What’s more depressing? Scheduling a Zoom connection call with a woman who uses terms like “positive energy”? Or to learn she’s booked solid till early February? When you just pitched the possibility of doing craft beer jokes at her brewery in Wildwood, New Jersey and not dying faster than Christopher’s male modeling career after he became a paler junkie than Kate Moss on a model shoot in Iceland.
“Normally Jews aren’t big craft brew beer drinkers, unless they’re degenerate shishy bitch dads like me who describe 21st Amendment’s Watermelon beers as 5 sippers max. That go down easier than your wife on pure MDMA on your birthday after insisting Obama Be Good ordered you to leak it. I actually gave up drinking beer last summer, because I got embarrassed, spending so much time hungover recycling, endless reminders of my lushy littered past, as entire Rocky marathons on AMC passed me by. Has anyone tried Sammy Hagger’s Tequilla yet? I hear it tastes Van Halen light. And Nirvana didn’t kill Hair Metal, Aids did. Before Magic made HIV disappear. Jesus would impress me if he turned bong water into wine that tasted better than Snoop Dog’s new cabernet wine that tastes like mouth wash used in porn hood hell. It’s hard to get kinky with your wife when you’re a stay-at-home Dad because you’re already choking her too hard financially. And it’s impossible to feel like your own man when you’re a stay-at-home dad whenever your wife’s smart phone sends her an alert after you make another questionable purchase. Wife calls, “Hey babe, so how was bride of Chucky?” Bruce Lee triggers my hyper competitive kids. Daughter says, “Daddy, did Bruce suck at anything?” I said, “Fart control, because Bruce Lee ate too much soy.” The one show Netflix won’t reimagine is Richie Rich unless Juno plays Richie Rich and blows his entire inheritance on financing brewery scholarships at Berkley for advanced chemistry majors who were too young to be influenced by Snoop Dog video promos for Old English, Death’s Row’s go-to ho sprayer of choice. I’d buy an IPA hop bomb made from a black brewer hipster from Northern Liberties in Philly with promised hopes of its special brand of hop juice helping me cure my chronic white man’s disease by injecting the malt, hops concoction with Cardi’s B’s perpetually rising yeast infection. I went to Ithaca college myself, otherwise known as Cornel’s retarded next-door neighbor. But I was in the distinguished school of communications, so I can take bongs hits of extra strong outdoor weed and manage not to stutter every other 2 seconds. Bonding with Ithaca alum in Ithaca hoodies is off the list, because it’s a connection fail every time. I’ll say, “I went to Ithaca.” And they’ll say, “Unless you went to Cornell, I’m not interested in what your limited network on LinkedIn can do for me asshole, so go fuck off 8 days a week buddy because you obviously need an extra day to rest your far from blooming burnout head for thinking I’d care to entertain everything you can’t do to improve my social standing in life already jerkoff.”
Imagine He-Man reimagined as a Mallrat in Kevin’s Smiths next woke reimagined sequel. He-Man says, “I love the smell of Newbury Comics in the morning when Little Nas, Pete Davidson and the Mandalorian actor dominate the social media airwaves with super imposed pushed upon authority. But God didn’t give me 3 kids to have a panic attack over it, which is more than I say for Pete Davidson, the voice of Generation Z, the boy toy rebound king of Staten Island who looks like Annie Liebowitz and Barnie from the Simpsons had a baby going through a goth phase while smitten with Kim Kardashian’s porcupine puss. Social Justic Lawyers are so hot right now. Yesterday, my daughter says, “A girl in my school says, “Fairy Club is only for little girls.” I said, “Fake news, Superman is into fairies now to. Now the man of steel will drain Little Nas’s balls faster than a speeding bullet.” Resist this woke Wolverine, Challah, thank you very much.”
Frank Miller on moderate Islam. Join my army to rape our enemies’ wives is a tad extremist for even devilish white boy limey crusaders as a whole.
David Crosby on finger tapping Joni Mitchell. If I can’t be Eddie Van Halen, at least I can try to cause an eruption in Joni’s droopy dry snatch for old time’s sake.
Imagine Bruce Springsteen inviting Obama to dance on stage with him on Broadway to Dancing in the Dark to prove his soul glow limitations have no bounds.
Tree of Life Rabbi claims he never met Joe Biden after the massacre there. He adds, “Do you really think I’d hang out much at Ben and Jerry’s these days?”
If Hunter Biden was the least favored his son, he’d be stand-up comedy’s answer to Charlie Sheen. January 6th was some armed rebellion to make Joan of Arc shake in her tunic top. The only thing Trump supporters were strapped with were MAGA hats, credit card bills from Walmart and water guns full of discontinued Trump vodka to ease the leftover pain since the day Democracy died. Did I ever tell you about the time my dad lifted the travel ban on my 15-year-old girlfriend for shoplifting a gold-plated coke spoon in France? Of course, my dad can sniff out a pay back opportinity when it presents itself.”