I’m sure I don’t have to convince you to hate these people, they have the charm of airport security personnel but without the community college education.

Asian babies are built in the same way that Chinese food is made: with MSG. They come out of their factories inhumanly adorable. But these kids are special. These eight mixed-race babies have the colonial promise of their caucasian heritage (O, Kate, you noble mare!) and the dopey cuteness of their half-asian father. And that’s it. Get Parry Gripp to write a 59 second song about them on YouTube and that’s all you need to know about their lives. Like that chimpanzee on that Segway.

I wonder why someone loves the spotlight so much?

But let’s just take a second to understand something: real celebrities do not participate in celebrity circus. This arena is reserved for the Prats, Kathy Griffin, everyone who gets twelve year-old girls off (Twilight, Zac, the JoBros) and other no-talent, no-shame, nobodies. Jon and Kate find themselves under these jerks.

Once you remove the eight Furbies from the phenomenon, you’re left with two boring, flabby idiots. Who could’ve predicted that these two average people could be split up by the TV’s holy forces — greed, fame and sex? Yes, Jon looks like Bert of Bert and Ernie, but tons of chicks are into the fact that he has radioactive sperm. One go with this guy and you can kiss your intact uterus goodbye. And girls like that. Obviously, he’s a chick magnet. And yeah, we all feel for Kate. She’s tragically welcome in our hearts like Bambi with headgear. She makes us feel good about our looks and fashion choices, primarily because she looks like a shitty mix of Ellen and a Geico caveman. And she’s got the elegance and self-awareness of that chubby girl in your shop class with her period showing.

But SOMEONE (ahem) keeps giving these fuck-ups all this attention, and no parenting skills. Daddy’s out frenching randoms and Mommy’s on Larry King talking about her mismanaged money, meanwhile, these adorable, frightening little ‘human’ children are without parents. Poor, stupid little Aidan is repeatedly ramming his head into the wall, getting closer and closer to making the show “Kate’s Lonely in Heaven with Only 7″.

All of these exclusive reports are telling us the same thing: Jon and Kate are invested in their children’s futures, that’s it. That’s why they’re fighting about the money, right? But, sorry guys, it’s too late already. When you have seven siblings, you don’t need to worry about the future too much. You’re fucked because you get — at best — an eighth of the love and guidance that your lousy ginger cousin’s getting from your annoying aunt. No matter how hard Jon and Kate try, at least three of the kids will be bipolar, two will be raging lesbians and one will accept Jesus, like REALLY accept Jesus. So just cut your losses and tell the truth: these people suck ass.

By: Brunchnugget

At the next stop a decidedly average looking man jumped on board who was to be anything but average. Imagine if you will someone with a stock car driver frame, a holden hat and a suspiciously bent looking nose.

Then imagine the very same man with the most explosive case of verbal diarrhea you have heard on a train in your life. Sizing up the nearest female he launched into some canine barking. This was to be later explained as something his idol Chris Angel does. Then seeing my uncovered ears he introduced himself as Andrew which means impaled by an angel (apparently).

Being a magnet for all things weird and wonderful we then shared a pole and a discussion of sorts lurched through a variety of subjects.

I could hardly contain my glee. Not since South East Asia has a subject gladly given me such beautiful material. With all of my considerable power I mentally transcribed the conversation for you my eager readers.

Dialog in bold is the funny chap. Dialog in italics are my own attempts to keep the conversation on target.

Big night then?

Nah got hit in the head though can you see it?

Yes I do think I can see something on your head.

Wow look at all of the people on this bus. Lots of children and people going to work. Its CRAZY.Yes it is mass transport.That is quite a hard profession to break into.No I do not play football.I enjoy Gaelic football and method writingBark Bark Woof WoofAt this point we stopped, the sea of full seats parted and my new found friend moved onto to torture another passenger. I kept a keen ear on proceedings….

The poor chap he sat beside had a book.So you use your brain don’t you?It was with a wry smile that I got off the train with a female passenger who had been barked at. She was happy to be escaping. I remarked I would blog about the journey so something good would come of it. I think my last words were in the same been up all night drunken growl.

Yeah so I am a comedian in case you wondering why you are laughing. My whole family are comedians. My mum, my dad, my sisters, my granddad and my grandmother.

So do you play soccer?

You look like posh spice’s boyfriend what sports are you into?

You have a shaved head it has a few bumps. Everyone who has a shaved head has a reason for it being shaved what is your reason?

……….

Gotta use your brain!

Brains are like bones. If you didn’t have them you would flop around like a mullet.

No offense of course.

“No offense but I am a really offensive unfunny comedian”

Guest Blogger Daniel McConnell

Like most other heterosexual men and lesbian women, I went to see Transformers 2 this summer. Anyone who says that movie was good should be shot in the face with an M66 or stabbed in the gut with the sword from Halo. There was one good thing about this movie, but five bad things. And I do mean bad:

5. The plot sucked butt. Major butt. In the first movie, Megatron was like the shit. Can i cuss? Not sure. Anyway, he was the shit. In this movie, there was some new guy called ‘the Fallen’ and the cube was like irrelevant. Made the first movie seem kinda pointless. And, Shiola Bluff still isn’t hot! Then you had like a robot that looked like a hot blonde chick….where did that come from?

4. Why so cheesy! You know, when they like bring up the music and slow everyone down for that extra dramatic effect, when all they were doing is running. If Megan Fox was topless, I would totally understand the point, but she kept her clothes on.

3. Megan Fox kept her clothes on.

2. They made Starscream look like a punk. If you watched Transformers like as a kid, chances are Starscream was like the coolest thing since pockets and the most awesome thing since me. Did I tell you? I’m awesome. Anyway, like they just made him look like he stanked.

1. We have come to the number one reason why Transformers sucked. Drum roll….cause the parents were just plain annoying. Come on!…the mom ate one weed brownie and was high 10 seconds later. It takes a little longer than that to work. And weed doesn’t make you crunk, it frees your mind and make you creative. It also relaxes you and makes ‘Charlie and the Chocolate Factory’ the greatest movie ever to watch. Giving my mom weed would make her the coolest mom ever, not the most annoying.

The only reason Transformers was awesome is cause Megan Fox is hot. It disappointed me that she kept her clothes on, but I would still do her. I’m sure my husband wouldn’t care that I said that, cause he wants to do her too. She just doesn’t know that she could get this. I would go into detail, but I’m sure none of you guys would enjoy that ramble.

Given the barrage of kick ass video games this holiday season, one has to sit back and wonder… will I ever get laid? After a solemn head nod and 45 minutes of crying, the next question they would wonder is…what’s next? I happen to have a secret source within the gaming industry, let’s call this person “my little brother” and he has dished to me the next wave of new games coming to a console near you:

Grand Theft OJ (xbox 360, Wii)- Starts off like Madden ‘79 except when the first quarter ends you kill your wife and navigate your white Bronco through the streets to escape the cops. Doesn’t matter what you do the cops always run into each other and you win every time. Finishes with a demo of Tiger Woods Golf with OJ as the only playable character. Wii Limited Edition comes with a bonus Nintendo Power Glove, but gets recalled shortly thereafter because it never seems to fit anyone.

Rapstar (Wii)- Build up your character as a young white male with a dream. Finish the game playing with the patented WiiSpatula flipping burgers at Mcdonald’s. Final boss battle with parole officer and pregnant wife promises to be a challenge. Rumor has it $50.00/month covers child support online play.

Lindsey Lohan’s Prodater (PS3)- Navigate the streets of LA giving blowjobs to homeless men for beers to increase your health. Then spread the diseases you have acquired to every C-list male actor you come across. Final Boss battle is an epic fight between Lindsey and Left Behind star Kirk Cameron. Give him Herpes and you win the game, and the hearts of America.

Rock Band: Guns n Roses (all systems)- Start off in career mode playing as Axl or Slash. Expert difficulty with Slash makes it impossible to see  when matted black hair and cigarette smoke covers the screen. Build up a massive fan base, sell out arenas, and earn platinum album sales with both characters. Those that play as Slash finish the game to discover a code for downloadable Rock Band: Velvet Revolver. Those that complete the game as Axl are promised downloadable content as well, but it isn’t released for 17 years.

So go ahead kids, start those Christmas lists early, and while you are at it, add me to your Xbox live. I’ll need your help battling Samantha Ronson in Prodater. I’m only a level 5 Carpetlicker.

-Devin

Devin is the Ken Jennings of shittypoems.com andaskmeshit.com along with many other pointless sites that no one visits.

First off, let me start by saying thanks to the awesome and sexy folks at Pointless Banter for letting me be a guest blogger.  Smooch..smooch..yum.

Now, I’m a stay at home Dad. No really. And this allows me to play a part in my kid’s lives traditionally reserved for the ladies. Whatever, I’m cool with it. I guess technically I would be considered a “Work at Home Dad” since I run my own company out of my house but it’s freaking impossible to get any work done with the yelling and stomping and over-all mayhem of my two daughters. For the sake of privacy, I’ll just call them “Wingus” and “Dingus”.

This year, Dingus started Kindergarten at the school down the road. We had just moved here so this was a pretty exciting day for both of us. When we arrived at the school, I told Dingus to go play with the other kids on the playground for a minute while I scoped out the other parents. As I stood in the middle of the school grounds, I scanned the sea of parental units just waiting to dump little Logan and little Caitlin into the abyss. That’s when I noticed it. I sensed something, a presence I’ve not felt since….High School.

Cliques.

Parental Cliques, are you fucking kidding me?! There must have been Seven to Ten Mini-“Borg Collectives” filled with parents all jabbering about each other. No joke. There were all kinds, you name it…I saw it. There were the Range Rover Parents, the Ford F150 Parents, and the Hybrid car parents. Then there’s the Way to involved with the School Parents, the Nothing else matters but Sports Dads, and the Mom’s that just can’t come to grips with the fact that they are not 21 they’re 41 and should stop dressing like a whore. Now I just had to see this up close so I put on my shades and pretended to talk on my cell phone while I strolled in and out of the buzzing hives, trying desperately not to call attention to myself for fear of assimilation.

The shit that poured out of these people’s mouths blew my mind! Grown-ups talking smack about other grown-ups, their kids, the teachers…it was…let me put it this way; I wouldn’t have been surprised if a goddamn DeLorean came flying out of nowhere with Doc Brown screaming “Let’s go Marty, we gotta get back! We messed up the future and now everyone’s a giant Douche!” Seriously…for like a second there, I thought that might happen. C’mon, it would have been cool.

After several minutes passed I started to slowly back away. And that’s when I noticed something else. Out of all the parents gathered that morning, not one of them was playing with their kid. These little terrified kids, who had no clue of what the hell was going on, were just standing there staring at other little strange and bewildered faces. So I decided to do what I always did in High School. I said, Fuck it!

I took off my shades, put the cell away and chased my little Dingus around the playground until I had chest pains. I occasionally glanced over at the other parents, and noticed most of them had a look on their puss like they just smelt the most horrific fart ever produced by man. But I didn’t care. They could all take the A-train up my ass. Dingus was happy to play with her Daddy and that’s all that mattered. So I chased her around some more until I damn near puked.

Side Note: If I hear one more Mom call their son “Bud” or “Buddy” I’m going to chew my own nuts off. When I was a kid, my Mom called me Steve or on occasion, sweetie or when she was drinking, Dave.

Now the time has come where our beloved Bobby has entered into that zone of life that he never, ever imagined, where all his sacred thoughts, perverted and twisted acts and downright debauchery of all things sacred to man have come to a screeching halt. As my wife unintentionally entered the Bob’s mother, my sister and the woman whose very loins dropped that 14 lb head, gut of a Greek god (fully bloated), and the owner of the “Herman” onto the world of Facebook, she has joined the 21st century, totally and forever keeping the mother’s hand on the author’s doings, writings and all things bullshit. The reasons’ this is sweet are as follows:

1. You had it coming…all those years, all those years when we heard how you were doing so great, your grades were exceptional (Bobby graduated from the longest named college in the state of California, not to mention that before they turned into his alma mater, it was a nut house, and they accredited the inmates, so that American Histories of Television professor you had was actually a hobo who watched every channel piped into his ward, 24/7 and remembers’ when Brutus and Bluto were the same person)…when we sat at all those seasonal gatherings and had to wait for your over-nourished and under educated body to arise at 3 pm so we could have the traditional family dinner, while you rambled on and on about your current mountings of the opposite sex (I won’t mention the duck and……………wait, I just did)….while “Mom” sat by with her Betty Crocker smile and dinner, all this for her little boy.

Skank...

2.Your sister is laughing all the way to Tijuana…I can see it now, as she drives with her current tattooed, coked-out, one toothed, three eyed “client” to the land of pharmaceutical heaven, and after she pays the guy for the lip balm to clear up that nasty “cold sore”, she gazes into her laptop (which isn’t busy at the moment….her lap that is), and to her astonishment, here is her published and highly touted brother, reading how as you explain to your mother about the girl, the midget (sorry….vertically challenged individual) and the subway…you may be Mom’s favorite now, but the time is now for you to run and hide.

3. Now it’s my turn….  ha  that’s all I’ve got and now you realize that all those times’ when you cried and hollered and screamed “I’m telling my mother” will now forever live on in your scary little world plus the fact she now knows’ what you do every day, and you are not working at that home in Boston where all those 90+ year old people who had coronaries’ after the Red Sox won their rings’.

There are times in people’s lives when they need to see the big picture, take on a job or task that is grueling and sometimes time grabbing and must put other’s on the back burner in order to proceed forward. Our beloved blogmaster has recently had to embark on tedious yet necessary tasks in his rather laborious way of life to continue on the quest for his brass ring, and having recently spending some quality time with him, I thought I’d share with you all just what he’s been doing and why he is NOT paying attention to the second most important daily read internet site on the face of the planet (number one being the HuffingtonPost, because no one can understand her when she talks, so they read her stupid website)….

1. The drinking….now our founding father has a social and business way of life that keeps him on those 20-hour-a-day junkets that no power drink or prescription drug could possibly help, yet the stories of booze, golf stories, gambling junkets and women just keep rolling off his tongue…the man is the Dean Martin of the next generation, becoming America’s host, taking on all and tackling every unimportant activity that he can, and doing this while never setting down, turning down and/or putting cash down for a single beer, cocktail, shot and pink lady in his path…if he were stopped at a roadblock, the attending officer could use his blood to top off the radiator on his cruiser, yet the breathalyzer test alone could send global warming ahead 25 years…..

2.The golf…now I don’t confess to be a top flight golfer, but I can play a pretty decent game…having recently injured a knee, I haven’t played but 9 holes, plus being in western NY, one day you play golf, the next day you call a snow plow driver….but Bobby recently vacationed in SoCal, playing golf everyday with family so he has “warmed up for the season”…he came to visit here for 5 days’ (what a life), and played 27 holes a day, ruining every piece of real estate between here and his hometown…now when I needed him to come through in an event as my partner on the links, the cart girl was dressed in full body armor, the greens keepers’ went home early because he never put a ball on the putting surface, and the only group’s on the course who were in his ball’s flight path were on the other fairways’ or BEHIND us…you figure that out for yourselves

3.Gambling…I never, ever nor will I ever meet anyone in the rest of my days’ on this earth that never, ever loses at the tables, slot machines or back alley crap games…the man is god when it come’s to the second oldest profession in the world….of course in Bobby’s world the oldest profession is, of course………………………………………….lying.

4. The ladies’….now our lead author and beloved Pulitzer prize finalist has always had a carnal streak in his back, much like his grandfather and my beloved father…..in other words’ the man is a snake….but as Bobby returned to his college embraced hometown, school of course is not in session for the summer, but Bobby still managed to terrorize the town with his wanker at full mast (Herman at his finest)….of course there were stories of conquest with: the Italian divorcee’ with the pimple just to the right of her three feet of cleavage and the braided armpits, the farmer’s/tractor operator lady who’s perfume was just short of the full blown-out manure smell, and the queen of the road, the little lady who road in on the Honda 250, leather vest with nothing on underneath, and “Angel” scratched onto the knuckles’ with the razor and ball-point pen…you know, the women of all our fantasies’ and truly the members’ of the opposite sex that so enthrall Bobby…..and he “conquered” them all, but I did hear him on the phone with a Rite-Aid pharmacist asking when he could pick up his prescription…must be he is ahead of all of us with this swine flu prevention.

Why the Maddoff connection? He’s taking us all for the ride of a lifetime, there are people who want to kill him, and he should be locked up, at least on the weekends, and he’s hosting a drunken, incest laiden “speaking engagement’ in Chicago in 1 week…..he’ll have his picture in their post office shortly

What do I mean by romance = the creepy? Well, I thought I had it bad enough as a writer who refuses to use “purple prose.” You know, the old stand-bys of “his purple helmeted man-hammer delved her throbbing, wet sheath.” Sorry, I snickered just writing that crap. However, reputable groups for writers look down on those of us who don’t “polish the pearl” opting instead for words like clit and (insert fainting virginal Victorian Aunt squeal here) cock. I mean let’s be serious, if I’m laughing at my own writing so is my reader, no?

Then I got an eye of the newest competition.

1. Nothin’ says lovin’ like arranging for your girl to be the syphilitic sloppy seconds of a spent heavy metal band.

According to Spinner.com fans actually implored the members of Metallica to sleep with their girlfriends. Ew.

Yeah, I could only imagine wanting to be the guy bathing happily in Lars Ulrich’s spooge while saying, “guess who loves ya baby?”

2. Choose-Your-Own-Adventure romance books for those guys and gals who just don’t have the time to send an email to their loved one overseas.

It’s like a bodice-ripper version of ad-libs. Simply provide them with 26 different characteristics (including pets, kind of a freaky thought, just what is Fluffy’s role to be anyway?), and give them your credit card then voila! You’re the proud new owner of a romance novel – starring you and your sweetie – that you co-authored.

To me this is like the vibrator for the prudish, single, spinster types that refuse to think about sex toys let alone consider using them. “Oh! Eustace, you’ve got to read this novel I penned! It features me and Johnny Depp!” Sad and rather disturbing.

And last but not least…

3. Amish Erotica

There, I said it. Amish porn, it is real and it exists. Oh sure, the writers and readers will defend their little niche market as being “spiritual” and “uplifting” but we know better. Take for instance the first line of the novel “Hitched”:

“Hey hot stuff, you wanna sit with me at the singin’ tonight?” Oh yeah, that is so chaste. I couldn’t read anymore, all my twitchy brain could envision were couples sitting around a fire while these two were playing gargle and rinse. Totally puts those bearded dudes with the buggy whips into proper perspective doesn’t it? Bet ol’ Abner could give a lesson or three on domination, bondage and the proper wrist-flick for a switch.

In all honesty, when my mom (yes, my mom, much to my sadness) brought home a stack of these, I was freaked out. I think her having a theton reading by Scientologists would have been less traumatic a shock to the system. Then I found websites where the Amish sell bondage harnesses and floggers and I felt like I needed to bathe – in gasoline.

All I ever wanted stuck in my poor, abused brain was a hairy-legged, bonnet-clad Amish chick playing “pony” in the barn whinnying for ol’ Jebediah.

That’s it. My romance muse has been deep fried and served with a side of slaw. Maybe it is time for me to go back to writing Penthouse Forum Letters under the name Mike.

What new trends in the field of romance do you guys find disturbing?

I’ve often wondered what it would be like to be home schooled. I know a couple home schooled kids from my city, and they seem fairly educated but at the same time they seem a little bit different socially. Personally, my own kids won’t be home schooled. First off, I’m far too lazy and will be much too busy drinking margaritas and driving around in my Corvette. Second, school provides kids with certain life lessons that they need to learn. Earlier this year, my school taught me and everyone else a valuable lesson in health and safety.

Yes, This story involves a bat.

Before I start, you should know I live in Montana. Yes, that state.  And no, not the one with potatoes, you’re thinking of Idaho. And yes, we still ride horses to school. ANYWAYS, near the end of a regular school day I learned the news that a parent had brought a dead bat to the elementary. Yes, a dead bat. To a building filled with children. She then proceeded to go around to different fourth and fifth grade classes encouraging kids to handle the flying vermin.

I know what you’re wondering: why would a school allow a dead bat to be brought in and passed around? Granted, it may not have been the best decision for the faculty to OK it, but you need to understand that teachers here are most likely NOT like teachers where you live. In order to get certified to teach in Montana, applicants just have to be able to barrel race horses and skin a deer. No fancy city folk background checks and college education required. So now you understand why this kind of situation could arise.

Alas, the story does not end here. A school nurse at my school heard about the great science show and tell at the elementary and told the parent who brought the bat that she needed to send it in to get tested for rabies. I think you can guess what results the school got back. In all, 90 students were exposed to the friendly little critter, and each rabies shot cost around $200. Luckily, my school had Retarded Blunder Insurance and its liability paid for all the shots to be overnight shipped to here. Apparently this kind of thing doesn’t happen very often, and rabies shots aren’t manufactured in that large of quantity. My school’s hands-on bat lollapalooza ended up causing a nation-wide shortage of the vaccine, and was featured on national news, including CNN.

As it turns out, the parent who brought the bat it was a certified nurse. If the next time you’re watching TV and you hear about a small school who brought in a live alligator for students to wrestle, check back here my most recent blog. At least now I know not to infect small children with a potentially life threatening disease. And the kids that had to get rabies shots now know not to trust anyone. Ever.

The lessons we learn at school: priceless.
~Kenson