Skip to content

Happy Earth Day, douchebags

Hey dickface, wanna know the history of Earth Day? Well, you came to the right place, peeknuckle, because newspaper people love the goddamn Earth. That’s why we murder trees, grind their corpses into pulp, and then print vapid liberal propaganda on them.

“Hey everyone, come celebrate Earth Day by enjoying this tree for five minutes, then throwing it into the garbage at Erbert & Gerbert’s without recycling it!”

I like to hug the Earth as much as possible. I hug every part of it, sexily. I hug dogs, cats, rabbits, chipmunks, and even dickish animals that maul me, like badgers and grizzly bears. I hug the shit out of all of them, because wrestling around with them helps conceal my boner for this beautiful planet of ours.

Every morning I wake up and compost my poo, french kiss a frog and then drill a hole in the ground and have sex with it. Twenty years ago, they would have put me in an asylum for ‘tards, but since I’m doing it with the express purpose of loving the Earth, modern people let it slide. I’ve noticed people don’t come over to visit me very often, though.

U.S. Individual Income Tax Return 1040

I’m all done with my taxes, reader! I hope the IRS doesn’t flag me like they did last year. I’m no accountant, but I believe everything I’ve marked here is legitimate. It’s common knowledge that everyone fibs a little bit on these things, adding a few extra itemized deductions, or kids, or maybe a celebrity wife. I’m sure the IRS takes everything with a grain of salt.

Also, as a joke, I listed my social security number as 1-800-BOOBS. The IRS probably has a good sense of humor, though. Everybody likes jokes.

Name: Paul Ryan
Spouse’s Name: Katrina Bowden
Social Security #: 180-02-6627
Address: 2001 Ford Escort with smashed rear bumper, usually parked on Lexington Ave & Heliotrope Dr, Los Angeles, CA 90029
Filing Status: Generally pleased
Head of Household? I can assure you that I wear the pants in this car that I use as my home

Dennis Anderson’s hairpiece to retire soon

After 50 years of journalism work, 41 of them with WDIO, Dennis Anderson’s hairpiece is retiring next month. It will be the first time a portion of a person retired since Sven Sundgaard’s tooth whitening kit left KBJR for Minneapolis in 2006.

“Yes, I’m retiring,” said Anderson. “With 15 grandkids and all of my children and grandkids living in Duluth . . .”

“Shhh, shut up,” said our producer, silencing Anderson. “We’re trying to interview your hairpiece.”

Anderson’s hairpiece has been unusually quiet about the departure. Even after our reporter hit the hairpiece with a bat and poured a can of soda on it, it still declined to speak. Anderson kept trying to respond on behalf of his hairpiece, saying things like, “What is wrong with you?” and “Why do you keep beating me and pouring soda on my hair? Be kind.”

Beardyness is not for the weak, part two

Previously on The Beardy Douche Chronicles (working title, copyright pending):

Paul awakens and sits up in bed, startled.

Generously Breasted Redheaded Supermodel: What is it, Paul?

Paul: My hobo senses are tingling. Someone nearby wants to hire a temp!

Generously Breasted Redheaded Supermodel: But we’ve only made love seven times this morning. Can’t you stick around a bit longer?

Paul: Damn it, woman! Someone needs a temp!

Generously Breasted Redheaded Supermodel: It’s just answering the phone. Can’t they hire pretty much anyone? Don’t temps just spend the whole work day checking Facebook?

Paul: Yes to all of those questions.

Beardyness is not for the weak, part one

My friends and I are shooting our own TV pilot next weekend. We spent months writing a script, casting actors, and scouting locations, and we’ll spend the next month filming it. Then we’ll try to pitch it to an agent. Once we sell the script, we’ll move into the upper middle class tax bracket, blow all our thousands of dollars on SUVs, Adderall prescriptions and Beanie Babies, and commit suicide by throwing ourselves in front of a street sweeper.

But first we have to film it. Our show is a comedy about a homeless man who comes into an inheritance and has to learn to adjust to normal life again. It’s kinda like that 1980s movie “Walk Like A Man,” except ours doesn’t star Howie Mandel, so it’ll actually be funny.

Since I’m playing the part of the homeless man, I have to grow a beard. There are many things in life I’m good at – drinking, being handsome, tricking ladies into thinking I had a vasectomy, Navajo blanket weaving – but growing a beard is not a part of this list. Half my facial hair is blond and the other half is brown, so when I grow a beard, it appears as though I’m dying of some horrible disease.