Blake Shelton’s Pizza Hut Ads Are Creepy

One of the positives of having email is occasionally getting bizarre targeted ads spammed in your inbox. As sexually suggestive as that may sound, most of the messages are for daily deal sites, department stores and electronics–nary a sexy store in the bunch.

But Pizza Hut saw that as a challenge, and boy did they deliver the creepy, sexually explicit goods. BOY, DID THEY.

Their collaboration with country music star Blake Shelton was innocent at first, with genial shots and mentions of the musician spliced with pics of Pizza Hut’s signature greasy pies. Delivered from Blake’s supposed email address ( (!), we learned of his exclusive videos and the backwoods BBQ-inspired pizza flavors.

blake-pizza2 blake-pizza

But the public’s attention span is fleeting, and so Pizza Hut upped the attention-seeking ante with their latest in Blake-ness. This static image is innocuous enough:



But if you got it in your email inbox, boy, did Blake want to GET it–GIF STYLE:


Basically, Blake Shelton wants to finger your pizza. AND HE’S A MARRIED MAN.

I passed this around to a few friends, and Jason Statham sociologist/Jon Hamm biographer “Arran” pointed out a creepy similarity to a famous, creepy landmark: the Whitcoulls Santa Claus statue in Auckland, New Zealand:


“But that’s Santa! Santa’s not creepy!” you cry out. But THIS Santa’s gonna MAKE you cry:

So take heed, Pizza Hut, as your hillbilly spokesman is now synonymous with a sexually deviant Santa, as both want to touch your naughty bits. Think about that, pizza eater, when you’re toweling off the grease from your Smokehouse BBQ pizza. The same pizza that Blake Shelton probably fingered.

Spotify Wants You to NEVER FORGET

September 11: a day that will live in infamy in American history. It is also (one of) the (many) day(s) where corporations break out their somber platitudes and Photoshop art and post them on their social media accounts.

So while your eyes are mourning the events of 9/11, what about your ears? Well don’t worry: Spotify’s got you covered with their “In Remembrance” playlist!



Be the hit DJ at YOUR 9/11 party with this bangin’ playlist! Groove to “Empire State of Mind” while reminiscing about the two towers crumbling! Trade stories with friends about where YOU were when you learned about the Pentagon strike while coincidentally listening to “Where Were You (When the World Stopped Turning).” And stimulate your earholes with the brooding sounds of Bruce Springsteen via “The Rising” AND “Lonesome Day”!

Never forget… to have the best 9/11 playlist ever!




How Are YOU Celebrating Labor Day?

how are you celebrating labor day

Julia Roberts Wants Money, You Guys.







Ferguson. The beheading of James Foley. The shocking death of Robin Williams. The inexplicable popularity of the ALS Ice Bucket Challenge. The news has been filled with depressing stories the last few weeks. And while the media has saturated everyone’s sad receptors, they can’t affect the people’s need for BOLD flavors.


Unlike those corporate media shills behind most of what you read, watch and listen to, the corporate shills at Chili’s know that you want BIG, BOLD FLAVOR. And DAMMIT, they’re gonna shove it down your gullets–whether you like it or not. (Probably not.)



Promising “BIG, BOLD FLAVOR INSIDE,” the monstrosity in your visage is the result of several bad decisions–from the licensing of your mediocre uncle’s favorite restaurant name and logo, to the third-party manufacturing assassin (Bellisio Foods) contracted to combine several unholy chemicals and bits of plastic in the BOLD box, to the food’s name and unwitting customers that purchase the grotesqueness that will detonate in their stomachs. (In my defense, I had a coupon for a free one.)

And everyone lost. EVERYONE. Would you consider THIS to be a victory for anyone involved?



At this point, the only BOLD thing visible from my jaded point of view was the dupe job done on consumers (me). I knew that I was not going to experience fine cuisine, but the extent to which Chili’s sucked up to those actually expecting their taste buds to be tickled by the flavors they love (?) in a convenient, frozen option was as disgusting as the hard bits of chicken contained within.

I won’t bore you with the laborious details of the cooking process, the mediocre, questionable flavors hyped as BOLD, or the strange spiciness that could not be traced to any specific seasoning(s). The takeaway from this ill-advised excursion into BOLD FLAVOR country can be seen on the back of the box.



It’s like Chili’s is DARING you to either give the product the Mystery Science Theater 3000 snark treatment or saddle up to the worst pandering since the XTREME!!!!!!!!!!!! marketing panic of the ’90s. “LIVE BOLD” by ingesting the “most outrageous taste sensations” to be dreamed up by a multi-million dollar corporation eager to take your money in the most absurd way possible. Satiate those “adventurous taste buds” by sending them “on a flavor mission” to the toilet in the blandest, yet most excruciating journey since the newest Taylor Swift video assaulted your senses. Lament the “BOLDEST” of “Bold Flavor” that you even pretended to crave as its aftertaste lingers long after you wondered whether the life mistakes that led to the intermingling of tongue and mimicry of “cajun-style” were just. For “more LIFE” might have happened, but the build-up to that BOLD nature might be the biggest letdown of all if it was anticipated to meet any of those objectives.

Oh marketing. May you always be the pathological liar friend of the corporate dickbag.


“Writer Needed For Support Community for Affluent Individuals”

money fight

Image courtesy of

Being wealthy and being oblivious may not be one and the same, but the wealthy can be oblivious, and being oblivious can come from having class advantages.  Anyway, these glimpses into the aloofness into the human psyche came from two sources in the past 12 hours, and in a time where foreign war zones were mirrored in Ferguson, MO, and the US economy is still struggling to climb back to pre-recession numbers, it’s still shocking to see such moronicness.

The first, an “UNPOPULAR OPINION” column from writer Jessica Slizewski, chided college-goers about being fiscally irresponsible for not attending school near their homes and living at home. She takes learners to task for wanting to study liberal subjects and rack up student loans, and she pats herself on the back for not taking out student loans. Here’s an example of her crass chicanery:

I distinctly remember asking my friend how he would pay off the roughly $70,000 debt he would incur to obtain a major in Ancient Greek and Latin at a liberal arts college in the Midwest. His answer? A simple shrug and flippant “It’s not something I have to worry about right now — hopefully they’ll be forgiven by the government.” Now that he’s still waiting tables four years after graduation, I’d say it’s well past time to start worrying.
I can’t pretend I completely understand how these people feel after the fun is over and the repayments begin, but I can say that I really don’t feel bad for them.
Why not? Because I worked hard to avoid taking out loans. My wonderful parents and grandmother helped me pay for my education, but in the end, it was a few decisions I made that saved me the burden of borrowing money I would never have been able to pay back. Unlike the majority of my friends who went to schools less than an hour from their parents’ homes and chose to live on campus rather than commute, my college roommates were named Mom and Dad. I chose state schools that were half, sometimes one-quarter, of the cost of the schools my friends were attending and worked a part-time on-campus scholarship job in addition to full-time hours at my retail job.

*slow clap*

The second reminder of the high horse mentality that affects the naive came in the form of a Craigslist ad seeking a writer to ghostwrite blogs for wealthy Portland community members hoping to document the plights of being rich. ESSENTIALLY, they want someone to scribe “WAAAAHHHH, I’M RICH!” 

A sample:

The focus of the community is providing psychological support for the problems money brings — family tensions, unfulfillable expectations, boredom, etc. To do this you must be intimately familiar with the problems faced by wealthy people.

I wanted to punch my computer to make the ad stop.

But then I got a better idea: humor. Why not make fun of this insipid shit?

So I responded to the Craigslist ad with a serious inquiry–mixed with quotes lifted from the article.


I am interested in the ghostwriting position for the affluent community. I have a writing background from years of professional experience, and I have a moneyed ancestry.

My father is…a Wall Street banker. I’m…a member of the so-called “1 percent.” Because I was lucky to have been born into wealth, my wonderful parents and grandmother helped me pay for my education. I attended a private university in the middle of a cornfield with a tuition price of about $36,000 a year, and I shouldn’t have to feel ashamed of that. Like many in the community I imagine,  I graduated college without student loans.

You might be asking why I would want to take a low-paying Craigslist job. It’s not for the money; I have more than I need. I also have plenty of time on my hands.  For too long, we have been made to feel ashamed of our advantages. And you shouldn’t feel that you’d done anything differently. I can bring pride to these newsletters, as I do not have qualms about my advantages. Neither should the similarly wealthy.

I’ve had the traditional leisure activities like drawing, but a few were rather unusual — beekeeping, winemaking, beer brewing, and pretending to make merkins out of the hair the dog was shedding. I guess that’s what happens when you opt for the cheap route.

ut this writing opportunity is a challenge: to channel my knowledge of my peers into something relatable. While I’m not even going to pretend to feel sorry for my friends who moan about the financial crunch, it doesn’t mean that we can’t feel that you get what you pay for.

I’d say it’s well past time to start worrying about offending the 99 percent because I can’t pretend I completely understand how these people feel, but I can say that I really don’t feel bad for them. We need to talk about how WE feel, and I can do that for you–

I can provide references and samples upon request.

 I can only hope that the wealthy and the unpopular were equally represented in their repugnantness.

Why CAN’T We Talk About Racism?

michael brown ferguson

Image courtesy of

Yesterday afternoon, 18-year-old (or 17, depending upon the source) Michael Brown was shot 10 times and killed in a Ferguson, MO apartment complex by Ferguson police. Witnesses say that the unarmed man was shot in two rounds of gunfire–some time after Brown reportedly shoplifted from a local store. The reason for his death has not been released.

But the stories go beyond the death of another unarmed black man. If you were to go solely on media coverage, the murder was not the focus of the story but the “outrage” of the “mob” angry at Brown’s death. A Google search of “ferguson police” yielded nine articles talking about the community reaction before a link that actually discussed what happened to the young man. The supposedly unruly “mob” dissipated into candle vigils.

Officers from 15 departments, totaling somewhere between 80-100 members, were dispatched sometime after the second round of gunfire. While the cops brought in their defenses, Brown’s body reportedly remained covered on the ground for four hours. St. Louis County Police spokesman Brian Schellman noted that the overflow was to “protect detectives and to ensure that they could reach the scene.”

A community as well as a nation wonder where that same protection is for millions of innocent African Americans. And we’ll continue to want for that safety, even if no one else wants to figure out how to attain it.


I often joke about the disingenuous cries of America being “post-racial”–the term seared in my brain after MSNBC anchor Chris Matthews used it to describe the nation after Barack Obama was nominated President of the United States in 2008. I can list the names of blacks unjustly killed, the fact that millions of people of color suffer from institutionalized and societal racism, and that whatever incremental improvements in civil rights made over the past 40+ years are slowly being rolled back as most Americans do nothing.

But we can’t talk about that. Because we are too uncomfortable and/or unwilling to have these conversations.

A good example of this discomfort lies in three words: social justice warriors. This term is used derisively by others (anti-social justice warriors?) to describe people (often people of color of both genders) on social media discussing issues of racism and sexism in the world. The word “justice,” what I know as determining just conduct or determining rightness and lawfulness, has been given a derogatory tinge, and those putting word stank on it are those that do not want to talk about race or gender issues. Basically, the message is that what is important to you is stupid.

Some won’t shut down talks of racism or sexism by using “social justice warrior” like how a racist uses the word “Jew,” but they’ll use other ways. Websites like Mother JonesRacialicious and The Root examine plights affecting people of color in worldwide events and pop culture through essays and articles, and while they can stray into hyperbolic shrieking (not unlike most other websites), they provide viewpoints and provoke discussions not often had in our multiculturally fearful society. To a vocal portion of the population, these posts and their surveys of race and sex are unnecessary explorations that should not be had. A common tactic is to deliberate the need to even bring up the issues, to contend the purpose of the discussions, to think why there is the need to drill down deep into the origins and explanations of why a behavior or action is racist and/or sexist, and to discredit the source and the conversation. It’s like having a conversation with a selfish child unwilling to talk about anything other than what they want.

This denial of minority views is not only self-defeating but toxic for three reasons:

  1. It vilifies those wanting to have the discussion. By questioning the need for talking about picking apart the items of discomfort, it establishes the protester in a dominant position, putting the other person on the defensive–to their disadvantage.
  2. It is essentially burying one’s head in the sand. It inhibits examination and understanding of topics outside one’s realm, essentially preventing one from learning about new experiences and subjects. If we applied such denial to science, we wouldn’t have any of our modern conveniences (smartphones, computers, medicine)–let alone evolution to the point of being able to communicate and function in the world.
  3. It prevents further conversation. By restraining communication that is not in one’s wheelhouse, the story remains the same. Unique viewpoints and stories are eschewed for what appeals to the majority, perpetuating a never-ending cycle of banality–which can be harmful when it comes to important cultural issues.

Their efforts to stymie discourse seem to hinge on topics often seen as progressive–AKA things not affecting them. Like most things in life, the group in power threatened by the rising influence of the minority find ways to belittle and obstruct the views and actions of the outnumbered. Think about how female geeks are accused by sexist guys as “fake,” hating on a popular music act, or any racial issue handled on Fox News: inflammatory rhetoric and a lack of facts are used to continue the narrative of the status quo to the detriment of diversity and inclusion.


So what did that long diatribe have to to with the death of Michael Brown? Plenty.

Thousands of thinkpieces will be written about Brown’s untimely and unfortunate passing. Many will take to Facebook, Twitter, Tumbler and YouTube to protest the Ferguson police, the current predicament of how African Americans are seen in America, and how racism is alive and well. Thousands more will decry those discussions and protesters as either “social justice warriors” or worse, wondering aloud why such things need to be talked about–let alone why we should suss out the intricacies (the roots) of the issues at large. And many will be straight-up racists, saying that Brown deserved to die, that blacks should stop forming “mobs” at the slightest predicament, that blacks are violent and probably had it coming.

That is why we NEED to talk about racism, sexism–hell, everything that is holding people back in our society from attaining any semblance of the inclusive society we often say that we are but act like we’re not. Bringing up serious stuff is hard (think about any relationship where one person wants “to have a talk”), but both parties are usually better off for it. And if that means a few uncomfortable conversations as to why Michael Brown’s death is a microcosm of the racism still present in America, then we will all benefit.

Internet Trolls in the Real World

internet troll

Courtesy of

Have you ever read an internet article and dreaded the comment section that followed? Those poorly-spelled, hate-filled glimpses into the dark recesses of the human soul–complete with racist, sexist, xenophobic, and religious-based attacks on anyone and/or anything that is considered different? Those people are out in the world among the rational, and they are as frightening as their defense of Ghostbusters as a male-only endeavor. I recently had an unfortunate experience with such a piece of human waste.

I write for a local sketch comedy group, and the new season has brought fresh blood for the writer’s pool. One of those eager beavers was a tall, glasses-wearing oaf of a young man, and he quickly made his presence known with his mouth: while the head writer caught people up on new business and the meeting’s outline, the kid interrupted several times with random nonsense as well as calls to read his sketch about a male feminist. (WARNING #1)

The head writer did his best to quell the kid’s inquisitive nature, but it only got worse. We then read new sketches, and the guy occasionally butted in with aimless chatter important only to him as well as odd comments on the scripts (one being that mentioning the paltry Apple MacBook specs would be funny because of the price). And he continued to ramble about anything and everything for anyone within earshot–despite the wishes of the head writer. (WARNING #2)

The floor then opened up to new sketch pitches, and the weirdo shared his idea: a parody of crazy warehouse-sale commercials (eh) where the insane, angry salesman selling mockeries of warehouse sales (getting better) boiled over when his wife interrupts him and proceeds to beat her for several minutes. (That’s it; I’m out of here.)

I was floored. This guy advocated putting domestic abuse into a sketch comedy piece because, and I’m paraphrasing, he wanted to “get a reaction” out of people. (You know what’s a reaction: NOT BEING A FUCKING PSYCHOPATHIC CREEP.) The room fell into uncomfortable silence–the kind of quiet when someone says an awkward thing–for a few seconds, but it recovered in the spirit of positive collaboration: lots of tip-toeing around the elephant in the room by tweaking other aspects of the sketch idea. The asshole was stubborn and talked around the suggestions, making it known that he wanted to get a reaction out of people and rail against the system. (We politely acknowledged that the show was in the vein of Saturday Night Live.)

He again brought up his want for a battered wife focus, and seeing that the elephant was squeezing all the oxygen out of the room, I asked “Is there a way to do the sketch without the domestic violence?” Shit, as they say, hit the fan.

The kid was immediately defensive, saying that he didn’t want to do the sketch if he couldn’t have his spouse slams, and insisted we erase all notes of the idea. (We had no problem with that.) We foolishly thought the weirdness was behind us, continuing the meeting with new sketch pitches. Meanwhile, Creepy Longpsycho made his discontent known with odd mumbling and playing “noise” sounds on his smartphone (and admitting to searching for “noise” videos). When I pitched an idea about a Men’s Rights Activist harassing people on the street to peddle his group’s pleas, the idjit said (paraphrasing) “I’m just mad because you guys shit on my idea.” (He added that people with such hateful thinking like Men’s Rights Activists should die, which didn’t help the argument that he was a disturbing person.) He then excused himself from the meeting.

Again, we foolishly thought we were safe from the jackass’s tantrums, fleshing out the pitches, but he stormed in minutes later, saying that he had to use the bathroom. He did his business, stormed out and slammed the door behind him. We all looked at each other in confusion and, after the head writer cracked a joke, we got back to the business of writing non-edgy comedy that didn’t involve woman-beating.


One thing that I wish we had done was better explain why domestic violence was not funny. Despite noting that we didn’t want to make people uncomfortable, this was lost on deaf ears. And perhaps the kid had not known someone who had been abused or experienced the effects firsthand. I know that it took being close to someone that experienced rape before I understood a shred of the damage that sexual assault inflicts–physically and emotionally.

Later that night, I thought about the dickhead that derailed the meeting in spectacularly uncomfortable fashion. How did that guy come to be the person he was: an angry, anti-status quo advocate of anti-comedy at the expense of another gender? Society is no help, as sexism is widely ingrained in nearly everything we read, watch and listen to. Immaturity could be a culprit, as teens and 20-somethings are still figuring out their viewpoints and their voice in the world–though that voice shouldn’t be used to announce one’s acceptance of abuse in the name of humor. Maybe he had attention-deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD)–the inability to pay attention for long periods of time, being impulsive, and restlessness.

Or maybe the guy had a combination of one or more of the above afflictions in combination with being a d-bag. Some apples end up rotten despite the picker’s best efforts, and like Chris Rock said, “Whatever happened to crazy?”

The head writer assured us that the jackal wouldn’t be invited back to future meetings, which is a relief. But what about those other assholes with similar mindsets and propensities for anti-people views with a way to voice said musings? In a way, having internet comment sections lets them release their emotional pressure valves, though I don’t support such behavior in the first place. There will always be jerks in the world, be it online or in the flesh, and one without a way to voice their hate is one less person to inflict hurt.

Mutual Friends

stephen colbert black friend

Image courtesy of The Daily Banter

Having relationships with people–family, friends, romantic partners–means spending time with their friends. This can be a double-edged sword: being friendly with a guy or girl that shares the same interests and has a tolerable personality might net you a new pal to hang with; getting lumped together with a dud dude or dudette, and you’ll dread any and every digression you deal with. (Ds!)

I’ve been lucky to have made good friends out of mutual acquaintances. When I moved to Phoenix nine years ago, I knew two people–both from college. Through one of my work friends (now one of my best friends), I met several of his colleagues through his church. I’ve been able to depend upon their friendship (and vice-versa, I’d like to think) as we’ve bonded, and we’ve shared many life events in the process. They are dear to me and more patient with me than I often am with myself, and for that, I am grateful.

Then there are those mutual acquaintances that have made less-than-appealing impressions, those that make you wonder if that saying “birds of a feather flock together” makes you wonder about those qualities in your friend that you cherish. These are situations and people that I don’t want to encounter.

A recent get-together with friends introduced a sibling to the dynamic, a cordial and opinionated guy that was comfortable making his thoughts known. I was chatty with him, thinking it would make him feel more at ease around strangers, but I think he got TOO comfortable; during a heated game of video game Bocce (it happens!), a mistake on my part led to him shouting “You idiot!” This statement stung; a rough few emotional weeks filled with self-doubt and general depression about my basic contributions to life seemed to audibly confirm how others perceived me. I sat on those feelings for the rest of the night, not wanting to make an awkward mountain into a maladroit of a molehill. (I texted my friend the next day to inform him that I found his brother’s statement to be rude.)

Another set of gaffes came from the best friend of a mutual friend. Over the course of several years, said best friend of mutual friend (a jittery guy that was not shy about being his crass, jittery self) made displeasing comments about acquaintances and colleagues, expressed out homophobic remarks about a mutual coworker, and professed his lust for a then 16-year-old actress. My opinion of him was low.

The fact that the mutual friend of said schlub considered the asshole one of his best friends made me reevaluate our joint bond, and I recognized ugly aspects of his personality with a new clarity. Offhand remarks that were sexist and racist in nature came back into focus, as did off-color jokes about a good mutual friend. The dickbagginess of the mutual acquaintance reflected the unbecoming side of that mutual friend.

It also made me wonder if I was as horrible as those examples that I was surrounded by. Humans are bound to occasionally say awful things and engage in arguable behavior, and no one is perfect. (I wish I could do-over many of the conversations I’ve had in my life–especially between the ages of 7 and 12.) But what if the encounters between mutual colleagues were annoying? Though I would like to think that I’m a good judge of character, what did it say that their colleagues could be friends with frustrating people?


I recently took a week-long break from my personal Facebook account due to boredom and discontent. My friends list had expanded to the point where a majority of the accounts were people I had never met or hadn’t seen in more than 5 years, and my news feed was filled with posts that may as well have been from strangers. I found myself increasingly bothered by the indulgence in the worst social media habits that I witnessed, and after months of unfollowing dozens in my feed, I went on an unfriending purge. And I felt terrible about it.

Like those acquaintances that I dealt with in real life, those that I collected on my Facebook profile shared a similarity: they were good people that periodically dabbled in irritating acts. But those behaviors were the only side I saw to them–online sphere or otherwise. I realized that those pesky proprieties (including an abundance of selfies, baby and pet pics, and musings about geek culture) had little meaning to me but might not have been the case to those that had a primary role in their lives. I know that I can’t get enough of the baby pics that my cousin’s family and my good friends post, and I look forward to pop culture musings from certain friends. It’s that “the vital connection is made.” (BOW, bow-bow bow)


I’ve probably been that terrible mutual friend on more than one occasion. I’m not the easiest person to converse with because of my shyness, and I might come across as aloof or stuck up as a result. My sense of humor can be goofy, so an occasional riff (like about pop culture or douchebags) might be annoying. I’m lucky that my friends can tolerate me at my best and worst, and I’m learning to apply those principles to others that I come across in my travels. That said, if they admit their longing for an underage person or post nothing but selfies, all bets are off.

Guest Post: A BRO Talks Supreme Court Shit

hobby lobby religious freedom

In the fairness of giving equal blog time to the less intelligent and less cultured, I am ceding the following blog post to a bro. The bro in question was given the task of deciphering the recent Supreme Court verdict about contraception and religious rights. These are his thoughts.

Bros! BROS. Bros?

So I’m checkin’ out my Facebook feed, right, catching up on the pics my boys posted from this weekend’s rager (I hope my girlfriend doesn’t see them; shit went loco, if you know what I mean!). And ALL these people–mostly family and friends from high school that are all cultural and shit–are flippin’ out about the Supreme Court and something called Hobby Lobby. What the hell is THAT shit? I yelled into my headset. (I was at work.) Usually when my Facebook blows up, it’s either something political or it’s almost UFC Fight Night. And since the fights were Saturday, it’s probably something political. And that shit goes nuclear real quick.

I usually avoid reading up on politics because it’s frankly boring ass shit: some old dude is seeking re-election; the IRS is getting all the money; orange dude John Boner (Speaker John Boehner–Ed.) is all mad at the president again. But the Supreme Court? Those old people in the robes are still around? Why they let old people decide on American shit is crazy; my grandpa is always complain’ about Chinese people, and he didn’t even fight in Korea. But I guess the old people in the robes decided that the guy that owns Hobby Lobby won’t pay for women’s birth control now. I don’t know why they get to decide it, but that’s politics.

My boy Socks (Steve Wysocki) wouldn’t pay for his girlfriend’s abortion, and she was PISSED. They broke up for like a month, but Socks got half a sleeve on his arm proclaiming his love for her, so she took him back. We ragged on him for it, calling him her bitch, but I gotta admit, that’s love, man. So I imagine that Hobby Lobby dude not paying for his lady employee’s birth control pills and whatever they stick up there is like having a million girlfriends pissed because you wouldn’t pay for THEIR abortions. And you don’t wanna be on the receiving end of a woman that can’t get her abortion. Socks isn’t gonna deny his girl another one–believe THAT.

Also, why did this Hobby Lobby guy name his store Hobby Lobby? That’s some nerd shit, rhyming things to be cute. Pause. And he doesn’t sell anything cool! I passed by a Hobby Lobby on the way to the vape shop my boy Swank (Mike Swanson) owns, Legitimate Vape (I don’t get it), and I saw nothin’ but wood furniture and knick-knacks. My aunt would probably love that place, especially if they have the clay statues of smiling black people. Only nerds and aunts love making shit. Though I guess if you can build stuff, you can get glue or spray paint–good for a cheap high when there’s no dank around.

But the Hobby Lobby dude didn’t want to pay for birth control for his lady workers because it was against his religion? I didn’t know you could do that! I remember my teachers talking about separation of church and statues, which is weird because churches usually have statues of sad women, but then that means that he could not do other shit because he doesn’t believe in it religionally. I don’t know much about God, but if he was as mean as that movie Noah, flooding the world and shit, he was a straight-up dick.

It’s ballsy as hell to ride or die with a dude that would do some Kill Bill shit, and now the Supreme Court is siding with Hobby Lobby dude? That’s gangsta as hell. And now something called closely hung companies can do whatever they want as long as they believe in God. That’s like the best get out of jail free card! Anytime I didn’t want to pay for my employees for something, I could say that God told me to do it! Shit, that’s CRAZY!

But that might not be good, you know what I mean? What if those lady workers don’t want any babies? What if their husbands or boyfriends don’t want no kids runnin’ around? They gotta pay for it because that Hobby Lobby dude won’t. And that shit’s expensive. Have you ever paid for Plan B? I have, and that ruined my fucking weekend; no Best Exotic Marigold Hotel for THIS guy.

So I guess there are political things that are important after all–especially when they deal with God and vaginas. But old dudes should keep their noses out of the vaginas, you know? That’s MY job–UP TOP! Swank owns his own store, so he can call off birth control for his lady employees, but he might want to keep it. He’s hookin’ up with at least two of them, and it’s probably cheaper than abortions. Gotta learn from Socks.



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