Category Archives: Rants

Dumbass of the week!


I was driving by this lady getting out of her car and thought to myself, “I MUST document this for the sake of comedy.”

Here’s a lady that went to a drive-up ATM the wrong way, parked, then got out of her car to use said ATM.

Couple things now…


Notice the word “EXIT” with an arrow pointing the OPPOSITE way that she had to DRIVE OVER to get to the ATM. Also, we know that in America, the driver side is on the left of a vehicle. Therefore, if you want to access something out your driver side window, you must approach so that said object is on your left…

ALSO NOTE the crooked angle at which she parked, almost as if in her last moments she said to herself “uh oh, what’s wrong here…oh, I’m too far away, lemme get a little closer!”…by turning toward the ATM.

It’s people like this that ensure me that we, as a species, are just hopeless…


“Kars for Kids” Ads Make Me Want to Demolish a Hospital

Kars for Kids Sucks

This jingle is the single most unlikeable, annoying radio ad I have ever heard. I don’t know if the people from Kars for Kids have some kind of leverage on every radio producer in the area, but this ad seems to be on a lot. Like suspiciously frequently. Read more to see my theory why.

I hate people who drive motorcycles

I won’t even look once

Want me to tell you what I hate more than people who drive motorcycles? People who put bumper stickers on their car just so you know that they also drive a motorcycle. Let me just say this to start, guys on motorcylces are fucking assholes. Plain and simple. A good 90% of these guys are just playing out some childhood fantasy about being in a motorcycle gang or some bullshit. This is pure speculation on my part since I truthfully don’t know what the appeal is.  What I do know is that I would rather pluck each one of my ball hairs individually with a pair of pliers than associate with these ass clowns. Read the rest of this entry

Liar of the Week: Papa John

I don’t even know where to begin with this guy.  First of all Mr. John H. Schnatter, I do not believe you are a grandfather.  Now I don’t know that you have to be a grandfather to be called “Papa” but this is not the 1920s or an orphanage.  To boot you don’t even look like a grandfather, you have a luscious head of dark black hair.  A “Papa” must, by definition, have white hair or none at all, look it up. You’ve made the commitment. Keep Reading.


This is a photo of two deer I ran into on my daily, morning bike ride. As a person that lives in a city and a child of technology, I don’t get see this kind of thing very often, so it was pretty special. At this very moment I was struck with feelings of awe and respect for the dazzling beauty of nature. I didn’t proceed right away out of fear they would charge, so I waited a few minutes and then approached slowly. They ran away before I got too close.”

The following morning on  my next ride I stumbled upon another deer in the same spot and I thought to myself, “Jesus, another deer. Alright, we get it. Deer live in the forest. Nature is beautiful and whatever. I gotta get to work.”

Unlike his friends, the deer didn’t move right away so I had to whip a rock near him (I did not hit him with the rock or intend to). He ran away.

Stories from Behind the Wall

About “the kid”:

I have worked in a jail for over 7 years and there I’ve seen many unbelievable things. I am going to share some of these stories with you, but I must warn you I  have this tendency to mix in stories from movies and tv to make it more interesting or sometimes flat out I just make stuff up. Take it for what its worth and enjoy.

Cry For Help?

Doing a routine round of the block the other day I was startled by a screaming, partially naked man with one of the top 5 mullets I have ever seen. He had his boxer shorts pulled down just far enough so that his genitals were covered, but half of his bare ass was exposed, it was quite a sight. His long and majestic pubic hair glistened off the LED bulbs of my flashlight. As hard as it is for me to accept, this is a part of my daily life. But I digress.

Totally unprompted the man screams, “I fucking hate you, coward!” Again, something that is not a new experience for me. I politely inquire as to what might be this gentleman’s particular beef with me on that day.  His retort was equally as confusing as his previous exclamation. “Nah man. We cool,” he says. I cordially begin my decent from his cell having moved on with my day and thinking nothing of it. But alas the story does not end there.

As I got about 2 steps away from the cell my ears were penetrated with the desperate cry of, “I need some fucking help!” It was impossible for me to agree more with this guy (considering I could now easily identify him from the waist down), but I just carried on with my day.


Now you may think I was being cold by ignoring this mulleted, half-naked, crazy man’s cry for help, but when you work at a jail you gain wisdom over the years. I’ve learned 2 things over my time here: The first is not to ask how the plunger got snapped in half  and the second is that  there is no cure for crazy.

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