Two Amigos Suck Each Other's Egos.

Former Presidents George W. Bush and Bill Clinton shared the stage in Toronto, Canada yesterday for the first time ever and neither disagreed about anything on most subjects except for one; IRAQ. Clinton told spectators (who shelled out $200 to witness the event) that U.N. inspectors needed more time for the search performed in Afghanistan looking for weapons of mass destruction to which Bush replied disagreeably, "I don't buy the premise that our attention was diverted." Apparently, that was about as heated as it got. Later, Bush laughed about how his father (former President George H.W. Bush) and Clinton have spent a considerable amount of time together on stage according to his mother Barbara who says "President Clinton and Father share the stage together so much, he's like a son to her." Bush then said, "So brother, it's good to see you."

Despite the overall friendly tone set by the two former Presidents, protesters showed their displeasure for ex-President Bush. Oh well dubelya, ya can't please'em all right?

Here's my highlighted version of how the "Conversation with Presidents George W. Bush and Bill Clinton" went down.

{click on image to enlarge}

Politics are for the birds and politicians are just Hollywood rejects. This includes ex-Presidents.
Cheers,

My Guilty Conscience

Well folks, I guess it's time to pick up more dumbells again and less beer bottles.

I recently was standing in line at the grocery store feeling good about myself when I looked down and saw a muscle magazine staring me in the gut. Now ordinarily this would not bother me, but I've been putting off working out now since my wife got pregnant (about a year and a half ago; first wives have a gestation period of 18 months). In fact, for awhile we had an ongoing contest to see who needed to wear stretchy pants first. Either way I lose... ...Shit.

I picked up the magazine and when I got home I started to read it whilst I dropped off some pooper-troopers into the porcelain abyss. I have to admit, nothing has changed much in the industry after all this time. Take this pill, eat this organic shit, lift the weights this way, blah, blah, blah...
Here's the mag I picked up:

Guess It's kinda lost it's appeal to me.
Have a great weekend Shamers!
Cheers,

Let's play a little game...

Click on the map and see if you can guess which state of the US
I reside in?


Hint: It's the one covered in shit Gregoire. Keep up the good work. Guess we're not so "green" after all.


Cheers,

You say potato, I say Patty the man-eating Nazi.

For those of you who don't know or recognize Patty Stanger of Bravo's Millionaire Matchmaker from her picture below, (click on image for a closer view) you're not missing out on a damn thing. Really. You're better off for it. This woMan eats wealthy men and their money for a living. Wait, no... ... she "matches" wealthy men up with gold-digging whores. Yep, that's right. Patty-Wacky Stanger actually believes she's helping these men by finding a future ex-companion for them who's willing to someday bleed their bank accounts dry like Paul McCartney's One-legged Ex-wife, Heather Mills.
Which leads me to my next question: why does this matchmaking, man-eating Nazi even have a job doing this? Who gives a shit about the rich in these times? Wouldn't her "talent" be better used to help find the unfortunate people with Turrets Syndrome hook up with other mates of the same disease? Or what if she helped "little people" find other tiny-tike love? How could that be wrong?

She-Devil has even written a book called “Become Your Own Matchmaker: 8 Easy Steps for Attracting Your Perfect Mate.” That's amazing considering she's single and no man wants to wed this high octane bitch. Patty, why would any man with half a brain want you? You're screwing it up for them by telling all of our secrets damn it! If you're a matchmaker, than I'm a fortune teller and I predict your ass is going to be wrinkled, alone and reading one of your newly published line of self help books starting with "How to lose the attraction of the entire opposite sex forever because you're a dumb bitch."

Oh well, I think she and Mrs. Potato Head have a few things in common. For instance, they both like to show off their old melons and they both like to keep their men down. This one's for you Cupid's c@#$! Mom told me NEVER to say that word, so I won't even type it Mom :)

Cheers,
P.S. Did someone forget to tell her that her face looks like ?
Because DAMN...

Happy Mother's Day!

To all the mothers out there who need a whole damn day to yourselves,









And to the women in my life who put up with my shit, thank you and I love you.

Cheers,

Because everyone has a HOT sauce story.

So my brother (Uncle Dan) and I try this hot sauce I bought from the World Market store awhile back. We just wanted to kick up my wife's great, but sometimes bland omelette breakfast she makes for me (us) on Sunday mornings. Which kind of pisses me off because my brother often borrows my wife for stuff like that. I mean, he did give her back though. It's not like that neighbor of mine who borrows my tools and "forgets" to return them! Anyways...

So we're trying one of those Blair's hot sauces (I think it was that Super Ultra Mega After Death But Before You Go to Hell one or something?) and it almost killed my brother. This story reminds me of Snow White when she ate that apple and fell asleep. Only instead of an apple, it was hot sauce and instead of falling asleep, it was you just bleed out your ass the next day.

I told him it was "mildly hot" and got him to pour about a quarter of the bottle on his eggs before he took a small, but never the less effective, bite. ONLY there was no anticipation or delay with this sauce. That shit started to burn his eyes before it even got to his face hole! Then he immediately turned red, gagged and started screaming obscenities for five minutes. He then proceeded to to drink everything we had to try and neutralize the pain (as he began to slowly forget who he was and what the hell just happened). In an attempt to save the rest of his breakfast, he then washed the remaining sauce from his rubber omelette.

After he finally came to, he just looked at me and said: "What the fuck is that shit called anyway? You're Gonna Die Bitch or somethin'?" and I say: "Yea, something like that."

So in memory of mine and Uncle Dan's hot sauce incident, I designed a bottle of what I think You're Gonna Die Bitch Hot Sauce would look like. For whatever reason, I didn't think of a flaming skull or the grim reaper or anything like that. Instead I kept thinking of something even more terrifying...


Barney engulfed in flames and saying he's "sorry" came to mind.

Here's to hot sauces and bloody a-holes!

Cheers,

What's the big deal?

The wife and I finally sat down to watch that Twilight movie adopted from Stephanie Meyer's book to see what all the fuss is about. I have to say, I was a little surprised I didn't hate it. Please don't get me wrong, I didn't love it either. I think it's that target market of teeny-boppers that think biting people and drinking blood is the "cool" thing to do or something? In my youth, it was Frankenstein or The Munsters that was cool. Guess I'm old.

























I was just curious about this movie because it takes place in Forks, Washington and nobody really goes there unless they have to.


Cheers,

Scientific breakthrough!

Saw this watching the morning news and almost choked on my coffee. Apparently, a funnel isn't just a funnel anymore.

Wow, all I can say is well done ladies...well done {insert golf clap here}.




HAPPY EASTER or BUNNY DAY EVERYBODY!


Cheers,

The Shameless Taxi Driver

Click on the image below to watch cartoon.









Cheers,

So this kid punches me in my dick...

And this is why I HATE other people's kids...

So I'm standing in line at one of the fifty local Starbucks in my neck of the woods and this little fucker walks up to me and punches my dick! WTF?! Obviously knowing I can't punch his mini egg roll back, I nonchalantly and ever so gently, LAUNCH the dick-slugger back a few feet and say "No! Damn-it!" (I think I murmured "little bastard" under my breath as well).

The kid goes crying up to his mother (a craft which every little shit has mastered) who is conveniently at the front of the line ordering her Quad, Venti, Caramel, Macchiato with extra whip cream. She (kid's mom) is herself, a site to behold. She's at least a four hundred pounder with another noodle-striker in training on one hip and a purse you could park a Buick in on the opposite shoulder. I mean seriously, how do her knees not buckle or implode from her obvious love affair with Ben & Jerry's Chubby Hubby ice cream? OK that's me, but anyhow...
After that thought, I'm thinking in my head that I'm pretty much fucked now and it's too late to make a B-line for the exit door because Jabba the Hutt is going to eat me before I can make a clean escape. As fate would have it however, twinkle toes never did turn around and the little bastard continued to run around pulling merchandise off the shelves and terrorizing other java junkies. I'm guessing this kid would have to have his tiny berries gnawed off by a Norwegian sewer rat before his mommy would even take notice. Meanwhile, her miniature spawn of Satan might as well be pissing in all of our drinks while he's at it.
But wait, there's more!!

Then the little bastard goes over to one of the lounge chairs and starts picking his nose (all the while making sure nobody sees him doing it - but I did). He then proceeds to wipe the piece of his brain on the chair for the next unsuspecting customer to ponder if they're lucky. At this point, I just want to get my goddamn coffee and get the hell out of here before I do something that will make the evening news cast.

So what's the Shameless moral of this story?

Whatever happened to those stupid neon leashes they made for kids anyways? Wait...never mind. That lady would would just have that retractable kind that allows him to go off about fifty yards or more and then leave a steaming poop in my yard.

Cheers,