Press Ctrl-Alt-Del to build a boat. 

Unless napping, masturbating, and eating massive amounts of cheese dip are suddenly considered life plan goals, I got nothing accomplished over the weekend. 

However, I was able to get back the 75 cents the post office stole. My redemption came in the form of a new hire at McDonalds.

“Did you odor a cheekin beeskit?” she asked.

“No, I haven’t ordered yet,” I replied.

“Oh, can I take yo’ odor?”

“One Sausage McMuffin to go, please.”

“That be a dolla an seven ceents.”

I handed her $1.25. She handed me back $1.18.

Normally, I would have returned the money, but anyone that stupid shouldn’t be helped. Besides, I wasn’t in the mood to listen to her talk anymore. I just grabbed my $.07 McMuffin and walked out.

You know who you are? - Even Steven.

- Dani-girl uploaded a couple of photo albums - Girl’s Night(s) Out and Fast Eddie’s and Cardinals Game. 

- The Difference between a Camel Toe and a Moose Knuckle. Thanks, Lisa M.

- Capture the excitement of women’s basketball with WNBA Live 2008. Thanks, Chuck H.

- Vintage footage of Bill O’Reilly flipping out on the set of Inside Edition. NSFW

Read between the lines. What’s fucked up and everything’s alright.

There’s no place like home. 

I’ve had it with the post office. Today, I went to mail my Mother’s Day card and tried to buy a stamp from their vending machine. They didn’t have any 41 cents stamps available, so I opted for the fifty cents choice. Who needs a frickin’ fifty cents stamp anyway? The machine accepted my first quarter, but swallowed the second. So, I fed it another quarter. Bye-bye…

Now I was pissed. I walked into the packed lobby and grabbed a number - sixty-five. After a 15 minute wait, my number finally got called.

“Can I help you?” asked the unmotivated government employee.

“Yeah, I need a stamp for this card because I lost 75 cents in your vending machine,” I replied.

“Anything else?” he asked, completely ignoring my comment about losing money.

“Can I get my 75 cents back?”

“You have to fill out a form. Do you want it?”

“No thanks, but you should probably put an Out of Order sign on the machine.”

“Okay.”

I started to walk away, but had to ask - ”You’re not going to put a sign on it, are you?”

“Sixty-six,” he yelled. 

- Man to be buried in Pabst Blue Ribbon coffin. 

- Anyone missing a tire? Thanks, John M.

- Charles Barkley is Ron Burgundy.

- Man steals golf cart trying to flee from the police.

- Crazy beotch on the train starts rapping and yelling obscenities at an old lady. I’m pressin’ charges. NSFW

Too many women with too many pills. 

They never hassle their own kind.

When does American Idol end? I still watch it, but not because of the contestant performances or musical guests. I enjoy watching someone get booted off, and then forced to sing a song in tears. Okay, the numb nut kicked off tonight didn’t cry, but he butchered a Bob Marley song. And that made me cry.

This is the same reason I watch figure skating during the Winter Olympics. Inevitably, some poor girl blows a triple axle and winds up on her ass. But she shouldn’t be sad or upset. She practiced for years, did her best, and her ass is usually pretty sweet once she gets up from the ice.

That’s not the sign.

It was when I was banging!

How to Spend Your Stimulus Check

The federal government is sending each and everyone of us a $300 rebate. If we spend that money at Wal-Mart, the money will go to China. If we spend it on gasoline it will go to the Arabs. If we purchase a computer it will go to India. If we purchase fruit and vegetables it will go to Mexico, Honduras, and Guatemala. If we purchase a good car it will go to Japan. If we purchase useless crap it will go to Taiwan … and none of it will help the American economy.

The only way to keep that money here at home is to buy prostitutes, weed, beer and tattoos since these are the only products still produced in the USA.

Thank you for your help & please support the U.S.

Thanks, Mr. O.

Man’s Best Friend

A dog is truly a man’s best friend. If you don’t believe it, just try this experiment.

Put your dog and your wife in the trunk of the car for an hour.

When you open the trunk, who is really happy to see you?

Thanks, John M.

- If celebs moved to Oklahoma. Thanks, X-Man.

- How did this personalized license plate get approved? Thanks, Mr. O.

- A good reason to call off the wedding. Thanks, Sheila E.

- Lee Elia rants about Cubs fans in 1983. Thanks, TJ and Lil’ Bro. NSFW

So where is the passion when you need it the most?

M-I-C-… See you at the bar.

Today’s picture is of reader, Slingen, wearing his SOB T-shirt at Disney World. That gave me an idea… create a photo page of people wearing their SOB gear. Hopefully, this will give Dani-girl, Abby, and the other girls enough incentive to send pictures of themselves wearing their extremely tight SOB tanks. I may have lied about the sizes. Wink.

I’m not going to comment on the Kentucky Derby tonight for two reasons. First, PETA is pissing me off by using a freak accident to advance their own idiotic agenda. Second, I’m not sure if my horse has finished the race yet.

Stupidity Tax Offense: Setting your TiVo or DVR to record Flavor of Love. Cha Ching! $10.

Portrait of a Four-Day Bender

Friday - Margaritas at happy hour, beers until midnight.

Saturday - Mint Juleps watching the Kentucky Derby. And by Kentucky Derby, I mean the entire undercard at Churchill on ESPN.

Sunday - Beers at the pool from 2 o’clock to ten. That’s a full day of work for most people.

Monday - Cinco de Mayo (Happy Birthday, George G.) 

A big ole pile of shift work. Seven to three. Three to eleven. Eleven to seven.

SOB picks for the 134th running of the Kentucky Derby. Drink a mint julep today and be somebody.

Benny
Pick: Pyro
Analysis: Ignore his last effort in the Bluegrass over the synthetic surface at Keeneland. He’s back on conventional dirt today and should be closing like a mo-fo. Besides, I had his grandsire, AP Indy, in the ‘92 Derby. He was scratched the morning of the race, so I jumped on the Azeri bandwagon. That overlay may still be running down the stretch. Then I picked his sire, Pulpit, five years later. He finished fourth and suffered a career-ending injury. Third time’s a charm.

Issac
Pick: Big Brown
Analysis: That was my nickname in college.

Crowe Dog
Pick: Gayego
Analysis: That is my nickname today.

Abby
Pick: Cowboy Cal
Analysis: I was wondering where all the cowboys had gone.

Dani-girl
Pick: Big Truck
Analysis: Never mind… I read the name wrong.

Sheila E.
Pick: Denis of Cork
Analysis: Dennis is my boyfriend’s name… and he loves to cork me.

Tom
Pick: Smooth Air
Analysis: He’s the #12 horse, and that’s the same number of girls I’ve slept with. Wink.

And here comes pride up the backstretch. Heartache is going to the inside.

Banned for life… 

As I was driving across the state earlier this week, I couldn’t help but take the exit ramp to the town that banned me years ago. The picture is a little grainy because the po po was lurking, so I only had time for one shot.

My publicist said that I needed to get back some of my street cred before my debut rap album, Don’t Trust Whitey, hits store shelves. The media has been all over me since TMZ reported that I lied about doing time for stealing candy from a local newsstand.

Check back Saturday morning for the SOB Kentucky Derby picks.

Like disco superfly.