August 4, 2013 Leave a comment
I do not own any rights to this video
Seriously, do not tell them this site exists
August 4, 2013 Leave a comment
1.) The Fact That My Nana And Mema Know About This Blog’s Existence: There is a reason why I decided to call this blog, “Don’t Tell Nana or Mema”——It’s because I…..don’t…..want…..anyone…….to……TELL NANA OR MEMA THAT I HAVE A BLOG!
Like all good grandsons, I wuv my gwandmas (no typo, sound it out). I always want them to be proud of the writing that I do and if they know this site exists that ain’t going to happen. My grandmother’s are fond of Dick Van Dyke and Doris Day type of humor; where the jokes are well thought out, clean and can be repeated at the dinner table. Mine…..is nothing like that.
Remember in the 8th grade when we all thought that making fart sounds was hilarious? Well, I still think making fart sounds in public is hilarious and that’s as high as the expectation bar goes on this site.
Now that my Nana and Mema know of this God-forsaken blog, all they have been hounding me to read it; I cannot let that happen. The sight of my immaturity and idiotic humor would melt their faces off Raiders of the Lost Ark-style.
2.) Making plans with anyone: I am friends with the “busiest”, most “fatigued” group of exaggerators in St. Louis. Most of them work part time and they make it sound like they just clocked out of a 16 hour workday at the coal mine. I know you sit at a desk and answer phones, you idiot. You aren’t that busy.
A typical weekend night would be making about five calls and ten texts. Of those five calls, all five will go to voicemail because it’s 2013 and no one knows how to answer a phone anymore. Another argument could be that they’re avoiding the call because they don’t want to talk/hangout with me. Poppycock; everyone wants to talk to me. I get calls every day from my grandmothers, the collection agency for my outstanding credit card debt and my neighbor who tries to remind me the date for our day in small claims court for kicking his dog.
That dog was taking a crap in my yard, so I booted him through the uprights of two street signs. I bruised my toe kicking it so I am counter-suing for damages done to my toe and for $40,000 worth of damages to my mental health. It still haunts me that I didn’t kick that dog farther.
Now, I enjoy a quiet Saturday night in bed watching Netflix as much as the next lazy ass, but every once in a while, I like to get out of the house and grab a beer with my friends. Apparently, no one else does. I’m too tired, I went out last night, my child is missing; cry me a river, people. Getting a beer will help you forget about your problems and make you realize, your kid wasn’t that great anyway.
3.) When People Re-Gift Stuff I Gave to Them: There could not be a bigger douche move than re-gifting a gift back to the original gift giver. The only thing worse would be to go to a restaurant, eat the food and then try and return the deuce you took afterwards. And that’s what you get when someone re-gifts your gift back to you; a big pile of crap.
I will admit, I am terrible at gift giving. One year, my mom had been in need of a new purse. Her old purse was worn out and I could tell that she could use a new one. But then, while on my way to the mall, I saw a pair of Moon Shoes in the vintage store. “Mom could use these when she’s doing chores around the house,“, I thought. “It would make doing chores more fun.”
The next couple of months I saw a really pissed off woman bouncing around in our house……still with an old purse. But did she re-gift them? No, of course not, she’s considerate; she threw them in the garbage after she beat them with her purse.
From that day on, I made it a priority to give gifts with receipts because if the person doesn’t like the gift, they can just return it and get what they really wanted. I am still giving them a gift and the person is appreciative of my thoughtfulness.
4.) Baseball: The period of mid-June until the first weekend in August is known as Baseball purgatory. Nothing. But. Baseball. All day. Every day.
I am a huge sports fan and of course, I love baseball, but if you have chicken every night for dinner, you’re going to get really ****ing sick of chicken.
Day after day, it has been nothing but dip spit, flat bill caps and baseball highlights on my morning viewing of Sports Center. A player makes a diving catch, a pitcher throws an incredible game and then someone is put on the Disabled List because they got shampoo in their eyes; which has got to be one of the better things about baseball. Besides watching a match up between Adam Wainwright and a dominating hitter, reading the injury report for baseball players is hilarious.
Someone has a hangnail? Prepare for surgery.
My God, you’re sun burnt? Quick! Get this man to the ER for emergency lotion!
Meanwhile, football players are getting knocked in the head so hard they forgot what day it was and hockey players are pulling teeth out of their mouths with their bare hands; and that’s what I have been craving during these dog days of summer, violence. And cookies.
5.) When People Ask Me To Do Stand Up: I don’t care how many times you ask, I don’t care what imaginary favors I owe you, I will not do a stand up set if I am not on a stage in a comedy club.
In case you didn’t know, just because I like to make people laugh, doesn’t mean I am constantly looking opportunities to stand in front of people and tell jokes. When I am at the urinal and see two guys walk into the bathroom, I don’t say “show time” and zip up my fly.
Another fun fact about me; I’m not a monkey cranking a music box. At least if I was, I’d actually get paid to entertain people. But no, I’m just a guy who is a victim of people knowing he does stand up.
“Hey Tim, how about you do some stand up for us?”
Hey, how about no?
You wouldn’t say to a nurse, “Hey, you’re a nurse; if I take a dump in a tin toilet, could you wipe my butt and then empty the toilet for me?” No? Ok, then don’t ask me to do stand up.
July 26, 2013 Leave a comment
1.) Geology: Geology is the study of rocks and that’s what I have been learning about for three hours a day, for six straight weeks. I knew this class was going to be a living Hell for me the second my teacher opened his mouth.
“Welcome to Geology 111, everyone. I know some of you are dread taking a summer course, but don’t worry. This class…….ROCKS!”
The temptation of picking up a rock and bashing it against my skull on that first day, and every day after, was almost too alluring ignore.
If I lived in Kansas I wouldn’t have this problem; I could just renounce any science as nothing more than Satan’s lies and receive a degree that’s written in crayon on the back of a Waffle House menu. Then I can spend my life growing corn and hating the fact that I live in Kansas; just like a real Kansas native.
One thing I have noticed about the study of geology is that every single informational video was made in 1988. Every video I have watched in that class contains information about igneous rocks, earthquakes and a man who thinks that a mullet, teal-and-pink plaid shirts and daisy dukes are a good look. Did it occur to anyone at the United States Geological Survey that maybe they should make some new tapes? Maybe make some new tapes that don’t show a land-bridge between Russia and Alaska or Apollo Creed and Rocky Balboa running on the beach?
Just a thought.
And as if just learning about rocks wasn’t bad enough, I have an overly-ecstatic teacher who reminds me of Ms. Frizzle’s brother.
For those who aren’t familiar with Ms. Frizzle, she was the lesbian who gave her students LSD in order to “enhance their learning experience.” They would hallucinate fantastical adventures (like taking a tour of a classmate’s blood veins) and she would dance around the room with her iguana. I think that’s how the show went, I don’t know, it’s been 12 years since I last saw an episode so my memory is a little fuzzy. But most of that is correct.
Mr. Frizzle, my geology teacher, is a man who is WAY too happy to teach a bunch of hungover young adults about rocks. He’s also a man with a very thick St. Louis accent. Some people spray saliva when they talk, this man spits out toasted ravioli.
And of course, like any classic television character, he comes complete with a collection of catch phrases…like:
Like the cow says, we’re MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOvin’ on!
Now, believe it or not, (I don’t believe you), no it’s true!
Now you’re probably saying to yourself, “Self……….
Students, your beloved professor……
All day. Every day.
2.) Detroit: How in the hell could this city file for bankruptcy?
They got a huge portion of the stimulus package in 2008 and now look at them; poorer and in worse shape than before we gave them money. This is why I don’t give bums money. Actually I don’t give bums money because I spend all of mine getting drunk and buying Shrinky Dinks. Some people get drunk and strike their wives, I like to watch bits of plastic shrink to five times their original size.
It. Is. Amazing.
Kevyn Orr, the city’s emergency manager, told the New York times that Detroit’s debt ranges from $16 – $20 billion. What the hell did they spend it on?! They obviously didn’t spend it on the Pistons, am I right?!
(Looks for high fives, slowly frowns, puts hand back down)
I know they didn’t spend it on the infrastructure because the highway leading into Detroit looks like a Walking Dead promotional poster. Besides being the birthplace of Motown, Detroit is also renowned for having most grand openings of unfinished bridges.
It can’t be the school system, either. You ever talk to a product of Detroit’s public school system? It’s like talking to cave men; a lot of pounding on the chest and being amazed at the new technology called, “fire”. How could Detroit not put most of their stimulus into the school system? Their graduates couldn’t even spell the word “graduate”.
The only thing I wish for Detroit is that, like Gotham City, they get their own Batman. That is the only option I can think of at the moment. Sure, finding a rational, common-sense plan for city-wide recovery is a fair option, but come on, we all know that ain’t happening. The day Detroit attains fiscal responsibility is the day Ruben Studdard’s Christmas album goes platinum.
Don’t you even think of giving Detroit another bailout either, America. The Mayor of Detroit will not stand for it; Detroit is too good for that. No, instead, the Mayor plans to buy $10 million worth of chocolate bars (with tax payer money of course) and go city-to-city selling them. He also plans to ask for loans from those cities and if they ask him why they should loan him anything, he will present them with the greatest sales pitch of all time….
“Because I am good for it.”
Consider Detroit saved.
3.) My Generation’s slang: Slang words are “what the kids are saying nowadays” and how far the English language has fallen.
Are we seven years-old, America? Is it really that hard to say the full word? Do we really need to shorten words? Do we really need the slang “cray, cray”?
People who say “Cray Cray” should get hit in the face face with a hammer hammer. Cray, cray is short for crazy. Yep, one letter less, but hey, in this Dog-Eat-Dog world, who has the time to say one extra letter?
Or an actual word.
Swag is not a word. Some say that swag is short for swagger, which means to walk with confidence. But people who say the term, swag, don’t have confidence. They have terrible choices in fashion, music, opinions, etc. Just everything about them is horrible. The term swag is a word that serves as the verbal bat signal to let everyone know who the biggest douche bag in the room is. Odds are, it’s the kid wearing tight jeans, an OBEY hat, tweeting pictures of himself making a heart with his hands.
YOLO, like swag, also serves as a verbal lighthouse to warn others that the person saying it is someone you don’t want to have a conversation with or respect. If someone says YOLO, however, do yourself the personal service of grabbing a camcorder because they will usually do something stupid.
YOLO is an acronym that means, “You only live once”, which sounds like a good piece of advice. Like, “Hey go to college because you only live once” or “Spend time with the people you love because you only live once.”
Instead, my generation sees “you only live once” as an excuse to do something incredibly stupid.
“Oh, you’re at a friends house for a party? Go crap in that birdhouse because you only live once!”
“You’re taking the stairs? What are you gay? Jump off the second floor of the mall because you only live once and American Eagle closes at six and I need to buy some new puka beads.”
4.) Snap Chat: If you are reading this and have snap chatted me in the past week; either follow these instructions or stop snap chatting me.
Snap chat is a trend that I am forced to adopt because that’s the only way people want to communicate anymore. A conversation between two people has now turned into the worst game of Pictionary ever. I texted a friend to see if they wanted to go to a bar and they snap chatted me a picture of their dog. I texted him and asked him again if he wanted to grab a beer. Same picture.
Finally, I called him.
“What the hell? Are you even getting my texts?”
“Yeah, dude. I answered you already.”
“No, no you most certainly did not.”
“Yeah I did. I said I wasn’t going, that’s why I Snap Chatted you.”
“How in the hell was I supposed to know that.”
“How could you not? You asked me if I wanted to go to the bar, I showed you what I was doing instead. Hanging out with my dog.”
“You’re totally right. How silly of me. Well have fun tonight being a complete idiot and hanging out with your dog. What the hell are you two going to hangout? Eat dog food and watch Entourage?
Snap chatters; I don’t want to see your pets, old photos of you, old photos of your parents, old photos of your grandparents, what you’re eating, the menu of a drive-thru, movie posters, a ticket stub, two ticket stubs, a baseball field, a beer, a margarita, a lime-a-rita, another beer, a pitcher of beer, or the #2 you just took.
If you send me a Snap Chat, stop yourself and run the photo your about to send through this checklist:
If your picture isn’t any of these four, do not send me a snap chat because I do not care about. The last thing I want to see when I’m at work, in class or riding in the car is something stupid like your a cup of coffee or a picture of you holding your newborn son.
5.) Your Birthday: The number one reason why I hate your birthday is because it’s not MY birthday.
The second reason why I hate your birthday is because when it’s someone’s birthday, they feel like every wish, every whim, every desire should be granted to them because they were born today. Are you serious? Pete Rose had one of the most decorated baseball career’s in MLB history and he still can’t get into the Hall of Fame, yet you want me to get you a card, pay your tab AND not draw a mustache on your face with a Sharpie just because 22 years ago, your mom went through nine months of nausea, heart burn, swollen ankles, 18 hours of labor just to give birth to your average life.
If I’m buying anyone a drink, it’s your mom. One for doing all that work, two for putting up with you and three because she is newly divorced and a complete fox.
When I get Facebook invites to birthday dinners, I cannot click ‘deny’ quick enough. What a horrible way to spend a night; eating microwaved food from Applebees and singing “Happy Birthday” in unison with a group of poorly orchestrated shower singers who either can’t hit a note, can’t keep up with the rhythm or have forgotten the person’s name and just hum that “Happy Birthday dear…..heeeuuuh hheeeuuuhhh……Happy birthday to you!”
Oh, how do you know Heeeuuuh Hheeeuuuhhh?
Tim, how do you celebrate your birthday?
I don’t. I get a present from my mom and dad and then I go about my day like an adult. I don’t need anyone singing me happy birthday, I don’t want to go out, I don’t want to hang out with anyone. Leave me alone.
June 12, 2013 1 Comment
(Tim Godfrey, Soon-to-be a former Fat Guy)
Jogging, like The Kings of Leon, is something that I have been trying to get into, but for the life of me, I just can’t do it; because both of those things are just……well, just awful.
Seriously? The Kings of Leon, America? Some idiot and his group of hipster hoodlums belt out a mediocre tune about fire sex and suddenly they are deemed kings of a Leon? Their band is so awful even a bird took it upon himself to take a crap in the lead singers mouth to prevent him from singing.
Unfortunately I cannot refuse the dull lure of jogging because if I don’t continue to jog, I will continue to gain weight, lose a foot and take over as the new spokesman for Diabetes; unseating Wilford Brimley, the king of high blood sugar and mustaches.
It has been a week and a half and I have been jogging seven times. Seven times I have waddled at an accelerated pace to the tunes of hip-hop’s finest while oncoming cars pass me on the street and stare at me. Why do they stare? Well, probably because it’s not every day they get to see someone with fogged over eyes cough up blood while he stumbles over his two left feet at an amazingly fast speed of three miles-an-hour.
To answer your next question; yes, I am out of shape. Actually, that’s a bit of an understatement. Saying that I’m “out of shape” is like saying Kurt Cobain was “feeling bummed out”.
On second thought, I guess you could say I am a shape. Unfortunately for me, that shape is a fat square.
Tim jogging is a wonderful thing. It gives you free time to think and makes you feel good.
Trust me, jogging does not help me think. The only thought that has ever entered my head when I jog is, “God, I cannot wait to stop jogging.” Nor does jogging make me feel good; after every jog, I’ve collapsed in front of my house due to the sheering pain in my shins due to shin splints.
Shin splints are the worst. Imagine someone taking two bamboo spears, ramming them down the sides of your legs and then trying to jog afterwards. Boom, shin splints in a nut shell.
You should register for a marathon or half-marathon! Having a goal makes jogging more fun!
That’s a pretty awful plan.
“Hey, you know that thing you hate doing so much? Well, you should plan on doing that thing five months from now for an entire ****ing day. That way, it’ll make that thing you hate doing so much more fun!”
I never got why anyone would want to run 26.2 miles. An entire day spent on running 26.2 miles and at the end of the race, you get a sticker that you get to stick on the back window of your car that reads “26.2″, which basically says to the drivers behind you, “I wasted an entire Saturday”. 13.1 mile stickers say, “I wasted half a Saturday”.
But for now, I’ll continue to jog 2-3 miles at a time and slowly chip away at my fat square shape so by July I’ll be a husky square.
June 11, 2013 1 Comment
WARNING: THIS VIDEO CONTAINS EXPLICIT LANGUAGE
(Employee) forgot to give me a receipt and then she completely turned into a complete, rude b***h.
Wow, pot calling the kettle black. Or in this case, b***h calling the b***h a b***h.
I feel bad for the kid behind the counter for having to listen to this lady tell the tale of missing receipt. While she’s firing off low IQ rounds of a tear-less sob story, this poor cashier is kicking himself for applying to Dunkin’ Donuts instead of applying to Jack in the Box, where the customers are too drunk to care.
I want the whole f***ing menu, b***h. Twice.
You want over 100 doughnuts…for free……because you didn’t get a receipt? For someone who claims to know the Dunkin’ Donuts policy………this lady doesn’t know jack crap about the Dunkin’ Donuts policy. The Dunkin’ Donuts policy is if you don’t get a receipt with your order, you get refunded the total amount of your order. Contrary to popular belief, it does not entitle you to two of every item on the menu.
She thinks that her next order, no matter how large it may be, should be free instead of being refunded the receipt-less order from the previous night. The previous night? Ok, now I am not so sure this woman is telling the truth because this woman is thin and claims to have purchased Dunkin’ Donuts at night. Only fat people get Dunkin’ Donuts at night; I should know, I am there every night.
I have already called my lawyer and he is already on it.
How would you like to be the lawyer for that conversation?
“Ok, calm down, calm down. Now, what happened again?”
Ok so I ordered some Dunkin’ Donuts and the b***h didn’t give me a receipt and then when I went back the next day, they gave me free food.”
(Rubs eye balls) “And you want me to do what now?”
I want you to close down the Dunkin’ Donuts franchise.
“Karen, for the last time, I am a traffic ticket lawyer. I’m not going to close Dunkin’ Donuts, nor am I going to fulfill your last request of…..(grabs sticky note) killing the fat guy from Subway because you asked for light mayo instead of regular mayo. Call me back when you double park.”
Hi Facebook. This is what you have to do in life. It f***ing sucks, blow my brains out. Actually, what you have to do in life is grow up and not sweat the small stuff. Both of which, this young woman could not handle, so much so that she wished that she could blow her brains out………….instead of getting free donuts.
I gave you guys so many good remarks online, because I have a business degree. There is no joke, that is literally too stupid to make fun of because it makes no sense.
The night shift lady stepped over the line. Because she didn’t, once again, give this woman a receipt. You know, that thing we all throw in the garbage the second we drive out of the parking lot? I’ve gotten spit, hair and a pregnancy test thrown in my french fries countless times and never once did I think to myself, I am going to complain to the night manager at (insert fast food restaurant here) and demand my three dollars back.
I, like all of America, think to myself, ‘Wow. Never going to that one again’, only to return to the very same restaurant a week later, forgetting about the previous injustice and receiving the same saliva-filled hamburger.
There are no take-backs in life. I really hope she remembers that when she applies for job with that “business degree” that she apparently has. I wonder what area of expertise she majored in? Probably online review giving…
Even if they hock a loogie in it, then I don’t even care. Clearly you do. You just made an eight minute, hate-filled rant about how a lady stiffed you on a receipt and now you’re trying to tell me that you wouldn’t care if someone were to spit in your food? This is right after she complimented the cashier about being a great Dunkin’ Donuts employee and how that specific store had always treated her with respect; a store she now is accusing of now taking a dump in her food.
Then, as if she couldn’t possibly prove to me how bad of a person she is, she says this golden line, “That’s why I’m not eating this food, I’m giving it to my boyfriend.” I can only imagine that he was watching this video as he was eating his doughnut and slowly looked down at what he was eating, shrugged his shoulders and resumed eating. Then I imagine that he had the stones to break up with woman and then drive a wooden steak through her heart, which, as everyone knows, is the one way to get rid of a blood-sucking monster.
I gave them so many good recommendations. Over 100.
Don’t you hate it when you write a positive online review for McDonald’s and then they have the balls to screw up your order? Are you kidding me McDonald’s? I literally gave you four stars and compared your service to the pajamas of a cat and THIS is how you repay me?
Then, she finds the “culprit”. The despicable…….Nene? NeyNey? Na-…Ne…..The Receipt Lady!
Guess what, b***h. This s**t is about to go live! Clearly, besides the concepts of manners and being a decent human being, this woman doesn’t understand what “live” means.
Then she goes into some racist rant where she compares not giving someone a receipt to the terrorist attacks of 9/11 and leaves the Dunkin’ Donuts in a delirious ray of false victory.
Keep in mind, this whole thing was ignited by the lack of a receipt. She was going to throw it away anyway; I highly doubt she was going to keep it because there are only two people who keep receipts: accountants and George Costanza.
I wish for one thing to happen. I wish that this woman stops herself one day, realizes that weight of her actions and then makes a plan to right the wrong that she committed………………………….and then a giant meteor falls on her.
June 4, 2013 Leave a comment
I do not own the rights to these videos whatsoever. There I covered my ass on these videos. I’ll go download music illegally now.
June 4, 2013 Leave a comment
Earlier today, I learned that the makers of the world’s blandest, awful cereal known as, Cheerios, made a commercial with a mixed race family. Then I learned that this commercial received so many racist YouTube comments that Cheerios had to disable the comment section. THEN I learned that apparently we all live in Maycomb, Alabama, circa 1933 and we hate interracial couples and mockingbirds.
Now if people wanted to write hate-filled comments about the cereal itself, then I would have no problem with that.
I hate Cheerios but it’s not because that they put a mixed race family in their commercials, but because they have an awful cereal.
I’ve eaten Cheerios one time in my life. It was 1998 and my parents went away for the weekend and I was left to stay at my Nana’s house. Sure, it was fun for a day, but then breakfast came. I looked in Nana’s pantry and found nothing nothing. Well, I found Grape Nuts and bagels, but neither were covered in cinnamon and sugar and I didn’t have any “fiber issues” (I could poop just fine, thanks).
I asked my Nana for something other than what she had and she said, “Well, I think we have some Cheerios.“
I thought she said Honey Nut Cheerios. Damn my adolescent hearing. I poured a bowl full to the brim, of what I thought to be HNC , and took one bite and nearly died. My taste buds were greeted by whole grains and healthy nutrition, the two things I despise. When I tried to pour it out, Nana stopped me and preached to me the importance of not being wasteful as I sat there and muscled down an entire bowl of Cheerios.
I couldn’t even pour sugar on it; Nana laughed and mockingly asked, “Sugar? Who do you think you are, the King of Spain?”
*WRITER’S NOTE: After years of observation, I have found that the elderly hate using products that make life suck less, like sugar, GPS’s and Tivo. They also like to make fun of you for using such items.
“Oh, look at you with your fancy navigation system. Look everyone, Magellan needs help from the flim-flam computer to find his way to the roller disco! Use a map like a real man!“
Ok, grandpa. Find the Walgreens for me.
“Yeah, I’ll find ya Walgreens for you and I won’t use a damn GPPS….S..PS…or whateva. Let’s see, Walgreens is on Jefferson so….wait a minute now….is it Jefferson or Grand Ave. Damn it, ok hold on now………………………………………………What street are we on?”*
I damn Cheerios for being bland, but when you damn Cheerios for putting up a mixed race family, that’s just sick.
June 2, 2013 3 Comments
Way to go, every high schooler and college student I know, you are killing the one good thing that gangsters have contributed to society. Hip Hop. Rap. Or, as our parents call it, “Black people music.” Whatever you want to call it, the young men and women of my generation are taking their stupid Sperries and curb stomping rap.
Oh, Tim. There you go again, overreacting. The health of Hip Hop cannot be that bad…
In the last two years alone, we have seen the mediocre rise of ASAP Rocky, Wacka Flocka Flame, Nikki Minaj, Tyga and Hoodie Allen; not to mention the ever increasing popularity of the Gremlin known as Little Wayne. The rise of their careers can only mean one thing; the youth of America is getting dumber.
Which is saying something. Even compared to the youth of yesteryear, generation Y is still the dumbest kid on the short bus.
In the 50s kids wore 3-D glasses outside of movie theaters, choreographed dance fights and flew away in street cars that ran on grease and “lightening”. In the 70s they smoked hemp, believed that flowers could give them some sort of power (hemp was probably the flower they spoke of) and they worshiped John Lennon*.
*John Lennon was one of the four homosexuals that made up the band known as the Beatles. Although there is no concrete evidence to prove that Lennon was gay, but, come on; he was British and spent all of his time writing musical poems with three other dudes. You be the judge.*
But today, America’s youth has an unhealthy fetish with vampires, a weird habit of snorting condoms and then pulling them out of their mouths and blaring the audio diarrhea from rappers like Two Chainz and A$AP Rocky.
Cursing, like striking a woman, should only be used when absolutely necessary. If both are used appropriately, you become a Don Draper. Men want to be you and women want to be struck in the face by your handsome hand. But when you abuse the power of cursing or the backhand, you become a Bobby Brown, and no one wants to be like Bobby Brown. That guy made terrible decisions in life, like getting addicted to cocaine and marrying Whitney Houston.
And that’s what rappers of today have become; just a bunch of lyrical Bobby Browns.
Take A$AP Rocky’s masterpiece entitled, F**kin’ Problems.
“I love bad b*****s, that’s my f*****g problem
And yeah I like to f**k, I got a f*****g problem
I love bad b*****s, that’s my f*****g problem
And yeah I like to f**k I got a f*****g problem
I love bad b*****s, that’s my f*****g problem
And yeah I like to f**k, I got a f*****g problem
If finding somebody real is your f*****g problem
Bring your girls to the crib maybe we can solve“
No, A$AP, being horrible at rap (and choosing stage names) is, in fact, your f*****g problem.
Here’s another riveting spoken word poem by Nikki Minaj entitled, You a Stupid Hoe.
You a stupid hoe, you a, you a stupid hoe [x3]
You a stupid hoe, (yeah) you a, you a stupid hoe
You a stupid hoe, you a, you a stupid hoe (stupid, stupid)
You a stupid hoe, you a, you a stupid hoe (you stupid, stupid)
You a stupid hoe, you a, you a stupid hoe (you stupid, stupid)
You a stupid hoe, (yeah) you a, you a stupid hoe (you stupid, stupid)
1.) It’s You *ARE* a stupid hoe
2.) And Nikki, no, no dear. You are a stupid hoe, Nikki. You are.
This is what passes as rap nowadays; curse words of a sailor, rhyming skills of a third grader and the IQ of dog crap. No one wants to send an intellectual message or tell a story worth telling. Tupac told stories about his life, growing up in the rough neighborhoods of New York City and Macklemore spreads the message of his support of Gay Rights.
The only message I’ve heard from Hoodie Allen is: I’m white, I get high and I have no problem having sex with high school girls even when I am well into my forties and nearly bald.
For the record, I think Hoodie Allen is, without a doubt, the third worst white person. The. Third. Worst. If I was in a room with Hitler, Stalin and Hoodie Allen and I had a gun with two bullets in it….I would of course shoot Hitler and Stalin. I mean, come on, Hitler killed six million Jews and Stalin was Russian, traits I will not stand for in a person. But then I would take the gun and beat Hoodie Allen to death with it. See? Covering all the bases.
And don’t even get me started on Lil Wayne. This moron has been cashing in on the young, immature minds of suburban white girls for years and you could tell by the way he raps. Every sentence in his raps end in a one syllable word and if he can’t find a matching rhyme, he will simply rhyme it with the n-word.
Hey Lil Wayne, what rhymes with bat?
Great, now what rhymes with boy?
Superb. Ok Lil Wayne, think hard on this; what rhymes with orange?
Wonderful, thanks Wayne.
Here is a list of great rappers who actually have this thing called “talent” that a lot of recording artists seem to be missing (in no particular order):
January 18, 2013 2 Comments
I’m sorry, that’s not true.
It means that you are lonely AND gullible. Come on, America. It’s time to stop feeling sorry for these people and start learning from their hilarious mistakes.
Wise men once said, “Only fools fall in love”. If those Wide Men were alive today, they would have said, “Only fools fall in love online.”
Not me, I am the first one to make jokes that are considered “too soon” and “racist.”
Go ahead, judge me; it’s not my fault that they were not smart enough to realize that EVERYONE LIES ON THE INTERNET. Have you ever heard of Facebook or Twitter? It’s a laundry list full of liars and exaggerators. Girls making statuses, professing how much they love their boyfriends (or girlfriends, meeeooowww) only to break up with them a week later, claiming that all men are the worst (men aren’t really known for lying, just for being complete douche bags).
The people who are victims of Catfishing are usually 18 or older, legally considered adults. If we are going to give them the power to vote and to smoke cheap cigarettes, then we should give them the power to suffer the consequences of their mistakes. We shouldn’t coddle them when the “You don’t say” moments happen.
And Dwight does not mean a Facebook friend, either.
It’s also real friendship.
Online relationships are not real. If I offended you, good. It’s about time you hear the truth. Online relationships don’t allow you to hold another person, kiss another person and see how angry she gets when you say, “Why do you watch the Kardashians? This show is a load of crap.” You don’t go through the growing pains of a relationship; you don’t have to hear him snore like a suffocating pig when he falls asleep during your movie date, you don’t see your life flash before your eyes every day when she is swerving her way through traffic; you just read texts and look at pictures on the screen.