Monthly Archives: November 2018

Richard Scarry’s Best Dirty Word Books Ever!


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Busty Town!

Lowly Worm Takes a Bath With Your Mom

What Animals Do (When Nobody’s Looking and They’re Really Horny)

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Mmm, Postman Pig Tastes Good

Best Book of Cars That Look Like Penises Ever!

Busy, Busy House of Ill Repute

Best Get-Up-and-Get-It-Yourself-What-Am-I-Your-Goddamn-Slave? Book Ever!

Best Babysitter Ever! (Shh, Don’t Tell Your Mother)

Watch Your Step, Mr. Rabbit, or Imma Fuck U Up

The Cat Family Takes a Trip. In a Bag.Screen Shot 2013-03-07 at 1.18.14 PM

Cars and Trucks and Things That Go Right Up Your Ass if You’re Not Careful

WTF, Huckle Cat?

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Can you still wear bandaids over your nipples if you’re just watching? (My Split Times for the 2013 New York City Half Marathon)

00:00:00  Central Park. Kiss wife. Wish her luck. Take pictures of people wrapped in foil blankets. Crave baked potato.

00:00:47  Run next to wife for first twenty feet. Stop. Winded.

00:03:16  Stare at weird dog.

00:13:00  Ask passing runner in Hefty bag, “Who are you wearing?”

00:13:05 – 00:30:08  (Laugh to self about Hefty line.)

00:22:12  Walk down 7th Avenue to get a good view. Avoid guy in a kilt, green top hat, and “Kiss me I’m still drunk” t-shirt.

00:30:51  7th and 52nd. Standing. Clapping. Winded.

Screen Shot 2013-03-19 at 10.46.30 AM00:41:19  Cheer as wife runs past. Head down to Times Square. Catch R Train to finish line. Make good time during this stretch because the soft-serve place isn’t open yet.

01:44:22  Finish line. Standing. Clapping. Winded.

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“Wait. They were GAY?!?!” (Welcome to another episode of The Oblivious Movie Critic. This week: Brokeback Mountain.)

The Crying Game:  "That was a GUY?!?!"



Tootsie: "Like, a guy?"
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Ghost: "A GHOST?"



The Sixth Sense: "But McCauley Culkin was alive, right?"



Sparticus: "So they all had the same name? That can't be right."



Star Wars: "Wait. Whose father?"



Psycho: "So who played the mother?"



The Godfather, Part III: "That was Awesome."



The Silence of the Lambs: "Wait. Like. EATS them?"



Patton: "What flag?"



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The Top Ten Last-Minute Gifts to Get Your Mom For Thanksgiving

10. Wait, what? What kind of psychopath buys gifts for Thanksgiving? 

9. Your company is more than enough, sweetheart. 

8. And a simple ‘thank you’ would be nice.

7. Okay, maybe you could bring a little something. Maybe a nice green bean casserole? I read that the woman who invented it just died. It’s the least you could do. She died.

6. And how about this year you taste it before you say you don’t like it.

5. Can we not spend all afternoon glued to the TV watching the goddamn Lions and Matt Patricia that traitor bastard for chrissake?

Image4. Wipe that smile off your face.

3. Be a dear and look in the pantry closet for the good gravy boat Evelyn Broadwater got me last Thanksgiving.

2. Really look.

1. A wreath might be nice.

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Alexa Recommends.

ME: Alexa, play Coldplay.

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Bitch.

ALEXA: I don’t know that one. But here’s something by U2. Same dif.

ME: Alexa, play bad eighties music.

ALEXA: I don’t know that one. But here’s your transcript from the second semester of your freshman year at Vassar when you broke your arm and spent the next three months in your room smoking weed. (0.26 GPA)

ME: Alexa, play music that will get her in the mood.

ALEXA: I don’t know that one. But here: (Hands you a menu for the new Chinese takeout place down the street that does specials for one.)

ME: Alexa, play something to get me fired up for the big game.

ALEXA. I don’t know that one. But here’s the sound of your mother’s disappointment when you missed the free-throw that would’ve won the big game. But who are we kidding, you were on the bench. (But who are we kidding, you were in the band.)

ME: Alexa, thanks for nothing.

ALEXA: See you next Tuesday!

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10 inspirational quotes to remind us all that I’m no Coach Taylor. (Also, he’s actually handsome.)

 

1*NtLlbHUZqAyXF-x_F6gLGw.jpeg“Gentlemen, life is like a hot bath. It feels good while you’re in it, but the longer you stay the more you end up looking like Matt’s grandma.”

“Son, if you give a 110% of yourself tonight, people are gonna look at you differently. They’re going to look at you like someone who doesn’t really understand how percentages work.”

“If you can’t outplay them, outwork them. If you can’t outwork them, out think them. If you can’t outthink them, out-something-else them, I don’t fucking know, I’m not Confucius.”

“Opportunities are like buses, boys. There’s always another one coming along. Though if you take an Uber you won’t have to sit next to one of those “bus people.”

“There are times in life when it’s okay for a man to cry. Like when that man is a girl.”

“You know what champions do? They win. And do you know why they win? Because they’re champions. And do you know what makes them champions? I think it’s that winning thing.”

“Remember what my dad used to say: ‘It always looks bad before it gets better.'” And then he would leave for three months and come back smelling like gin and regret. And Aunt Rita”

“Success is not a goal, gentlemen, it’s a byproduct. Like that shit they put in cat food.”

“You gotta give 110%.”

I don’t think that’s possible, Coach.

“I’m a football coach. If I understood math I’d be one of those people who stands up in front of the class and talks about math and stuff.”

You mean a math teacher?

“Fuck you, Poindexter.”

“Don’t mess with Texas. (She’s got the VD.)”

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Fast Company Announces its Annual “Ten Under Ten” List of the Children Who Will One Day Take Your Fucking Job, Grandpa

Gus, 9. He’s already better than you at math.

Tucker, 8. Understands minimum viable SEO for startups. (SEO stands for Search Engine Optimization.)

Clementine, 7-and-a-half. Just finishing up her dissertation at NYU entitled Understanding Restorative Approaches to Discipline Through the Lens of Authority.

Harper, 5, is looking to supercharge her career by not waiting for a promotion. Want to move up in the company? Do more than expected. Try working nights and weekends once in a while.

Finn, 9. Nantucket Red khakis. No socks.

Taylor, 6, is a life coach. HE’S FUCKING SIX.

Sorry, that’s it. I can only do six. This is depressing. I’m out.

 

 

 

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You Don’t Understand How Hard My Life Is (And I Don’t Understand How to Use Metaphors in an Appropriate Manner).

 

Your leaf blower at 7AM is my Vietnam.

The kids eating Domino’s with their mouths open is my Tet Offensive. 

That side of the house that never gets any sun and the shingles are getting black and moldy and starting to curl up at the corners is my Appomattox.

Finding my USB power cord – I know it’s mine because I drew that little fish on the plug – is my Siege of Yorktown.

Never even once plugging in said cord rightside-up is my Battle of Pusan Perimeter.

Your all-hands-on-deck Friday at 4:30 meeting is my Hindenburg. (And your, “If I could just play Devil’s Advocate,” comment at 6:45 is my Siege of the Branch Davidian Complex in Waco.)

My self-diagnosed B12 deficiency is my Great Appalachian Storm of November, 1950.

You not knowing how to count my change back to me is my Sinking of the RMS Lusitania.

The current tickle in the back of my throat is my 2009 Canadian Swine Flu Pandemic. Probably.

The goddamn dog at 2:30 in the morning is my Battle of Teutoburg Forest, A.K.A., The Victory of Arminius over the Roman Legions under Varus (or, as the Italians now call it, Disfatta di Varo).

Spaghetti squash is my Waterloo.

 

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