I am an adult who is not afraid to buy a balloon and visibly enjoy it in front of others. I’ll buy a balloon on the street or at a hospital gift shop and just walk around for hours listening to Lionel Richie on my giant headphones…. Just smoke a bone while “floating” through Boston Common as “Running with the Night” plays with the shadows in my ear canals [oh, yes!] ….and that… that’s when you stop and you turn your head up, and to the right, and appreciate that shiny, swollen ball of joy on a string. “Hello there, balloon. I love everything about you, except your outie asshole.” Come to think of it Lionel Richie kind of looks like a swollen outie asshole. Kind of like when in porn movies the chicks open up their assholes so they’re gaping and it looks like Satan’s toothless mouth exhaling or something. That’s what Lionel Richie looks like, but that is not what he sounds like - oh no, dear friends - when Lionel sings, he sounds like the mirthful utterances of Angels when they listen to Lionel Richie on their giant headphones.
P.S. Do not suggest adding roller skates to my balloon and Lionel ensemble. It has been proposed and rejected as too obvious.
This has always been one of my favorite internet videos. This man’s utter humiliation is an endless source of joy for me. The breezy, unruffled black newsman personality he worked his whole lifetime to construct becomes totally unravelled in half a second. There’s no coming back from this. The day that happened to him, was his effective death date.
This is how they set out to make the ad: Let’s find the biggest nightmare chick in the world, put a nightmare pink beret thing on her head, and have her perform a nightmare “dance” INSIDE THE LAST FUCKING PLACE ANYONE SHOULD BE DANCING, A MOVING CAR!
Even more annoying, is that you could feel through your TV set how fucking COOL the people who made this commercial thought it was.
I express myself freely about this because I feel that people who are terrible, but are unaware that they are terrible, need to be told that they are terrible.
Pink hat Mitsubishi nightmare chick didn’t know she was terrible, so I am telling her now that she’s SO TERRIBLE, that ten years later I still have nightmares about her wriggling her arms and break-dancing with a seatbelt.
I’m pretty sure I’m a super hero. Sometimes I’ll drop like a bottle cap or something and before it hits the ground I grab it with lightning fast reflexes. Then I look around to see if anyone saw it, and of course there’s no one around. But then I get the sense that someone was watching me and I realize that it’s probably another super hero out there with like amazing eyesight who saw me from like a mile away, you know, because he’s looking out for other potential super heroes so he can call on them when the time comes. Basically, my plan now is to wait to be called upon to join an assembling group of superheroes so we can defeat……Ron Perlman!
Very little is funnier to me than when Ron Perlman plays anything but a monster. This is a photo of him from “Sons Of Anarchy.” I love the guy, but please, anytime he plays a real guy, all I can think is that he’s a really badly disguised undercover monster.
Why do boring people always have to try so hard to make you think they’re not boring. Like they’re always the ones who take up skydiving or travel to Africa for no reason. These types of dull people are always the ones sayin they’re like part Cherokee and stuff when they clearly are not. Just be boring and leave me alone.
1. Watch the opening sequence of “Contact” where you pull back from Earth and you hear all the different radio signals that we’ve sent out over the years and there’s all these different serious news bulletins and JFK speeches and stuff, and then you hear Dean Martin’s “Volare” and you smile thinkin’ about Dino flyin’ through space with like a cocktail in his hand!
2. Spend an extra three minutes on the can squeezing out that extra little bit of shit that will make or break your day.
3. Take three Vicodin, wait a minute, then do three shots of vodka, wait a minute, then do three bong hits, wait thirty seconds, then spend the last thirty seconds turning on my Xbox and sitting in my beanbag chair to play Skyrim for 300 AMAZING minutes.
I was just trying to jerk off on youporn and just as I was getting into it I noticed the chick had a lisp. She was going “YETH! YETH! OH BABY! YETH! MY PUTHY IS THO WET! I WANT YOU TO FUCK ME IN THE ATH!! So then I burst out laughing, right? And then after a bit, I see myself in the bathroom mirror, you know, standing there laughing with my dick in my hand. I immediately stopped laughing, as I realized the joke was very much not on the lisping porn actress, but myself. Congratulations lisping porn actress, you are winning at life! It was the worst jerkoff session since that time at the New England Aquarium.
Once again baked with a new TV show idea…. Okay, the original title was, “I work out in jeans, you work out in jeans,” but it’s just too long of a title, plus let’s save the jeans for episode three or four (the same episode where sunglasses are worn while bench-pressing.) I’m getting ahead of myself here…. Look, every AWESOME AMERICAN is either aware of, or belongs to a gym, right? The gym is America’s sweaty forum for AGGRESSIVE MUSCLE COMMERCE and ANXIOUS PREPARATION FOR THREATENING FUTURE EVENTS. A place where responsible AWESOME AMERICANS discuss the ways in which their awesome muscle power will be dispensed in the inevitable event of a natural disaster or sudden invasion from some Asian country: what they would lift in an earthquake, punch during a tornado, KICK IN A HURRICANE?!!! How many Asians they will bench-press into surrender. And then, they all laugh a hardy AWESOME AMERICAN GYM LAUGH at how prepared they are, and how non-awesome Americans like scientists and Ear Nose and Throat doctors (and invading Asians) will be totally unprepared for these events and be somewhere, trapped, skinny and crying. In the opening scene, I envision BIG CONFIDENT CALVES strutting from one end of the gym to the other, and then, oh no, passing bigger and therefore more confident calves. A look is exchanged, the lesser calves are threatened, they shrink in the acknowledgement of MORE CONFIDENT LOWER REAR LEG MUSCULATURE. You see, these are the characters, they are defined by their calves: we will never see these characters wearing anything below the knee, objects in high places tremble at their approach…..I’m so baked.
Stoned a gain with MY FIRST MOVIE IDEA! Okay, here it is: A ROBOT SCIENTIST invents the world’s first super intelligent robot, but guess what? Yup! Whoever invents the first smart robot will be the last free/living human. The robot takes over and, naturally, builds other robots. Luckily, at that very same moment, a Tiger Army Scientist working in the same facility had a major breakthrough, and perfected his ARMY OF TIGERS. Now, Robots, especially evil robots, are bad news, but even worse news is… AN ARMY OF TIGERS! Let’s take a moment to step back from this potentially explosive situation and take a look at a young Robot and a young Tiger Soldier who have fallen in love. Here’s where the comedy comes SMASHING INTO YOUR FACE! Evil Robots and Memebers of Tiger Armies are very different. Robots like raspberries, Tiger Armys like blueberries, what happens when they go to the supermarket and try and buy berries? LOTS!
Okay, I got stoned again and came up with another idea for a TV show. It’s about a fat guy who can move really fast. It’s called “Faster Than You Thought Fat Guy.” The main idea is that you take a look at this guy, and he’s really fat, and you’re like, “I bet that guy can’t move very fast because he’s so fat.” Then, ZOOM! he moves MUCH faster than you thought he could! When you see his large body move so fast it’s unexpected, scary and kind of funny at the same time. With these three elements, basically, the show has everything. I’m imaging scenarios where our fat character is being taunted by skinnier characters (who think they are at a safe distance) and suddenly, BLATT! they’re in a world of fat guy pain! Basically, this guy is constantly shattering assumptions about his perceived mobility. Have you ever seen a walrus or hippopotamus suddenly break into a sprint and you’re like, “Hey, that big, fat animal was WAY over there, and now it’s like right in front of me!” That’s what this guy does! Another scenario for the show could be a bunch of toughs roughing up an old lady and our fat guy sees this and intervenes, and the toughs are like, “what are you gonna do about it slow, not fast, fatty?” Then, HAMMO! fat guy everywhere you never thought he could be that fast! And he’s not just fast, he’s nimble too! When the toughs or whoever are being chased by our fat guy, they’re thinking, “wow, he’s WAY faster than I anticipated in my worst nightmares, but there’s no way he can take this corner that’s coming up ahead,” then, GYRO! our fat guy turns on a dime and the bad guys are drowning in fat guy boob-neck! I’m thinking there’s a very determined look on our fat guy’s face too when he’s chasing these bad guys.
I just got really stoned and came up with an awesome idea for a TV show! It’s about an amputee who has giant magnifying glasses for hands and magic wands for legs. He goes from town to town and solves murders and performs magic. I’m calling it “AbraCaGotcha!” It’s a kick-ass idea with a grab-you-by-the-balls title, and it marries two genres that I think American viewers have (very patiently) waited a long time to see together: grisly criminology and the childlike wonderment of the old hocus-pocus. Is he also an architect? Or would that make it too good of a show? Also, what’s the back-story on this guy? How did he lose his limbs? Is he a sucker for the latest fashions? What’s his name? Knox Kingmaker? Trod Lusty? Jock Beefcommander? I bet he has a pet. Maybe a quirky pet that gives the audience some immediate insight into Knox Beefcommander’s ethos? A basket, a pet basket named Wicker. No, that’s too obvious, maybe an Italian guy’s nose (an authentic Italian nose from Italy, not an Italian American’s nose. Trust me, people would notice.) And he only listens to the pipe-and-plank-stomping sounds of traditional Irish music. If anyone plays any other type of music in his presence, he smacks him or her with one of his magnifying glass hands and makes a rabbit disappear.
Because the Easter Bunny is a big furry bunny that gives you free candy and chocolate, that’s why! Also, any guy who has willfully done that EVERY YEAR since probably caveman times has gotta be insane, and I get along great with insane people. All the not-insane people are so fucking boring. Just do my taxes and don’t try and have a conversation with me. And if you do try and have a conversation with me, I WILL BE drunk and/or stoned to get through that ordeal. And that’s why I’m pro Easter Bunny.
Hi, my name is Ted. I am a teddy bear and this is my blog, wherein I will share my musings on life both fancy and no (mostly not fancy probably). At least I think that’s what a blog is. Actually, I have no idea what a blog is. While everyone else has been blogging’ and tweeting’ and showing their balls on the Internet and whatnot, I have been getting stoned and playing video games and watching awesome movies for which being stoned makes those movies even better. Is that a sentence? I don’t care. I’m a fuckin’ teddy bear. The fact that I can string words together at all, let alone type, should be astounding to you. See you soon, I’m gonna write more stuff in this thing later is what I’m supposed to do. So, you know, come back for that.
I just saw a picture of that hilarious North Korean kid who’s in charge now, Kim Jong-Un. Oh my god, he kinda looks like me when I wear people clothes. I bet there’s a whole bunch of guys in uniforms and hats that smell his poops to make sure he’s healthy. Weird to think that a ridiculous POOPING ASIAN TEDDY BEAR GUY could start a world war, oh man, can you imagine what the weapons are gonna be like for World War 5? Gonna be like robot ghosts running around with wicked laser missiles and shit. Before that happens, I’m gonna make a steel ball with pillows for walls big enough for me and two people of my choosing for when the shit hits the fan. Then I’ll just stay in there until it’s all over and come out and do whatever I want in abandoned amusement parks and Brookstone stores. I’m willing to share the blue prints for the “APOCALYPSE BALL” for a medical marijuana credit card.