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The Borderline Sociopathic Blog For Boys

Updated: 2017-09-04T07:40:06.444-04:00


Tony Hawk, Eat Your Heart Out


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For a full 45 seconds, I thought this was the coolest thing I'd ever seen. I started visualizing a future where I'd speed around on my uni-board, completely carefree, and with a righteous hairdo. I'd ride it absolutely everywhere, regardless of whether it was convenient, or even safe, to do so. I know I wouldn't be able to ride it on the highway or freeways, but I'd always keep it at my side. I'd buckle it into the passenger seat if I had to drive anywhere, so I could hop on my board as soon as I arrived. I immediately fell in love with that board and I didn't think that anything could change my mind -- until I saw that it cost $1,500.

After that I managed to get over it pretty quickly. It's good, but it isn't that good -- I guess.

Smells Like 10101101110 Spirit


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Back in my day we used our computers for computing, and our floppy disks for floppying. Now that I think of it, I'm not sure I've ever used a floppy disk. I'm about a generation too late for a floppy disk to be useful, but I remember having them around. I think I used them as coasters, or something.

All I remember from those days is that everything was exceptionally noisy. Booting up your computer sounded like you were jump-starting an aircraft carrier, and connecting to the Intertunnel was about as quiet as a ten-car pileup. Technology wasn't that subtle, and I liked it better that way. Now you can never tell if something's working, because you don't hear any loud grinding or whirring. You needed ear protection if you wanted to operate a computer for more than a few minutes.

They don't make computers like they used to. Nowadays, you can use a laptop that doesn't make any noise at all, except for when the battery explodes and sets your house on fire. I much preferred it when a computer was the size of a Frigidaire, and belched out huge plumes of smoke every time you entered a line of code.

Call me old fashioned, but I really can't be the only person who prefers the woefully inefficient to the new and spiffy. Someone out there must prefer being around something that's loud, smelly, and poorly designed -- it's the only way I'll ever get a girlfriend.

Avoid Anywhere That Offers One-Time Free Bungee Jumping; No Strings Attached


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A while ago there were two brothers from Texas who were avid bungee jumpers. They loved bungee jumping so much that they constructed their own personal bungee-jumping apparatus behind their house so they could bungee jump whenever they want. Of course, they both had to work long, hard hours to pay for all the equipment, but for a while it was worth it. They'd work 12 hours a day all week, and then on the weekend they'd go home and bungee jump all day.

After about a year, the brothers started getting tired of working all the time and wanted to fully pursue their passion for bungee jumping. One weekend, instead of spending their time jumping all day, they devised a plan to open up a bungee-jumping resort, so they could bungee jump whenever they wanted to and get paid to do it. After some research, they discovered that it would be impossible for them to build their resort in the United States, because the taxes and insurance costs outweighed any profits they would make. The brothers were stumped for a long time, until it dawned on them: why not make the resort in Mexico? If they moved their operation to Mexico, government interference would be very lax, and all the building materials could be purchased for significantly less than it would cost in the United States.

Both the brothers quit their jobs right away and pooled all the money they had. The very next day, they were in Tijuana. They purchased a small plot of land from the locals and began constructing their bungee-jumping tower. During construction, the locals gathered outside the site to watch the brothers work. As the day went on, more and more people gathered until it seemed like the whole town was watching them work.

After a week of hard work, the initial bungee-jumping tower was finished. At this point, the brothers hadn't bungee jumped for over a week, so they were dying to try it out. After construction completed, everyone who was watching the brothers work gathered underneath the tower to see their first jump. The first brother hooked himself up to the apparatus, and after all the necessary safety precautions, he jumped. He went down and then bounced back up just as planned, but after his first bounce, the brother came back up with what looked like some minor cuts. The second brother tried to catch him, but it was too late, the first brother was going back down for a second bounce. This time, the brother came back up with even more cuts and big bruises around his face. In a panic, the second brother started reeling in the bungee cord until his brother was back on the platform.

The first brother looked really beat up, but he didn't have any broken bones or any serious injuries. "What happened?" shouted the second brother,"Is the cord too long? Did you hit the tower? Tell me what happened!"

The first brother says,"No, the cord was fine, but what the hell's a pinata?"

I Bet You Write Taylor Swift Lyrics In Birthday Cards


(Warning: extra salty language with a side of flapjacks and maple syrup)
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I really feel for the fellows in the video. I don't have any sisters, but if I did, I think I'd be even more protective than they were. While I'm sure that my father would have a thing or two to say about his daughters going out with hockey players, I don't know if he could speak with the same sort of candor as I would.

While calling someone a cotton-headed ninnymuggins should be more than enough to discourage them from getting fresh with your kin, sometimes you have to break out the big guns. This video is an excellent example of breaking out the big guns. Conversational big guns can stop a would-be scumbag dead in his tracks. Breaking out the big guns is what stopped the cold war. Regan called up Gorbachev and told him to cut the crap or he'd have to come over there and cut it himself. I haven't read many history books, but I'm at least relatively sure that's what happened. Either way, I'll chalk it up as a victory for the Western world. Regan probably called him Spotty a few times, just for good measure.

Where Do Hamsters Go For Spring Break?


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That's a joke, you're supposed to laugh. Granted, it wasn't a very good joke, but I gave it a shot. If you're not sure what I'm getting at, the human hamster wheel in the video should be a dead giveaway. Although, I've never seen a hamster wheel that can make other hamsters face-plant and then grind their heads into the ground the way this one does. It's like the first scene of Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark with more carnage, dead college students, and lawsuits. Since the video is on YouTube and not LiveLeak, we can gather that no one got seriously injured, but some people will have interesting bruises when they finish.

I'd say that this is exactly the behavior that we approve of over here at the BSBFB. If I was there, I'd be in the hamster wheel running over every hapless bystander who dared cross my path. I would get such a kick out of running everyone over it would start to get weird. Then again, that's why I'm not allowed to drive my Mom's car anymore.

Fast and Furious and Polish


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Three men were all applying to become NYPD detectives. One was Polish, one was Jewish, and one was Italian. Unfortunately, there was only one position available, so the police Chief decided to interview each man himself to see who was the most qualified. Rather than go through three lengthy interviews that would take up his whole day, the Chief decided to ask each applicant just one, unorthodox question and base his decision on their answers.

When the Jewish man arrived for his interview, the Chief asked, "Who killed Jesus Christ?" The Jewish man answered without hesitation, "The Romans killed him." The Chief thanked him for his time, and the Jewish man left. When the Italian arrived for his interview, the Chief asked the same question. He replied, "Jesus was killed by the Jews." Again, the chief thanked him for his time and the Italian left. When the Polish man arrived for his interview, he was asked the exact same question, "Who killed Jesus Christ?" The Pole leaned back in his chair and stared off into space for about five minutes before saying, "Could I have some time to think about it?" The Chief said, "Okay, but get back to me first thing tomorrow morning."

When the Polish man arrived at home, his wife asked "How did the interview go?" He replied, "Great, I got the job, and I'm already investigating a murder!" 

Snakes. Why'd It Have To Be Snakes?


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Way down South there was this fella... fella I wanna tell ya about. Fella by the name of Viperkeeper. At least that was the handle his loving parents gave him, but he never had much use for it himself. Viperkeeper, he called himself "The Dude". Now, "Dude" - that's a name no one would self-apply where I come from. But then there was a lot about the Dude that didn't make a whole lot of sense. And a lot about where he lived, likewise.

But then again, maybe that's why I found the place so darned interestin'. They call Miami "Little Cuba". I didn't find it to be that, exactly. But I'll allow there are some nice folks there. 'Course I can't say I've seen London, and I ain't never been to France. And I ain't never seen no queen in her damned undies, so the feller says. But I'll tell you what - after seeing Miami, and this here story I'm about to unfold, well, I guess I seen somethin' every bit as stupefyin' as you'd see in any of them other places. And in English, too. So I can die with a smile on my face, without feelin' like the good Lord gypped me.

Sometimes there's a man... I won't say a hero, 'cause, what's a hero? But sometimes, there's a man. And I'm talkin' about the Dude here. Sometimes, there's a man, well, he's the man for his time and place. He fits right in there. And that's the Dude, in Miami. And even if he's a lazy man - and the Dude was most certainly that. Quite possibly the laziest in Miami-Dade County, which would place him high in the runnin' for laziest worldwide. But sometimes there's a man, sometimes, there's a man. Aw. I lost my train of thought here. But... aw, hell. I've done introduced him enough.

Shocking Study Finds Correlation Between Semi-Clothed Women And Fun


(Warning: some vaguely naughty language and salacious clothing choices. It's shocking. I'm shocked. This is my shocked face)
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There seems to be rather a big hubbub surrounding this video, and I find the whole matter to be shocking, disgusting, asinine, mind-bogglingly stupid, and completely at odds with everything the BSBFB stands for. I'm referring of course to this article; the video itself is pure gold and should be saved on magnetic data tapes and stored in bomb-proof bunkers to make sure it's available for the enjoyment of future generations.

After reading the title of the article my heart sank into the pit of my stomach, and by the time I reached the second paragraph it dropped out of my backside and into the Earth's mantle. I was under the impression that we lived in a country where women could show more than a little ankle without inciting the wrath of the dangerously bored and self-righteous. I hate to bring this up, but in the USA, women can vote, drive cars, marry whoever they want, own and carry weapons, and wear clothing that wasn't chosen for them by their grandmother and a TV preacher.  I guess that's a little too much for the Daily Mail to handle because they seem to think it's all very sexist. I don't know what the current political climate of the UK is like, but their newspapers seem to be a little loopy. I'd love to see things from their point of view, but I don't think I can get my head that far up my heinie without using the jaws of life to get out afterwards.

Out of all the benign, fun, and good-natured things to pick on, going after people for assisting models during their shoot is sickening. Apparently, pornography is to blame for men liking women in bikinis. I hate to break it to them, but I don't think men need any help developing an affinity for partially clad women. After all, partially clad women are the second-best thing in the world.

Rock Me, Rock Me, Rock Me, Rock Me, Rock Me Amadeus


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I imagine that Beethoven wouldn't have been a big Falco fan, but that's not my problem. I'm sure Mozart wouldn't have minded as much; he always struck me as having a good sense of humor. Beethoven, on the other hand, always seemed a little too serious for my tastes. It's good to have a passion for your work, but when you're so uptight that you could crush a walnut between the wrinkles on your forehead, you need to lighten up a little. Doom and gloom really loses its luster after a while, and Beethoven always reeked of doom and gloom to me. I don't think he could help it. After the life he had, he's more than entitled to be a bit moody, but there's more to life than scowling at strangers in the park. Even if you're well within your rights to be miserable, it's much more commendable to project a pleasant demeanor.

I really, really, really enjoy Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata. I can't stress that enough. I like an assortment of his works, but I particularly enjoy the Moonlight Sonata because I'm a sucker for pensive piano music. Although I love the piece, I'm not going to kid myself; it's the musical equivalent of going to a funeral. A looming joylessness hangs over the whole piece like a wet blanket until the third movement when Beethoven drenches the aforementioned blanket with gasoline, and then lights himself on fire. Unfortunately, musical self-immolation does very little to lighten up the tone of the piece. It's just as intense and serious as when it started and it didn't exactly start at a jaunty pace.

I know that being a tortured artist was Beethoven's thing, but come on, dude, who pooped in your corn flakes? Why the long face? You don't have to hear your music anymore, but we do, and I'd much rather listen to something sublime and transcendent instead of moody and egocentric. Then again, I've bought more garbage CDs than I'd care to admit, so my opinion on Beethoven should be taken with a grain of salt -- or ignored entirely. I'm sure that Beethoven would have beaten me with a heavy stick for standing in his sunlight, but I really can't blame him. I deserve everything that's coming to me for being subjectively wrong on the Internet.

On the other hand: here's ole Moze-art showing us all how it's done.

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(Many thanks to our friend Sam for sending this along)

"I Seriously Tried To Win, And Now I Feel Ashamed"


(Warning: some phallus-like objects present in the video)
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The Japanese are a wonderfully weird bunch. It can be difficult to find tentacle-free videos, but this is one of the few instances where they're not being creepy while maintaining a ludicrous level of fun. I mean, after a while a penis-robot showed up, but they were really good about not having anything too weird for the rest of the video. You can't fault them for having a single phallus-bot; they're Japanese for poop's sake. You've got to give them one chance to get really out there or things will start to get seriously strange. That's when the schoolgirls in French maid outfits start to appear. I'm not complaining about that part, it's everything that happens after they show up that bothers me. I've seen enough Japanese videos to know what happens.

If only robotics classes and science fairs were as engaging, fun, and interesting as this. Not caring, completely half-assing all the work, and getting wasted makes everything better, but it noticeably improves robotics. Now you don't have to pretend to like somebody's robot that looks like crap and doesn't do anything. Everyone can celebrate their collective crappiness without getting too caught up in giving out medals for trying, because we can safely say that no one tried.

It's Indescribably Beautiful


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It may come as a surprise to many of you, but the French are know for much more than just snails, cheese, and surrendering to anyone who shows up with anything sharper than a baguette. France has been home to many of the greatest artists, musicians, and composers that ever lived. Debussy, Satie, Ravel, Saint-Saëns, and 2be3 are all renowned for their compositional prowess, timeless music, and washboard abs. Except for Debussy -- he had more of a keg than a six-pack.

Perhaps I'm missing the point, somewhat, and 2be3 aren't really in the same league as the other fellows. Naturally, they seem to be lacking some of the nuances of other French composers, but they're all very French. There's no denying how incredibly French they are. I'm glad they were able to succeed despite their terrible handicap, but I'm not going to patronize them. Their not-so-subtle attempt to rickroll me is not nearly as charming when Rick Astley's sultry, sensuous baritone is replaced by three Frenchmen.

I will admit, 2be3 can probably pull a lot more French women than any of those other composers ever could. From what I can tell, a lot of women were entirely turned off by many French composers, and with good reason. Satie didn't like leaving the room to go to the bathroom, so he would poop in the corner if he really had to pinch one. Saint-Saëns used to leave rather large portions of snail in his beard for snacking on later, and Ravel wrote Bolero.

Say what you will about Toujours La Pour Toi, at least it's not Bolero.

It's All Fun And Games Until Someone Shows Up With A Chainsaw


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I can't ice skate, I've never felt obliged to ice-skate, and I don't think I will ever ice skate. I will, however, ice chainsaw any day.

I don't know what it is about ice skating that turns me off, but I get the overwhelming urge to stay away from ice skating and people who ice skate. When it's cold enough for there to be ice, I tend to stay inside because I'm not insane. I live in a place where you can get frostbite from walking to your mailbox, so I like to spend my time indoors. Ice skating just seems like it would be a lot more trouble than it's worth. First of all, you have to go outside, which is always a massive drawback. If I could build an ice rink somewhere in my house I would consider using it once in a blue moon, but if I had an indoor ice rink I could easily have had an indoor, heated swimming pool instead. Along with environmental issues, any form of skating is too much work, and everyone will think you're a pansy. Ice skating isn't exactly a masculine pastime.

I'd much prefer to ice chainsaw instead of ice skating. The thrill of zooming around will get your blood pumping enough to combat the cold, the chainsaw does all the work, so you can focus on staying upright, and no one will make fun of you because you're swinging around a chainsaw like Leatherface on speed. Bringing a chainsaw is actually recommended for most ice-based events -- I think the Tonya Harding incident would have turned out very differently if Nancy Kerrigan's routine incorporated a chainsaw.

(Many thanks to our good friend Charles Schneider for sending this one our way)

And Now, The Moment You've All Been Waiting For...


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... here's all the nonlethal crashes from a variety of different races at the Nurburgring. Now you don't need to pretend to like racing to see the crashes. You don't need to watch a minute of actual racing to get to the juicy bits. All the juicy bits have been arranged here for your viewing pleasure -- you're welcome.

I like the crashes where they're driving their mother's hatchback in a straight line, and then somehow manage to spin out. All the ones with real race cars are good too, but there's a certain charm to watching a Fiat Panda go careening into a wall. To be honest, the smaller the car, the more entertaining I find its demise. Along with that, I love when they're not going very fast. It takes skill to completely oversteer and spin out when you're going 10 MPH. Don't even get me started on the motorcycles. Watching someone take a nasty spill off a slow-moving motorcycle fills me with childish glee

Normally, I'd say that there is something deeply wrong with me, but I know that everyone wants to watch crashes just as much as I do. It's revenge for every time a car drove by your house at 2 AM, going 120 MPH, and blasting crap music. It's a great way to let out all your pent up aggression. The same concept works for a lot of different things. After this I'm going to go watch a montage of Gordon Ramsey screaming at amateur chefs because I went to a restaurant once and my steak arrived a bit cold. Justice is served and karmic balance is restored to the universe.

You Know The Germans Always Make Good Stuff


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I don't know what they're making, but I'm all for it. Even if they're just melting down scrap, it still looks pretty cool, and looking cool is the most important part. If you're going to do something, you might as well look good while doing it. It doesn't matter if you're doing it correctly or even competently, just look at Italian cars or French movies. I know for a fact that they have everything backwards and wrong, but they're so chronically cool it doesn't seem to matter.

The visually pleasing aesthetics of a foundry are undeniable, because it just looks so gosh darn interesting. The bright, molten metal thrown against a rough, industrial backdrop is enough to get any hot-blooded man in the mood. I'm sure that every kid would want a poster of a foundry on their wall instead of the same boring cars and bands as everyone else. It's some intense stuff, man. If H.R. Giger and Enzo Ferrari designed a poster, this is what it would look like. It's what a loading dock in Blade Runner would look like. It's the final scene of Terminator Two, minus Arnold Schwarzenegger descending into a pool of molten metal.

The only way this could get cooler is if they started tossing virgins into the molten pit to appease their pagan gods. Primarily, the god of fire and brimstone, the god of foundry workers, and the god of looking freaking awesome.

You Stay Classy, Continental Airlines


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Have you ever wanted to fly on a plane with shag so thick it'll drown a toddler? Me neither, but when was the last time you were able to comfortably stand up in a plane, let alone grab a mixed drink and play pong? Exactly. These days you're lucky if you have enough room to properly own and operate all four appendages. I'm not in a position to buy my own private jet yet, so I have to settle for the garbage that's currently on offer. I assume that many of you are in a similar position.

Flying in a commercial airliner is closer to riding on a Greyhound bus than soaring majestically over the clouds. Even the first class cabins in most planes are pretty meh. I'm pretty sure Air Emirates offers hookers and blow for anyone flying first class, but they're the outlier in this case. The average cabin looks like the inside of a PVC pipe with some carpeting and uncomfortable seats. What happened to the buffet and dinette sets? When did things go so wrong? We don't have to have crappy, boring plane rides, we just do.

Some people might say that the reason why we're confined to our seats is for safety, but that's kind of a load of crap. I'd rather hit turbulence while standing at the bar, getting hammered on complimentary mini-drinks than sitting in a glorified deck chair, surrounded by people who are way too sober to be flying.

I Completely Understand What's Happening


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I lied, I don't understand. I'm sorry, I just wanted to look like one of the cool kids. Nothing the Japanese do makes sense to me. Everything is wrong, and unholy, and what on Earth have they done to Tommy Lee Jones? He used to be in big-time movies, now he's an extra in ads for tentacles or whatever. I'm not even sure of what they're selling and I really don't want to know. I have enough trouble deciphering American ads. I have no shot when the main character is a dog talking about Tommy Lee Jones' eyebrows while saying he's their alien housekeeper. Commercials for pickup trucks confuse me; this blows my mind out of my ears and then expects me to understand the finer points of quantum mechanics.

It might simply be a cultural difference, but I don't buy it. Ads are getting very strange these days and they don't seem to be getting much better. I miss how you used to know what the company was trying to sell. Now every ad is like a David Lynch fever dream on speed. If I wanted to be scared and confused I'd take dance class or try to use a woman's public restroom. When I'm watching TV I want to be bombarded with good vibes that don't require me to think or form proper sentences when describing them, which is why I love the History Channel. They haven't offered anything stimulating for their viewership since the mid-90s.

Where's The Beef?


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I don't know whether to be scared or slightly aroused. While regular old Indians are more than enough to get me excited, when you throw in fantastically choreographed fights and huge muscles all around, I'm not sure I can contain myself. I didn't even know there were that many muscular Indians available. Maybe they hired an entire IT call center to get juiced up for the film, but that seems like it would take a while.

The video offers such a thoroughly unusual combination of Western culture and Eastern weirdness. The sheer amount of masculinity exuded by every frame is incalculable. The testosterone seeped through the screen and entered my pores. I grew a full, bushy mustache after the first minute of viewing. After two minutes I grew an extra foot and put on one-hundred pounds of pure muscle.

I've already gone to far. If I watch past the three-minute mark I feel like the sheer amount of manliness will rip a hole through time and space and the Indian version of Arnold Schwarzenegger will swoop in and ask if I'm happy with my current Internet service provider. While that's not necessarily a bad thing, I have stuff to do tomorrow, and I really don't have time to drag myself out of a roid-rage wormhole, again.

Annie, Get Your Gun


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I'm not quite sure what you could do with something made from solid aluminum, but you can totally make it now. I mean, it would look pretty cool, I guess. A gun that doesn't shoot sort of defeats the purpose. If you flip it around it can make for an alright club, but you'd be better off making a bat if you really want to bash some heads. At least it's shiny.

I feel like a lot of the epic life hack videos on YouTube aren't even trying to be helpful anymore. This one is cool and everything, but it doesn't really apply to me, anyone I know, or anyone I have ever met, ever. At least he's not telling me that I'm supposed to cut banana peels off with a laser instead of using my hands, or that it's easier to open a soda can if you run it over with your car, or that you can suck Marmite out of a squirrel if you're lost in the wilderness. Videos like that are silly and I refuse to submit to them. I know how to peel a banana. Don't tell me how to peel a banana. I don't care how monkeys do it; they throw their poo and eat bugs. I'm a man, I can peel my own bananas, thank you.

If epic nice life hacks for your life videos got any less helpful they'd become eHow videos, and the world doesn't need more eHow videos.

I'll Have A Large Cheese Pizza With Extra Bass, Please


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I know I said large cheese pizza in the title, but if you order a pizza without any toppings there's something deeply wrong with you. Either you're a complete killjoy, party-pooper, stick-in-the-mud, jerk-face or you're an android who's completely lost the ability to feel human emotion. Pizza is just a really poor attempt at making a sad lasagna when you take away the toppings. You need to throw in a few pepperonis at the very least, but that's only as a last resort. A pizza can be a cornucopia of delicious meats, veggies, and other treats stacked on top of a cheesy base, but it rarely comes out that way. Most people disregard the toppings and that's a crime against food and nature. The only way it could get any worse is if the pizza was gluten free; then it ceases to be a pizza and turns into a mound of solid puss.

You can get really creative with your pizza toppings. Have you ever had a Hawaiian pizza? It's like being punched in the mouth by an angel. Unusual and exotic combinations make for fantastic results. I know people who put ranch dressing on their pizza, but they've completely lost their minds. The real trick is to put other food on pizza instead of just slathering it with more liquified goop. Add on a few layers of bacon, or maybe a few steaks. Dump a salad on top and see where that gets you. Hell, at some point in my life I will probably make a pizza that has a corner-store rotisserie chicken as a topping. Not slices of chicken -- the whole thing. There's a good chance that I'll be incredibly, incredibly drunk, but that's where all the best inspiration comes from.

In the end, that's what pizza is all about: inspiration. If you can think of it, you can probably put it on a pizza. Don't settle for second-rate pizzas with lame toppings. Demand absurd, monstrous pizzas, because this is America. If we stop putting weird crap on our pizza the terrorists win.

Okay Fido, Fetch Me A Large Meatball Sub With Extra Gravy And Sprinkles On Top


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I wish someone would throw tacos at me. Pets are treated like royalty these days. When was the last time someone threw a slice of pizza at you? Probably hasn't happened, but this dog is getting delicious food thrown at him every day. Why do we stand for such injustice? Why have we formed an organization to protect animals, but not an organization to protect delicious food? As god as my witness, I'm going to found People for the Ethical Treatment of Hamburgers as soon as I can be bothered to get out of bed.

He's giving that dog people food, and that really grinds my gears. Before you know it, the dog will be sitting on the couch, watching TV, getting hair everywhere, and making an absolute mess because he thinks he's a person. Outrageous. People get people food, and dogs get dog food; that's the way it's always been and always should be. On occasion you can throw your dog what's left of a massive t-bone steak, so you can feel like the king of a medieval domain, feeding your noble hunting dogs with table scraps when you run out of slow-moving peasants. Other than that, no people food.

What I'm really trying to get at, is that you shouldn't be throwing perfectly good food away like that. You should be giving it to me. I'm so much better than a dog. Dogs can't thank you after eating all your food. Dogs can't fix your toilet in return for croissants. A dog can't sit in their bathrobe and stink up your living room while eating soup out of a mason jar. I can do all of that -- and I won't poop on your carpet.

Japanese, And Chinese, And Korean! Oh My!


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Japanese, Korean, Chinese; who's keeping track? I don't know where this is from, and I'm far too lazy to Google translate the title. If I had to wager, I'd say that it couldn't be Japanese, but I've been wrong before. There's not enough tentacles, curiously sexual robots, or manic schoolgirls for this to be Japanese. Or maybe it is, and they're taking a much more subtle approach to presenting their bizarre sense of everything. I wouldn't be surprised in the slightest.

I can narrow it down a bit further by absolutely guaranteeing that it is not Chinese. The Chinese get weird, but they never incorporate anything this sophisticated into their pseudo-propaganda footage. There's not enough happy workers or red backdrops, so that's a dead giveaway. It can't be Korean because there aren't nearly enough people playing Starcraft while girls dressed like a Dollar Store Madonna feed them peeled grapes. There would also be banner ads for computer gaming equipment covering every inch of the screen, so Koreans are completely out. This brings us back to the Japanese.

At first it didn't seem strange enough to be Japanese, but now that we've eliminated every other possibility we can conclusively say that the video is from Japan. I'm mildly disappointed, because this marks a low point in their weirdness, but it's still pretty far out. It would have been a lot easier to just Google translate the title and see what language comes up, but categorizing the video tendencies of the three most prominent Asian countries was viscerally satisfying for me -- minus Russia.

Don't even get me started on the Russians.

(Many thanks to our good friend Charles Schneider for sending this one our way)



(Warning: some salty language, maybe? I really have no idea what he's saying)
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I'm Rex, founder of the Rex Kwon Do Self-Defense System. After one week with me in my dojo, you'll be prepared to defend yourself with the strength of a grizzly, the reflexes of a puma and the wisdom of a man.  Come down today for your free trial lesson!
I'm sure Rex would be very disappointed with our friend in the video. Do you think he got where he is today because he dresses like shirtless Peter Pan over here? I mean, just take a look at what Rex wears. Do you think anyone wants a roundhouse kick to the face while he's wearing those bad boys? Forget about it. Along with disciplining his image, our friend needs to learn about self-respect. Do you think anyone thinks Rex is a failure because he goes home to Starla at night? Forget about it!

Now, for the price of one Tapout shirt, our friend can sign up for Rex's eight-week program.
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How To Pick Up Chicks: Advanced Edition


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I've done some extensive studies on how to pick up women, and my findings are exactly what you'd expect. If you're a fighter pilot, test pilot, or stunt pilot, you're 100 percent more likely to attract women than an accountant. Musicians, Olympic athletes, pirate-ship captains, and underwear models can't compare to test pilots. The only people who come close are billionaires, but they don't count. I'd become a pilot, but my ears go pop whenever I walk up the stairs, so that's out of the question. Luckily, I'm devilishly handsome, which is enough to pick up grounded chicks. I'm not that into flighty girls to begin with, so it's a win-win situation for me.

Some fools might claim that the best way to pick up women is to talk to them and take an interest in what they have to say, but they're dead wrong. Women don't want men with money either. Having money is a definite perk, but it's not a deciding factor. What women really want are complete psychopaths -- who smell good. If you're a test pilot, or a musician, or an international man of mystery there's obviously something deeply wrong with you and women are immensely attracted to that. They want to cradle your little psycho head in their arms while you froth at the mouth and shake violently. I don't know what it is that makes women want men with deep-rooted issues, but it's given me a steady stream of girlfriends, so I'm happy with the arrangement.

Of course, they all leave as soon as they figure out that I'm just a tremendous arsehole and there's nothing actually wrong with me.
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Sometimes, A Man Has Gotta Go Fast


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I really don't know what all the hubbub is about; this is what the average run to the corner store for milk, cigarettes, and porn looks like when I'm driving. I typically crash a lot more than he did, I won't give them the satisfaction of impressing a mildly pretentious jerk who lives in his Mom's basement and eats Chef Boyardee ravioli out of a can while sitting semi-nude, basking in the warm glow of his CRT monitor. I think my problem is that I don't have someone shouting instructions into my ear before every turn. When my Mom comes along she gives me pointers like "Watch out for that tree!" and "Slow down, you psychotic little cretin.", but I don't think those are the same as real racing instructions.

To be honest I think we'd both be better off if we didn't have anyone barking instructions at us to begin with. It's not like they mean anything, anyways. When you're going over a hill, sideways at 90 MPH, who has time to figure out what "55 triple left hook; steady straight 300, 22, 88." means? At that point, I'd be a lot more concerned with avoiding that nasty patch of spectators and trees in front of me than skirting some bushes half a mile up the road.

Imagine Turkish Star Wars Mixed With Italian Spiderman, Only Worse


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Ahh, Koreans: the slightly less tentacle-oriented cousins of the Japanese. Equally as insane, but with fewer violated schoolgirls. They stand teetering on the edge of the uncanny valley, somewhere between robots with emotive faces and the average MSNBC newscaster; your brain wants to believe that some parts of them are human, but you know in your heart that they're not. Most Asian countries have their fair share of image problems, but I'd say South Korea has it worst because they don't really have an image. Everyone just thinks of them as the sensible cousin to their absolutely insane, kneebiter, bond-villainesque, tosspot neighbor to the North -- but South Korea is so much more than that. Like their Japanese friends, they also have an affinity for making the most bizarre tripe imaginable.

Don't get me wrong, Korean Tron is a masterpiece. It makes the original look like it was filmed by an invalid with a camcorder and a full diaper. The only way it could get any better is if the story had anything to do with Tron or resembled any part of Tron. It's like they had someone at a party drunkenly give them a vague description of what Tron was, and then based a movie off that information alone. Adding some Tron elements to your Tron movie seems appropriate, but it would probably ruin the effect. Shock, awe, bewilderment, and mild disappointment are a director's best friends.

Having an out-of-work McDonald's janitor do all the voice-over work was an absolutely genius move. Everything sounds like a grade-school production of Who's Afraid Of Virginia Woolf with the same level of comprehension and emotive power. Only having a passing acquaintance with the English language helps too. It offers a viscerally bad experience that's fun for the whole family -- like a train wreck, or a congressional hearing.