The depths of nihilism are plunged in this week’s tasteless smorgasbord that is Reddit. That, plus a Dad Joke – on a shirt!
The price of mishandled brew, brah
This clip is climbing the Reddit charts and involves some extreme dudeage, followed by what I’d assume was a rather extreme trip to the ICU. Internal bleeding? Gnarly!
Have you ever wondered if domesticated animals can really understand our language, but act like they don’t? It’s a suspicion I harbour. I swear most cats look at me with pity when I demolish a pack of Tim Tams and Cheezels in one sitting. They just roll their eyes back as if to say “You fat piece of shit!” My housemate’s dogs look at me like they’re thinking, “I could kill you right now, but walk first.”
Why do I say this? Well, now and then some smooth photographer will capture such thoughts on camera. Ha! We caught your evil ways, you so-called “domesticated” animals.
I will put it out there that I love animals, just not the ones plotting to kill me.
Protection against toddlers
Children, what in God’s name!
This next image sums up why I have issues with kids who aren’t related to me.
Let me expand on this. Babies are fine, mainly because they just sit and do nothing. Once they reach talking age, it freaks me out. They stand there mumbling God-knows-what for hours and you sit there nodding and replying, “Oh okay, I see your point.”
What the fuck are they saying? Sometimes they just stare at you like they’re reading your mind and a little demonic grin appears across their snotty faces.
Then the screaming starts and you want to say “OMG, just talk normal, dude!” You can’t though, because they don’t get your adult talk; they want to yell, punch and scratch like a feral rabid monkey, and they expect you to just deal with it. They come and sneeze, not on your face, but in your mouth, and laugh after their mission of infecting you with as many germs as they can is completed. That, plus guns.
Okay, now that’s off my chest, let’s move on to more depressing matters. Yay!
The Dad Joke, now in merch form
I hate them and I’m one of them. Beware the Hipster Equation.
Ever since I was a little kid, I was the one rocking the vintage lunch box that I picked out, wrapping my individual lamington in brown paper (I unwrapped the plastic wrap mum used, you know, cause that shit is too mainstream). I trawled through the vinyl records at op shops to play on my old record player before it became cool. I shopped at op shops. I was a cardigan-wearing, brimmed hat-bearing, cute little coin purse holding dickwad! Everything had to be perfect.
I’m still there. I look at my bookshelf (yes, bookshelf) and see old books that I’ll never read, cassette tapes that I listen to on my walkman, vintage antique teapots that are so freaking cute I could cry, and a typewriter…that I use. Where would I be without the glasses I only wear to look cool, my beanie and my knitted jumper with a cute red fox wearing a gold chain on it? Probably happy, that’s where.
And I wonder why I can’t sleep at night.
Anyway, this next image shows some stupid hipster advertising something I would actually pay for. Even though I’m sure this is a joke, it got me shamefully flustered.
The fabulous defence chicanery of the peacock. Whoa.
Lastly here is a short cartoon about life. I think you’ll agree it is highly accurate.
See you next week, I’m out like: