1. Loving Seinfeld
2. Watching, loving, and then owning on DVD any Michael Bay film (except The Rock. The Connery Exception makes that one OK)
3. Doing your buddy's sister
4. Doing your buddy's morbidly obese sister
5. Spilling the bong
6. While drunk, calling your buddy by your ex-girlfriend's name. Actually, even when sober that is fucked up.
7. Not replacing the toilet paper. Yeah. I'm talking to you. On behalf of the rest of us, fuck you.
8. Loudly singing along to the jukebox in a bar. This isn't a scene in a charming romantic comedy. The rest of us have to listen to you. Stop.
9. Eating the leftover pizza if you didn't chip in to purchase it. That's a dick move, man.
10. Farting whilst performing a 69
11. Not flushing
12. Spilling a beer if you have had less than three
13. Owning any film with Gwyneth Paltrow...other than Seven. That one is cool.
14. Owning any film with the Olsen Twins. No exceptions.
15. Not buying a Big Damn Shirt
Bonus Not returning the call of the horrible wildebeest you drunkenly went home with last week. Just kidding. Change your number. She'll never know.
Monday, November 23, 2009
1. Loving Seinfeld
Thursday, November 19, 2009
First off, let's go ahead and get it out of the way. Yes. I have a bull's head. But what I am about to teach you isn't bullshit. Ha!
OK. That joke was cheesy. Laugh it up. But I can reach the top shelf in the grocery store and I never have to suffer through lame Lord of the Rings jokes at my expense. So...point to me.
In any case, we are all here to learn to be better salespeople. Or, you know, salesgnomes in your case.
First, you have to insure that your product is something your prospective client truly needs. If not, create that need. In short, lie.
In retrospect, I probably should have used a synonym for "short" instead of saying "short". Please don't take any offense. I wasn't casting any aspersions about your height challenges. Hell...I was short once. 'Course, I outgrew it.
Incredibly shitty drawing of a Minotaur salesman
Anyhoo...your basic prospective customer wants to buy your product. He just doesn't know it. You gotta let him know what he wants. That's the key.
You gotta soften them up. Caress the ego. Treat them like cute little woodland creatures that need your protection. Act like little woodland Gnomes who...
Fuck. I did it again, didn't I?
Look. I'm no speciesist. I don't think Minotaurs are better than Gnomes. I have no animosity towards your people. None. There is no bigoted blood coursing through my mighty half-man half-bull veins, just as I hope there is no latent anti-Minotaur animosity meandering through your tiny-ass veins in your little bearded bodies.
As a quick aside? Does the Travelocity gnome ever piss you off? I mean...it's like they are just asking people to kidnap your asses and take you on a voyage whether you want to or not. I'd like to see them try that shit with a mighty Minotaur! I mean hell...it took Theseus to take down one of my ancestors and he had two dads...one of which was fucking Poseidon! Now that is stacking the deck, you know?
But back to the subject at hand: sales. To be a truly magnificent salesman you have to get to know your customer. You have to be able to know what he wants and needs before even he does. Like that creepy King dude in the Burger King ads that always has a Whopper waiting for you before you even knew you were hungry. Something like that. But, you know, way less creepy.
You have to know that this is the life for you. You gotta commit. There is a lot of wining and dining folks. A lot of dealing with fragile egos. And there is a shitload of travel.
Hey, maybe you guys could get a deal from Travelocity?
You know what? I'm just gonna go.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Get Norzak on a Big Damn T-Shirt!
Don't expect more from us. We are lazy like this. Deal with it.
Monday, November 16, 2009
We are all familiar with the literary form Haiku. Seventeen syllables divided into three lines: 5,7,5. The following are 5 haikus about food product mascots.
I like to eat toast
I caught it on fire today
Oops. I was asleep
Was it good for me?
I really can't remember
Who are you again?
I fought Chuck Norris
But it was then I awoke
I tried to make a sandwich
And that's when I....(snore)
Road trips really suck
I'm always stuck with the map
No one lets me drive
The job interview
was going just great, but then
I fell asleep again
I tried to go down
on my lady-friend today
But I fell asleep
This one time in school
I was asking a hot girl
On a boring date
I say "it's not you, it's me"
I wanted to be
an air traffic controller
You see why I can't
Thursday, November 12, 2009
A few years back, we ran en experiment with invisibility in the hopes of bringing you dear readers some education and possibly some laughs. While we may have failed at both...we at least succeeded in wasting your time. So it is kind of a win for us.
We have recently discovered the journal of an ex-writer for BDF (he wasn't fired or anything. He died when his car exploded whilst attempting to create a time machine) who engaged in various experiments. The following was his experiment with sobriety.
The first morning I awoke sober, it took me twenty minutes to make it to the bathroom. It isn't easy walking when nothing is spinning and your head doesn't feel like an evil midget is attempting to jackhammer his way out of your skull. My equilibrium was all off.
It wasn't until about noon that I finally learned to cope with the whole "feeling good and not hungover" thing. Kind of overrated, I must say.
Around one in the afternoon I started getting a little scared because I hadn't peed in about an hour. I'm used to needing to take a leak about every twenty minutes. I started worrying that something was wrong with my bladder. Or worse...my penis. I asked around and it turns out this is "normal".
One of the first and most important things I have discovered is that pretty much none of my friends are as amusing as I thought they were. Sobriety shines a harsh light on the people in your life. At the same time, I learned that a lot more people dislike me than I realized. I guess you notice more shit with this whole sobriety thing.
Also, as it turns out...I'm not nearly as attractive as I thought I was. Which is a drag.
I remember pretty much everything about the past day and a half. Which isn't as cool as one might think. Sometimes I don't want to remember shit. In fact, there is a lot of shit I want to forget directly after doing. Sobriety makes that well-nigh impossible. Which sucks.
Ironically, I learned that people seem to have more tolerance for the actions of a drunkard than they do for a sober person. I quickly learned that if you aren't tanked, the general public has very little patience for someone attempting to use God's urinals (a.k.a. trees) in public. The thing is, I do that shit all the time when I'm drinking and I can only think of three or fourteen times when someone yelled at me. It happened every single time yesterday. Fucking puritans.
Turns out, I'm not allowed to do this.
I tried watching about five movies in my personal DVD collection and they weren't quite as funny as I recall them being. In fact, they all sucked. The weird thing is I just know that shit was still funny a mere two days ago. Strange.
One that that it cool, being able to drive everywhere. Much nicer than getting rides from sober people or calling cabs. Don't drink and drive, kids. It's bad. Seriously.
I find myself eating a lot less and never seem to hunger for that Taco Bell "fourthmeal". In fact, at no point during my experiment has Taco Bell seemed like a good idea at all. Normally, I am there three maybe four times a week. Around 3 A.M.
I had initially thought about extending my experiment for a full week to see if there was an adjustment period...but it just sucked too hard. I am going out for a drink.
Here is my advice: The next person you meet who has quit drinking and they keep going on and on about how fucking glorious their newly sober life is...be wary. They are probably just trying to pull you into their shitty world.
You know how when someone eats something shitty and then they blurt out "Oh fuck! This is awful....You gotta try it!" and then they try to goad you into eating something that you now know is fucking awful? I think people inherently try to spread their pain.
So don't listen to those folks. Just keep on keeping on. And have a beer. Or three. Whatever.
For anyone who wants to get their panties in a twist...we aren't advocating alcoholism. The article is a joke. Relax. Have a drink...or be sober. We don't care either way. Just don't be a dick about it. And loosen up.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
When you are first dating, you have infinite patience towards each other. Sure, some things annoy each of you about the other but you can overcome that minor shit, right?
I'll bet she even likes your pad, right? Wrong. From the very first nanosecond she was in your living quarters, she was scoping it out and making mental notes about what shit will change, what new shit she will be adding, and what shit you love the most that will soon be sitting in a dumpster.
Yeah...when you live together, she makes the calls.
Herein is your official BDF guide to romantic cohabitation.
Because we are friends, I am going to lay it all down with brutal honesty. Basically, everything you have heard up until this point is amazingly incorrect. You have been lied to. No shit.
The truth is more complex. And in some ways, way shittier.
For instance, if you are a male you will never ever ever get to pick out your own furniture again. While you might want an egg chair for the sweet maneuver of slowly revolving around in the chair petting a white cat and carefully explaining your devious plans ala Ernst Stavro Blofeld, your partner is far more likely to want a divan. And you won't get to put your feet up on it because it is too classy.
You know how awesome you think it would be to fuck in a waterbed? Yeah....you don't get one. You are going to have a queen sized bed that may or may not have a canopy. Good luck getting in the mood in that thing. It is almost as if the designers were specifically attempting to create an anti-fuck zone. If so, well played sirs. You have achieved your stated goals.
On the upside, sex in a waterbed actually isn't cool at all. It is twice the work. And fucking shouldn't be work. Of course, I'm sure you all know this because Big Damn Fans rake in the poozle like nobody's business. Right?
Remember how you always dreamed of getting together with all the other married guys and having a poker, beer, and possibly pornography night every week? Yeah...less so that and far more so the Oprah book club. Enjoy your Steinbeck, Doyle Brunson.
Also, no matter how morbidly obese your lady gets, she will still judge you on what you eat and call you fat when you begin to show faint signs of love handles. Is it fair? Fuck no. But she controls The Down South Mouth so you will have to just deal with it. Enjoy your gym membership. Or your Bowflex.
You will never look like this dude
You know how guys move into a place and wherever they initially put their shit, that is where that shit will live forever? Not so much women. They live for redesigning and rearranging.
Prepare to move furniture. Often. It probably wouldn't hurt to get that Bowflex, actually.
One thing you have heard that is absolutely true is this: what's hers is hers and what's yours is hers. Fact. It blows.
You used to own stuff. That was the shit she made you throw out or give to the Salvation Army the first week she moved in. Remember that stuff? That was some cool stuff, wasn't it?
Sure, your friends are fucking with you now. Making comments about how girlified your apartment is now...but one day someone will actually want to live with them. And then their worlds will be turned upside down.
Of course, you won't really be able to laugh about it because you will be too busy helping your girlfriend redesign the living room for the fourth time that year.
Monday, November 9, 2009
1. I put some miracle grow on my chia pet last night and this morning....well, have you ever seen The Day of the Triffids?
2. Sorry I'm late. I was busy banging your girlfriend. Not really. But that would be way worse than simply being late. Right? So...we're good?
3. I had a six pack of Smirnoff Ice, some Barenaked Ladies on the stereo...and I just plain lost track of time.
4. I didn't care enough to be here on time.
5. I had to wait for the Fed-Ex guy. My Richard Simmons: Sweatin' to the Oldies DVD arrived today. I can loan it to you if you want.
6. It took me a while to pick out the perfect pair of sweatpants.
7. There was a Facts of Life marathon on and I got totally sucked in. Oh...those girls. I worry about Natalie, though. She really needs to work on her self-esteem.
8. I would have been here but some important shit came up. I would tell you, but you are less important.
9. I'm agoraphobic. It took me a while to get out of the house.
10. You know, in Japan I'm right on time. You, however, are amazingly early.
11. I had to rearrange my garden gnomes. Timothy and Sir Bedevere aren't getting along this week so I had to separate them.
12. I'm trying to save on gas so I drove 20 mph the whole way here.
13. I've been taking these yoga classes and now that I'm more limber I wondered if I could...you know...well, after two hours of struggling, it turns out I can't. Yet.
14. I had to trim my scrote hair. That shit was getting way out of hand.
15. My car was in the shop over the weekend and they installed some kind of flux thingamajigger. I was racing to get here but when I hit 88 mph, some weird shit went down. Next thing I know, I am in 1955 my mom is trying to make out with me and I had to help my dad stop being a pussy. Long story short, sorry I'm late, man.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
As I stand here today, looking out at your bright shining and incredibly furry faces, it makes me think about how life can be a tricky labyrinth to maneuver. But this is your time. With youth comes vigor. I look out upon your visages and I see that vigor. Faces eager to attack the world. Itching to make your mark on history. And just generally itchy, I would imagine. What with all that fur.
Being a Vampire, I can't really identify with the burden of lycanthropy. From what I understand, your are cursed to transform into a wolf at each full moon. I, however, have the ability to turn into a wolf whenever I feel like it and then turn back. Or turn into something else. Like a bat. Or mist.
I gotta say, as far as creatures lurking under the full moon, you guys kinda got the fuzzy end of the lollipop compared to me. But then again, I will ignite in a raging inferno should I ever wander into sunlight. You guys can laze about getting a tan on a nice sandy beach. So you are up on me when it comes to that.
But that's kind of my point, we all have our crosses to bear. Speaking of crosses, I hope nobody brought any today. Those things kinda creep me out.
You have to find your passion and pursue it. And then make sure all your loved ones are securely secreted away on every full moon or there is a good chance that you are going to do some serious damage to them. Possibly even eat them.
But on the upside, every other day of the month you can just roll with regular people without anyone knowing that deep inside you lurks the mad desires of a fucking monster. Less so me. People like to think that vampires are all sexy and debonair. As you can tell by looking at me, I am less Bela Lugosi and more Nosferatu. It sucks, no pun intended.
So don't allow your curse to define you. Just make sure than when the horrible urge overtakes you...you are near somebody to whom you aren't particularly fond. Like a mime or something. Nobody misses them. Plus, they don't scream. And that will really cut down on the angry townspeople with torches and pitchforks, you know?
I guess I should probably share some wisdom with you before you journey out into the world to make your mark. I am approximately 320 years old so believe me, I have seen some shit. I've made a lot of mistakes, but luckily I literally have eternity to right my wrongs. Or at the very least, outlive whomever I may have fucked over. And that really comes in handy.
This one guy I used to hang out with, Pete, had the knack of always picking up the hottest women. He was a good looking guy, sure, but it was more about his presence, you know? Hanging out with me probably didn't hurt him either. I mean look at me. I look like a fucking drowned rat over here. Anyway, one night we were all out drinking and one thing led to another...and I kinda slept with Pete's girlfriend. Man...was Pete pissed! For the next year or so, I really had to lay low because he kept trying to stake my ass. Eventually, I just left the continent and was able to avoid Pete until he died.
So I guess I would advise you not to fuck your buddy's woman. Unless you are damn sure that you will outlive him. You werewolves aren't immortal, right? Well...then bummer for you. It does have it's upsides.
I'm probably just rambling at this point so I will try and wrap this up. Here's the thing, don't ever let anyone tell you what you can or can't be in this life. It is all up to you.
And whatever hinky rules your particular curse requires you to abide by. That definitely cramps the style a little.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Many people* have asked emailed us, stopped us on the streets, or just generally harassed us about Mal-Formed Johnny. Who is he? Why is he our mascot? What are his favorite foods?
We will attempt to answer these in order:
1. As noted in our FAQ, Mal-Formed Johnny (or MFJ) is a product of free art software. That's the only excuse we have. We are poor. Period.
2. He is our mascot because that is what J.D. drew 11 years ago and we have just been going with it ever since.
3. Pizza, the Burger King Whopper, and beer.
But people want more. More information, more stories, more things we are fully prepared to make up on the spot right now. So the following is the first installment of the Saga of Mal-Formed Johnny.
Mal-Formed Johnny first came to this country on a boat with many Pilgrims headed for Plymouth, Massachusetts. MFJ himself wasn't fleeing persecution nor did he share any beliefs with those Pilgrims. He just really liked boats.
After one especially brutal winter, the local Native Americans brought sustenance to the Pilgrims and a grand feast was enjoyed by all.
Yep. I'm talking about Thanksgiving. That was the last Thanksgiving that MFJ was allowed to attend. The journal of William Bradford notes the reason:
...the strange fellow with the lopsided head grabbed hold of the mashed potatoes and refused to share with anyone except Squanto. After gorging himself, he made haste to the cider and quickly was consumed with sinful thoughts. Long story short, that weird fucker stripped nude and began chanting "I can kick everyone's ass at this table" until he passed out. What a dick....
Mal-Formed Johnny was soon politely asked to leave the colony. Being MFJ, he just ignored them citing his personal creed "those guys are just fuckers". Two days later, he was forcefully removed from Plymouth.
Did Mal-Formed Johnny sign the Declaration of Independence? Almost!
Unfortunately for MFJ, as the last man assigned to put his name to parchment he was punished with the cruel fate of having the pen ran out of ink just as he was about to place his John Hancock on the document.
In fact, MFJ planned to write his name really huge and put smiley faces around it to insure that your attention would be drawn to his name. Had he done that, maybe history would call it putting your "Mal-Formed Johnny" to paper as opposed to your "John Hancock".
We will never know.
Many years later, MFJ was a major part of another important event in American history: the civil war.
MFJ signed up and served his country fighting the rebels for President Abraham Lincoln. He claims he single-handedly turned the tide of the war in the North's favor.
We're pretty sure he's bullshitting that part.
In the late 1960's MFJ was a big proponent of the peace movement. Less so for political reasons and moreso for the drugs and sexy women. Like most hippies.
His long and winding road took him all the way to Max Yasgur's farm in Bethel, New York during the summer of 1969.
Three days of food, folks, fun, festivities, foul smells, and various other words that begin with the letter F. Mal-Formed Johnny had no problems with the ladies that summer. He had a really good stash of weed.
In future installments, we may explore how MFJ was involved in the prison uprising at Attica (he was doing 5-10 for larceny), his work with Dian Fossey in the mountain forests of Rwanda and how he is still exceptionally pissed about his omission from the film Gorillas in the Mist, and how he single-handedly built the Statue of Liberty.
* Literally nobody has emailed, stopped us on the streets, or generally harassed us about MFJ. But as a preemptive move, we wrote this article.
Monday, November 2, 2009
1. I wasn't finished. I was going to say "Do you do analysis for any major corporate entities?" I don't want a conflict of interest here.
2. Would you change your mind if I offered to pay you?
3. That's cool. How about a BJ?
4. So...should we just stop now? I really had my heart set on anal.
5. Um...that came out wrong. I meant to say "Do you like fudge?" 'Cause I'm hungry and I've got a sweet tooth.
6. No? That's fine. But you do know that all the cool people do it, right? All of them. Big buttlovers, the cool people. True story.
7. O.K. I was just hoping that once we got married...
8. Yeah, me neither. I was just joking. Unless you change your mind. In that case I was all the way serious.
9. Well, why the fuck not?
10. O.K. But you better hope you never go to prison. That happens there. A lot.
11. Anal? No! I asked "Do you do fables?" I wanted to tell stories. It's fun.
12. No? O.K. But you can kiss that raise goodbye.
13. Are you a lesbian or something?
14. O.K. I guess we are done here. Good day.
15. I just wanted to be intimate with you...and I find vaginas scary.