life are free. Perhaps, but very few would say that’s the case when it comes to online dating sites. In no other corner of the universe will you find such a concentrated pool of failed abortions as you’ll find on websites such as OkStupid and Plenty of Flesh. Of course, that isn’t to say that everyone that’s dipped their toe in those murky waters would make a great psychological case study. It’s just that quality isn’t the norm. There’s surely dozens of non issue-laden people that were simply misguided or ill-advised about joining the ranks of the disappointed. But, the fact remains that it’s the unadulterated insaniacs that make the most lasting impression. Sure, we’ve all heard the stories about dates looking like bloated, ill and antiquated versions of their profile picture. But, the right person could totally rock the decrepit look. What about the wrong kind of weird, though? Drama that borders performance art. Bodily noise orchestrations. Mental midgetry. Hygiene not witnessed since the Pre-Ivory Age. Not your thing, you say? Perhaps, the simplest safeguard against these encounters is to examine the potential dates’ screen name for Freudian slips. The truths revealed might not be pleasant ones but they can certainly wave a few flags so long as you’re open to seeing them. A recent survey reveals the most transparent and all-around worst screen names found on free dating sites. The survey was taken as part of the Equal America program at the Institute of Middle Class White Men. The data was collected among a broad ranging group of middle class white men.

Online Dating Screen-Names to Avoid, Avert, Reject and Repel
FelonLove
QueasyBeaver
CrabCakes69
VD4U2
RagingWhoreMoans
LotzaMedz4me
ShitShowShirley
BaitShopBarbieBox
GlandsEnd
CalamityHanes
FudgePuddle

 

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Best (or worst) Christmas Presents Received (or returned) this Year

December 26, 2013

ShittyGifts
10. Package of Infini-Dong Reusable Condoms with Deluxe Drying Tree

9. Pet Hamster from the Richard Gere Habitat for Rodent Preservation and Intestinal Exploration

8. My First Buzz: Little-Bee Starter Pot Farm

7. Dr. Breasticles’ Home Implant Kit- Now with extra blades!

6. Famous Anus Recliner Chair: Reshape your ass to emulate the posterior of your favorite celebs with genuine molded ass-a-like seats!

5. Santa’s Sack Warmer: The rechargeable underwear heater for men

4. Gift Certificate for the Kardashian Love Line Advice Network

3. Dashboard Deep Fryer

2. Senior’s Stripper Pole with shock absorbent chair lift and safety rails

1. Booger Pouch


Attention Wal-Mart Shoppers: Get The Hell Out Of My Way!!

October 4, 2013

When misfortune strikes me in such a way that I am forced to replenish stock and procure supplies, I do so out of pure necessity. Superstores aren’t exactly my natural habitat. In fact, I think any time spent in one should be applied as advance payment on purgatorial punishment. My mission is simply to attain my goods and depart the premises post-haste. Instead, I find myself embroiled in a social experiment gone horribly wrong. As far as I’m concerned, Wal-Mart is nothing but a giant Petri dish of humanoid dysfunction.

My movements are such that I circumvent the crowds in a stealth-like fashion. Nary a blur is seen as I bob and weave through the mass of gluttonous consumers as they graze like demented cattle. As I swiftly navigate the jungle of Chinese plastic, I am in tune to the path of least resistance. At all costs, I will avert elbow-knocking with the gaggles of glassy-eyed gawkers.

My purpose is pure. My list is short and free of fluff. My visit is one of unadulterated functionality. Yet, most of those around me seem lost. They spin around in place eye-raping the shelves and drifting from aisle to aisle with strings of drool connecting their lower lip to their chest. The lack of certitude in their motion hints at a recent sale on Benadryl and wine coolers. The slightest breeze seems to move them along like farts in the wind carelessly aflutter.

Gizmos and gadgets are randomly plucked from the shelves, groped and prodded. Boxes are shaken and opened before being tossed askew from whence they came. Cancer-grade hygiene products are sniffed, sampled and slathered upon the necks of the vendees. With such a fondle fest going on, it’s like a DNA Swap Meet at the local fairgrounds. With every item cuddled and caressed, customers expose themselves to a grab-bag of pathogens, surface yeast and crotch-crickets. Biological warfare could be waged with the microbial funk residing on a Wal-Mart shelf. Look with your eyes, people! Not every item needs to be fingered, fidgeted and fucked with!

I enter the final stretch only to find more ragamuffins loitering about in their baggy-ass sweat pants. I can never tell if they dropped a deuce or if they’re trying to steal DVDs. If only shopping carts were rigged with cow catchers I could plow through the peeps like bowling pins sending them pell-mell to the wayside. I just have no patience for the shuffling dim-witted patrons of a dung gallery. I just want to pay for my AA batteries and make my escape to the great outdoors where I don’t have to share my oxygen with anybody within sneezing distance. Thank you for shopping with us, folks. Come again!


Beer & Loathing in Supermarket Hell

September 1, 2012

I think there should be a special line at the supermarket for problematic customers. Anybody who remembers the Puppy Chow only after unloading their cart onto the conveyer, clearly doesn’t belong in the same line as me. The road to the register is a sacred place, man. It’s the light at the end of the tunnel. It’s the transitional point between pushing around a heavy shopping cart full of beer and going home and drinking a… shopping cart full of beer. Point is, if you have to run back to Aisle 3 for anything once you’re in line, whether it be Kool-Aid or extra-small condoms, you’re a prime candidate for lock-up in Retail Jail. Follow decorum or spend the afternoon locked inside the frozen fuckin’ broccoli closet with all the fruit-fondlers and turkey bowlers. And anybody who knows that their check won’t clear… or for that matter, anyone still writing checks 2000 plus years after the death of Christ needs to be excommunicated to the flunky lane along with all those suckers still buying video tapes and flash cubes for their fucking camera.

Meanwhile, I can assure Lady Alpo in front of me that the cashier does not need to waste valuable time discussing a customer’s avoidance of bran products. Unless your therapist is moonlighting at the local friggin’ Food-Hut, there is no reason to converse in depth with the grocery clerk. These people are there to wave noodle bags over the scanner and slide Cheez Whiz down to the bagger. For many, this is more than enough of a challenge. Cashiers are far too busy for asinine drivel and don’t get paid enough to multitask. Let’s let them focus on the task at hand so we can all move on to a more pleasant activity far the fuck away from the barcode jungle.

Oh, and let it be known to baggers everywhere that plastic is always fine. Don’t bother me with choices, they’ll only confuse me. This is the 21st century, though. We’ve killed enough fucking trees it’s a miracle we can still find a shady spot to loaf in while pretending to be at work. Paper bags are no more relevant than burlap friggin’ sacks. This ain’t Little House On The Fuckin’ Prairie over here. I’m not visiting a feed store where my purchase will be delivered via shovel. I won’t be carrying grain by the pound or a rack full of animal pelts any time soon, and I certainly don’t have a donkey tied to a post in the parking lot. Plastic should suit the bagging needs of anyone living in this century, which is pretty much everyone that I know. Bottom line: Paper bags are an impractical product of a bygone era. They don’t have handles, they don’t scoop shit well, and they’re far too difficult to suffocate in. And, of course, I realize plastic bags are effectively made from Iraqi blood but I refuse to politicize an issue of personal convenience.

Finally, cashiers need to stop telling me to press the green button as if I’m still in my third year of kindergarten. I slid the card, I can follow the prompts. I’m not a kid punching his busy box waiting for something to happen and I’m not crackin’ a fuckin’ safe here. And if I want cash back… I’ll just take it!