Super High Reporter

Jheeze... its sooo bait that he was going to get lifted!

REAL TALK - TALE'S OF THE FAIRY HOE MOTHER

REAL FUCKIN'TALK!!!

6 Ways to Improve Reality Dating Shows (With Cruelty) by seanbaby

One of the great things about people is that if you put them on TV, they’ll do anything to win. Sometimes they’re not even sure if they’re on a show with prizes, or what the prize is– they will debase themselves and taunt their own God to win. For proof, three different groups of women have competed to let Flavor Flav inside them, and he looks like something that crawls out of bogs to replace our babies with changelings.

To put it another way, if you were on the Price is Right and your Showcase Showdown was Flavor Flav on a dinette set with his dick out, you would pass. And the second contestant would bid one dollar and still go over. Because it’s no longer medically legal to sell that dinette set, and buying dick from Flavor Flav… why, that’s like trying to buy a rain cloud. That’s why on game shows where the prize is a person, TV producers had to come up with a whole new system for winning and losing.

The Rose Ceremony - Why the Current System Doesn’t Work
The Bachelor developed the rose ceremony, and since then, all dating reality shows have used a slight variation on it. It goes like this: you line up the people trying to win you and hand out roses until you’re out of roses. Then the remaining people emotionally break down as it hits them that they’re not even in the top 17 people that Flavor Flav would allow on his furniture-tainting dick.

The problem I have with rose ceremonies is that they’re never appropriate for the contestants. Why give out roses to women who would benefit so much more from protriptyline? How is a rose supposed to undo what their fathers have done?

Then there’s the dull anticlimax of eliminating the leftover girls after you run out of flowers. “I’ll keep you, you, you, oh, I’m out of roses. Looks like all that’s left in this flower basket is fuck you and get the fuck out.” This antiquated system takes so long that during one Flavor of Love elimination, a girl had to relieve herself on the floor. It was like this epiphany hit her– when you lose all dignity, you can just shit where you stand! Or maybe her sphincter saw its one opportunity to express its opinion of the show and took it.

Luckily, using the sorcery of imagination, I’ve gone through several popular shows and suggested some improvements to make the rose ceremonies more appropriate to the contestants.

Rock of Love
Bret Michaels was in the best band of the 80s, and I imagine that was an unfortunate decade for groupie sex. Bret Michaels has gotten so many blowjobs from 80s girls that his belly hair is permanently moussed. If it was 1987 and Bret Michaels came into a bar and said, “Our bus got a flat tire, we need six naked girls for sex,” your girlfriend would start taking off her pants and ask you to set a block for her.

On his show Rock of Love, it’s pretty clear that fucking his way through the 80s has destroyed the part of the brain that can distinguish between hot and dude-in-a-tube-top. Most of the girls on this show are reasons to stop drinking. And then there are the innane activities they all have to do– I mean, this is a guy who filmed himself getting off with Pamela Anderson, and now he’s making busted strippers with 5 o’clock shadow go-kart against each other to win miniature golf time with him.

New Rose Ceremony: Test Results from the Clinic
When Bret wants to keep a girl, he gives her a backstage passes. Do these girls need another reminder that their future boyfriend has so much anonymous sex that attendees need a badge to get near his junk? I don’t know if Bret is truly attracted to anything that probably has a vagina or if his body needs to be industrially milked every few hours. Either way, I think everyone on the set would feel more comfortable if the girls Bret chose to keep received some kind of medical clearance to be near other people’s eyes and mucous membranes. If you burned the Rock of Love house to the ground, looking at the ashes would give you AIDS.

More to Love
More to Love is the Bachelor, only everyone is obese. Which means it’s the saddest show on TV. They didn’t cast this show for sassy, fun-loving big girls. They cast for tragic insecurity. They found girls who knew going in that no one would ever love them, and they just needed someone to film them crying between snacks. I always wonder when they’re producing a show like this, who stays back to watch over the inner sanctum of Hell?

New Rose Ceremony: Putting Your Mouth on a Pressurized Gravy Cannon
If the nozzle in your mouth blasts gravy down your throat at 200 psi, you are free to stay. If instead your mouth is misted with low-calorie cooking spray, you will be pan-fried and eaten. I’m not saying this to mock these people’s struggle against the donut, I’m trying to fatten up the girls and help the guy. Because if a 240 pound woman is sexy, just think how good a 560 pound one will look. Man, you could soak that girl up with toast!

Daisy of Love
After not dying from sex with Bret Michaels on Rock of Love, Daisy was given her own show and the Congressional Medal of Impossible. Her show is exactly the same, only in reverse. On her old show, women emulated Poison groupies to hook up with Bret Michaels; on her new one, men emulate Bret Michaels to hook up with a Poison groupie. Here’s where it gets weird, though: they all seem to prefer the early era of Poison when the guys in the band were hotter chicks than their groupies.

Every episode is a bizarre activity sandwiched between a montage of the guys putting on makeup. Like, actual woman’s makeup. Maybe they read on Daisy’s Facebook that she’s impressed when a dude’s lip liner matches the tape he uses to tuck his penis.

New Rose Ceremony: Daisy Gives You Your Penis Back
This concept is very simple, and completely feasible using simple office supplies. As a contestant, you go up to Daisy and ask for your penis back. If she says yes, she takes it out of the cooler and the two of you leave. The remaining contestants then do situps and giggle about how no one makes a truly waterproof mascara.

Shot At Love with Tila Tequila
Tila Tequila is famous for almost showing her tits on Myspace. For a woman, the only thing more ordinary than that is having Bret Michaels’ abortion. Tila tried to angle her cleavage showing into a singing career, but the world kicked her in the ass so hard with apathy that she still tastes thong every time she hears shitty music.

She’s bisexual, which is what guys call themselves for a few months before they say gay, and what girls call themselves when they can’t interact with people without fingering them. That means that on her show, guys and girls both compete for her attention, all of them covered in tattoos, filled with genetic mutation, and desperately clinging to their teen angst. I think they based Shot at Love on a special issue of the X-Men where they teamed up with the Campbell Soup Kids to fight syphilis.

New Rose Ceremony: Tila Hands Over the Ultimate Nullifier
Speaking of Marvel comics, a lot of people don’t know about Tila Tequila’s previous work as Uatu, the Watcher. I just want to know how shitty this dimension must be if they let the Watcher leave his observation post and have his own bisexual dating show on our version of Earth.

My Antonio
Of all the people used as prizes on game shows, Antonio Sabato Jr seems the most reasonable. He’s a handsome older gentleman with rippling abs and a successful modeling/acting career. Normal women would be happy to settle down with him. Too bad the casting department used their leftover resumes from Flavor of Love. The show is made up of horny teen sluts half his age, but with combat-veteran vaginas that have witnessed the horrors of war. Their desperate sexual antics make Antonio look like a Mormon grandpa.

Antonio: “Let me ask you, can you see yourself building a future with me?”

My Antonio Contestant: “I can fit a fire hydrant in my mouth! Ew, this wine needs more Sprite in it.”

New Rose Ceremony: Gift Certificate to Tower Records?
As it is now, every girl on My Antonio gets a covered dinner plate, and you get to stay on the show if there are flowers inside yours. It’s either insane, or maybe he’s testing them to see if they’re stupid enough to eat flowers. All I’m saying is that if I was a teenage girl trying to date the guy my mom watched on Melrose Place, maybe a card with some money in it would be a more appropriate gift.

Megan Wants a Millionaire
Megan is another girl from Rock of Love who got her own show, only on this one, wealthy douchebags battle for the opportunity to buy her. Try to imagine how bad a millionaire has to be with women that he has to go on TV and humiliate himself for the CHANCE at paying for sex with a 6. That’s how awkward these guys are around girls. They couldn’t get laid if their wangs cured yeast infections. I’ve seen Cristopher Walken play games of Russian Roulette that were less nerve-wracking than watching these creepy assholes talk to a girl.

And once again, while you wouldn’t hide her from your friends, Megan isn’t exactly disarming. There’s no reason to be so nervous unless all they’re all Poison memorabilia collectors desperate to add Bret Michaels’ herpes to their collections.

New Rose Ceremony: Blindfolded in Front of a Firing Squad
There’s only one way to end this show– line all the contestants up, give them a cigarette, and invoice each of their families for the cost of a .30-30 cartridge.

Bidding on a white girl isn’t a TV show concept– that’s a situation that Mad Max would come across just to remind him how fucked up the post-apocalypse is. One contestant built his fortune stripping; another wasn’t even rich– he was just trying to buy Megan with the money he’ll probably have when his dumb, stupid grandpa finally dies. This entire show is so amoral that it had to be pulled off the air after one of the contestants murdered and dismembered a woman who later had to be identified by her breast implants. And what’s crazier than that is that given a choice, he wouldn’t even be the first one you execute.

Megan Wants a Millionaire is a greatest hits of man’s inhumanity to man. They probably burned down an Indian reservation to build the set, and during a few scenes you can see the altar of panda bones where Megan has congress with the Beast. I just hope the millionaire that won her knows that her resale value is worse than a Dodge Durango. And that sex with her is like fighting a bag full of poisonous snakes. Seriously, of all the women in the world, why buy the one that lights on fire when medicine touches her skin?

How To: Look Like You're Working All Day, Even When You're Not

8 hours is a long-ass fu*kin' time to be doing work every day. Luckily, there are about a million ways to look like you're working when you're actually not doing jack-shit. Faking an entire day of work will take some real skill, and a combination of a few different techniques. Here are a few of the most promising ones to get you started:

Step 1: Always Have a Graph On Your Computer Screen

Graphs contain data, and data equals work, so as long as you've got a graph open on your computer, that means you're working. It really doesn't matter what the graph is, either, which is why graphjam is such an incredible site. You can scroll through thousands of user-submitted graphs that run the gamut of ridiculous themes and subject matter. They look like real graphs, but they're amusing at the same time. Take the picture above, for example: it looks like that dude is keeping busy with some graph-related work doesn't it? Here's what he's really looking at:

Step 2: Eat Lunch at Your Desk Sometimes

Nothing says "I'm busy" more than working while you're eating. Of course, you don't want to be the guy who always eats his lunch alone at his desk, but it's a good idea to turn down lunch invitations every now and then, emphasizing that you've "got a lot on your plate". This way, your co-workers will come to expect that sometimes you've got a lot of work, and they'll be less suspicious when you actually have nothing to do.

Step 3: Talk in Phone Code

Talking on the phone is a quick way to pass the time at work, but personal calls are probably frowned upon. Personal calls are a funny thing though, in that they're only personal if your company knows that they're personal. Think about it: if you hear someone talking on the phone, how do you determine whether it's a business call, or a personal call? It's simple: you can tell by the way they're speaking. Business calls are more formal and more professional sounding, and you can use this tone to easily conceal a personal call. Here are a few translations of personal call dialogue into business call code, to help you get started:

What You Want to Say: "Okay, fam! I'll see ya tonight for the game, and I'll bring the scuds!"

Business Translation: "Sounds good, Jim. We're still on for the meeting this afternoon? Great. I'll bring the numbers that I promised you."

What You Want to Say: "Happy Birthday, sweetheart! I'm gonna f*ck you raw when I get home tonight!"

Business Translation: "Congratulations, Barbara! I'm gonna shove a huge package into your chair warmer later this afternoon!"

Step 4: Always Have Your Hands Full

Look at the dudes in this picture. They aren't doing shit. They're just standing there holding things. One of the guys is even lounging against the window. They look really busy though. Why? Because they're carrying things. It's not necessary to have your hands as full as these amateurs do, but it's important to always have something in your hands, even if it's just a file or a notebook, or something like that. Having something in your hands creates the impression that you're doing something with that object, which means you're working.

With these four simple steps and a little bit of practice, you should have no problem bullshitting your way through an entire work day every now and then. Sure, you could just take a sick day, but what's the fun in that?

Yahoo! Answers Helps Another Mother Who Should Be Reported To Child Services

SMH..........

Nothing to do.. might as well jerk off.

Do you ever catch yourself feeling that way?

The other day, I was sitting traffic (London traffic is the best-- you get so much shit done) and I just whipped out my dick. Now granted, this is unorthodox, but still-- it was in my own vehicle. Much better than the time I pulled it out while in the doctors office waiting area.

But I've often wondered; do people masturbate out of necessity or habit? Is it because we actually crave the need to feel the man goo be shot out of our thundersticks or is it because as men, our hands just naturally gravitate towards our genitalia?

Women-- feel free to join in on this as well. Do you ever get the urge to jump on a large flag pole when you see it and slide down to the bottom in fits of glee?

I would propose a contest, not unlike the Seinfeld contest, or the film 40 days and 40 nights, but I know I would lose. But I do think that from now on, I will make a conscious effort to only tickle my pickle when I absolutely need to. And not just because it's convenient. And women-- you could help us guys with this as well! Do you know how many hours a man wastes a day masturbating? It's a fuckin' lot, I'll tell you!

Being a woman, you have a power that we don't-- the power to have sex whenever you fucking want to. If a guy wants sex, he usually has to spend about 50 quid, put on a happy face, be as witty and charming as Ryan Reynolds, and he miiiiiiiiiiiiiight get his dick wet later that night. When a girl wants to fuck? All she has to do is go to a bar and be there. A guy will hit on her and she has her pick of the litter. Or, if women were really smart (and by this, I mean-- what I would do if I was a women), I'd literally just stand out in the street and yell "Fuck Me" like the Exorcist.

But women, you can help, if you're single-- or a whore, by giving random handjobs. For instance, every-time a guy opens a door for you, give him a handjob. Or every time a guy pays for your dinner, or lets you in front of him at the checkout counter, give him a handjob. I'm not asking you to put your mouth on his penis. I'm asking you to take your hand (you don't even have to wash it before you do it) and just unzip, tug, let him finish, smile, and walk away. Now what did that take out of your day?

He gets a little action, you improve your handjob skills for your next boyfriend, and/or husband, and you get on with your life. No commitments, no hassle, just clean, easy fun. In fact, it'll be a good story to tell your friends. That way, that guy can go home, get more work done, and have a much more productive day, which may in turn actually help the economy.

So, next time you get a little down time and you feel like jerkin' it, see if you can find a girl to do it for you. Or just put it away until you actually need it. You may actually get something done today... and that's a good thing.

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Silly TART

Clippy Finally Messes With the Wrong Word Doc By: Robert Brockway - FUCKIN' GENIUS!

It’s common knowledge that the greater and more vital an empire is, the grander and more stylish their haircuts. The ceasars…

What the hell? Clippy? Where did you come from? What is this, 1995?

Oh… god… dammit.

No, listen man: I’ve got work to do here, I’ve got a headache that would wound a god and you’re breaking my flow. Can you just, I don’t know, fuck off for a while?

Ahh, fine. Yes, I suppose I would.

… what?

Hey, man, I’m sorry to hear –

OK! Jesus. I get it. You can stay; just keep out of my way, alright?

You uppity little bastard. I swear to Christ if you don’t knock it off I’ll goddamn delete you.

You wouldn’t.

OK! You can… just do whatever, man. I’ve got to get back to work here. Just try not to be too intrusive. Where was I? Oh, right…

The Caesars ruled most of the known Earth in their day, and the rigid, firm lines of iron discipline in the Caesar Cut reflects this trend-

GODDAMMIT THAT IS IT.

Oh no, Clippy. I’m not going to take you out. You’re totally right. I can’t touch you. But what’s this? What are these subroutines here? C:/Windows/Programs/MS_word/Clippy/Family?

Your daughter, little Clippette, your boy, Clippy, Jr., even your wife Wendy is here. Funny, I’ve never seen them around. Must not be vital to the program, eh?

What was that? I’m sorry, I was away for a second. Doing some cleanup.

I just deleted your wife. Oh, and what’s that? Clippy, Jr.’s, file is corrupted? Little Clippette’s too? Oh, that’s just terrible. Clippy, it… it looks like you’ve got two mentally handicapped kids to take care of now.

I did it, Clippy. I retarded your kids. Are you strong enough for that, Clippy? Are you strong enough to raise two motherless special needs children? Are you strong enough to take care of them, every moment of every day for the rest of their lives? Are you strong enough to do it alone? Are you strong enough to look into their faces and not see the love you lost?

Ouch. Rookie move, Clippy. Everybody knows you’re supposed to go through the mouth for a sure kill. Do I have to finish this for you?

N’gggyleth kkkul N’kkul N’gggyleth Wattqawa Cthulhu! Ry’leth Avk Rttleh Cthulhu!

CTHULHU TKKE TKKE N’GGGYLETH CTHULU CLIPPY!

Right. So. Where was I again?

The Mohawks were among Native America’s fiercest tribes, and the primal spike of the Mohawk Cut echoes that warrior legacy to this day. Sadly, however, the reverse is also true: The shittier an empire, the shittier the haircut. With that in mind, we present to you the 17 Worst Haircuts in The Ottoman Empire…

Russian Cats attempt at the Hip Hop look... FAIL!