World Cup Shmerld Cup

So on Saturday the USA soccer team was eliminated from the World Cup by Ghana by a dramatic extra time goal. Strangely enough, seconds later millions of Americans immediately remembered that soccer is gay.

Now don't get me wrong, I'm a full-blown patriot through and through and I love the concept of international competition, but as an American I can just never bring myself to appreciate the World Cup. As Americans we have dominated the world of international sports for over 100 years, but I refuse to submit to the powers of soccer simply because of its worldwide appeal, for more than enough reasons. But before I get into why soccer sucks, let me just preface it by saying this...

This is America (pronounced 'Merica) and for 200 years we have served as the leaders of industry, business, scientific exploration, progressive thought, and yes even sports. The thing is, here in undeniably the greatest country in the world, soccer is a sport for 6 year-olds and overzealous, clueless mothers who have nothing better to do than pull their jeans up to their nipples. There is no arguing the fact that in the US, the athletic Mecca, soccer has been relegated to the basement of sport. I'm not saying that World Cup caliber soccer isn't a sport and that soccer players are all gay. No, not at all, because generalizations like that aren't true, like when I say that all Asians turn into Gremlins if you feed them after midnight when deep down I know that probably only half of them are actually Gremlins, but I digress. What I'm saying is, if America doesn't give a shit about soccer right here in our own backyards and local athletic fields, then why are people still getting strong-armed into believing that we're supposed to care about the World Cup?

Let's be honest, we're not any fucking good at soccer, and there's an obvious reason for that. Here in America we focus on sports that aren't lame like basketball, baseball, golf, and football. We'll never be in the upper echelon of soccer because our athletes are out smashing the world's fuckbox in every other sport known to man. But why is it that soccer gets left in the dust? This is the country where every opportunity imaginable is available to you as long as you work hard and have a little bit of skill, the kind of opportunities that aren't available anywhere else in the world. That being said, if you can't make it here, then you've got a problem. There's no easy way of saying this to you soccer, but we're gonna have to let you go.

Being that soccer was cut from the proverbial Freshman B Team here in the great US of A, any place that soccer can thrive is a little suspect for me. In the land of freedom and opportunity soccer has failed but yet it still reigns supreme for entire countries and continents. So the question is, what has been ignored that has allowed the sport of soccer to climb to the top. maybe we should take a look...

South and Central America, a place where beautiful women walk along the beaches in thongs 'aint half bad. It also happens to be a place where it is widely accepted that the drug cartels and criminal organizations have much stronger and more intact infrastructures than their national government's. Children are kidnapped at alarming rates while civilians and tourist are trapped in busses and burned alive for their wallets and purses, but heck, their soccer teams roll on mother fuckers.

Spain & Portugal are playing each other as I type this, a match-up of soccer titans. My first question, one that I assume a lot of other people are asking is, who the fuck is footing their bill? These two nations' flat out refusal to pay their fucking taxes has caused a debt crisis that has essentially tied an Acme anvil to the ankle of other European countries and capital markets. But that Christiano Ronaldo sure is dreamy.

Africa, I saw Blood Diamond and that place seems like it really sucks. Its a place where even I am struggling to find something tongue and cheek to say about it. At the forefront of the AIDS epidemic and where hundreds if not thousands of people starve to death every single day. Hosting arguably the largest spectator even in the world in Africa seems to me at first glance like having an impromptu dance party in the recreational yard of jail. Don't sound to fun to me, especially because the only hot dance beats are coming from one of those stupid fucking vuvuzelas. If soccer is all they've got, then maybe that's a testament to how dire things really are. Ghana, seriously? Jesus, let them have a win or two, it looks like they need it.

All I'm saying is we need to take a breather on this whole World Cup Shmerld Cup thing, because as of right now its a collection of countries that kinda suck playing a sport that an overwhelming amount of people here don't care about. Let's not forget, when we hosted the Cup games back in 1994 all the spectators, more appropriately named "dirty ass foreigners" literally urinated everywhere. The Blue Line tunnels still reek like piss. Thanks World Cup, smell ya later.

Now that the US has been eliminated, if I actually cared about soccer I'd be riding Team Germany, because Germans don't take shit from anyone and that's pretty American of them, plus they have a badass dude named Schweinsteiger who does some serious smashing. Smash on, Schweinsteiger.

"Sure I've been called a Xenophobe, but the truth is I'm not. I honestly feel that America is the best country and all other countries aren't as good. That used to be called patriotism."

Ridiculous 1980's music video of the day; Tarzan Boy by Baltimora

I have no words

Honestly I don't even know what to say. My girl KP and her mammary masterpieces have gone and done it again, finally proving to me that it really is OK for grown men to cry. I am not ashamed in any way to admit that "California Gurls" has already been my summer jam for weeks, and I have patiently been waiting for the moment that I can fist pump to it out of the passenger side (no scrubs) window of Pat McHugh's Jeep. I can't tell whether to be completely awed by the video or to be incredibly frightened by it. It obviously encapsulates everything in life that I hold dear, that being KP, her immaculate chest, a fully interactive version of Hasbro's Candyland board game, and my homie Snoop who SBB is both inspired by and dedicated to. But I am also a wee bit scared because the either the video director Matthew Cullen has been able to build some Hot Tub Space Shuttle Machine and fly to an amazing Utopian world where Katy Perry frolicks amongst cotton candy clouds and sprays whipped cream out of her jugs, OR he has figured out how to access my wet dreams while I sleep. I guess neither one really bothers me that much, and on second thought, this man may be a complete genius.

However, maybe he doesn't deserve all the credit, because deep down I'm pretty sure I somehow created this music video with my brain. After all, it is moi who closes his eyes and wishes for a world where this scenario can exist every time I feel scared or lonely.

2 more elements of proof that I may have wished this video into existence with my brain.

       1.) At the 2:12 mark in the vid she steals my favorite go-to Spring Break dance move

       2.) The 3:24 mark is an almost exact depiction of what happened in my pants while I watched this video

Thank you Matthew Cullen,
Thank you perverted childlike brain of mine that seemingly willed this video into existence,
...and most of all...
Thank you Jesus, for it was you who died on a cross so that I may have eternal life & have KP melt my popsicle with her sun kissed skin

Amen
SBB

Post Script: Some gayrod at YouTube won't let me post the embedded video straight to the blog, so I can only provide the link right now, mea culpa

Let this bring you to tears and suddenly crave cotton candy

Furniture Fuckfest 2010

Recently I moved into an apartment of my own a couple of miles up town to the north. The one problem that I was facing now that I am an uptown girl living in my white bread world was that I really didn't own any of my own shit. For the last 3+ years I have always lived with a pretty large group of roommates, which essentially much allowed me to get by with a very minimalistic existence. However, those days are over and this uptown girl needs some furniture, so what do I do? I go to IKEA, a very unique experience to say the least. Whereas a trip to a place like Wall-Mart is very much like going to a carnival where all the fun an childlike wonderment is replaced by vomit, generations of selective intra-family breeding, and demon children, going to IKEA is kinda like a grade school field trip. Everything feels clean and sterile, while the wives/girlfriends walk around like teachers and chaperones while guys walk slowly ten to fifteen feet behind dragging their shoes and pretending to be somewhere else. One of the first things I noticed upon entering the store was that there was an inordinate amount of Eastern Europeans judging by the amount of black roots on top of dirty blonde hair, pointy faces, graphic tees, women that look like Dog the Bounty Hunter, and the overwhelming cologne shower aroma. Just an observation, that's all I'm saying.

A few years ago before the world realized that Dane Cook is a douche-wrap supreme I had a copy of his stand up album, and in one of his bits he goes on to explain how whenever he goes into a Walgreens he is overcome with the feeling that he needs to steal. Even though he's an emotive gayrod I think he hit the nail on the head with this one. No, I don't actually feel like stealing from Walgreens, mostly because I don't need free tampons and because the only things I really want to steal are behind the pharmacist's counter. PILLS!!! PILLS!!! I NEED MY PILLS OR I GET REALLLLYYYY NERVOUSSSS!!!! No, I don't feel like stealing when I walk in Walgreens, but I have my own personal version of the Dane Cook sentiment; when the doors open up at IKEA and I venture inside, all I can think of is how I need to have sex on every one of the thousands of pieces of furniture in the building. Every. Single. One.

I don't really know what it is, but something about the awkward shape of the individual furniture pieces and the names that nobody outside of Stockholm can pronounce make me feel a strange sense of exotic eroticism. "Wow the Flugtasten sofabed and ottoman combo would go great in our living room. I wonder what you would look like bent over it".  Am I wrong? Am I wrong? "Oooohh the Hastveda kitchen table is just so cute that its making me all tingly in my penis area, let's fuck on top of it until one of the legs breaks off"... and so it goes while looking at every single piece in the superstore.

There is another observation that I can't help but make while shopping at IKEA; there are a lot of pieces of furniture in here that could look good in a house or apartment, however I don't think it would look so great once a guy not unlike myself blasts the first of numerous yet inevitable cum stains on the new fabric. Honestly, all it takes is a single spur of the moment sexual encounter (talk to your doctor about whether Cialis is right for you) that gets reckless for 2 seconds and you completely ruin that neat little chaise lounge you bought. Oh who are we kidding, I was you were whackin' it on the sofa to Taxicab Confessions again...

The reason the Dane Cook bit was funny was because it was pretty true, you do actually feel like stealing when you walk into a Walgreens. That's why I am pretty confident in saying that you probably get the same feelings I do when you are perusing the aisles of IKEA; you just feel like you need to go to pound town when you're surrounded by so much furniture. If you don't, I guess I don't have much to say to you except suck it. I know there's at least a couple of people that feel the same way I do. This particular couple, let's call them Shmerin Shmreg and Shmo Shmoboda will pretty much have sex anywhere and on anything, including but not limited to certain people's beds when they are nice enough to let them sneak into their unoccupied apartment to use the potty. Don't ever bring these two "defilers of the domicile" to IKEA, because knowing what they have been known to do on regular furniture that doesn't belong to them, I can only imagine what would happen if they walked into the Swedish superstore. Furniture Fuckfest  2K10.

There you go Shmerin, you wanted a shout out and you got it.
As the wise fabler Aesop once said, "Be careful what you wish for, you just might get it, especially if you have sex on someone else's bed"

Over and out Ghostrider,
SBB

We Be Steady Mobbin

As the Blackhawks inch closer and closer to bringing a championship back to Chicago I simply cannot help myself from getting a little excited. Sure I'm really pumped about the fact that the Hawks are playing for the Stanley Cup, but there's a whole other branch of excitement that's stemming from this playoff run. I have already played witness to 6 Bulls NBA championship seasons, and I was in attendance for 2 games of the 2000 Subway Series between the Yankees and the Mets, both incredible experiences for a young sports fan. However I was only a mere child back then, and we know what the best part about being a completely irresponsible young adult when your team brings home the ship; not bragging rights for your hood, not a commemorative ticker-tape parade downtown, not even being able to call yourselves "defending champs" for the whole next season. No, that shit's for the birds my friends, I'm talking about the ability to participate in a full scale riot.

That's what being the fan of a championship allows you to do. You and your fellow fans join together in a display of solidarity and are rewarded for your commitment by chugging beers amongst the masses, tipping over cars, breaking shit, and lighting inanimate objects ablaze. The team and city get a trophy, and you get to run wild through the streets in an whiskey induced hysteria, who could ask for more.

As fucking awesome as it is going to be to run uncontrollably through the city like a crazed banshee without so much as a stern look from fellow rioters, a mob mentality is a double-edged sword or sorts and can certainly have its downsides, often referred to as herd behavior

Herd behavior describes how individuals in a group can act together without planned direction. The term pertains to the behavior of animals in herds, flocks, and schools, and to human conduct during activities such as stock market bubbles and crashes, street demonstrations, sporting events, religious gatherings, episodes of mob violence and even everyday decision making, judgment and opinion forming.

Thanks Wikipedia, I couldn't have said it better myself! Like I said, a mob mentality can definitely have its downsides, but I've never been one to care too much about the victimization of others, except of course when I am the victim in question. So here's an instance where mob mentality is at its worst.

You've already heard me list my transgressions about the mutants of public transportation, but this took instance blew the doors off that mother fucker

A few weeks ago I boarded a northbound redline train on my way to work, and where I get on just happens to be one stop south of an inner city high school and a Chicago City community college. Needless to say, there are more freaks and hoodlums than you can shake a stick at. So as I walk casually into the train car I see a group of about 10 girls throwing a beating into some innocent looking old white woman. I say she was innocent because she was like I said, was an old white woman, effectively making her more unassuming and harmless than a baby dolphin. Apparently the old woman had asked them to please stop yelling while they were on the train, because after all it was 7:30 am, which I guess is grounds for an all out gang beating at the hands of a group of 16 year old girls while their male friends watched and cheered. Did I come to her aide? No sir I did not, because I watch the news and I'm not dummy. People who intervene get their asses beat and their iphones stolen, two things I wanted no part of. Sorry Gertrude (or whatever her old lady name was). Before you start judging me for not throwing myself into a wild pack of angry half-breeds to save some old bag of bones, I will have you know that it seemed like some other stupid schmuck Good Samaritan had it under control because he was getting punched repeatedly in the stomach holding a few girls back while yelling something equally retarded like "Game Over! Game Over! Game Over!" Since apparently the game was over I didn't feel too bad about finding a secluded, gang beating-free seat at the opposite end of the train car. Phew! Really dodged a bullet there.

Not even three days later the same fucking group of jagaloons are on my train car. Understanding a little bit of herd behavior I know that often times people will do things when they're in large groups that they normally wouldn't do on their own (like beating the shit out of that lady from Golden Girls while riding the train), I know to keep a safe distance in order to not send the herd into a craze. Regardless of my efforts to stay away, they make their way over to me as the train pulls into their stop. What happened next was something that I think will leave me confused and angry for the rest of my life. The fat leading female of the group/geezer basher extraordinaire comes up to me with all her minions behind her and proceeds to say "Hello nice white man" while she begins to stroke my chest and stomach with her hand, and then say "You feel like a kitty". What? "Bitchyu betta check yo-self and keep your public school, Section 8 hands off my cashmere sweater before shit gets real"...is what I was thinking in my head. What I actually said was more along the lines of "Stop touching me please", so as to not be a catalyst for another instance of public transportation ass-stompings textbook herd behavior. It truly could have been mob mentality at its worst, people coming together as a group in order to act without any rationale with me as the cashmere clad victim.

But don't fret little bitches, the rest of this post will serve as my testament to how awesome taking part in mob mentality can be. Here is SBB's ode to Mark Swantek and the social phenomenon of herd behavior, and just remember kids, sometimes people do things in groups that they would never do alone...

"Let's see if we can turn this pig roasting spit into a bonfire"

 "Looks fun, let's all join in!"

Monkey See, Monkey Do

"WE NEED to pile some more shit on this thing"

Burn Baby Burn

Fuck that shit, cuz I ain't the one
For a punk muthafucka with a badge and a gun

As promised, I leave you with another music video with a gratuitous amount of 80's


Keep it sleazy,
SBB

I'll Give You Asthma

Its that time of year again folks, the 8 month Chicago winter season seems to be coming to a close. What does that mean for us guys? It's time to get our Tiger Woods on, and by that I mean sprinkling in a few rounds of golf in between banging obnoxious amounts of cocktail waitresses. Eh, who am I kidding? You're more likely to see me and my friends pinching said cocktail waitresses on the be-hind and making pelvic thrusts while we grunt like a potbelly pigs. What can I say, I'm such a doll.

So its golf season, and the more we break out the clubs, the more you will be forced to bear witness to possibly one of the most annoying things that people don't realize they are doing. Trust me, once you notice it for the first time golfing will forever be different. Its an unstoppable force during what should be a carefree and relaxing 18 holes; the egregious an unnecessary amount of Caddyshack references.

"Its in the hole! Its in the hole! Its in the hole!" Really? I don't think it is, considering you were yelling while I was trying to concentrate here, thanks though. We get it, you've seen the movie, now can you do me a solid here and shut the fuck up for a minute. The problem is most people don't even realize that they're doing it, which directly relates to them not understanding how fucking annoying it gets after a whole afternoon. Its like word vomit, something about the setting just makes it come out and by then its far too late. Now, don't get me wrong, I love Caddyshack, in fact its one of my favorite movies of all time, I simply do not need to hear it quoted, misquoted and run into the ground every time I feel like golfing.

You're standing on the tee box and all of a sudden you start to feel a little bit of rain. "I don't think the the heavy stuff's gonna come down for quite a while". Thanks Carl Spackler/Tom Skilling, we appreciate your very informative retort, you were a really great addition to the foursome. Let's be honest here, Caddyshack is funny because it featured a group of professional comics who made very successful careers out of saying funny shit, and you on the other hand are just a fat guy with basic cable and a set of golf clubs. Do you know how long it takes to play a whole round of golf? Pretty much all fucking day, and when an asshole friend is relentlessly imitating Bill Murray and Rodney Dangerfield you'll be bleeding from your ears by the 13th hole. The easiest way to address it would just be to have everyone in the foursome gather around the first tee box and spend five minutes getting them all out of our system. Say whatever you want now before we tee off, and if we have to hear you say "its in the hole!" or something about a fucking gopher while we're on the course I'm going to hit you in the back of your knee with a 5 iron.

Trust me, if you haven't noticed it yet I guarantee you will the next time you go golfing, because its not only a reality that won't be going away any time soon, but its sure to ruin your fucking day. Thankfully I have never spent a summer as a caddy, so I've got that going for me

Obligatory shout-out for inspiration to Michael Danielak

And in what I will be adding to my posts for the next few weeks, an obnoxious 80's music video. One of many to come...

SBB out

I'm so before my time

I feel as though I was a little harsh on ginger clown-face Kathy Griffin in my latest post so I'm going to make up for it by saying a few nice things about someone today, but not Kathy Griffin because she sucks baby turds. So I'm going to say something nice about myself. I'm a fucking genius, it was half a year ago that I was saying how Katy Perry is absolutely gorgeous and how her chest was sculpted with DaVinci-like artistry, in fact it was one of the first things I have ever posted about. Well yesterday Maxim magazine being the dense-skulled slow learners that they are finally decided to go ahead and agree with me by naming her #1 on their annual Hot 100. Obviously you know how I feel about her, but in a strange way I also feel like the fan of a sports team that just won a championship, except with less champagne soaked celebrations and a lot more masturbating. Poor taste? Probably, but oh well.

The Maxim Hot 100 is obviously judged on a superficial basis, doing there best to rank these woman based on a pretty unrealistic standard of female beauty that publications like theirs have not only created but continue to perpetuate. However, I though it was rather interesting that in their explanation of why they chose her for the #1 spot on the list;  

 "Katy Perry is the best friend you suddenly realize you’ve loved your whole life. The rad chick who taught you how to skateboard and whistle and also looks unbelievable in a bikini."  

That's pretty insightful coming from a magazine that junior high boys whack it to. A lot of masturbating talk today, sorry folks (not sorry). Either way I thought this was a decent message being sent to the multitude of females out there with personal body image issues. In a way they were saying that you don't need to be the cheerleader type with long blonde hair, because guys actually will find you attractive if you are individualistic and have spunk like Katy Perry; you are all beautiful in your own special way! I'm just joking, that's totally gay, I hope you didn't think I turned into a Sally there for a minute. Let's not kid ourselves here, I think they nailed it naming her #1 but let's acknowledge that its not because of her girl-next-door look, its because of her bountiful chest. Without her perfect sweater kittens she's probably not in the top 20, but lucky for her when the Lord gave, he kept on giving. What they really should have said in place of their candy-ass explanation, was that if you're not the drop-dead gorgeous blonde then you'd better have an incredible set of tits.

So here she is atop the Maxim Hot 100. Now don't forget Katy, with great breasts comes great responsibility

Keep it sleazy,
SBB

Hello Internet, Its me, Joe

I'm 23, I'm a big boy now. I have a big boy apartment (kinda), I wear big boy underpants (hardly ever), I read big boy books (while pooping) and I have big boy issues (mostly ingrown toenails), and one of those big boy issues is the fact that, like most other adults I have a job that can be a complete mental drain. The easiest way for me to keep my brain from slowly leaking out of my ears is to leave work for almost every second of my hour-long lunch break. As you can probably imagine, hanging out in downtown Evanston is a blast, and by that I mean it totally fucking sucks. I mostly hate it because nobody in town looks like me, and every putz with a Liberal Arts degree feels the need to harass me into signing a petition to support legislation that would combat the canine leukemia epidemic, or something as equally unimportant and stupid. You've already heard how, for the most part, diversity has a way of making me feel uncomfortable. So, in order to keep myself from having a panic attack every time I want to get out of my office I go to the one place where I know the crowd will be homogeneous and I won't be pressured into listening to someone guilt trip me for not caring about the poor quality of drinking water in South America; Barnes and Noble.

Over the last few months I have perused just about every inch of the downtown bookstores. A few days ago I was looking at a few books while also searching for a quiet secluded area to fart in when I found myself in the biography section. We all should know what a biography is by now, and if someone doesn't they should probably go back to eating dirt and kicking dandelions before their babysitter realizes their on a computer unsupervised. Over the course of the last few years I have read more than a few biographies, and in doing so I have been entertained and I have also learned a lesson or two from the people whose lives have been profiled. However, when I was looking over the newly released biographies/finally letting go of a fart where nobody would hear it, I came to a realization; there are far too many biographies written about the ultimately undeserving. It used to be that biographies were written about highly influential individuals, who through their actions, intelligence, or ideas, have made some sort of historical or social impact. I can only assume that requirements have since changed in the last few years, because apparently anyone and everyone who thinks they have a story to tell deserves an entire book devoted to them. Clearly I disagree. I simply cannot picture a publishing executive sitting behind a large cherry wood desk, stroking his tiny chin while trying to decide if its a solid business decision to fund and distribute a book about the life and times of Bea Arthur, I just don't see it. Don't get me wrong, there are people who deserve to have their life's story told to the public, but it seems that anyone who have a semi-famous name these days already has a book deal lined up. If you don't believe me go and take a stroll around the biography section of your local bookstore and then try and tell me I'm wrong. Go ahead and make my day you little bitches.

Something that has always pissed me off  is the idea of someone writing a biography about their own life. Scientists call this an "autobiography", because the first one was written by Henry Ford, but don't quote me on that. Regardless, anyone who thinks that they are important enough to write an autobiography is, without an ounce of doubt, a self-absorbed asshole. To think that you personally, are so relevant that the world stands to gain something by reading your personal opinion of yourself means you're probably either crazy or a total prick. Besides trying to marry a charcoal sketch of your own face, is there something more narcissistic? Methinks not, but this is America and people here are entitled to their own opinions no matter how shitty. This isn't Iran and people aren't going to get their hands cut off for being self-important dipshits, but since this is America I choose to invoke my right to call them an asshole. 

Some pretty important people have written autobiographies in the past, people of societal importance like Benjamin Franklin, Fredrick Douglass, and Gandhi to name a few. But in just 30 seconds at the Evanston Barnes & Noble I found this literary form being bastardized by the likes of Dog the Bounty Hunter, has-been porn star Tera Patrick, and Todd Bridges a.k.a. Willis Jackson from Diff'rent Strokes. Seriously, what the fuck are you talking about Willis?

Like I said, I was stunned to see how many undeserving people had biographies written about them, and was even more stunned to see how many of them were actually autobiographies. It was one of these in particular that made me lose my shit and ultimately inspired this post. To preface my next point allow me to just say that there is nobody on Earth I hate more than Kathy Griffin, so naturally I was infuriated when I had to see her disgusting face draped across the cover of a book. Honestly, has the whole world gone mad? I must be in the fucking Twilight Zone because only in a wretched and warped universe would something like this be allowed to happen. Publishing the personal memoir of Kathy Clownface Griffin seems pretty similar to taking a time machine back to the 1400's and hitting Johannes Gutenberg in the dick with a baseball bat for inventing the printing press. There are people in this world who have lived a life worth telling, people who have made significant contributions to the world in which we live. Kathy Griffin simply does not fall into that category.

As stated earlier, I absolutely abhor her. Oddly enough her and I are from the same hometown, which is usually grounds for some completely unfounded attraction and support for her as a person, but not this bitch. How could I support her with a face like that? She looks like Ronald McDonald's unloved bastard son dressed in drag. She honest to God might be the Irish Rupaul. My sweet mother taught me better than to make fun of people for things they can't change, but I think any ounce of clemency towards her deserves to be suspended after her multiple plastic surgeries that just left her looking equally gross. Its a sad day when Hollywood's own plastic surgeons can't fix you. I absolutely love the fact that her own husband stole $72,000 from her and ran away forever, that just speaks volumes as to her face and overall state of being. My only assumption is that he turned on the lights one night and realized he had just been having sex with Carrot Top, and thus did the only thing that seemed fitting; he got the fuck out of there.

People as ugly as Kathy Griffin need to have some sort of real, discernible talent to exist in show business, and that's the part that I simply can't wrap my mind around. How does someone have a career  as a comedian when they are inherently unfunny? Outside of her chimp-like face, what's so funny about her? Nothing I've ever seen or heard. Her stand-up routine is about as funny as cancer, yet she has parlayed that into legitimate acting roles as well as her own reality show on Bravo (which is just a closeted gay version of the Lifetime network might I add). Like I said, I feel like I woke up in the fucking twilight zone. How did this happen? She's painfully unfunny and has a face like a mask from the Scream movies.

Oh wait, It must be my lucky day because all the answers I could possibly need are probably right there on the pages of her autobiography. All I need to do is read it. Therein lies the problem; I can't spend time reading what Kathy Griffin has to say about herself without hating everything about myself. Call me nuts, but I would rather have Ving Rhames strap me chest down on a dentist's chair and savagely plug my virgin ass with a sandpaper covered dildo than spend one second reading the personal memoir of Kathy Griffin. The only way someone could get me to read these pages would be to physically pry my eyelids open and force feed it to me. I imagine the situation being akin to Alex DeLarge's brainwashing in A Clockwork Orange. The terror would be unbearable, but the fact of the matter is, I could probably tell you what's in the book without ever reading it. Something along the lines of, "I wasn't one of the pretty girls and didn't have many friends in school so I was a loner and turned to self-depricating humor for acceptance, because as long as I was the one telling the jokes then the beautiful people weren't laughing at me, they were laughing with me", and more blah blah vomiting blah. Am I wrong? (No)

What's the message I'm trying to convey? You need not live a life of importance to fool people into thinking you are actually significant. Now, if the idea that people will want to read your own life story has ever crossed your mind then you are probably a self-absorbed ass and you aren't as nearly as in-touch with the world as you think you are. That's what I have realized and since here on SBB my opinion is infallible you should embrace it. Think for a minute what exactly you are contributing to next time you think you might want to buy the "untold, completely true story of Axel Rose".  Secondarily, I want my faithful following to realize that Kathy Griffin is a giant bucket of gross and I want you to detest her as much as I do.

That's all folks, Suck it Kathy Griffin,
SBB out