I can't tell what's more embarrassing -- jumping out of a plane with no parachute, or getting saved by Hawkman.
And trust me, if something can take out Race Bannon, you're not going to be able to stop it without Mechagodzilla.
These little bastards are one latino hermaphrodite in a wheelchair away from you checking all the items off your multicultural scavenger hunt list. They seriously look like the bridge of a Star Trek spaceship that's flown through a retard nebula.
I can't tell you how it ends because I don't know. If at this point you're strong enough to still hear the movie through the sound of your own screams, then thanks for reading this video review, Bruce Willis.
That raises an important question: Where did the artist drawing superheroes fighting donuts meet the programmer who wanted to make a game about Diabetes? At some kind of Dumbest Ass Ideas Ever convention?
Screaming shit can cheer up all kinds of people. Drive by a goth club and yell 'SKELETOR!' out the window. They get so excited you'll think you got elected President Dracula
Fun Fact: Never trust anyone from space.
I just stepped in a big pile of sassy.
Internet forums bring out the worst of humanity: stupid irrational egomaniacs telling each other how much they hate everything. Getting bothered by it is like reading 'FUCK YOU' on a bathroom wall and saying, 'Fuck ME!? H-how DARE they!!'
Art would like to think that it's some sort of secret communication device between the intellectual elite, but all it's doing is circling a message through the same group of fags that they're all pissed off. It's a waste of time; you can tell someone you're pissed off with a simple karate chop. Karate attacks or just words about karate attacks are a cleaner and faster means of communication than painting floating eyeballs with your body fluids ever will be. That's what makes this exploding cow so special. It wasn't a visual interpretation of some profound statement. It needed to happen because there are no words that will ever be as rad as filling a cow with dynamite and dropping it from the sky. Unless you're a hypnotist and you say the words, Take off the Wonder Woman outfit and make out with your twin sister.
It's a common misconception that art has meaning. I've been to enough gallery critiques to know that after 8 years of art school, a person can trick themselves into thinking some ass-colored paint splat is telling them something about how smart they are. Don't fall for this. Any painting that has a secret meaning is just an artist sucking his own dick about how some people can't unriddle their profound wisdom. And their profound wisdom is usually that yellow looks pretty next to purple, they don't like television, or how the government should fill their asshole with sexy miniature firemen.
Some might say that having an ugly little dynamite-covered pacifist guard an ammunition/panda depot is crazy. But maybe it makes the most sense of all.
To imagine the music they dance to, picture a march song written by a tone-deaf homosexual cartoon character, which should put a strain on your imagination since then you have to picture the grim horror of a future world where music like it wouldn't be immediately made illegal and destroyed.
And while I'm on the subject of taking personal offense at public announcements, why do U2 songs keep telling me not to kill people because of their color? I don't even do that, you stupid dicks. Sometimes when they come on I scream back at the radio, Hey Bono, why don't you stop lighting hitchhikers on fire? and then change the station to someone who gives less insulting advice like, 'You've got to Move it! Move it!'
I'd still rather take shit on an angry hari krishna than in an evil robotic airport toilet, even if that hari krishna was a barrel of alligators.
At a certain age, the stupid start screaming for censorship probably as a last-ditch effort to impress God before they die. You never see geniuses or young people trying to take away movies, art, or video games. Maybe they're just selfish and want their toys. Or maybe they know that if someone is getting kill messages from their TV, taking away their TV isn't going to help. Because toasters, ashtrays, and talking sweaters can help plan a murder just as well.
If you really need someone to tell you not to blow yourself up, it's a waste of their time to do so.
Yesterday in the grocery store I seriously heard an instrumental version of Disco Inferno _played entirely with flutes._ If there ever was a war against pansies, we lost. We lost bad.
Robin, if you carry around a Special Mummy Ray Gun in your panties, it better fucking work on mummies.
This site is intended for people over 18, but only because kids shoot each other if they hear the word 'fuck.'
Let me tell you why I started my crack habit. It's because I didn't want anyone to think that those anti-drug commericals worked on me. Because I'd rather be a god damn crack whore than one of the geeks that just says no in the after school special.
Hey, I'm sorry Spider-Tourrettes, but sometimes it's more witty to just shut the fuck up.
The Lord is a pretty cool guy. One time at camp, he stuck my hand in warm water and made me pee frogs.
Like I said, I know I can be an asshole, and I fully understand how insane and hypocritical I can sound when I give moral advice. I don't have the luxury of self delusional sainthood; I'm just barely smart enough to know I'm an idiot and just barely too lazy to care.
The Flash's arch-nemeses were Gorilla Grodd and Captain Cold. In someone's crazy mind the perfect counter for super speed was an eskimo with a snowball gun and a talking monkey.
And I don't care what theological horror stories you've heard from your comparative religion course, three millenia of Pepsi girl kicks the shit out of any existing religion's concept of hell.
Seanbaby: I love Flash Gordon so much that I made a page entirely about it and Bloodsport. But that was back when I could barely form a sentence without sounding like an idiot.
Erik: That doesn't help narrow down the date, Sean.
Seanbaby: Don't Tango-and-Cash me, dickhead.
Anyone interested in joining the Volto from Mars fan club is encouraged to learn to fucking read.
And if the nude pictures of Lynda Carter I have don't count as a holy sign, you're going to have to send me a very detailed list of what one is.
Maybe you've seen Erik and my sites. We're not going to win the Nobel Love Prize. In fact, we're almost professional dickheads. I say the word 'retard' more than 'thank you,' and you already read about how for two years Erik was writing and drawing stories about superheroes punching pregnant women in the stomach.
The Olympics are smart enough to take away people's medals for using cold medicine, and even a sporting event as modern and enlightened as that makes the sexes run in different races. You might not have noticed, but that's sexism on a grand and fantastic international scale. It might be because men are faster, but it also might be because halfway through the race, they know women will get all emotional and start crying and the men will try to pour beer on them and start a wet t-shirt contest.
As you can see, the Calculando Calrissian 2000 is a terrifyingly complicated piece of machinery. It's smarter than us and dangerous, so we left it in the room with all of the spare robot parts and laser guns so we could forget about it.
Way to go, but being the funniest war movie is a lot like being the best looking child molestor. You only won because no one else entered the damn contest, and it probably shouldn't have been held in the first place.
I don't have anything against Woody Allen movies, but I want to see another 'love song to Manhattan' about as much as I want to watch old people challenge fat people to a makeout contest. I give up, New Yorkers. You're better than me. I admit it. Now shut the fuck up about it already. -Erik
If you think the skeleton fight in _Jason and The Argonauts_ is funny, you'll probably like these Katherine Hepburn movies, because she's an evil fucking skeleton. She scares the crap out of me. She's so supernaturally unkillable that in most of her films nobody even tries to.
When you sign the employee agreement at McDonalds, it's basically a cease and desist order to your genitals. And since I can't think of any better way to judge a person other than how many women they can get sex with, this makes them some of history's worst people. Not to mention the last people that should ever, ever be touching our food.
Some errors were like Japanese puppeteers, where you can see the men in black robes controlling the octopus puppet when it attacks the school girl puppet, but it's the job of the audience to pretend not to notice them and concentrate solely on the horrible puppets while they rape one another with their tentacles.
It takes five minutes to learn everything you need to know to be a superhero. You do really stupid things and talk to yourself while they're going on, and if you happen to be foreign, then speak every fifth word in your native tongue. There, you're done. Go find someone with a gun that melts human flesh and punch them.
Keep in mind that my only expertise in African ecology is in the area of being a suspected panties retailer.
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