Text Walking Violations

We’ve all had it happen. You’re walking, texting and then suddenly, face planting into a mall fountain. Okay, that doesn’t happen to everybody -- maybe just this woman. The point is, what did we do before texting? Just walk and look at stuff? Like nature? Cars speeding toward us? No fun. That could have all sorts of positive ramifications. Like low blood pressure. Survival. If you want to avoid such pratfalls into large, water-filled objects, maybe try an in-sight-full iPhone app such as Text Vision. It actually sees the manhole before you fall into it. That way, you can avoid the always ominous text, "BRB. Just fell into the earth." Never good.

There’s Never Room for This

JELL-O mold, what are you and why? It’s not so much that you’re named after something toxic. That I get. But more that you prance through this world resembling a dessert when in reality, you’re just a side dish. That’s right...a side dish. But here’s the thing: Who eats a side dish that sucks? Or one that trembles? Nobody likes food that's uncomfortable in its own skin. On your best day, you’re tolerated. On your worst, you're thrown up repeatedly. If I’m ever going to indulge, I'll tell you one thing: It will be for a lot of money. And on TV. And never in this life. Ever.

Career Turbulence?

I know times have been tough for Vinny Barbarino of late ... but a cameo in the Qantas Airlines safety video? Cake topper. Is this what happens when Look Who’s Talking 3 falls out of development? Couldn’t he even land Virgin Atlantic? The funny part is that like most of his latest films, the reviews are not good. After its premiere, a Qantas employee came out against it, calling it “tacky.” Frankly, it's just boring. Take a peek, it’s like watching a celebrity sex tape without the sex.

Run for Cover, Girl

If you're a model, how down in the dumps must you be to take this gig? I’m guessing her first words when she got home were not, “I finally got a cover!” Don’t get me wrong, I’m aware of creative compromise. For about a second, I considered writing porn once. But here’s the difference -- I didn't. Perhaps I’m being too presumptuous. Maybe this model did a stock photo shoot and thought she’d be a search result for “Exercise” on Getty Images. Then, in a slight ... yet unfortunate ... turn of events, she becomes the poster child for Irritable Bowel Syndrome. I suppose it could be worse -- she could be this couple.

Screwing the Pooch

There’s nothing like taking your dog for a walk, but at what point is this little seaside stroll no longer fun for Fluffy? You gotta love her, she’s smiling despite doing her best impression of janitor's keys. More likely she's thinking, “Ever heard of a leash? Have you??” Maybe I’m overthinking things. Perhaps this dog’s perfectly fine being shoehorned into this woman's ass. I’m just glad she’s not letting the dog roam, because if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that dogs hate to run.

Rochambeau-shit

I have a gripe to file with the inventors of Rock-paper-scissors: Why does paper ever beat rock? Rock's strong, fortified, filled with sediment. Paper? Flimsy. A shadow of its former self. Paper should beat nobody -- especially rock. Did you see the way rock just annihilated scissors? Did you?? Let that be a message to you, paper. And newsflash: When did simply covering something denote victory of any kind? A jacket sometimes covers me -- does jacket beat Gregg? Never. Gregg always beats jacket. Paper, quit masquerading as a winner. At the end of the day, rock cuts like a knife. Just ask scissors. He's a fucking mess.

Media Ma-Sheen

Anyone heard from Charlie Sheen of late? I’ve been off the radar for about a week or so, and haven’t really been watching TV, or online, or listening to the radio, or living or breathing. I just want to make sure he’s not angry with anybody -– and if possible, hear his opinion on every subject known to man. If anybody hears anything, just let me know…because this prolonged silence? Totally disconcerting.

To Pee or Not to Pee

Is it me or does this ad for enlarged prostate drug RAPAFLO not look like an ad for The Hangover II? Put aside the fact there's a man actually urinating on the side of the road. Or that his prostate is apparently the size of a balloon animal. Or that it's Locke from Lost. I have to say: this trip looks fun. He's got the convertible. Lady friend. What's the big deal if he needs a pit stop? She can catch up on texting. Maybe even floss. He can give the starved earth some long deserved nutrients. But no. The drug companies say you should fear this scenario. They remind you that frequent urination can ruin the flow of life -- especially when you're absconding to Vegas with your whore mistress. Frankly, I'd be more worried about the drug's side effect that includes having an "orgasm with reduced or no semen." 'Cause that's just not going to fly. Especially on this little road trip.

Cupid Idea

I thought the idea was to keep your wife off the pole? This year, novelty superstore aahs! has infused a new Valentine’s Day gift into their arsenal: the stripper pole. Naturally, it’s $69.99 -- and it's such a good idea that the woman in the ad asked to be pixelated beyond recognition. Were the candy hearts with the inscription “Eat me” just not selling? Because after all, nothing says ‘I love you,’ like ‘Honey, this family could really use another source of income.’ Maybe I’m wrong. Perhaps it's just an elaborate ploy to boost the ranks of volunteer firefighters. If that's case, thanks aahs! for contributing to the notion of public service. I mean, clearly that’s why I now own three of them.

Repeat Offender

Is it me, or will this monkey never pull it together? 70 years and hundreds of books later, he’s still can’t figure out he’s got a problem. Time after time, he turns life’s greatest pleasures (i.e. making pancakes or going to the zoo) into unfortunate chaos. When will he get into the swing of things? Even my three-year-old, who knows very little about restraint, rails against this monkey's poor decision-making. I’m here to say this: Don’t be fooled. Just because this monkey's got an innocuous smile and disarming good looks doesn’t mean he’s not capable of terrible things. People have done a lot less and ended up with 30 to life and a prison bitch. And notice how PETA has never defended him? We can't even chalk it up to OCD -- as I've yet to read Curious George and the Super Clean Doorknob. He needs an intervention, people -- and we can’t assume the Man with the Yellow Hat will pull it together. He still hasn’t figured out that yellow is just a seasonal color. Who's with me?

Who's Your Daddy?

Take a good look at this man: He’s the father of every child who has no resemblance to their parents. You’ve heard the joke: “Your child doesn’t look like you… what’s the milkman look like?” Fuck off. Not funny. One, because that’s a shitty way to tell me my wife’s been cheating on me using no protection whatsoever. Two, because milkmen haven’t existed for, like, 80 fucking years. Go with cable guy, so much more realistic.

Bird Droppings

So much for bird shit falling from the sky, now I have to contend with actual birds? Great. Today I was reading about how thousands of birds have plunged to their deaths inexplicably in Arkansas, Louisiana and now, Sweden. And we have no idea why. That’s reassuring. Usually, you have to screen a M. Night Shyamalan movie to induce such results. But here we are, wondering what the flock is up. Is this just one big elaborate marketing ploy to get people to download the Angry Birds app? And if so, what if I happen to get pummeled by Chicken Little on my way to the mailbox? Is that considered good luck? I might sustain blunt force trauma, but hey, at least years of good fortune await. What a relief.

In Poor Taste

Dear Egg Nog,

It's been a while since I wrote and I just wanted to touch base to express how I was feeling about you this holiday: Not good. Who do you think you are? Holiday or no holiday, a drink shouldn’t be spreadable. You haunt my dreams with your audacity to exist; not to mention your eerie non-resemblance to anything edible. And your holiday card? (Pictured above) Not since The Shining twins have I seen a more startling duo. You’re like a cup of barf with a dash of nutmeg. An oral enema. Drano. Could you be any thicker? If I wanted a glass of tree sap, I would’ve just made out with a Fir. You’re even stiffer than Pepto Bismol –- ironic because that’s your most popular chaser. And Egg Nog Light? How dare you. That’s like cheesecake light. A 980 calorie drink. Awesome. You may think you go down smooth -- and you do, if you consider a chainsaw wrapped in barbed wire smooth. Please, just quit it. The holidays can be depressing enough.

Sincerely,

Not a Fan

Arch Nemesis

Did you hear? There’s a shoe from Skechers that tones your thighs, strengthens your core, improves posture and helps you lose weight. Except, here’s the thing. It doesn’t. “Get in shape without setting foot in a gym” -- that claim puts the sketchy in Skechers. Only thing, you probably shouldn’t wear Shape-Ups while running or working out. Walking can even mess you up according to some medical experts. (You're not going to do that in these shoes, are you??) I'll tell you someone who won't be walking -- the people who are partaking in the class action suit that is steadily brewing. And having Joe Montana hock these? It’s just sad. My god, can someone please book this guy a celebrity appearance so he can stop doing...this? It's insulting my masculinity. Even you can’t make these fuckers look cool, Joe. Really, you can't.

Amazon.wrong

Hey friends, I’m sort of on the fence about something and was hoping you could help. Which of these books would you like for the holiday? Knitting with Dog Hair or I Am the Market: How to Smuggle Cocaine by the Ton, in Five Easy Lessons? Amazon.com is selling them both and I’m thinking you’d probably like to receive one -- or both -- from me. I know they’re both right up your alley, no pun intended. (I mean, who doesn’t love canine couture or smuggling a kilo of coke inside their rectum??) There's also a quart of wolf urine that has suddenly just become available. Hmmm, so difficult to choose. No rush, just let me know when you get a chance...

He Doesn't Always Drink Beer

Few ad campaigns inspire me to write for them for free. But over the last few years, this one has titillated me to no end. So, on that front, here are a few things you might not know about The Most Interesting Man in the World:

Homeless people give money to him.

His house help works pro-bono.

Every James Bond movie is loosely based on him.

Flop sweat is beneath him.

Fidel Castro mails him Cuban cigars personally.

His farts sell for millions on eBay.

He's never worn a condom, but surprisingly, lives disease free and without children.

When he plays poker, he never bluffs -- yet always wins.

When he sleeps with your wife, you're flattered.

I'm an Artichoke, Eat My Heart Out

Artichoke, who do you think you are? You may taste delicious when lathered up in a small farm’s worth of butter. But so much work. You may have a heart, but burying it beneath 68 layers of prickly leaves and a beard? That’s a prick move. Who has time for such foreplay – especially when the amount of edible substance on each leaf barely comprises the word “morsel.” You’re like the anti-Giving Tree. That tree gave everything. You? Nothing. A-hole.

Remember Five Minutes Ago

When did 9-year-old’s become nostalgic? After stumbling across this birthday card at the car wash, I was mystified. Why? Because you can’t get nostalgic when you don’t know what nostalgia is. You can’t fondly look back at a birthday – when it was yesterday. He just finished breastfeeding – and now he’s supposed to reminisce about it? Spare me the stroll down mammary lane. And, by the way, what a year to get misty-eyed for. 2001. Ah, such memories. The dot-com bubble bursting; the economy crashing; 9/11; the world ending. Fuck 2001. Let little Timmy focus on what’s important: like remembering where he put his Ritalin.

Out of Fashion

Rule 1: When you go to pick out a tie, maybe don't choose the one with all the Swastikas on it. When Byron Scott showed up to Cleveland Cavaliers media day wearing this little number, it understandably upset a few people. Who's supplying his wardrobe, Mel Gibson? And what, was the one with the blueprint for 9/11 still in the cleaners? In all fairness, Scott likely had no idea what was affixed to his neck. After all, he just a lost a war for Lebron and now has to lord over a team that will likely suck to the n-th degree. On second thought, maybe he's trying to get fired -- because wearing Nazi paraphernalia in front of hundreds of reporters, yeah, not smart.

Farewell Greg...

Today, The Morning Roast lost one its great inspirations. Greg Giraldo knew how to blindside you with a joke in a way few do. To honor of his passing at the tender age of 44, here are a few of his gems from past Comedy Central Roasts:

"Mario Cantone, you're the only guy who takes a stepladder into a glory hole."

"John Stamos, you were married to my favorite supermodel, Rebecca Romjin O'Connell."

"Pam Anderson, watching your sex tape was a whole new experience for me, because up until then, I'd never seen anyone get gonorrhea before."

"Hasslehoff, you're such a drunk, when alcohol does its taxes, it lists you as a dependent."

Genius.

And his last performance may've been his best. RIP, my friend.