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A list of this week’s product safety recalls

Here at Paul’s Revenge Work Food, we strive to produce only the highest quality products. When you need to enact revenge on your co-workers with the absolute worst smelling lunches, we want to be your first and only choice. So it’s with great regret that we must request a safety recall of the following items recently sold by our company:

Brown River Indian Cuisine. For those who don’t want diarrhea, but want their co-workers to experience it osmotically, there is usually no finer product. It tastes great, but smells like the family dog’s bowel movement after eating bacon and eggs. Sadly, the last few batches were so intense that somewhere around 47 people died of rectal failure. Our apologies for the inconvenience.

Burnt Anus Microwavable Popcorn. Looking for the smelliest popcorn in the world, leaving behind an odor so intense that it will actually ruin the food people place in the microwave after it? Look no further. Unfortunately, the instructions on the package should have mentioned that adding salt or butter causes an unstable chemical reaction that often results in fiery explosions.

Excerpts from my upcoming children’s book

You Are Garbage
You are boring,
You are average,
You’re a pile of crap!
There’s 74.3 million
children in the world
and most of them are saps.

The poor ones
have no education
or plausible reason to live.
The ones like you
are selfish twats
without two fucks to give.

You’re not the worst,
but not the best.
You’re just kinda plain.
Even though your mom
says you’re special,
it’s a preposterous claim.

Don’t feel bad,
it’s not your fault
that you are so subpar.
The world needs more
administrative assistants
and hose monkeys to wash their cars.

If your mom had
been less supportive,
and taught you how to work,
Maybe your adult life wouldn’t
be so disappointing, and
you wouldn’t be an entitled jerk.


My apologies in advance for the dog photos

I’m sorry. That’s all I can say. I haven’t even done it yet, but I will, and I’m sorry. It can’t be stopped. I’ve only owned a dog for one day, and my phone already has roughly 8,017 photos of him. It’s only a matter of time before I post them to online social networks. I don’t want to, but I have to. Nature compels me. I am now a pet owner. I am now annoying.

I never wanted to become one of these people. I hate these people. These common suburbanites with lives so boring that all they can do to pass the time is unleash wave after wave of photographic dreck online, each pet or baby photo more mundane than the last.

Post one photo and it’s cute and informative. You have a pet or baby now. It’s a thing in your life worth sharing. After the tenth or twentieth photo, half of them blurry or poorly lit, an intervention is needed. One where your closest friends gather in a room and shout things at you like, “The damn baby/pet is doing nothing of interest! Nothing! It’s just yawning or staring vacantly into space! Get your shit together, Kenneth!”

Get outta my way, I’m a terrible person and I’m buying this dog

Everything in Los Angeles is competitive, except using the restroom. If you have to whiz, take your time. But for anything else, you should expect heavy competition. Everything from eating at In-N-Out Burger, to buying crappy used furniture, to watching a savage gang beating on the subway requires shoving your way through large crowds of people cool enough to know about it long before you.

For Los Angelians . . . Los Angelites . . . for people who live here, nothing is worthwhile unless it’s wrestled away from someone else. Want to sign up for a pilates class, go to a flea market, eat an $8 grilled cheese sandwich from a food truck or drive your car two miles to your workplace? You’d better set aside about two hours for each of these things. Being a resident here means always having an endless crowd ahead, full of people who have much nicer sunglasses than you and teeth that are crooked in an oddly attractive way that makes them look pretty, yet just flawed enough to be interesting.

Paul Ryan enemies list for Feb. 17, 2014

Hello, I’m a waiter at a restaurant, and I recommended that Paul try the soup. I’m just doing my job and repeating the specials. I was unaware that Paul views soup as “a bowl of water with things in it.” I realize now how offensive it is to put scalding water in a bowl and 1) pretend it’s food, 2) pretend it’s worth actual money, and 3) attempt to sell it to an intelligent human being. I can’t apologize enough. I promise I will immediately pour all this brown water with weird things in it down the sink and buy more bacon and steaks.

Hello, I’m a bus driver. I slammed on the brakes to avoid running over a small child, and the centrifugal force slightly altered the placement of Paul’s hair. I’m very sorry for messing up his hair, and will make sure to run over any Darwinian children that threaten its magnificence in the future.

Hello, I’m an attractive woman on Tinder. I just liked Paul’s photo, which sends him an alert on his phone that someone in the universe doesn’t think he’s ugly. But I neglected to mention in my profile that I’m a vegan who can only eat at three restaurants throughout the city. I’m sorry for not mentioning my veganism, and realize it’s the same as someone not mentioning they have herpes.