SPF-Me

Recently, I noticed our beloved sunscreen industry managed to crack the 100 barrier. To that I say, “Kudos!” and cue the streamers. Just one question: What the fuck happened to 30? Or even 50? Was I just fooling myself? Or was that glorified baby oil? How overprotective can a skin cream get? The NY Times says the difference between the two is “marginal.” Can I trust that 100 will even do the trick? Or is 115 coming down the pipeline? Maybe I should I hold off like I did with the version one of the iPad. And, by the way, with 100…we should never have to reapply. Like, ever.

Dairy Err

Cottage cheese. How do you exist? You call yourself a food, yet you have the consistency of despair. How do you stand yourself? Your most common associations are with ceilings and thighs. At the supermarket, the cheese community has literally done away with you. Last I saw, you were slumming it with butter.

Your saddest truth? Rarely do you ever get eaten alone. You always need a mixer such as edible food. If I were on Death Row, and you were the last meal, I’d perish starved. Bon appetit? Never. Bon voyage.

MMA or PDA?

I’m sorry but can we just call this sport what it is? Male groping. Sure, every now and then some dude gets his face pummeled. But in between? It’s like watching two distraught brothers mourn the loss of a relative. Last mixed martial arts fight I saw was long on grappling -- short on pain. Felt like a bait and switch. Like ordering There Will Be Blood on demand and getting Brokeback Mountain. Am I watching a sport or an interpretive dance number for the legalization of gay marriage? If I want to see this much affection, I’ll go to one of these.

Strange Brew

If this is the best Milwaukee has to offer, I’m content never going there.

Leave the Poor Horse Alone

Can we please just retire this saying from our vernacular once and for all -- “Don’t beat a dead horse?” I apologize if I was redundant, but you need not punish me with the image of a horse carcass getting its ass kicked. One minute we’re having a nice a cup of coffee; the next you’re ear-fucking me with this little number. Spare me the graphics. Let me digest lunch. Don't force me to envision Seabiscuit getting beaten to a pulp by some 4’ foot jockey with a Napoleon complex.

Pain in the Ash

Dear Eyjafjallajokull: I know you haven’t blown off steam since 1821, but your timing here -- really not good. It’s Earth Day week and you’re sittin’ there venting, spewing carbons into our atmosphere, disrupting air travel. You’re crashing the party, man -- and from Iceland nonetheless -- a country, I think. Tens of thousands of flights have been delayed. It’s the worst disturbance to air travel since 9/11. And all because of you. Happy now? You even displaced John Cleese who had to take a 943-mile taxi ride from Oslo to Brussels. The cost? $5,100. Cleese let the volcano off easy saying, “I’m not in a hurry.” I will do no such thing. So not cool.

Dessert Swine

Since when is “Pork” a fortune? Last night I had the misfortune of opening up this gem after the most anti-climactic Chinese meal ever. I’m all for inspirational messages, but upon receiving this sad scrap, I felt gypped. No “Great riches are right around the corner.” No “You're god's gift to humanity.” Just “Pork.”

And let's talk about the fortune "cookie" for a second. Worst dessert ever? Stale sugar wrapped in plastic stuffed with scratch paper? Hmmm, delicious.

Please go away. You haven’t been delicious in years.... and your Lottery numbers insult me. Eating you is like having sex with a condom -- unsatisfying and difficult to finish. I’ll take the almond cookie over you any day.

Masters Bait

Like most eyes, mine were glued to the Masters this past weekend -- because Phil Mickelson was back. Apparently, Tiger Woods was as well. In case you missed it, here’s some traditional Tiger-speak that amazingly did not make the CBS broadcast in wake of the scandal: Tiger’s on the prowl. Tiger’s in the hunt. Good to see Tiger driving straight again. Tiger’s really strokin’ it today. Tiger’s playin’ from behind. Tiger’s whipping his partners out there. Will Tiger have the stamina to finish? Tiger’s all tied up. Tiger hasn’t been in a three-way dogfight this good since that one he had with Jaimee and Joslyn. Tiger. What a player.

PETA Bread

Would a vegetarian eat these? Just curious...

Richard vs. Dick

Is your name Richard? If so, life must be hard knowing that at any point you could be downgraded to Dick. Richard’s a moniker that requires best behavior...always. Why? Richard’s a guy you can trust. He’s got plans; ambitions; a family of four and maybe even a trust fund. Dick? He’s a thorny fucker. Someone who was throttled as a youth -- and made worse for it. He's a guy who’s suffered comparisons to the male member his entire life -- and has ruefully fallen short. Dick’s one rung from the bottom. That's why he clings to the hope that one day Lady Luck will pay off -- and pay off big. After all, nobody really prefers to be called “Dick.” And if you do, you probably are one.

Sweeps Weak

What is curling, and why? I ask because, once again, these party crashers showed up at the Winter Olympics to masquerade their “skills" on the world’s top stage. Is it me, or this akin to watching a janitor sweep up after closing? Honestly, I’d rather watch women curling their hair. Even ice making. Anything else, really. And spare me all the yelling. What could you possibly be saying other than "Don't slip?" This 500-year-old Scottish "sport" has all the intrigue of doing taxes -- but no refund. What’s next? Sleeping in 2014? To think, I must wait four more years to ignore it yet again...

Color Blind

Have you ever paid attention to the perverse wordplay involving paint names? They range from cute (“Fluffy Biscuit”) to strangely geographical (“Jakarta”) to WTF (“Muir’s Pulpit”). Where did “Brown,” “Light Brown” and “Even Lighter Brown” go? And why do so many tell you nothing about actual color? Just witness “Wild Bunny,” “Crooked Street” and “Deep Mystery” -- an ironic name likely concocted by some prick at the Dunn Edwards factory. And “Sail Away?” Last I checked that was something you did -- not something you splattered across a nursery. The quintessential cake taker: “Remember the Alamo.” A deep red symbolizing the tears and bloodshed of 200 lost Texans? Nope. Just beige.

Jersey Snore

OK, here’s The Situation. Now that Jersey Shore's over, can we just call it what it was? Bad. I know it was a huge “hit” for MTV. And I know Snooki was just adorable underneath all the makeup and promiscuity. But I have to be honest -- this show lowered my WTL count. Will To Live. It was like The Sopranos without all that gooey stuff like plot and entertainment. It lowered the bar not just for TV -- but for humanity. It didn’t even have the intrigue of a social experiment. Social experiments are held together by more than just Aqua Net. And I’m pretty sure I contracted an STD just from watching it. Once. Now I hear it’s coming back for Season 2. That makes me want to fist pump myself in the face.

Ms. Fortune

Honestly, shouldn't she have seen this coming?

Prop Eighth

California’s long been a leader when it comes to the “green” economy -- so naturally, we’re trying to legalize pot to boost tax revenue. But come November, when the pot prop goes on the ballot, the question won’t be will it get the votes -- but the voters. Let’s face it, it’s a lot of work to get off the couch, put on clean socks, and punch a ballot. By 4:20pm. However, if the law passes, just think about the widespread health benefits for those clenching doctor’s notes at medical marijuana clinics. The college kids suffering from glaucoma. The curiously arthritic teen set. The motivated. One thing’s for sure. If Prop Eighth passes, at least we know nobody will abuse it.