Tag: Humor

Stuff that makes me laugh

One Dozen

Men & Women

Some people were asked what they thought was the “magic number” of sex partners — more than X being too many, and less than X showing likely sexual inexperience.

The number X: twelve (or to be accurate: not X but XII).

My guess is that most of the respondents weren’t around in the 1970s. “Twelve” would have been an annual average, back then.

Here’s a totally gratuitous pic of a Seventies girl (Christina Lindberg), just to show what we guys had to deal with, temptation-wise, in those days:

Yeah, call me old-fashioned (take a number), but I love the clothes women wore back when I was in my late teens and early twenties.

 

No Chance

Funny Stuff

When I was at university in South Africa back in the early 1970s, our group of friends developed a game known as “Poor Man’s Monopoly” using a regular Monopoly game, but wherein each contestant started off with no money whatsoever, collected only $20 (not $200) when passing GO, and the winner was the the first player to own any property at all. (Let me tell you, those little brown properties next to GO became much sought after.) And of course, the “Chance” cards which casually allowed a player to collect $5 from each of the others could cause a fistfight. The only “Chance” or “Community Chest” cards we stripped out were the ones requiring income tax payments — because, obviously, no one earned enough to pay taxes and we didn’t want to see our friends committing suicide. The games took forever to spit out a winner — kinda like life itself, really — and were played in an atmosphere of grim desperation — once again, kinda like real life.

Which brings us to this wonderful concept.

According to Black Lives Matter (and their White liberal supporters), this is their life, according to the White Man’s Monopoly rules:

Suggestions for the “Chance” and “Community Chest” cards in Comments, please. As always here on my back porch, political correctness and trigger warnings can be safely ignored as long as it’s funny.

By the way: I didn’t spell “Monopoly” with the little circled R after the y because a.) I don’t know how to create it in WordPress and b.) fuck you, Parker Brothers’ lawyers or whoever.

Camera Work

Funny Stuff

When getting a new smartphone or camera, the natural instinct is to take photos of people and things almost nonstop. However, care should be exercised, and people should take time to get practiced with features such as “focus” and “zoom” — and especially “zoom”. Take these two scenarios, for instance. In the first, our photographer wanted to capture this romantic picture of a couple kissing on London’s Tube, and share it with her friends.

What she wanted to send:

What actually arrived:

The second situation was a freshman coed who wanted to show her mother a cute picture of herself and her new roomie coming home from a sorority party, somewhat the worse for wear.

What she wanted to send:

What actually arrived:

Like I said: we really need to know how to work the technology…

Stupid Shit

Bad News

From my travels around Teh Intarwebz:

“What Wine Do You Drink With Fish Fingers?” (Daily Mail)

You don’t drink wine with fish fingers: it’s fucking kid’s food.

“Sushi warning as patient found with live worms writhing in gut” (Telegraph)

No kidding. You eat RAW FISH and wonder at the parasites. You morons (and that includes anyone who eats raw fish, btw; I don’t care how “cool” or “trendy” it is).

“In response to an alleged hate crime, students would like exam exemptions, a tuition freeze, and a new curriculum, just to name a few.” (Weekly Standard)

It’s called “letting the inmates run the asylum”, you academic assholes. (Actually, it gets worse, if you can imagine it. Read the whole article.)

Then from Over There:

“Germany Takes First Step Towards Legalizing Rape Committed By Muslim Men” (ROK)

Weapons-grade accommodationism from some German judge (who needs a month’s worth of daily scourging and/or hourly ball-kicking).

Finally:

“Ladies Day at Chester” (Daily Mail)

…and for once, it doesn’t look like a group of dockside totties during Fleet Week, simply class and elegance with just a couple examples of Train Smash Women. Maybe there’s hope for us yet… nah, that could only happen if:

“Freak Tsunami Submerges All Of Coastal California Under Two Hundred Feet Of Water” (The Daily Kim)

We can but hope.

 

Blast From His Past

Men & Women

The Dallas Stars hockey team just finished a woeful season — from second in the league the season before, to “no playoffs for you this year”. One of their star players is #19 Tyler Seguin, who used to play for the Boston Bruins a few years back. Which is where this pic comes from:

Read more

No Change Necessary

Men & Women

Over at Britain’s Daily Mail newspaper, some bint is full of good advice for Brad Pitt:

Isn’t it time pampered man-baby Sad Dad Brad just grew up?

That’s the headline, and I’m not going to bore you with the rest because it’s basically just one of those everyday “let me tell you how to change your life for the better” articles from a female journalist — a breed not exactly renowned for their chastity, sobriety and responsible level-headedness themselves.

Of course, there’s always the standard manosphere response to twaddle like this, i.e. “I guess I missed the memo which gave you the right to tell me how to live my life”, but a far better response is instead a question: Why should Brad Pitt “grow up”?

Yeah, he’s a bad boy. Yeah, he has a pattern of self-destructive behavior. Yeah, he’s irresponsible. Yeah, he’s a social miscreant. Yeah, he’s this and yeah, he’s that.

Lest we forget, all that (coupled with an acting talent which makes most other actors green with envy, and which propelled him out of pretty-boy roles into big, solid, meaty, Oscar-winning performances) — all those flaws enabled this miserable “man-baby” to have sex with Jennifer Aniston and Angelina Jolie on consecutive nights. How many other men in the world can make that claim?

None. Because he’s Brad fucking Pitt, that’s why, and he doesn’t have to obey anybody’s rules or take advice from anyone. That said, here’s mine.

Brad, dude: if you read this, tell them all (including that stupid psychiatrist) to go and fuck themselves. I assume you’ve got enough money squirreled away that it doesn’t matter whether you ever work again, or not. (And even if you haven’t, you’ll still be able to make a truckload whenever you feel like it, e.g. Oceans 14 through 114.)

And you don’t have to see a shrink. Most shrinks are total girlymen (note their choice of profession), and they’re all just going to tell you what to do to make you more acceptable to the Sisterhood.

You don’t need the Sisterhood because as long as you live, you’ll have permanent access to another kind of sisterhood, the one that wants to rub warm oil all over your man-baby’s body before shagging you till your blue eyes cross. Yep; all over the world, there are a million beautiful women who will have sex with you on whatever terms you wish to make; and if you’re done with those, there are yet another million who would leave their boyfriends or husbands just for the chance to bounce on your Sealy Posturepedic with you.

Yeah, having sex with millions of willing women is a sad, shallow and meaningless existence. Brad, baby: lest we all forget, you tried doing the “responsible husband” schtick with Miss Crazier-Than-A-Sackful-Of Cats herself; how’s that working out for you?

Quit all that namby-pamby sculpture and building fires bullshit. Grab a bottle of Southern Comfort, fire up a joint and give a call to [insert the name of random hottie here]. You may hate yourself in the morning, but what the hell, you seem to hate yourself right now with all this “sad dad” crap anyway. So give it a shot.

In the words of the immortal Jeremy Clarkson: “What could possibly go wrong?”

Disclaimer: I have no actual proof that Brad bonked Jennifer and Angelina on consecutive nights, but let’s just go with the odds on this one. He’s Brad Pitt; who’s going to bet against him?