Ice Water Was Mad.

Ice Water was mad.

Vicks Humidifier yawned.

Mustachioed Folding Chairs tried to smile.

Blue Crate tried to hide from it all.

Tree Bag Snail looked nervous.

Refrigerator looked shocked.

Sconce and Vent avoided eye contact.

Evil Amazon Box cackled evilly.

Bearded Backpack was baffled.

Overlook Medical Center asked for a little off the top.

Hidden Play Rug Skull waited for his moment.

Three gentlemen on the roof drank from straws.

Quarter King looked sad about it all.

And the House That Looked Like Cathy just said "Ack!"

An Open Letter To Guy Fieri

Dear Guy Fieri,

Okay, I understand. You're making "casual dining" a more approachable, even more fun experience. You're helping re-position TGI Friday's as more "with-it" and "down with the kids." When one visits TGIFridays.com, they're met with a posterized face of your mug and some garage band rock blaring. You're building on the familiar equity of Friday's and giving it some "edge."


But you know what? I don't think any of us need that. We like our shitty jalapeno poppers and precooked chicken sandwiches just fine. We've never expected a proper chef to serve us foie gras and pheasant under glass, because we are eating AT THE FUCKING MALL. So don't try to think you're totally breaking down the barriers of cook and customer by calling yourself a "food dude." That sounds like someone who doesn't wash their hands.

And go wash that shit out of your hair. You're embarrassing your kids.

Fuck a horse,

Eat A Dick Joel

Tat's So Raven.

Are you so hopelessly tattooed that the only options for employment are at a record store or as a strip club bartender? AND have you been proposed to anyway? AND for some stupid reason he wants a traditional wedding? Well, Karla, you're in luck, because Doc Wilson's Wrecking Balm Tattoo Fade System is here!

No longer do you have to walk down the aisle holding a bouquet of lilacs and white roses with a gigantic image of a flaming nazi dragon with a viking helmet masturbating with a femur bone on your back. No longer do you have to show the families at the public pool your Yakuza connections. No longer will you get to blame your crumbling personal relationships on your "ink." I hate it when people call it that.


In just 86 weeks, you too can make your tribal/barbed wire arm tat disappear. The Hepatitis C, however, is a different story LOL.


Removal Device = iron stick that you dip in fire


So, relax, fat Maggie Gyllenhaal, your miracle product is here!

Let's Try to See How Wide We Can Make The Hole of the EADJ Mail Sack!

(pictured above, an actual letter –written in purple glitter pen– left on Jeanette's doorstep. Click to enlarge)