This is what we do in Alaska for fun.

Bro Abuse

A Letter to Sidney Lumet

Mr. Lumet, as a fellow filmmaker (and I feel confident calling myself that having just completed my first semester in a community college film-program) I felt that it was my duty, having just seen your film (Before the Devil Knows your Dead) to lend some constructive criticism. Now, after reviewing your filmography on IMDB it seems you are an experienced filmmaker, which is why it seems strange to me that I need provide this criticism in the first place as it is the first thing they taught us at Solano County Community College over this last semester. And that nugget of wisdom that they passed down to me, that I am about to pass down to you? Never, and I mean never, have the first scene of your movie include more than one image of Philip Seymour Hoffman fucking anything.

As a filmmaker, Sydney, do you mind if I call you Sidney? As a filmmaker, Sidney, you need to place yourself in the mind of your audience. In this case, your audience being me. So, Sidney, put yourself in my shoes. Having just consumed several cans of Mixed Berry Flavored Malt Liqueur which tasted more like the bad tasting prescription cough syrup than any possible mix of berries as well as having not cut my toenails in months, how would you feel upon having your sense of vision assaulted by the image of Philip Seymour Hoffman rutting away like a some kind of pasty white tortoise? The answer: not fucking cool.

Now, Sidney, you may be thinking to yourself, Sidney: “Well, Marisa Tomei is hot enough, even pushing seventy, she alone might make up for the abundance of Hoffman-ass present in this scene.” Well you know what? No. She really isn't. Not to downplay the appeal of Ms. Tomei's unrealistically perky breasts and taught body, but...just no. I'm sorry, Lumet, but in this case, you bet on the wrong horse. I sincerely hope that in the future you can avoid such amateur mistakes, because honestly, I feel you show quite a bit of potential as a filmmaker, and even at your ripe old age you may produce a truly significant piece of cinema, provided Phillip Seymour Hoffman bears absolutely none of his unmentionables, even including his sizable man-breasts. Keep at it, good buddy!

Eight Quarters

If your first thought when you find 8 previously unknown quarters at the bottom of your underwear drawer is: "I'm rich!", it might mean you're out of money. Really, though, there's a lot you can buy with eight quarters. Just not all at once.

Dr-High-Ving

How fast am I going? How fast am I supposed to be going? Shit, the sign says 45, how long have I been driving 17? Has anyone noticed. Quick, speed up! Ah, fuck, gently. Ok, better. Good.

Now, where am I? F street. I gotta turn at F street. What street is this. I don't know. Find a sign...wait, this is F street? I've been on F street this whole time? How long has it been since I turned? Feels like it was centuries ago. I can't have been driving for centuries, I'd have run out of gas. I think I passed it. Now I have to turn around. Jesus, I'm in no state for this. I might as well drive the indie 500 after I've rubbed LSD in my eyes. That would be amazing, until I crashed. What am I going to get when I find the place? A double burger? I wonder if I could get them to put a chicken patty and a burger patty both inside a quesadilla. And then put that on a burger. I wonder why no one has invented food bags. Just bags you could fill with food, but that were also edible themselves, so you could eat the food out of the bag, then eat the bag. Or just eat the bag while it's filled with food, like a spherical burrito, but not. Jesus, when am I going to get to F street? F street, wait, I'm on F street! Turn!

How do I turn? Where do I turn? Just flip a bitch. Alright....

Bitch officially flipped. I rock so hard at turning. I bet I turn better than most other people. The key is good judgment of distance. Yeah.

Stop sign ahead. Slowing, slowing, slowing and...stopped. What. What's with this guy? I'm stopped, bro. I'm stopped, you can go. You stopped first, you can go. You can go, you can – ok, fine, I'll -hey, I was going! Jesus. People need to learn how to fucking drive.

And driving. Whoa, was that tree waving at me? Was that a tree? Was it a person made of branches? A tree man? I wish I lived in middle-earth. Oh, Gandalf, if only you were real. JESUS! That fucker came out of nowhere. Bikers just rolling about willy nilly, like they own the roads. Roads are for cars, not bikes. Oh, wait, I think I just ran a stop sign back there. I wonder if I stopped now if it would still count? Can you imagine bags made entirely of food? So I am on F street correct? Yeah, I've been on F street. Bags filled with milkshakes. God I want a milkshake. They have milkshakes, right? Yeah, they do. Alright, F street should be coming up, I-wait a minute, I'm on F street. Hey, turn, there's the turn. Yes, phase one initiated and...objective completed. Initiating phase two.

Alright, now things get tricky. Lots of stop signs, lots of pedestrians. Stop. And...go. Stop. And...go. Stop. And...god. Wait, was that girl looking at me. Why? Why would she be looking at me? Is there something wrong with my car? Could she smell the weed? They can tell I'm high. Shit, stop sign. Stop. And...oh, fuck me sideways. Is that a cop behind me? Oh lord, that is. That is a cop behind me. Do something! What?! Gun it! No! Stop! I am Stopped. Drive! Ok! Gun it! No, don't gun it, don't gun it! Turn here and lose him. . . . He turned! He turned! He turned when I turned! He turned when I turned! He knows I'm high! He's just fucking with me, playing cat and mouse. He's gonna turn on the lights and pull me over any second I can feel it in my bones! I will get raped if I go to prison. Within seconds. Oh, Christ, don't think about rape. Don't think about rape. Here, I'll turn again

….

He turned again! He's following me! Gun it! No, hide. Where? Jump in the back! Conceal yourself with empty soda cans. But what about the car? Screw the car, hide. Hold on, that idea makes no sense. Gun it! No, just keep driving. Pull over and let him pass you. There, a parking spot. Park, maybe he's like a T-rex, if I don't move, he might not be able to see me. Yeah, but maybe he's like a veloci-raptor. You saw what they did to Sam Jackson, he was nothing but arms when they got through with him. Initiate parking, phase one, completed. Oh god, he's slowing down. He's gonna stop. He passed! Victory! Gun it! What? Why? Fuck it. Onwards to the food depository! I'm going to ask them to just fill a garbage bag full of milkshake and then I'll poke a hole in the bottom and hold it over my mouth. Oh, God yes.

The Cheese Man: Part 1

The Cheese Man walked down the hall. All of a sudden a man tapped him on his shoulder. It was Cheese Man's best friend, Chet.

"Hey, cheesy, can I cut a square off you to put on my sandwich?"

"Sure!" responded Cheese Man, eager to help his friend.

Chet cut off a sizable lump of cheese from Cheese Man's shoulder, put it on his sandwich and took a bite. At the second Cheese Man's cheese contacted Chet's tongue he violently expelled it from his mouth in utter disgust.

"You taste like shit!"

Chet was unhappy.

"Sorry, Chet." Cheese Man apologized, disturbed by his friends shift in mood.

"Well sorry's don't fix my fucking sandwich, do they?!"

Chet threw his sandwich into Cheese Man's face and stormed off. Cheese Man watched as Chet walked away, he then went into a bathroom and sobbed whilst tearing off and eating chunks of himself.

"I do taste like shit!" lamented Cheese Man as wept into his hands, concealed from the world by nothing more than a flimsy bathroom stall door.

My Dramamine Adventure

9:00 pm - Just downed 600 mg's with some box-wine chaser.


9:20 pm – A burly man with an orange beard and teeth made out of Popsicles was throwing water balloons filled with sour cream at my window. I left my room to confront the man to find that he, and all evidence of his presence, had vanished. No effects so far.


9:34 pm – Still no effect.


9:39 pm – I've grown bored of waiting and have decided to pass the time with masturbation.


9:40 pm – I have concluded masturbation.


9:54 pm – Dude, seriously. What the fuck?


10:10 pm – The first sign of intoxication as occurred, it took me eight and a half minutes to write this.


11:00 pm – The preliminary high was wearing off, so I downed another 250 mg's. We'll see how that works out. If I OD, please, whoever finds this, post it online as a cautionary piece on the dangers of recreational Dramamine use. At least then something good can come from this foolishness.


11:13 pm – Christ. Now I'm just sleepy. I'm going to bed. This sucks.


11:26 pm - I had to get up because these shiny light mosquitoes kept flying over my head while I was trying to sleep. I killed them all, though. Killed em. Bedtime.

Top 2 Ways to Get an Octopus to Fuck a Melon

Wikipedia on the mating procedure of octopuses: "When octopuses reproduce, males use a specialized arm called a hectocotylus to insert spermataphores (packets of sperm) into the female's mantle cavity."

Sexy.

In my experience if you want to watch an octopus make sweet, gooey, squirmy love with a melon there are exactly two reasonable ways to go about it. I will detail these methods below.

Method Number One - Tape a picture of an octopus vagina to the melon
Required equipment: tape, a photograph of an octupuses lady parts, a knife.
Step 1: Pick of your tape
Step 2: Pick up your Melon
Step 3: Pick up your photograph
Step 4: With your free hand, tape the photograph to the melon
Step 5: With your knife cut a hole through the photo into the melon big enough for an octpopuses hectocotylus (Science for "octopus dick).
Step 6: Wait
Step 7: Enjoy

Method Number Two - Draw a sexy Octopus on your melon with a felt pen
Required equipment: A felt pen
Step 1: Draw a sexy octopus on your melon with your felt pen
Step 2: Wait
Step 3: Enjoy