What Constructive Shit Have You Done In The Last Day And A Half?

"I'm hungry. Bring me your infants. Medium rare."

 

Sydney Morning Herald:  It may go down as one of the great currency bets in Australian dollar history – a $US1 billion gamble on a Reserve Bank rate cut that has delivered a $US19 million profit in 36 hours.  The beneficiary, if you believe the rumour mill, is investment legend George  Soros.  Best of all, it appears the 82-year-old American pulled off the deal three  times, all with different foreign exchange brokers in Asia, for a tidy profit of  almost $US60 million.

 

Huh.  In the last 36 hours, I went to the gym, had one more-or-less wasted day at work, and executed one-and-a-half flawless bowel movements.  “If you believe the rumour mill,” Ol’ Georgie made sixty million dollars.

That’s nice for him.

:-|

 

 

 

Unbiased Review of “Tower Heist”, The Worst Movie I Have Ever Seen

 

"Tower Heist: They can't believe it, and neither will you"

 

Boston, MA – “Kerplunk!” That’s the sound your brain will make as it plunges its’ way into Hollywood’s regurgitated plot toilet. Oh my fucking god. Not since “Ocean’s Thirteen” have I seen a bigger money grab from an ensemble of actors. From beginning to merciful end, this duct-taped together script of nonsense actually had me clamoring for the final installment of the Focker series, “Meet The Fockers In Hell.” Not to give anything away in “Tower Heist”, but the Ferrari in the penthouse that’s painted red is really made of gold. Spoiler alert. Anyway, the cast includes Ben Stiller-Focker, Eddie Murphy-Doolittle, and Ferris “Please call me Matthew” Broderick. Here’s how I imagine he got the role.

Sarah Jessica Parker (on phone with a real agent): “There has to be SOMETHING you can jam Ferris, I mean, Matthew into.”

Agent: “Well, I do have this absolute steaming pile of dog shit on my desk called “Tower Heist.” It’s about a group of…”

SJP: (interrupting) “How much?”

Agent: “Well, after Ben Stiller and Eddie Murphy take their cut…”

SJP: “HOW. MUCH.”

Agent: “Well, considering Ferris, I mean, Matthew just did a Honda commercial where he plays…drumroll!…Ferris Bueller, I think we can get him 500 grand plus a very small percentage of the one week stay it has at the box office.”

SJP: “He’s in. He’ll do it.”

Agent: “Let me just talk to Matthew about the role first.”

SJP: “It doesn’t matter. What more is there to discuss once you know Ben Stiller and Eddie Murphy are in it? It’s rubbish.”

Agent: “LOL. Let’s schedule a follow up meeting to discuss your next movie, “Sex and the City 4: Samantha’s Botox and Vagina Jokes.”

SJP: “I’ll do it.”

Remember, whether my unbiased review encourages you to see this movie or not, as a grown up, you get to make your own two hour epic waste of time decisions. It is interesting to note that HBO gives it 3 stars. However, this blogger would encourage you to proceed with caution as I believe it must be some new rating system they never told us about that goes up to 20 stars.

Free Ashley Lezandro!

Boston, MA – This is an OUTRAGE! This is almost as important to our society as that story about Trayvon Martin. Who will step up for Ashley? You won’t see Reverend Jesse “Did y’all forget about that chick I knocked up?” Jackson up at the podium calling for Tanning Bed Caper justice! But you will see Martin and Red step up to that blogging podium, begging for the immediate release of Ashley Lezandro.

Folks, we do not live in a perfect society. As human beings, we all make poor decisions from time to time, and this appears to be one of them. One would have to assume these alleged perpetrators were not thinking clearly with regularly functioning brains when they decided to hold up a tanning salon. You would make more of a profit by robbing your paperboy, who, oddly, no longer peddles around throwing papers from a Huffy, but rather tossing them carelessly from a 1997 Saturn Shitbox, all while maintaining a very unappealing/tattered appearance. But, is it up to us to point fingers? Is it? You’re perfect? Am I perfect? Have none of us done something in our past we’re not very proud of, such as using the Microsoft Calculator at your desk to divide hourly wage by time spent, figuring out exactly how much your company just paid you to take a dump?

Look, Ashley Lezandro was ‘allegedly’ involved in a crime with two accomplices that took place at the Hot Bodeez tanning salon in Somerset, MA. I implore all of our readers to sign our virtual petition to FREE Ashley Lezandro. If the Judge is reading this, you can’t send Ashley Lezandro to prison. Not with summer and bikini season right around the corner. You cannot. If it would please the Court, and you want to make an example by punishing the two ugly ones, you go right ahead, you send them up the river for as long as it takes them to realize they put Ashley in harms way.

 

“Send To Jail”                                   “FREE ASHLEY LEZANDRO!”                        “Send To Jail”

 

Free Ashley Lezandro!

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Follow Up Story About The S*x Robot We Covered Yesterday

 

"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.

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

p.s. Please note the carefully placed asterisk in the title. This should allow you to click the Facebook like button with impunity.

Wicked Improper Reviews “The River” on ABC (Please Check Local Listings For Show Times In Your Area But I’m Pretty Sure It’s On Tuesday Night)

 

(Warning: This trailer is not for children, gayers, or other people that may be scared of loud noises, violence, the jungle, or blood, even though it’s a show on ABC with actors, a script, special effects, and nothing that is real or could ever be real. Viewer discretion is advised, but it’s make-believe, so come on, don’t be a pussy.)

Boston, MA – Ladies and Gentlemen, it brings me great pleasure to bring you the best new show on television with the exception of everything on HBO. ABC’s “The River” is from the makers of “Paranormal Activity”, and “Steven Spielberg”, who has brought you some of the very best movies, like “E.T.”, and in all fairness, some of the absolute worst, such as “War Horse.” In an earlier blog, I methodically tore that movie and script from limb to limb, but be an adult and make your own decisions and go rent it if you want to see a Jewish horse get chased by Nazis before it has a gay reunion with its’ original owner and then being euthanized. Powerful stuff.

Now, if you watched the trailer before reading our review, I realize it starts out looking like the show is about a Gayer that searches for wildlife in the jungle. But, as you will quickly see, there is something dark and very sinister on this particular river, and I’m not talking about floating poopers. Employing some of the same camera tricks as “Paranormal Activity” and audio tricks as every other show (i.e. blowing out the speakers on your tv and going dark before cutting to yet another commercial), this is the best show of 2012. In the season premiere, one of the members of a search party is slowly dragged from his tent into the jungle by an unseen force. An unseen force, everyone. I honestly haven’t had goosebumps like that since my doctor traced his fingernail around my taint during my last physical. I know what you’re thinking, “hey, he’s not supposed to do that”, and you’re probably right, but I just assumed it was part of a customer rewards program for never missing an appointment.

Perhaps the best news of all is that it’s an 8 part mini-series, so, none of this seven year “no answers” bullshit like they pulled on “Lost.” The only answer I want about that show is if Matthew Fox will ever have to appear in court for punching that female limo driver in the pussy. Not cool, dude.

Amazing Blog Tricks!

"Herro"

 

Boston, MA – There must be a place, somewhere in the bowels of Massachusetts (ranked 50th out of a possible 50 on the “States you can have fun in” list), where a gentleman can go for a massage that ends with a fairly priced handjob, right? Well, there is. While we can’t tell you the name of the establishment, or its’ location, we can tell you that the mysterious Rub n’ Tugs do exist. And, as your friends, we can tell you how to make it happen.

Like you, I used to look at the glass of handjobs as half empty. I used to think that the day I went in for the ultimate massage would be the same day the State Police were running a sting operation. “But Martin, didn’t the State Police recently catch other State Police in their own sting operation?” Touche. Of course, the big difference between them getting caught and you getting caught is you’re the only one going to jail without paid leave. Anyway, my whole life philosophy has changed. Now I look at the world through “hands going up and down on my shaft” colored glasses.

Now, let’s get back to how you get your HJ. During the massage, say one of the following:

1. “That feels amazing. I wish there was something you could do that would justify a $50 tip.”

2. “You probably get this a lot, but, do guys ever ask you to put your professional license and career on the line by asking for a happy ending? That is so inappropriate and gross. But, how did you answer them?”

3. “This reminds me of something I saw on Pornhub. Only, the woman playing your role was Asian, and the guy playing my role was completely shaved and ended up getting a blajoejay for $25. That’s not a realistic price. Is it?”

I would be surprised if none of those worked for you. Sometimes you have to send one up the flagpole to see if it flies. The good news is, if you can’t get your happy ending, once they leave the room you can wrangle one out into their laundry hamper. Cover it with a few more towels so they can’t pinpoint who’s responsible. This same option applies at tanning salons.

No “thank you” necessary,

Martin

“You Just Lost The Rose Bowl, What Are You Gonna Do Now?”…”Pick My Nose And Eat It?”

Boston, MA, and Joe Rudolph’s Left Nostril – Wow. Someone is married to this animal. I really don’t know when it’s okay to pick your nose and eat it, other than “never.” Sure, there are times when you’ve got some snoog buildup clinging to your walls, and blowing your nose into a Kleenex or a Puffs Plus with all your might won’t jar it loose. So, you quickly pick it out and toss it somewhere no one will ever find it, like behind a friends couch, or rubbed on the wall of an elevator. I haven’t seen someone pick their nose and eat it since I was in Elementary School, where, if I could sidebar with you for a moment, I graduated near the top of my class with all check plusses.

This brings us to Joe Rudolph, an assistant coach at Wisconsin. You know this pick n’ eat isn’t a one time deal. He lowers his head and is all sneaky about it, even though he must realize there are cameras everywhere. It kind of makes you wonder about all of the booger eating he does when he’s alone. Maybe that’s his addiction. Running his de-humidifier on ‘Max’ to create a desert environment in his bedroom, and then finger-plowing his dried-out nostrils and having a booger festival all afternoon. This is the worst offense of penetration in college football since? (hint: Jerry Sandusky)

Ideally, you would watch this video after eating breakfast.

 

Jesus Christ Delivers “Top Ten” on Letterman

Boston, MA – For someone that was buried under a mountain of dirt for 2,000 years, Jesus Christ is having quite a December. First, he opened for Dave Attell at the Wilbur Theater on Friday and, ironically, he killed. Then, this evening, he stopped by the Ed Sullivan theater to appear on “The Late Show” with David Letterman. Here is an excerpt from the show.

Letterman:  “Ladies and Gentlemen, we have a very special guest this evening. Joining us, to deliver tonight’s Top Ten Jerry Sandusky pick-up lines, a man who’s frequently mistaken for the Geico caveman. Would you please welcome, Jesus H. Christ!”

(Please start the drumroll app on your smartphone when you hit ‘play.’)

Jesus Christ on Letterman!
by: martin.munson

What’s New On Facebook? (Hint: Nothing)

Boston, MA – This is what I love, but mostly hate, about Facebook. The wall post below starts off with yet another squawking hen talking about, what else, her own birthday party. But this isn’t any old ordinary party we’re talking about here, it’s a Lingerie Party. Guys, before you close your eyes and rub your balls under your desks with your stapler, remember, this isn’t like the Victoria’s Secret chicks mashing boobers together and dilling each other out with ceramic cucumbers. It’s probably a bunch of middle-aged mothers (like, probably 30 years old, or worse) hemming and hawing about if there’s any connection between their 90 pound weight gain since college and the romance with their husband(s) that’s turned into a brittle, rotted corpse due to the fact they’ve become a dreadful chore to bang. Sex, or love-make, is supposed to be a beautiful, intimate experience between a man and a woman (or whatever combination you’re into) where the guy stands up at the last second and shows his appreciation for your beautiful body by releasing his bounty all over your face. He shouldn’t have to feel like he’s pinned under a VW beetle in a car wash. Anyway, instead of just emailing the people that may be invited, she sends a message to everyone in her god damned Facebook circle. This is what you get when you fuck with Tom whatever his last name is.

(Thanks to Derek for emailing the pic)

 

"They shouldn't make lingerie for anything beyond a size 4"

Gym Memberships Decline Thanks To More Eating And Xbox Kinect

Boston, MA – The Xbox Kinect is the best thing to happen to home entertainment since HD-TV, DVR, Pin The Tail On The Asian, Online Porn (although I wish the internet would consider adding more content), and that personalized sex robot I can’t afford. The Kinect uses state of the art technology to capture your movements while displaying them with your character on the television. Of the three games I purchased, ‘Kinect Sports’, ‘Your Shape’, and ‘Dance Central’, only Kinect Sports would give you any indication that I’m a man. However, all three games are guaranteed to give you a sweat-producing full body workout. Here’s a quick review of each:

“Dance Central”: This game will not teach you how to dance. The software is, however, intuitive enough to point out the fact that you’re horrible. If you’re dancing at a wedding and you can’t spot the asshole on the dancefloor, the asshole, my friend, is you. Amazing graphics, vast song catalog, and allows for multi-player, so I’m going to give this game an A-. It would have received an A if I didn’t spend $60, play it once, and eject it forever. (I will sell you Dance Central for $25, please click “contact” at the top right.)

“Your Shape”: If you don’t think a video game can make you sweat, you’re wrong, Chubby. I’ll give this game an A. Again, it was $60, and the only reason I’m going to consider selling it is because I played this game in my living room, and when I was done it smelled like I lit a Yankee candle in there with a scent called “Nachos n’ Ballbags.”

“Kinect Sports”: This game comes with Bowling, Ping-Pong, Track and Field, Boxing, Volleyball and Soccer. While it’s debatable that Bowling, Ping-Pong, Volleyball and Soccer are sports, there is a genuine likeness to these games as you play them. Thanks to fluid game play, beautiful graphics, character development and online multi-player, I’m going to give this game an A-. It would have received an A if I hadn’t jumped up for a spike during Volleyball and mangled my hand on a low ceiling fan. Speaking of low ceiling fans:

 

 

"Daddy, I think I need 11 stitches"

Open Letter To The Guy At My Gym That Was Caught “Working His Shaft” In The Steam Room

"How to Void The Warranty On Your Motorized Wheelchair"

(Editors note: People in image not related to this story)

Hi,

I hope this letter finds you doing well. I heard that another member of the gym walked into the steam room to find you stroking your meat. That’s a weird place for that. I’m glad you were caught in time because it would be much worse if you were able to finish. I really don’t want to have to start wearing mocassins in the steam room. I know that sometimes the urge can be overwhelming, so it’s commonplace to slip into the mens room at Dunkin’ Donuts and have at it, or pretend to try on seven pairs of pants when you’re shopping at Kohl’s and blast one into the pocket of a pair of Dockers. That I get. But the steam room is a place I like to go to relax after a workout, and the last thing I need guiding me through the fog is your raging helmet. Also, something else to keep in mind is that there’s a drain that keeps the water cycling through the filtration system. Now, I’m not saying you were going to cum in there, but if you did, your jism would most likely make its’ way to that drain and into the filter system to be recycled into the steam room atmosphere where everyone would be covered with millions of tiny little particles of your load. Not cool.

Thanks,

Martin

Close Encounter (M4F, or M4FF, but never M4M)

"Flowers, Dinner, 69, SportsCenter, Sleep, Breakfast, Leave"

For two or three weeks now, I’m pretty sure we’ve shared a few knowing glances during our commute on the Orange Line. Just this morning, we got off at Haymarket, but exited through different doors of the train. I’ve come close to saying something to you, but you’re usually listening to your iPod. It’s obvious that you’re a young professional, walking with a confident stride, and dressed immaculately in heels. My mind usually wanders for a bit as I trail behind you up the escalator. You’re probably an Attorney, or an Ad Executive. When you go out with friends, you have a drink or two but don’t let yourself get out of control, except when it’s time to get up for Karoake. When you’re home, you like to pour a glass of Pinot Noir, get under a heated blanket, and read a Jody Picoult novel. You sing songs in the shower that I would hear on Coffee House (Sirius/XM.) You take a few outfits out and stand in front of your full length mirror, holding them up in front of you at shoulder level and swivel from side to side, seeing which is the right choice for the following workday. If you’re wondering why my imagination is almost spot on, it’s because I’ve been watching you from your fire escape.

Why I Stopped Playing Video Games: An Expose On Teabagging, by Martin Munson

 

Somewhere along the way, the joy one is supposed to feel when playing video games has transgressed into anger, self-doubt, self-loathing, rage, depression, violence, foul language, and the final straw that broke this camel’s back, teabagging.  Remember maneuvering your pac-man around, eating pellets, escaping ghosts, and chasing the pretzel for 5,000 points?  Or not going to your prom(s) because you were too busy trying to rescue Zelda?  Well, that’s all been replaced.  All of the joy and happiness you longed for, wiped out.  The new legion of video game players are deeply immersed in FPS games (First Person Shooters), where they control a heavily armed soldier, alien, cyborg, etc.  With the majority of players spending most of their time in online multi-player games, such offerings as Halo and Modern Warfare  provide hours of simulated murder entertainment.  For a novice player like myself, stepping “into the arena” of an event titled “Deathmatch”, was a complete mistake.  My player would spawn to life, and someone would riddle me with bullets, leaving my lifeless, bloody corpse on the ground.  Then I would spawn again, and I would be hit by a rocket propelled grenade, my body parts scattering in each direction (known online as the “yard sale” or the “JFK Jr.”)  And then it happened.  A 13 year old punk from Kentucky killed me, and for reasons that escape me, the makers of the video game give him 20 seconds to violate my corpse and talk trash to me through my headset.

Punk:  “YEAH.  You see that?  I’m teabagging you!”

Me:  “What?  You’re…why?”

Punk:  “Just rubbing my balls all over your face.  How does it taste?”

Me:  “I don’t like it.  Please stop putting your balls in my mouth.  I want to come back to life and maybe plant a claymoor.”

Punk:  “Stay down bitch!  Eat my balls!  hahahaha.  OWNED!  You have ball breath now.  For the rest of the game you’re going to have the taste of my balls in your mouth.”

Me:  “How do I migrate over to your side?!  I want to be a part of the winning team.”

Punk:  “I’m going to hunt you for the rest of the game.”

Then the line went dead.  The makers of the video game apparently feel that 20 seconds is ‘just’ long enough to make a well-deserved point.  True to his word, that player (gamertag name:  berrydipper) followed me around for the rest of the deathmatch and continued to virtually violate me, whether it was his kill or someone elses.  The last words I heard were “You’re going to have nightmares about my balls tonight.”  This never happened on my Nintendo.

Thanks,

Martin