Sir, is this your catte?

"Yeah, that’s my cat."

"Sir, I’m gonna go ahead and have to cite you for improper catte. Your catte is just cat, and it doesn’t have any weed, which as you know is a violation of Internet Protocol—the social one, not the programming one—420."

"The Caturday Laws."

"That’s right. Now, I’m gonna write you a summons, and that means that you’re gonna have to appear in court to demonstrate your catte compliance."

"With the weed."

"Yes. Now, a comply fail can result in a summary judgment of fail, and a fail warrant can be issued for your wincarceration."

"Gee whiz."

"Just give your cat a bong, sir."

"You mean catte."

"Christ, now you’ve got me doing it. Just sign here, please, to certify that you understood this summons." 

"O-o-kay…. Will that do?”

"Sir, no. You know better than that. Your name isn’t ironically misspelled anywhere."

"Sory, it’s early yet. Don’t even talk to me until I’ve had my Pepis."

"That’s the spirit. You take care of that now, sir. And you want to know something cool?"

"Zombies."

"That’s right, sir. omgood day."

"Slap a tity, officer."

I keep having these dreams where I’m doing something and David Boreanaz shows up

And he just sort of lurks in the corner for a while, trying not to be obvious about the fact that he’s interrupting a party or whatever, but being really obvious about it anyway, and finally he’s like:

"Hey, I need a favor."

And he says it all portentous, like it’s so important that he’s going to just tell me what the fucking favor is, only he stands there and kind of cocktail-broods at me for a while until I’m all:

"What?"

Then he pauses AGAIN, like the world is just made up of pauses that everyone has to use before the end of the month to make quota.

"I need you to pick Buffy up from the airport."

And I just stare at him for ten seconds, because it’s like, a) I can’t believe he’s still doing this shit and b) he asked me to do this like six months ago. And I’m like:

"Fuck you, you pick her up."

"I can’t, I’m a vampire."

"The fuck you are, dude." And I hold up my iPhone to his cheek and take a picture. "See? Microdermabrasion. Not a vampire."

"Vampires can have bad skin."

"I don’t give a fuck, your show went off the air last century. You’re on a show called Bones now, and it’s the fucking worst.”

"That doesn’t sound like me."

"Dude, you did a show about 9/11 like ten years after it happened, and everyone stood around the magic liquid CGI tube watching people get CGI’d into victims or hijackers, and the whole thing was like Patriot Nerd Morgue, and I’m pretty sure you had to cry in it, only no blood came out because you’re not a vampire, man."

"But the sun hurts."

"Because you’re in Hollywood and over 40. You still haven’t bought me the pizza you promised from last time, and I had to listen to her for 90 minutes back on the 405 telling me she ‘has a calling,’ so you do it. And tell her she isn’t Buffy anymore either."

"She doesn’t know…"

"Dude, I know.”

stayforthecredits:

Do you have anecdotes about your time filming National Treasure?
SEAN BEAN: There was one where I went back to Nic Cage’s house, and we’d had a few drinks, we were playing pool and he accidentally knocked over his prehistoric cave bear skull and smashed it. And he was really upset about it, and the next day went and buried it in a field. (via Reddit AMA)

stayforthecredits:

Do you have anecdotes about your time filming National Treasure?

SEAN BEAN: There was one where I went back to Nic Cage’s house, and we’d had a few drinks, we were playing pool and he accidentally knocked over his prehistoric cave bear skull and smashed it. And he was really upset about it, and the next day went and buried it in a field. (via Reddit AMA)

(via pleasuresatan)

Why Is Florida So Weird?

image

Everyone knows that Carl Hiassen and HuffPost Weird News put Florida on the weird map.

*puts on tweed hat* “Ah, yes, HuffPost Weird News. This thing I just learned exists today. Although that might be because I don’t read unpaid clickbait ‘volunteer’ pieces run for millions in profit for a union-busting gadfly.”

But its insanity is missing its own show, one that seeks to answer how Florida brought us the violent naked pooping masturbator; why people are still, to this day, eating each other’s faces; and what weapons Floridians use to make love.

*begins gesticulating with pipe in hand* “‘Why is Florida so weird?’ Well, 15 years ago, Drew Curtis’ Fark.com caught fire as an entertaining daily news-of-the-weird aggregator, and it had as its first state-specific tag a FLORIDA tag years before adding Ohio. For a generation of content-farming online journalists reared by the internet, Florida’s weirdness is a long established confirmation-bias phenomenon that gets re-fed into the machine by those perceptually warped by it, regurgitating the meme until it just becomes tautological barf.

lol, Florida is sure weird just because it is. Hey, check out this Weird Florida piece we found. It’s about a guy on drugs doing something dumb. Hahaha wouldn’t see someone taking drugs in New York City. And get this sexual deviant story posted stat. Can’t wait to make those yokels in LA go wowsers at this one!

Maybe an influx of the crazy elderly, idle rich and opportunistic poor (the latter including immigrants, drug mules and tax cheats) from all 50 states slightly ups the layers of oddity—and maybe it’s intensified by the many sparsely populated rural counties and more remote small municipalities where virtually anything out of the ordinary can run in the paper as news, thus reinjecting fuel into the cycle—but that’s probably not it. In all likelihood Florida is no weirder per capita than any other state; you’re just too fucking lazy to look anywhere else and too fucking stupid to figure that out…” *trails off talking in a murmur while still eyerolling and making a constant jerkoff motion*

EDIT: To include this observation from Tim Marchman:

Someone Posted This French-Horned Butt Pic on My Facebook

Here are all the replies, with names removed for career purposes:

- This is so French horny.

- Is this how ultrasounds are made?

- Trumpet of the Swank Magazine

- You can do better. I feel like euphonium it in now.

Are you saying that joke fell flat?

I coronet comment at this time as to whether or not I thought you blew. BTW, is this pic from Brassers.com?

- Hornpub.

- Redtuba.

I look forward to seeing all these comments as an original piece on Buzzfeed tomorrow.

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Only Kids Born In The 90s Will Understand Orchestrass

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A Haters’ Guide to Deleted Scenes

Last night I wrote a haters’ guide to the NBA Finals. If you’re a serious fan, it’s probably wholly unnecessary, because you already hate so many things so much. But if you’re a casual fan, I hope it’s of help to you. Popping into a championship series and figuring out who to root for is tough, especially since most rooting requires a passion for something, which, really, is work. Having a passion against something is easy, and having a passion for just being against things in general is even easier. Hence, my column. Go read it.

However, an editor felt that this paragraph in its original form did not work. Why, I don’t understand. So the cut scene is here:

The Coaches

No coach in the NBA is more boned than Erik Spoelstra. There’s his last name, which is virtually an anagram of “Olestra,” the anal-seepage-causing chip additive whose reference has fueled a thousand jokes from every Twitter wag whose only comedy lodestar is the Seth MacFarlane commandment to Remember The 90s.

I think he thought the observation went too far afield, but—his being a good guy aside—I also think he missed the point. Because it’s a haters’ guide, and sometimes other detestable things get in the field of fire. Like Seth MacFarlane, who sucks. And his fans, still riding hard for anal-seepage jokes. It behooves us, even if it takes half an extra breath, to reaffirm as a society that things that suck shit do, in fact, still suck shit.

Hello, yes, thank you.