Happy New Year from Eat A Dick Joel!

Do we have any New Year's resolutions? Sure. Here are a few:

• More awareness

• Being more in touch with ourselves

• Being more present in our own and others' lives

• Practicing humility and mindfulness

• Engaging more and promoting wellness

• Having more awareness of our mindfulness

• Showing gratitude for not having Pewter Bear around anymore

Fucking hell. We managed to be free of this pewter motherfucker for a literal DECADE and that glorious record has been ruined. Great way to start off the new year. Fucking fucking FUCK. God DAMMIT.

***IMPORTANT WEBSITE UPDATE***

Eat A Dick Joel has learned that Pewter Bear- that despicable, shallow, miserable wretch of an irregular, minor character- had taken over the website yesterday, offering free hugs and watered down content to suit its particularly horrible tastes.

We assure you that the following steps have been made to remedy this intrusion.

• All "Pewter Bear" search tags have been removed from Google. In fact, if you type "Pewter Bear" in you search bar now, a graphic photo of eyeball surgery becomes your desktop wallpaper.

• Pewter Bear has lost all access to EADJ editing and posting. In addition, we have seized Pewter Bear's bank accounts and even shut down his Netflix and Hulu Plus accounts. We have ordered his cable company to repossess all cable boxes from his home, which has been put into foreclosure by his bank. Edward Snowden will now be granted immunity to come live in his house with no pants on.

• All of Pewter Bear's XBox Achievements and Medals have been deleted.

• Pewter Bear's name has been legally changed to "Simpering Shitfuck, III"

• The market value of pewter has been dropped to -$568.31/oz. It actually costs you to own any pewter whatsoever!

• Pewter Bear's segment "Stuffed Animal Reviews" has been changed to "Hooker Armpit Farts."

• All previous mentions of Pewter Bear in previous entries have been removed and replaced with an ASCII file of Ryan Reynolds. This is far less annoying.

• This list is a "living document," guaranteed to grow as soon as we think up some other shit to do to him. Fuck Pewter Bear.

2014: "Eat A Dick Joel" Is Now "Hug A Pewter Bear"

Hello, EADJ readers, or should I say, HUPB readers! That's right. Starting today, this infamous blog has now been handed over to yours truly, where I can finally run the fun, lovable content you've always wanted from this URL! We're going to have loads of amusement, folks! Here are some of the changes that I will instill immediately:

• No cursing or mean-spirited writing at all. This is supposed to be FUN!

• New regular EADJ HAPB segments, such as Guess That Yankee Candle, Ringtone Download Of the Week, and Stuffed Animal Reviews:

• Every Wednesday, we will post the music video to "Brave" by Sara Bareilles, simply because she is an AMAZING singer and that song is SO CATCHY!!!!

• Less mention of horse nuts, abortion rights, "taints," and Procter and Gamble. This is 2014, people!

• I guess that's it for now. Consider this list a "living document" that will grow as we go forward. See ya soon! In the meantime, here's a Christian-themed Jumble:

To The Penguin On The Back Of A Package of Lifesavers Gummies

Jesus Christ. What the fuck is wrong with you? What kind of penguin needs help finding his home in the snow? Your home is the snow, dumbass.

And furthermore, I can tell what your "home" is, even without connecting the fucking dots. And guess what, genius, you don't belong in an igloo. Act like you know. That's a home for Eskimos, who are mainly found in Siberia, Alaska, Canada, or Greenland. And do you live in Siberia, Alaska, Canada, or Greenland? No, you dumb shithead. You live in the Galapagos and Antarctica. So why would you think you belong in a structure that wouldn't be found anywhere near those places? Dumb fuck.

Okay, here you go, penguin. I connected the dots for you:

Whoa ho ho ho. Now look who stumbled back uninvited to our blog. Hey penguin, Pewter Bear is right. You don't deserve all this hatred. HE does. 

Fucking Pewter Bear, why don't you stay gone. Nobody here has or ever will like your simpering, whiny bitch-ass, so why do you keep coming back? There is nothing here for you. We all hate you and would like you to be smelted down to a single nail, so we can hammer that thing into a rock and launch it into space, where you can fuck off billions of miles away.

We apologize to the penguin and would like to extend the middle finger we drew earlier up Pewter Bear's asshole.

It's Time To Retire Dr. Fish

A dumb premise. A poorly thought out character. An unpopular segment. These are the voyages of the Starship Dr. Fish. We at EADJ think it's about time we put this awful, unfunny, one-joke bit to death. It's a dumb segment- and coming from a blog that has featured a chimp servant, plastic hillbilly teeth, a how-to segment by a limo driver who is not Vince's uncle, racist appliances, a Shorter Fatter Version of Scott Peterson, and an Ugly Andrew Gall- that's saying a lot.

Yes, it's time to join the Curlz MT, Tianna, and the Suzemily Players segments in the EADJ Retirement Home.


Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. Do you mean to tell us that we've been throwing segments to the wayside left and right and haven't thought to dump your sorry ass? No, wait. You have to be an official, established EADJ segment to be retired. Instead of being the pathetic, annoying, uninvited, insipid, infuriating piece-of-dog-turd intrusion that you are. Sometimes I wish I could build a theme park by the side of the Grand Canyon and advertise it as "The Only Theme Park Next To The Grand Canyon!" so you would be interested and pay a ticket to ride the roller coaster, and just when you start going down the highest hill, I could have my theme park workers redirect the track into the gaping, cavernous maw of the Grand Canyon for you and the roller coaster car to fall into, never to be heard from again.


Don't worry. We'd find a way to get you on that thing.

Bathroom Maniac

Spotted in the Barnes and Noble (yes, they're still around) in Elizabeth, NJ, someone snuck some unpaid Legos into a bathroom stall and went to town:



Whee!





Wow, it's been a long time, Pewter Bear. And you've arrived just in time to be the voice of reason...no, wait. Scratch that. Not the voice of reason- the voice of bitchy-ass contrary pussy shit. Christ, did anybody ASK your opinion? Because we sure the fuck didn't. There aren't enough fucking fists in the world that could pound your miserable face enough. Do you understand how much we hate you yet?


Oh, you haven't SEEN hostile yet, bitch. Stay right here, let me get my gun...

R.I.P. George Steinbrenner

July 4, 1930 – July 13, 2010

You were a cranky, rash, unpleasant son of a bitch. But goddamn, you were a hell of a baseball owner. And the Yankees' continued dominance in baseball and American culture is your legacy. Rest well, George.


Perfect. Just when we're feeling down, the pewter harbinger of suck shows up. Worse than a salt in the wound, you're like a splintery shoe tree forced into someone's dry asshole. And what the hell is a shoe tree again?


It was a RHETORICAL QUESTION, you overhelpful turdstain of a suckup. Just shut the fuck up, Pewter Bear, you sniveling, shiny venereal scab. I WAS IN THE MIDDLE OF A EULOGY. And you show up after a long break (which we all fucking LOVED) and impose your intolerable horribleness in the middle of a tender moment? And didn't you show up when Michael Jackson/Farrah Fawcett died last year? Your timing is impeccable, you ass-eating shartsucker. Why are you so unbelievably murderable?

Now I've lost my train of thought. All I can think about are shoe trees. GODDAMN YOUR SOUL TO HELL, PEWTER BEAR! BURN FOR ALL ETERNITY AND NEVER MELT DOWN!

The Holidays Are Approaching, So Pewter Bear Has Some Tips On How To Shop Safely And Wisely For the Upcoming Black Friday

Let's just cut you off right there, Pewter Bear. Nobody who reads this blog gives a shit about Black Friday. And they certainly don't want to hear tips on how to survive it from you. You see, nobody who writes for this blog or reads this blog cares two shits about you, Pewter Bear. You're an amazingly unwelcome intrusion on this website, and most everyone who comes into contact with you wants to murder your fat pewter ass on the spot.

You pudgy, worthless cretin of a whiff of a pewter fart. Go away forever and die in a burning dumpster full of biomedical waste and raw sewage. Shove a snow shovel up your ass and jump into a vat of Ajax. Tie a heavy rock and glass shards around your waste and roll down the "Exorcist steps" in Georgetown, Washington D.C. Have a picnic near the intake of a DC-10 engine.

And Now, Pewter Bear With How To Host a Clambake

Whoa, whoa, whoa. No. We are not doing this.

We gave a 'how to' segment to Vince's Uncle Roberto, and then we gave one to "Ugly Andrew Gall." But we'll be pigfucked if we give a regular EADJ segment, 'how to' or otherwise, to goddamn weak-ass fucking Pewter Bear.

Fuck you, Pewter Bear. Nobody asked you to host a segment. Nobody even asked you to be born and breathe our air. Nobody invited you to exist and take up space. So why don't you just jump in a volcano or slit your own throat with some kind of special pewter-cutting knife? Man, hating you takes up so much GODDAMN ENERGY! I feel sleepy now. Zzzzzzzzzzz.

Become a Fan

Spotted on Facebook, an ad inviting me to be a fan of mostaccioli????


Friggin' random. And why is it talking in the first person.


Oh, Pewter Bear, there you are, you rascally scamp. I've been looking all over for you. Been asking around to see what you've been up to. Oh, this? This is a baseball bat with nails pounded into it. I just carry it around as a fashion accessory, nothing more. No, that's not blood on it. That's mostaccioli sauce. Or as you just explained before, marinara sauce. Yeah. Hold still, buddy. I wanna talk to you... Come here.

A Special Message From Pewter Bear

Wow, Pewter Bear. What you said there really makes us think.


No, we mean it really makes us think about how much we wish YOU were dead. You're such a pusillanimous, contemptible little shitsock that you still being alive is empirical proof that there is no justice in the universe.


Why don't you stick your head in a corn thresher, you miserable, strangle-able waste of pewter? Or dive into a cobra's nest. Whatever. We could give a shit. Feel our hate!

Let's Tap Our Cigarette Ash Into the EADJ Mail Sack!

Submitted via IM by Bill Dow, a quick anecdote about him and his fiancée:




Way to spoil a good story, Pewter Bear. You're probably one of those types that people invite to a party, like once. Cuz once you get there and start spouting off your know-it-all, insufferable pie hole full of facts, the word spreads that you're a detestable, unimaginably withering puke of a shitstain. Read these next three words slowly and carefully, Pewter Bear, so that it can enter that thick pewter brain of yours: NOBODY LIKES YOU. Oh, and: DIE.

Anyway, thanks to Bill for letting me publish that!

A Message Of Love and Peace From His Holiness, Swami Yaro

Hello, my friends.

We have crossed the threshold of change in this country, change that has sent waves of love and peace throughout all corners of the world. It is with much gladness that I bring you this joyful message of renewal:

Chill out. I mean, embrace your wholeness and its connection with the universe. I first said 'chill out' because it was the first thing that came to my mind, seeing how I was listening to some Rick Ross mixtape 10 minutes before writing this. Pretty bangin'. But what I meant to say was find your inner beauty and share it with the collective soul of the world.

No, not "collective soul." That sounds like that shitty band from the 90's. Shared soul? The shared soul we all share? Dammit, I'm kind of new at this, so you're gonna have to cut me some slack here. I keep digressing into mentioning musical acts (but do check out that new Rick Ross mixtape).

What I meant to say was, just do it. Or just let go. Try breathing. Is that what I'm trying to say? Hold on. Let me look at my notes...


Yeah, I'm back. What my message to you is, feel the burn. Image is nothing, taste is everything. Push it real good. Do it for the children. Vote or die. Tuna wrap with cheese, no onions. Eat my pussy.

No, that's the wrong page. My bad.

You know, let me just speak from the heart- we must come in contact with a higher intelligence in order for us to feel spiritually aware of ourselves and our brethren. By focusing in on a benevolent good within our souls, we can project that beauty throughout our lives and onto all other beings.


Oh, HELL NAW, Pewter Bear. You don't show up for months and months on this blog (thank God), but then you run all up on MY bit here? Naw, I ain't having this shit at all, son. People fucking hate you for a reason, and now I know why- you're a shitstain of a hanger-on suckup with no friends and nothing to say to nobody. FUCK, you're making me want to bust out my 9 and vent your sorry fucking ass.


You know, I hate you so much, I can't even talk to you right now. I'm just going to turn my back, and you can go away. And if I turn back around, and your miserable, whiny sorry excuse for a fucking self is still there, I'm gonna run up and cut you in the neck. I swear I will. I got the knife right here, bitch.

....


........


Okay, well, that's all for today. Check in later on for more of my teachings of peace and love. Until then, check out Rick Ross' new mixtape "Still Hustlin" out now. Shit is hot, y'all.

A sacred blessing to all of you, my friends.

EADJ ENTRY #400 for 2008!

Eat A Dick Joel has been committed to giving you the freshest, most consistent blog entries it can scrape together at the last minute. And since its inception, EADJ has never failed once to post at least one entry every weekday. You can take that to the bank, Cheryl.


Actually, uh, no, Pewter Bear. We were congratulating ourselves on 400 entries this year, not saying 2008 was a great year. 2008 was not a great year. It was a pretty terrible year, actually. The biggest stock market dive in American history, the mudslinging of the Presidential election, and Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull? Oh, for crying out loud, why are we even talking to you? What we should have said is FUCK OFF.


Also, we hope your entire family dies of tuberculosis, Pewter Bear. Forgot to mention that.

The Day I Found VD in My Salad.

It's not every day you manage to spot a social disease in your lunch.



See it? VD!



Holy Mother of Goldschlager. Pewter Bear. You're back.


Yeah, yeah, yeah. We didn't ask you what you've been up to. We just commented that you were back. Like we haven't been missing you. At all.


That's right. Pukefucker. Let it soak into your thick, hateable pewter skull. We don't like you here. Hell, nobody ANYWHERE likes you, Pewter Bear. You're a miserable, kickable, douchetastic explosion of detestable mule droppings on a piss cart.


Hmm. True.

Static!

Static shock in the Thomas household!

Due to very dry weather in the L.A. area, the air in Joel's apartment has gotten very susceptible to static shock. It only makes things worse that Joel chooses to traipse around his apartment in nothing but wool socks. Sure, it's sexy, but dangerous!

Just yesterday afternoon Joel walked from his dick-eating bench in the office/guest room to the kitchen to make himself a smoothie. When he touched the blender, it sent a static shock so severe he spoke Spanish briefly:

"¡Que pasa! Estática que conmocionó al infierno de mí!"

Joel's chimp servant Chad Yarboro has been smart enough to avoid the floor altogether, swinging from sconce to sconce like my balls on Joel's chin.

Next Monday it's supposed to rain, so Joel will go sockless this weekend.

(pictured above, I can't tell if the t-shirt is being ironic or not. Your thoughts, reader?)


Wow. We haven't heard from you in like, forever, Pewter Bear. Man was that a long, wonderful period of no weak-ass pussiness. Seeing your stupid, hateable, smashable face again makes us realize that your death would be the greatest celebration this hemisphere has ever witnessed. FUCK OFF.