I’m in the office early today, and I hear from down the hallway that someone’s looking for me. It went a little somthing like this:
This is a motherf*cking picture of my company fridge. Giant bag of food?! Am I going f8cking crazy?!
aymfkm?
Why do wife beaters refuse to button their shirts?
Also: NSFW
(would)
God Damn Me To Hell*
*This cube.
Nice thought...
…but if he really said this, I think we’ve forgotten that “everyone” means “everyone” and not “half of everyone.”
...another day older and deeper in debt...
CBS: A Tennessee maintenance worker says he quit his job because his W-2 tax form was stamped with the number 666. Walter Slonopas says that accepting the number would have condemned his soul to hell. That number is considered the “mark of the beast” in the Bible’s Book of Revelation describing the apocalypse.
The company that handles payroll for Contech Casting LLC says the number meant Slonopas’ form was the 666th one mailed out. The 52-year-old Slonopas says he had trouble with the number before. He was supposed to be assigned No. 668 to use when he clocked in. Because of a mix-up, he was assigned 666. He complained and got a new number.
A company spokesman says Contech would send a new W-2 and wants to rehire Slonopas. But Slonopas says “God is worth more than money.”
Hahahaha! Listen Wally, I’ve got some bad f-ing news for you: As soon as you accept ANY W-2, you have condemned your soul to hell, you poor sorry bastard you. So quit your job if you want to hit the road like Jack Kerouac, but don’t come crying to me about being stalked by the beast, because we’re all in this shit together. Live on, my brother! Live on!
I am literally going to die in my cubicle.
Bloomberg's going to love this
Shine: We know that sugary sodas aren’t good for our bodies; now it turns out that they may not be good for our minds, either. A new study of more than 260,000 people has found a link between sweetened soft-drinks and depression — and diet sodas may be making matters worse.
I don’t drink diet coke (not capping that) because I hate diet coke I don’t put junk in the temple. But if you do, looks like you’re pretty much dead. Don’t Ray Lewis the messenger.
(But I do drink coffee and booze, and bad news, that was the next sentence in the article was something about coffee drinkers being in danger of depression also, and even though I claim that I perk up when I’m drinking booze, I’m pretty sure it’s a depressant. Guess we’re all f-ed, because between soda drinkers, coffee drinkers, and binge drinkers, I think we’ve covered everybody. Of course the depression might stem from the fact that most of those 260,000 drones probably had to go to work yesterday, and probably have to go work today, and probably have to go to work tomorrow, until they’re dead.)
If you made it to work today and didn’t off yourself, Happy Thursday!
Boston, MA – After an exhaustive search which spanned roughly 15 seconds, Red and I unanimously agreed that my brother, Mike Munson, is Wicked Improper’s Sexiest Man Alive (for today only.) When Mike was growing up, he always dreamed of “selling various shit to people”, so that’s what he does now for a living all over the Eastern seaboard. Well, Mike just emailed me the picture below from a customer’s office and assures me that it’s legit. Mike is in Albany, or some other awful place in New York, trying to sell various items of shit to people that control things like “the power grid” and “our water supply.” So, Mike got dressed this morning and, without ever consulting a mirror or just even using his eyeballs one time, put on two different shoes and off he went. My only question to Mike? “How do you put on one shoe like a slipper, then go tie the other one on and not realize that you’re completely fucking something up?” I mean, this atrocity to fashion goes beyond putting on two different colored shoes in the dark. While one of them is a loafer, the other one clearly has some heel to it and comes with literally 100% more laces. Didn’t he notice something was off while selecting a danish at the continental breakfast and everything else in the world appeared to be at a 45 degree angle? Dude has something worse than color blind. Dude has shoe blind.
Knock ‘em dead today, Mikey. I hope you’re not presenting from behind a glass podium.
(Submit your “Sexiest Man Alive” pics to martin or red @wickedimproper.com)
"Hi I'm Mike and I couldn't decide which shoes matched my outfit so I just put both of them on with two belts"
Hair O' The Dog!
Answer: No. No they are not.
Follow-up Question: Red, aren’t you a little to old to be doing three five (six?) shots on any given night?
km
Laird?
I am going to die in my cubicle.
Happy Tuesday, everybody!
Boston, MA – I made a Meme and the only logical thing for you to do now is Like it on Facebook or Tweet it. You can make your own by going to Meme Generator, then click “Generate an image” and submit the link to us in our comments section below. The best (or only) entry we receive will win a $10 Gift Certificate to Dunkin’ Donuts. WOAH! Red just upped it to a $20 value! You can’t afford not to play now. I honestly don’t know how anyone can beat mine (sure, pun intended), but Red and I are exempt from winning our own contests.
Contest ends at 5pm EST Friday (or until we get at least one submission. And yes, we know you could just cut and paste an existing link from that site, but try not to cheat for a change and create your own)
Boston, MA – Well, if you haven’t heard by now, Starbucks is going to open yet another location, this time inside a Funeral Home in South Carolina. I am neither shocked that Starbucks has stooped to this level of revenue generation, nor the fact this is taking place in South Carolina. Quite frankly, I don’t give a shit. If coffee helps people cope with death as they mill about and try to forget there’s a $7,000 box containing a drained corpse in the room, you know what, go ahead and enjoy a Vente Mocha Skimmy Nutty Halfie Creamy Espresso Double Shotty Latte. Who better than $tarbuck$ to provide that comfort? If you don’t drink coffee, don’t worry, you can always find inner peace by using our method for coping with grief at a wake: Scoping Milfs.
We don’t believe in spoilers around here, so you’ll have to watch the video if you want to see why Shannon Mulaire calls us “different than your typical.” That’s almost the best compliment I’ve ever received, second only to “I don’t think it will fit in there.”
I suppose if you wanted to follow us on Twitter, you could do that here
Boston, MA – Could this day get any better for me? It’s almost like the internet has been reading my journal. See, I’ve often wondered what would happen if Mickey, Goofy, and Pluto were all caught taking turns sucking Donald Duck’s dick. Would they be sent someplace to get straightened out, like the Army, or Feathers Anonymous?
Serious question: If Donald and his buds milked their loads all over Mickey’s face, would that be called “Bu-Quack-ee?”
Ladies and Gentlemen, without further adieu, “Full Metal Disney.”
1. After 236 years of so-called Independence, Americans are still the laughing stock of the world by agreeing to settle for 2 or 3 weeks of vacation each year.
2. If you walk full speed into a jagged rock and slice a layer of meat off your heel, you will scream “you FUCKING CUNT” in front of children.
3. The good thing about my Quiksilver board shorts is that they are very stylish. The bad thing about my Quiksilver board shorts is that they come with no built-in liner, so after a day in the water I am nearly crippled from having a chafed helmet. You know you’ve checked your humility at the door when you go to bed crying and wearing a condom filled with aloe.
4. Nowhere has “the best fried seafood.” They all have “the same fried seafood.” It’s fucking clams dunked in evaporated milk, dreged in clam fry, and then soaked in 350 degree vegetable oil until lightly brown. To insinuate that one restaurant does it better than another is an insult to fry cooks everywhere.
4a. Every dinner table contains one dickhead (at least), so if you ask your waiter “Excuse me, what is the ‘Market Price’ for the Macadamia Crusted Chilean Sea Bass?”, the dickhead at the table is noneother than you.
5. If you come running out of the water claiming you found treasure, holding a soaking wet three-piece suit and a copy of the magazine “George”, no one will believe it when you say you just found pieces of JFK Jr’s wreckage.
6. Only 9 weeks until Autumn.
7. It is MORE than okay to follow Heidi Klum on Twitter.
"If you squint, you almost think you can see her rat"
Boston, MA – It’s pretty evident that Squirties the Pug wants to do two things with her life: eat food and hump my comforter until she busts her non-existent nuts. If you need proof, look no further than our footage of her interraction with the rotund, asthma-riddled drama queen, Nipples the Cat. Here’s a Wicked Improper exclusive video of Nipples coughing and wheezing her tits off, and Squirties is just chilling like “Catta, please.” Now, you know we don’t like spoilers around here, but this video begins and ends with Squirties basically not giving a shit. If Squirties could talk (and I don’t think she ever will because when we’re in private I beg her to), I bet she’d tell Nipples to take a fuckin’ heaven hike so she could finally get some dick up in here. See, Mrs. Munson thinks we’re getting a male dog next, but if you think I’m going to crank the volume for “Breaking Bad” while Squirties howls the night away as she gets railed over my ottoman, you have another thing coming, whatever that means.
(Please do not email or comment about the health of Nipples. Squirties and I are vehemently against medicine, and the costs associated with them, and have agreed to simply give Nipples Temptation treat after Temptation treat to shut her the fuck up. We also have a Do Not Recussitate order, so please respect our wishes and privacy.)
Boston, MA – As one of the many blogs and sites you frequent from your desk during your “busy day”, only this one can boast no ads, pop-ups, or regurgitated material, and yet, to keep you enticed we’re kind enough to periodically post pictures of tits, ass, and pussies for our male readers, and Channing Tatum’s 11 pound dick bulge for our female readers, gayers, and maybe a few of you that are bi-curious (i.e. Gay.) With that being said, I’ve never asked you for a god damn thing, so I’m asking it now: You must watch this video and send this link to everyone in your personal and professional network. That’s an order.
(Spoiler/Run-on: The high school graduate you’re about to witness trying to read a letter from his principle where he got community service instead of his diploma because his friends and family all went apeshit during his graduation is a fucking idiot but he got accepted to a college(s) anyway because he knows how to tackle other boys that are carrying a football.)
KM
I have a running joke with myself about the hens who nest here and what they complain about. One of their faves in the weather – a DROP of rain at 9am will set them into a tizzy for hours while they speculate on how horrible the evening commute will be. Well I just heard someone complaining about the f*cking commute for WEDNESDAY because kids are going to be graduating all over the city.
AYFWM?!
I’m going to die here.
"Gargle them"
Boston, MA – You can rub your eyes and do a double-take if you’d like, but you read that right the first time: Comcast Can Eat My Balls. Open wide, Comcast, I’m seriously about to teabag you with both of my berries. None of this tantalizing, romantic, one at a time teabagging that’s popular on most of the free porn sites I frequent just for research, but both hairy balls getting stuffed in there all at once. Swish them around in your mouth, Comcast. How do you like that? Unless you’re a gayer, that’s pretty uncomfortable, right? Now you know how I feel when I get my $180 bill every month. I’m almost embarrassed to admit this, but I’ve been paying you $8 a month to lease a cable modem, which sounds reasonable until I remember I’ve had it for 7 years, so it’s basically a $672 modem you motherfuckers. But, my absolute favorite part of paying for 900 channels is when there’s nothing on any of them. My wife and I lie in bed and giggle the night away at the titles in the pay channels, such as “The Jism Witch Project”, “Gary Potter And The Sorceror of Cock”, “Honey, I Shrunk My Nipples!”, “Indiana Bones And The Temple of Taints” and “Dial S For Squirting.” Then after she falls asleep, I tiptoe out of the room and go download them for free.
Anyway, those days are over, Dickheads. I was contacted by a little Comcast Angel who kindly offered to lower my bill. I wish Comcast would just sign me to a 70 year commitment and get it over with already, it’s not like there are any other choices. And don’t give me that shit about DirecTV and their hideous dish you have to mount on your chimney. DirecTV can trace my rim with their tongue as payback for 11 months’ worth of DirecTMailings they’ve sent me.
Other than that, I’m in good spirits. Have a nice weekend, everyone.
Martin
Word of advice: No matter how hard you try, you will not catch a glimpse of tbabs
So that our readers understand how important I think they are, I want to share a mostly fictional true story with you all. For various reasons, on Monday morning it became clear that my company (the one other than Wicked Improper) was in danger of running short of cash and missing payroll. This happens very often right before a company ceases to exist. Well let me tell you, your ol’ buddy Red didn’t cause the problem, but he sure as sh1t fixed it. Despite the apparent chaos all around me, here’s a summary of how I spent my time yesterday:
1 hour: Surfing the web (non Somerset Three-related searching)
2 hours: Breakfast Meeting (yes, two, so what?!)
45 minutes: Fixing the sh1t that someone else caused
6 (six) hours: Something to do with The Somerset Three. Activities included a) craning my neck to see if I could get a “pan down” on Stacey’s mug shot (couldn’t); b) wondering if that really was Sheila (pretty sure it was); c) trying to decide if I should keep calling Stacey The Ball Crusher, or use her Christian name (toss up); and d) marvelling and lol’ing at the comments section and the fact that we have high school friends chiming in with vignettes (vignettes!) about TST’s past lives.
Cheers,
Red
"If you don't want splinters, better bring a condom made out of aluminum foil"
Boston, MA – I was fairly puzzled by our audience yesterday, who all of a sudden contracted the Morals Virus and voted that they would not perform love-make with a robot, even though in past weeks, you monsters have basically said there’s no poontanna that’s off limits. I honestly don’t even know who our audience is anymore.
Anyway, with my free time, I got to thinking, what if I really did have an extra $5,000 lying around and decided to buy the KSD-3000 sexbot from lonelyguysbangingrobots.com? I could imagine myself getting into all kinds of futuristic hijinx with her. And just like the WOPR in “War Games” began developing its’ own intelligence, I could totally picture my robot going all haywire with her pussy and calling me up to give me attitude. If you want to hear that call, just hit “play” below.
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p.s. Please note the carefully placed asterisk in the title. This should allow you to click the Facebook like button with impunity.
Captain Weekend.
I may die here in my cube, but I will die with f*cking AWESOME footwear. I can literally feel the desirous stares of the women in this office.
Boston, MA – Unfortunately, this is one of those universal questions that needs to be answered. Almost as important to the human race as whoever solved E=MC2, “did your chocolate land in my peanut butter or vice versa”, and “are they real or fake?” Sometimes women leave us no choice but to think they’re shallow, vacuous attention mongers who will blow someone simply because they’re famous. It almost doesn’t matter what they’re famous for. So, given his recent claim (to stay in the media’s eye) that women remain “a scientific mystery”, we got to thinking: “Does Stephen Hawking get blown?”
I say no. That’s how I’m going to answer in the poll. I just can’t picture a woman, even Anna Nicole Smith before she lost her battle with the Big C (cocaine), putting Steve’s ganoozle in her mouth. Is he world famous? Yeah. Can he solve the shit out of a riddle before you and I? Of course. Now, if our female readers are pondering this question and whether or not you could actually go through with it, the good news is, you’d be finished in probably 6 seconds. The bad news is, if you could somehow stomach the nacho smell caused by him sitting on his mashed up balls and taint all day long, the dude is basically going to paste you to the wall with a load he’s been building up for 70 years.
Before you make your decision and answer our poll question, please listen to “Stephen Hawking Getting Blown – A Dramatization” (Hit “Play” below and crank your speakers)
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"Wassup, girl?"
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Happy Birthday, Stephen!
Martin
(Thanks to Sully for IT tips)