Wednesday, January 26, 2011


This is going to be about whores. So the group of man-bros I hang out with seldom have happenin' babes hang out with us. Sure, some of us do well with the ladies, and some of us lie about doing well with the ladies. But "the ladies" never really stick around with us casually. You know at places like bars, during band practice or our usual nights of pointless, drunken revelry.
That was until recently.
Now we have these three hangers on. All of them are whores, all are annoying, and all are not attractive... that is, they aren't skinny and their faces don't make up for that.
This one girl, henceforth known as Snooki, tries (and generally fails) to get dick in her vagina. One party she stayed up with us until 7 in the morning drinking, hoping one of us would throw her a pity fuck. I went home, then came back at 1 the next afternoon, and she was still there. I was like, "who bit the bullet, and fucked the troll". Apparently no one. She slung her vagina and there were no takers.
Then she banged one of our friends, and I figured, "awesome, now we'll be rid of her". Nope. Bitch is still around, trying to get dick from almost every guy.
There's also this THICK girl with a huge chin who is a down-right whore. She literally can't exist without some form of birth control. I think she's afraid she has so much sperm up in her tummy that if she skips taking her BC pills she'll suddenly become preggers.
The last girl is by far one of the more annoying. She has this high pitch scream she uses to get attention. Fucking high pitch. Anytime she sees me she tries to get me to fuck her. Which is downright annoying, especially considering I have rules against putting my dick in a girl whose gut outshines her titties.
I doubt she trims.
So here I am, with three annoying whores (2 out of 3 who went to Whitewater) and no way to get rid of them. They think that talking constantly about their vagina makes them independent women.

Saturday, January 22, 2011

The Smarties Diet

I've designed a new diet for you digital-age fat-asses. I call it The Smarties Diet. Essentially you just eat nothing but smarties. They're low cal. (25 calories a roll) and if you eat enough of them your teeth hurt, and you'll shun any food that requires even the most minimal of chewing.

I can feel the vibrations of most of you excitedly shifting in your seats, wondering if it works. I can assure you, my humble fat-asses, this diet indeed works. Why, I'm not only the innovator of The Smarties Diet, I'm also the chief guinea pig. I can tell you that I have lost 10 pounds already. Let's be clear though, I didn't need to lose 10 pounds, because I'm in a constant state of perfection. Whatever my physical state, that is the current definition of perfection, and never forget that.

There have been some side-effects, but I assure you the benefit out strips these side-effects. Here's a list of some of the little trifles that you may experience while losing all that weight, and looking amazing:

Extreme energy highs, and extreme energy lows


Extreme tooth sensitivity

Horrific constipation

Soul-sapping epiphanies

Christian Bale in The Machinist-like insomnia

Murderous rages

Absolute loss of sex drive

Multi-colored pee

Exercise may be hampered by need to lie down

Overwhelming stockpile of Smarties wrappers

Fame-hungry parents attempting to get you on that show Intervention

Nude sleep-walking

Gum bleeds

Muscle spasms

Hair loss

Thinking Dane Cook is funny

Drastic thoughts about which celebrity to kill to get Jodie Foster's attention

Phantom genitals

Friday, January 7, 2011

I got your back Mark

We can't go around censoring books. Part of the appeal of reading is acknowledging the cultural context of when that book was written. The contemporary vernacular, and opinions of the day. We can't hide from our past. We don't need to accept the negative things, but we should at the very least attempt to understand those things. I fear if we continue to avoid, or change the more challenging things from our past, we're doomed to be haunted by those very things in the future.

Tuesday, January 4, 2011

Keeping it going

So here I am pecking away at the Internet, trying to find the meaning of life and all that, when all of a sudden it hits me. I should be asleep, because I work early tomorrow. I guess I should, but fuck that shit. I'm going to live life on my terms, and by jove, I'm a night owl. I need to stay up late into the night leering at strippers, reading James Roday trivia, and eating all of my sister's gluten-free oatmeal cookies.

It's unfortunate that we night owls get no respect. We're always told that we have to be in bed by a certain time, and are looked at with scorn when we roll out of bed at 3 in the afternoon. We're yelled at when we play our drums at 1 in the morning. Hell, one time I was asked to leave a public park at 4 in the morning. I'm sorry, I didn't know my taxes only paid for the park between sunrise and sunset. I thought this was America, the home of the 7/11, 24/7.

When I was a kid I used to be bummed out, because I knew that at 9 o'clock I had to be in bed. I had so much more shit to do, I thought. Now, that I'm older, make my own decision, and can grow a beard I make the decisions, and wanna know what? I'm gonna stay up until I pass out. I'm going to live my life, and sleep when my body can't take it anymore!

I have to be up by 5 tomorrow, and as I write this it's a bit past midnight. It'll be later when I finish this rant, and it'll be much later when I finally decide to pull out my bed and get my z's on. I may only get 3 hours of sleep, but what of it? I'm having fun, and the day goes by much faster when you're working on only 3 hours of sleep. So long as you don't make it a habit.

The thing that I hate is when people make the choice to skip sleep, and then, the next morning, complain about being tired. I'm owning up to my poor decisions. It's my own damn fault I decided to stay up until 2:30 writing a fake diary.

That's right, I'm writing a fake diary. Basically I'm banking on archaeologists from the 23 century discovering this little diary and getting some seriously misguided notions on what life was like in the 21st century. 200 years from now they're going to think Ryan Reynolds was president, our currency was Mallomar bars, and Obama was something you yelled during sex.

Now, if you'll pardon me, I have to write discouraging things on people's walls, and down another aspirin before my heart explodes.

Saturday, January 1, 2011

Middle-Aged People are Diluted Perverts

Middle aged people are diluted perverts. Who else would willingly canoodle a sweaty, obese, lump of hairy fat? Who is even aroused by the thought of that? Apparently our parents are and that's what makes them perverts. Sickos really.

Everything starts out normally. We're all after essentially the same thing when we're younger...but as we get older our standards lower and lower until we settle for the guy or gal we're gonna live with the rest of our lives. Some of us are tricked into it though. Like for guys she could be stunning but on your 5 year anniversary she's beginning to look like her mother momma hutt. and girls, I can't discriminate, after 5 years he starts to bald, gets fat and gains hair in rather inappropriate places. Your sex life is confined to an average of 5 minutes a month, including fore play and only if there's nothing on TV.

So for multiple reasons (I'll delve into those later) when we're older we're more apt to boning an ugo. And I don't mean 'paper bag special' or 'kinda cute' we're talking unholy of unholies. We're talking the complete opposite of anything remotely attractive, healthy or arousing. That cute 115 lb blonde you married is now a 245 pound lump of rolls lying on the bed struggling to breath. and that studly guy you married is now a balding, hairy butted, pot-bellied perv.

We must be gluttons for punishment as we get older. When you live with someone that long you probably hate the other person and you won't divorce because you hate change even more...and the monthly ritual is probably so grotesque you only can stomach it for maybe 15 seconds at a time. You blame work, you blame your blood pressure you even blame e.d. for your lack of effort and 'WOW' but in reality its just that you're both horror movie ugly.

Quit Breaking the Pee Rules

Ladies, what I am about to tell you will boggle your y chromosome. We men folk have certain unspeakable rules for bathrooms. I think one of the biggest rules involve the urinals...but let's back up and give the ladies some context.

First, using a public restroom (especially older ones) can be the most embarrassing thing next to getting a physical or prostate exam. Essentially you just pop your tackle out for all to see and then you pee.

There are even some restrooms where you gather round a semicircular trough and take a wizz whilst exposing your shame to every Harry, Dick and peeping Tom.

Whilst bleeding the fleshy lizard you know that there is a 1 in 3 chance that some asshole is checking out your goods. Its not a sexual thing, no, the little bastard is just curious. Its little bastards like that and mans natural shame that make these pee codes necessary.

Now, when a man walks into a bathroom and there are 3 urinals with two fellow men on opposing sides with the remaining urinal unoccupied you are, under no circumstances, to use that urinal. A related rule is the rule of every other. There must be a buffer zone of one urinal per side for every man flushing the gates. That is there must be a urinal space between each man, there is no buddy system, no holding hands. Do not squeeze yourself in. Now this rule can be bent if you use a piswa at one of the ends. That is you can occupy the first or last urinal or a urinal that is not buffered on both sides. So let's say that there are 6 urinals and urinal 1 and 3 and 5 are occupied, okay? You could occupy 6 if you faced slightly away from the occupant of urinal 5. Or let's say someone else broke the rules and you've gotta go big time and all the other methods are properly taxed (the stalls are occupied). So, same set up 6 urinals numbers 1, 4, 5 and 6 are occupied leaving 2 and 3 empty. Theoretically you could go to either stall. However, any deviation from the every other rule is frowned upon. It isn't forbidden but we don't encourage someone always breaking that rule.

Another rule is NO PEEKING. I hear some of you saying, "Hey, its not manly to be afraid of someone seeing your manly bits". But people that say that are just jack asses. I can't pee when you stare. Our essential purpose is to go into the bathroom flip out our tackle and piss. Not go in flip out our tackle and just hold it to show it we love it. Its not show and tell. You go in keep your eyes up because peripheral is a bitch.

Now, I hear some of you bitching that men take showers with each other all the time our nudity shouldn't bother us as much as I say it does. Well, most of the time you take showers with men is when they are your hombres on some team...and we don't peek.

There are two exceptions to the shower peeking rule. Normally if you do peak or accidentally catch a glimpse of major Johnson you're supposed to look straight up and think of Jessica Alba or talk sports. But there are two times you may not just ignore it and forget it. The first is when the naked person is a must stare and stare and stare until a hole is burned into her chest by your culminate looks. And the second reason is if theirs a dude naked with a boner in the dudes locker room and there's no chicks.

Now let's talk about number twos. Lets say you walk in to take a wicked yes and you all of a sudden see a dude struggling to lose his breakfast burrito. Try to get in and out before that dude has the shame of knowing the face of the guy that unexpectedly walked in on him giving birth to a massive turd...of doom.

Also, whilst pooping all bets are deal with that shit yourself man...just be sure to flush.

No one likes to walk into an act of hate.
If you shit on the floor clean it up.
Do not buy cologne or condoms in the bathroom.
Always wash your hands. We're at that age that I don't want to be shaking your hand and wiener at the same time.

Heroes of the Special Olympics

This article was written my Junior year of High School in 2002. Uh, you'll probably be offended

Heroes of the Special Olympics

An echoed hush. Li'l Timmy squabbles across the finish line. A humongous swell of cheers and associated grunts enchant the grounds. Seconds later the rest of these special athletes cross the finish line. After this, a long day, they're given li'l quarter size medallions with cookies and juice.

These, my friends, are the special athletes that make up the Special Olympics. Their true competitive nature is shown in this magical park. Their competitiveness is spoken by words of actions, actions of what seems to be competitive babbles and grunts. Even spoken by Harvey the Tard who finished 3rd in the race. "Aw, geez, you guys. I got jibbed. I should have gotten second place if it weren't for Joey. It's not fair! He has a motorized scooter!"

These li'l heroes train tirelessly for 5 seconds before each event. Training their li'l underdeveloped, atrophied limbs to perform simple tasks like running in lighting speed. Some even taunt others of their own special stature. "See my back? That's all you'll see!" or, "Suck ma balls motherfucker. You shit is going down, beeyotch. I own yo ass muthafucka!"

Although taunting is looked down upon in the Special Olympics it is still "Funny as fuck" as not-so-special Albert Venice, a middle aged divorcee, stated last Wednesday as he was being escorted out of the park.

"Boy, we just hope everyone here has just a good fun, happy-sunshine-face-time here today. And remember: try your best because you're all 'Speacial' here" stated event supervisor Henry Winklstein in a pre-ceremonies speech.

"I hear we get cookies and juice," exclaimed Johnny Frumple earlier that day before being disqualified for exposing himself in front of a flock of geese, "I just hope they got the juice I like."
God bless you special athletes!

Dan's Guide to Treating a Lady Right

Originally this Guide was written 8 years ago while I was still in High School. Try not to mind the grammatical errors.

Dan's Guide to Treating a Lady Right

Great. This is to all those guys who know absolutely nothing about interscholastic dating. This is also mean to be a refresher course for any guys who have already figured this compli-ma-cated stuff out.

Step One: Find a girl who you think is mildly attractive, but not oo attractive. You don't want to over step your bounds. Yeah, sure you may regret not asking out the really pretty girl but face facts, she would have just rejected your loser self anyways. It's best to steer clear of any possible bad memories.

Step Two: Befriend her friends first. Get the inside scoop on her personal life. It may seem kind of creepy but I'm telling you to do this for your own protection. You may find out you don't have a lot in common or more pointedly you may find out she's a murderer or maybe she's really a guy with a dainty bone structure and long hair. Also, strike up a personal conversation with her avoiding topics like your bathroom habits, your over eccentric love for Barbra Streisand or your hatred of The Man.

Step Three: When you find out all you want to know ask her out and if she says, "I'd love to," play dumb and say, "I'm sorry --it sounded like you said, 'I'd love to'." She will reply, "That's what I did say". Then play dumb again and say, "Sorry, it sounded like you just said...," etc. Keep this up for at least ten minutes.

Hooray Cap'n Jack! You just asked out a girl and she said 'yes'. Stop celebrating, its annoying me. So where do you take this special li'l lady? Should you take her out to eat at a really ritzy restaurant? Should you have dinner with her parents? Or should you take her to a movie? Well, let me answer those questions with a few suggestions: First of all a first date is an interview so go her somewhere quiet where you can talk to her. Second her parent hate you. And third you could take her to a ritzy restaurant but be serious women are like leaches constantly wanting more and more. So don't blow all your hard earned dinero on one night of awkward revelry, stretch it out.

If you want to go to a restaurant take her to one in your price range. You don't want her to remember your first date as an unpleasant dish washing experience. But don't sink so low as to taking her to McDonalds either, you fat loser. In fact have her decide where to go that will save you from going through a lot of nagging and her slapping you.

So let's pretend that you're both at the restaurant. You're looking at the menu and you're trying to decide what you can get that costs less than 36 bucks. Your date on the other hand is looking for the most expensive item on the menu. Just let her get the expensive food it's not worth fighting over. Besides you can service solely on the free biscuits and water.

After you have ordered commence small talk. Again avoid strange topics like how hot the waitress is or how mean and ugly he dad is. This also is not the best time to ask her what her name is. Keep small talk on light-hearted things like how her day went or how surprised you were that she even said 'yes'. to you. Women eat this stuff up but please give it to them in moderation. If your whole conversation revolves around you worshiping her she may start to suspect something.

While you and your special lady are eating maintain casual eating etiquette. Yes, maybe passing gas and belching is encouraged at your dinner table but, please, her customs may not be the same as yours. Don't embarrass yourself. Your habits may sicken/enrage/discourage your date from ever wanting to see you again. Oh, and keep the potty talk at home cap'n.

So it's the end of a long night, you're about $65 poorer than you started out with and you spent the evening talking solely about her. By this point you've come to the realization that dating isn't what its cracked up to be. You just want to go home and cry to mommy. Sorry bud, if you thought the awkwardness is over you are wrong. You still have to talk her home and make the final impression on her so that she'll want to go out with you again. Fear not big ol' Dan is here to walk you through this too.

Usually at the end of the first date people are undecided on whether or not to kiss. Let me just put it this way if you kiss her you can kiss your independence good bye. I guarantee te following school day she's going to move some of her stuff into your locker. Things you have never seen before, things no man should ever see in his locker. In short avoid kissing her a simple pat on the head and the word 'You're Cool" will suffice...until the day you must kiss her and by doing so kiss your freedom and independence as a functional male good bye.

There are many choices such as: walking her to the door, making small talk with the parents or hustling her out of the car and speeding off. All of these choices are acceptable if done with the proper tone.

For example if you walk her to the door do not attempt a last second smooch for two reasons. 1) I told you not to in the paragraph above and 2) just as you begin to get your greasy mitts on her her father will open the door and after several moments of awkwardness her father will chase you around the yard with a special bat he bought just for occasions such as this.

If it happens that you choose to walk her in the house and make small talk with the parents it is usually best i you refrain from the following jokes:

I got your daughter back with no dings and scratches.
She kisses like your wife.
She's too young to get pregnant, right?
$50 says I dump her in a week.
How could something so hot come from something like you?

Though these are meant merely as a joke her parents will not appreciate them nor your spastic efforts to win their favor.

Whitewater Wisconsin, What's Wrong with Your Women?

Whitewater, what the fuck is wrong with your women? It seems none of them are 100% legit. Case in point, I'm at this bar checking out my friends' band and the place is packed. The place is packed with a medley of misfit toys.

None of these chicks were built right. Either everything on top was groovy and the bottom half was all wrong, or the top half was terrible, and the bottom half was groovy. These women are the poster mavens of what happens when you stop exercising and live off an exclusively high calorie diet.

I remember jive walking over to a table full of ladies. I was looking to get my mojo flowing, and most of them had pretty cute faces so I was like "let's throw down".
Sadly when they stood up to dance with me I noticed something the table had hidden from me: bedonkadonks. Gigantic asses and thighs. I'm not black, nor am I a chubby chaser so I told them flat out, "you gotta be kidding me. Jazzercise, then get back to me".

Listen, Whitewater girls, you don't have much to offer. You're not that interesting, you're not that smart. The least you can do is make an attempt at fixing the only thing you have control over. God knows what a little cardio and not eating the whole fucking bag of Doritos will do for you.

With love,

My Journey to Write the Great American Novel

The other night I was in a haze of melancholy, and gastrointestinal fumes that can only be created by the combination of Thai and Mexican food on an empty stomach. As I sat on my couch, frantically gasping for breath, I realized that my melancholy could be used as a tool. You see what did the late 19th and early 20th century authors have in common? Melancholy and an addiction to either absinthe, blow, heroin or young boys.

Immediately I sprang to life as fast as a man with a stomach full of brewing toxins can. I determined that trying blow and heroin were way too "fucking real" for me to try, and that boning little boys was way beyond anything I ever want to think about. So that just left me with absinthe, which was a bummer because it was too late to buy any.

I decided to improvise on the cheap. Instead of using any of my wine, or other liquors I decided to bust open this old looking bottle of tequila. I figured that "vintage shit [had] to be vintage shit, dude". I took a few good swigs of the stuff and began to write an epic novel.

Somewhere around the first sentence of the epic novel I started to get a little side-tracked. I started stumbling around the Internet for a while looking for something to do. As all my pointless searches on the Internet go I ended up on Facebook. It's now that I realize what a blessing it is that our great writers of years gone by never had the Internet to contend with, or else I fear some of the greatest works that I've never read would never have been written.

Anyhow I was perusing various people's profiles, making fun of their pictures, hobbies and boyfriends when I realized I could harass these people on a more personal level. I took a few more swigs of tequila until I had the sufficient level of cajones to start calling people at 3 AM.
A lot of people didn't answer, but a few did. Here's a sampling of a few of the few conversations:

Some Girl: [Very sleepy] H-hello?

Me: Hey p-pretty lady? You got your vitamin Dan this morning?

SG: What? Who is this?

Me: Baby, the 90's called they wanna introduce you to caller ID.

SG: I don't have your number. This is really creepy.

Me: I just told you my name. My name is... my name is Dan and you got a pretty face...

SG: I'm hanging up.

Me: Your face is on fire. [she hangs up] Whore.

Convo 2

Another Girl: What Dan?

Me: Hey my white sexual chocolate, what say you and me rent a gondola and tour the world together, together.

AG: It's a weeknight why are you drunk?

Me: I'm writing the great American novel, bitch. What are you doing up, li'l miss judgementally challenged?

AG: I'm at work, you asshole. I can't talk...

Me: You work at fuckin' this late? Don't pick up the phone if you can't talk.

AG: Kay bye

Me: You didn't answer my question...

Convo 3

A Dude: Sup bro?

Me: Not much, dude. Kinda bummed 'cuz all these skanks, yo.

AD: Wanna come over and drink some beer?

Me: Yeah, I definitely need something to get the taste of tequila out of my mouth...

Well the next morning I wake up in this bright white room. I figured I died and went to heaven so I just nestled my head deeper into a soft white mound and waited for Jesus to come around and give me a tour of the joint.

That's when I realized I had a pounding headache and my nose was filled like I had been puking a few hours before. At that point I decided to say "fuck it" to the rest of the day, and finding out where the hell I was, and save all that shit for whenever the hell I woke up again.

I vaguely recall people coming in and out of the room, each of whom I somehow made eye contact with. Some were talkative, some not.

It must have been several hours later when I realized how out of place I really was. I decided to get up and noticed I had nestled myself in someone's laundry. I was in a laundry room in a building that did not look familiar.

"Hey dude, can you call me? I don't know where I am" was my frantic mass text I sent to nearly everyone in my phone book. Shame started to make sense to me and I became too afraid to stay in the laundry room, and far too afraid to ask any of the tenants where I was.
I was a mess, a disorientated mess stumbling down vacant, dimly light hallways frantically searching for the exit. I looked at my phone, and noticed all I could see was a blurry mess.

Somehow getting up from my laundry pile had discombobulated my eyeballs. Eventually I found my way outside, and it was dark, and it was not Madison... it was Middleton, the place God sends Whitewater business school graduates.

I vowed from that day forward to stay as far away from novels as possible.

My Advice to Today's Youth

Somehow I've gained a following of impressionable youths. I've noticed that most of the time I'm with them I'm too drunk to impart upon them my natural wisdom. That is why I'm going to make a list of musings that will hopefully help these youth find their way in the world.

1. Never be friends with a girl. The relationships between men and women should be antagonistic, or full on humping. Don't go shopping with her, don't take her to the airport, and don't take her to your room and not make out with her. The friend zone is a major cock block.

2. If you go to a raging kegger, don't bitch about the beer being served. Beer at those types of parties are merely there to get you from being sober to shitfaced. Also, never ask for wine at a kegger.

3. If a muscular black man is leading you to a secluded area at a bar on your birthday I suggest you run. His intentions are not pure.

4. If you're at a party and you run into a bunch of transients with dreadlocks playing homemade instruments go ahead and talk to them. They have a lot more to offer than the other drunk sluts at the party.

5. Rap is not music. It's black people's way of punishing us for slavery.

6. Never hook up at a party. It's not classy. Go home and do your dirty sinful business. No one wants to walk in on you tonguing, sucking or fucking.

7. Cynicism is a terrible trait to have.

8. You know you've hit rock bottom when, of the two New Year's parties you went to, the one with a bunch of dudes making out was the better of the two.

9. Calling a bartender ugly to her face is not a good way to start an evening. However, if her service was up to that point terrible, I will allow it. Also, it's okay, and even encouraged, to puke all over her bar at the end of the night.

10. You can do anything you want with the right blend of charm and charisma.

11. Using logic to win an argument is silly. The goal of all arguments isn't to prove your case. You're right, and they need to get over that. The real goal is to get the other person to cry.

12. Always fight dirty.

13. Telling a girl about your masturbation habits are definitely not encouraged. Unless you like masturbating more than you like girls.

14. If you go to a wedding and the bride is wearing a strapless dress, and has awful tan lines it's your job to call her out. Listen, it's her special day, even she shouldn't be allowed to fuck it up with terrible tan lines.

15. The world is full of douche bags. They can be identified by the following tattoos: Chinese calligraphy, tribal arm bands, dragons.

My Bath Time

So the other night I was sitting at my desk surveying my wondrous reflection. I was amazed at how it seems I haven't aged a day, when it seems my peers are getting older, fatter and much, much uglier. As I mulled this point I styled my beautiful, lush hair into wondrous shapes and effigies. Something, I dare say, no one on this planet is able to do with such efficiency and grace as myself.

After preening my hair I realized that I had forgotten to go into work that day. "No bother" I said to myself, "my body is already taxed from a fruitful day of lusting after my own visage". With that I decided to relax with a scented bath, burned incense and some gold infused myrrh I purchased on a recent trip to the Holy Land.

As I lay nude in the tub, surrounded by bubbles and play tug boats, I began to reflect upon the goings on of the day, and realized that I deserved this. Lounging is hard work, especially in this heat and humidity. I began to sip elegantly upon the chilled champagne and sunk deeper and deeper into oblivion.

As my mind was on the cusp of revealing life's mysteries when I began to gag on the warm, myrrh-flavored water. I decided to exit the tub, and survey my wonder on my deck. I didn't need a towel.

My family did not appreciate my nudity as I walked around the home, clutching a champagne glass. Their shrill calls to put some clothes on was quickly cut off when the realized I was trying to make my way to the deck outside. My mother tackled me with a blanket and my sister sprayed me with a fire extinguisher. They sicken me.