Tuesday, June 9, 2015

Mad Men Finale: That Peggy/Stan Love Affair was Complete and Total Bullshit


I know I know I know, Mad Men ended like six years ago. But there's something I've been meaning to write about but haven't been able to get to because I am literally the fattest, laziest piece of shit on the planet.

The finale was solid. It was thought-provoking. The whole Coca-Cola thing was bonks. I was obviously a littttttttttle surprised that Don ended up being a horse, but then again -- not to toot my own horn -- look who predicted that way back in 2012.

The problem with the finale was not the vague horse metaphor, but the Stan/Peggy mishegas. Not that I had a problem with them being in love. That was fine. I get it. I actually met my wife at work and used to secretly fingerbang her in the office stairwell. But with Stan and Peggy, it was how it all went down: Stan professing his love over the phone, Peggy gushing with excitement, and then Stan rushing down to kiss her on the mouth. That stuff doesn't happen. Ever. And for a show that prides itself on deep, realistic, emotional characters and storylines, they really dropped the ball here.

I'm not saying that Stan shoulda fingerblasted Peggy, I'm just saying that there's no way Peggy would've embraced that kinda move. That's not how chicks operate. What Stan did to Peggy -- sharing his deepest, most honest desires -- is called a Part One. It's called a Part One because it never works and inevitably leads to a Part Two. I know this because I once Part One'd a chick (and failed) which led to a Part Two around a year later (that obviously didn't work either). Allow me to explain. 

When I was about 25 years old, there was this chick that I was really really really into. For the sake of not shaming this poor woman on the Internet, let's call her Grarf. Grarf was a friend of a friend and whenever we hung out we got on quite well. She was quick, and witty, and smart, and a whole bunch of other adjectives that people look for in a lover, and when I realized that she kinda liked me too, I decided to take our relationship to the next level (by asking for her AOL instant messenger screen name). We developed quite a rapport, chatted constantly and would occasionally even talk on the phone. We never really got into the whole "I wanna eat your butthole" dirty talk, but it was clear that we both really liked each other. 

The problem was that I lived in Boston and she lived in New York and I quickly grew tired of our friendship that consisted of mostly sitting at a computer and typing stupid words onto a stupid screen. I wanted more. I wanted to see her more. I wanted to eat her butt. 

So on a random Wednesday afternoon I told Grarf that I had to talk to her. Nothing too serious, just some shit I wanted to share, and I asked if we could chat that night on the phone. Grarf told me she had class and would not be home til 9:30 or 10 (keep in mind, this was at a time before cellphones when people would actually long for legit human interactions) so I told Grarf that I would call her later that night.

That evening after work I ran down to Chinatown and hopped aboard the Fung Wah bus (probably my first mistake of the evening). My plan was to get to Manhattan shortly before 10, find a pay phone near her place, call her up, throw it all out there, and then stick my tongue deep deep deep inside her butthole. As of 9:55, the plan was going perfectly. I found a pay phone directly outside her apartment building and dialed up her stupid number.

This looks good.

When Grarf answered we just sorta shot the shit for a bit -- I asked her how her day went, how class was, blah blah blibbity blah -- until she eventually asked me what I wanted to talk about. I told her I had a question about dry cleaning and wanted her opinion on Ming's, the dry cleaners located directly adjacent to her apartment building. She told me she didn't know what I was talking about so I asked her about a nearby parking garage and if they had good rates and if it was safe and once again she was like, "Dude what's wrong with you?" so eventually I was like, "Dude I'm outside your apartment," and she was completely blown away. 

The first three minutes up in her apartment consisted of her frantically running around and trying to straighten up while repeating the phrase, "What the freak are you doing here?" Looking back, that couldn't have been a good sign. Eventually I told her to calm the freak down and tapped the seat cushion next to me gesturing for her to sit down on the couch. She sat down, she definitely sat down, but instead of joining me on the love seat, she pulled up A CHAIR and sat directly across from me. So now, as I was about to profess my love to her, she had made it very very very difficult for me to plant one on her if the moment presented itself. She was also wearing shoes, inside, like, inside her apartment, another red flag that I somehow ignored. 

Anyway, I ended up going into this dumb, pre-planned speech that I had practiced on my four-hour bus ride about how much I liked her and how much I loved talking to her and er mah gerd we should totally go for it and just thinking about it now makes me want to puke. She was totally blindsided and completely overwhelmed (and flattered) and had the complete opposite reaction of Peggy. 

Grarf was incapable of putting sentences together. She kept bringing up the fact that I lived in Boston she lived in New York and that I was literally the fattest, laziest piece of shit in the world. After we yapped some more, I suggested we go for a walk, and we did, a very romantic one around the United Nations. On our stroll, I probably had around 37 chances to lay one on her but I never did because as I mentioned before: literally the fattest, laziest, biggest piece of shit. 

That night I ended up sleeping on my buddy Drew's couch. (Nice couch by the way.) And the next day, I got a long, well thought-out, sweet email from Grarf saying how romantic it was but she just wasn't sure and it was a really big deal and she had never had her butt eaten out and blah blah blah **violin music** **clown horn** AHOOOOOOOOGA. 

A few months later I tried to take Grarf on a proper date and got us tickets to a Saturday afternoon matinee of an old Buster Keaton movie where a live organist played the musical score. It was quite nice, and Grarf and I had a great time, but she had to leave immediately afterwards because she is literally the sorriest piece of shit to ever walk this planet we call Earth. 

Around a year after that, after we had cooled off quite a bit, I somehow convinced Grarf to join me on a road trip to Charleston, South Carolina (aka Part Two). After my car literally broke down on top of the Shenandoah Mountains, we had to sleep at a Days Inn in nearby Charlottesville where Grarf made it very clear, both to me and the proprietor of that fine motel, that we needed a room with TWO double beds. Later, after Grarf found a dead fly in her sheets, she still chose to sleep by herself as opposed to snuggling up with your favorite television/sports/erotic blogger. The next day, I attempted to hold her hand while we drove through North Cackalack, and as I caressed her thumb and prayed that my palms would stop sweating, she turned to me and asked, "Why are you doing this?" It was at that point that I looked for the nearest telephone pole to wrap my car around.

All in all, it ended up working out for the best. I'm happily married to a woman who hates my guts while last I heard Grarf was sad and alone and living in Florida. Since that time, two of my close friends have also Part One'd chicks, failed, and eventually Part Two'ed the same chicks. They are now both married to other women.

As far as Stan and the Peggster, I mean, Peggy freaks out about everything, so I highly highly highly doubt that she would've been cool with Stan throwing it all out there. Besides, women don't want a relationship that's nice and easy and free of turmoil. They want to always keep you guessing. They want some cat and mouse. They want to sleep with men who are not me (or Stan). If I were writing the show, I would've had Peggy become so completely flizzle-flazzled that she just couldn't deal, before letting Stan down softly the next day. Stan then would've gone out that night and looked for the dirtiest, sloppiest Puerto Rican woman he could find.

It just goes to show you that after eight years of Mad Men -- and all the awards, and all the fan fare, and all the success -- that Matthew Weiner is still in fact the ultimate weiner.

Can't say we didn't see that one coming.

Have you ever Part One'd someone? If so, share your story in the comments sectsh. Or don't who cares just check out this dog sleeping. That's what I'd do. He's a really nice dog. 

Monday, April 27, 2015

Songs by Black People that are Way Better than Songs by WhitePeople: "Ride" by Ciara

cheeseburger cheeseburger cheeseburger

Welcome to a new weekly feature here at TVMWMWMWWWMWMW where every week (that's what "weekly" means) I'll be breaking down some of the greatest music videos that black people have ever made. These videos are so dope and so hilarious and so bonks that they would make any white person's butt explode. The first in the series, "Ride" by Ciara, is a bonafide jamblanger. If you've never seen the vid, please take 4 minutes and 38 seconds out of your boring white life to watch it now. Thank you.

Okay so first of all, if you're still alive after watching that lady's gyrations then congratulations on not needing a quadruple bypass. Second of all, there is no second of all. Holy shit. The first eight times I watched that vid, I just sat on my couch screaming at my television. Obviously we need to talk about Ciara's hip action. Specifically when she frog kicks whilst slapping the floor like Wojo. And also those Macadamian Squat Thrusts, leaning back and lookin' like the Iron Sheik, except instead of sitting on a dude's back, her ass is hovering in midair like a goddamn angel.

Get over yourself, Hulkster!

The best part of the video comes at the 1:40 mark when Ciara slowly slides down the waistband of her pants to reveal a pelvis that looks absolutely nothing like my wife's. JUST KIDDING, HONEY. YOU KNOW I LOVE DAT SWEET #PELV OF YOURZ. You know those black tie charity auctions where rich dudes bid thousands of dollars to play a round of golf with Dan Dinkledorg? Well, if they offered up an opportunity to eat a steak dinner off Ciara's pelvis, I guarantee you that cancer would be cured in a minny. How is this woman real?

In my head while watching I'm constantly saying stuff like, "I would tear dat ass OOP," but truth be told I have reached the point in my life where I get legitimately winded jacking off. For examps, if I'm pumping off in the shower first thing in the morning -- before I've had an opportunity to stretch/drink Gatorade™ -- there's a good chance I'll get lightheaded because of the combination of the steamy hot shower and being completely dehydrated from a night full of mouth-breathing. It's like asphyxiation, but instead of enhancing the experience, it makes me feel like a complete and total piece of shit. Pretty much just like everything else I do in this world. I am currently on two different types of blood pressure medicashe.

I'm with you, Luda.

There's also a part in the video where Ciara's leaning against a car while wearing a bathing suit. I'm not sure why there's a car there, or if that's even a bathing suit that she's wearing, it might be a dress, and it's not like Ciara's got anywhere to go, she's shooting a music vid for cryin' out loud, and quite frankly I'm not even sure why I'm devoting this much time to such a boring run-on sentence, but she's also got on some pretty dope Adidas hi-tops. My wife's favorite store is Ann Taylor Loft.

Ciara is currently dating Super Bowl™ winning quarterback Russell Wilson, but in this video she's with Ludacris. I particularly like when she jams her high-heeled shoe into his thigh. It's so hot that we completely ignore the fact that Ludacris's verse is corny as hell, saying "Red Zone, I'm a get her first down, call me Luda Drew Brees I throw it in, TOUCHDOWN."

The video ends with Ciara getting all sweaty while riding a mechanical bull because life is wonderful and I need to kill myself immediately.

Goodbye, everybody.

I'll see you in heaven my sweet, sweaty angel.

Drew Brees can suck my butt.

Blogging is so stupid. Here's a giraffe.

That's definitely a #giraffe.

Monday, March 16, 2015

HOLY FUCKING SHIT! The Jinx: The Life and Deaths of Robert Durst

I know!!!


Look, I don't know what the hell you're doing right now, but stop doing it. Just stop. Call your boss. Cancel your appointment at #Great #Clips. Just put your stupid life on hold for a few stinking hours and get to your couch so you can watch HBO's documentary series The Jinx: The Life and Deaths of Robert Durst. It's only six episodes and each ep is only like 45 minnies. You'll be done in no time. I watched every ep last night and it was RIVETING. So go go go! Stop friggin' reading this. Riveting is an understatement. It's about a weird, eccentric rich dude who may have murdered a few peeps in the last 30 years. If you don't have HBO, order it. JUST FUCKING ORDER IT. Or find someone who has an HBO Go password. I have one. I will lend you my goddamn password. Jesus Christ what is taking you so long? It was the most incredible documentary series I've ever seen. Maybe even the most incredible TV/Movie/watching something something I've ever seen. With the most bonkers ending ever. And I am not exaggerating. Why the fuck are you still reading? I hate you so much.

If you are still reading, let it be known that you are now entering SPOILER CITY. So go now. Unless you watched. Then keep reading. But Jesus Fucking Christ are you kidding me?!?!?!



Okay, now that it's just us, just the people who actually watched, we can speak openly about the show.




I can safely say that the last scene of that doc was one of, if not the most shocking, incredible, most unbelievable things I've ever seen on television. Right up there with:

- Ron Artest running into the crowd and punching people
- The World Trade Center crumbling
- The OJ chase
- What am I missing here, folks?
- Spike Albrecht's first half explosion vs. Louisville
- The end of The Thin Blue Line
- Jim Everett attacking Jim Rome
- The first time I touched a butt

As Robert mumbled to himself in the bathroom, I just sat there with my mouth WIDE FUCKING OPEN LIKE BIG MOUTH BILLY BASS. I just covered my mouth and breathed hot, disgusting dead air into my hands. My wife had accidentally seen a New York Times alert on her phone a few hours earlier and it didn't even matter. It was still incredible. Bob talking to himself and the mumbling and how flizzle-flazzed he was made it all so much more real. I mean, it was obviously real. Of course it was real. What the fuck am I even talking about?! Incredible filmmaking to only have the audio for that last scene. It worked out even better that way. Kind of like the last episode of The Office when Tim rips off his mic and you can't hear what he's saying to Dawn. But the opposite. What incredible storytelling! Holy fucking shit! HOLY FUCKING SHIT!!! If you haven't seen The Office yet then seriously what is wrong with you?!?!?!? And I'm obvs not talking about the shit American one!!!

So much of that Durst doc was amazing. The style of it. Making the reenactments not look shitty. How candid Robert Durst was. How creepy he was. How witty he was. Jarecki's goddamn goatee/sideburns combo!!!


Other shit that's worth talking about:

- Bob's eyes (omg, just calling him Bob is so weird) were so dark, and so eerie, and that scene in like episode three when he's walking down the hall on the way to court and is just staring down at the camera. Holy shit.

- I loved loved loved the investigator from Texas. With the goatee. That guy was so sweet. And I felt so sad for him that he couldn't close that case. It is friggin' fascinating that people live in Texas.

- Oh yeah, sure, Bob should've been acquitted in Texas anyway. It's not like he SAWED A DUDE'S LIMBS OFF AND THREW THEM IN THE OASHE.

- Holy shit, did you see that Bob hired that same Texas lawyer to represent him now in California?

- OMG how have we not talked about Sareb's Kaufman's beard/earring combo yet?!?

- Also, Sareb??!?!?!

- ALSO, ALSO, I have a problem where I always sympathize with killers and stuff, because ultimately their lives are sad. And I felt the same way about Robert. I mean, sure, he's a nutjob who straight-up killed three people (at least), but he's also a sad sad sad case. Seeing his mother commit sui. Not being able to connect with people. That's all very sad. I'm not saying it excuses him from this shit, but I do feel super sad for him. I felt the same way when I read In Cold Blood and when I saw The Thin Blue Line. If you haven't read or seen them shits, go do that now. (links below)

- The freaking head from the Galveston murder is still missing. Do you think he fucking ate it?!?!

- Holy shit. I love all of you. I love that you watched this. Let's start a yahoo chat room so we can talk about this. My username is DickMcScroggins.

See ya in the chat room.


Here's a link to buy In Cold Blood, Truman Capote's true crime book about a mass killing of a family in Kansas. Probably my favorite book of all time. Capote gets incredible access to the killers on Death Row, tells their backstories, and somehow makes you feel both sympathetic toward them and the people they killed. And if you haven't seen Errol Morris's documentary The Thin Blue Line, I highly highly highly recommend it. About a he-said he-said cop-killing in Texas where two dudes claim to be innocent, but one is actually the killer. It's on Netflix. I would not read spoilers or anything about it. Just go watch it. You should also watch Andrew Jarecki's other doc, Capturing the Friedmans, about a pedophile from Long Island. Also amazing. Holy shit I'm jacked up today. 

Tuesday, March 10, 2015

The Bach: The Most Dramatic Ending to the Most Dramatic Season Ever

RIP you goddamn angel.

All year long, Harrison told us this was the most dramatic season ever. Week in and week out, he stood up there with THE SAME BORING HAIRCUT and delivered this message over and over and over again. We waited, and we watched, and we watched and waited some more, and we left comments on our favorite blog sites, and we even read our favorite blogger's sports blog even though we're not really that into sports -- I mean, sure, yeah, we'll watch it from time to time and March Madness is always cool and the Olympics, sure, love that, love all that, but whatever, we wanted to support him and increase his pageviews because maybe then he could quit his day job and pursue his dream of writing for Matt Lauer and The Today Show -- but then as Chris the Farmer sent Becca home last night, we realized Harrison was right all along. This was the most bonkers season of the Bach ever. Because how the hell did that lady last soooooooooooooooo freakingggggggg longggggggg?

Yo, that lady was so boring and such a virgin and spoke with such a flat affect. She brought nothing to the table -- NUH-THING -- but yet she had us wondering if he might pick her to the very, very end. Even Chris (the farmer, not the aforementioned lame-o hairstyle guy) described Becca to his sisters as, "athletic, and I dunno, also very grounded," two things every man looks for in a spouse/doubles partner. Although now that I think about it, I guess I now understand why the Bach producers didn't pick Serena Williams for this show, because that lady is outta control! And sure, Susan Sarandon is down-to-earth and all, but an absolutely terrible swimmer. Great job Bach producers! You found Chris's (almost) ultimate dream woman! I hope one day she comes out of that coma!

Becca was so emotionally unavailable. Just completely and totally incapable of having a romantic connection with anyone. I mean honestly, what the fuck did this guy see in her? WHAT DID WE SEE IN HER? HOW DID WE THINK FOR A SECOND THAT HE MIGHT PICK HER? When she was sent home, nothin. No reactsh. Could not have cared less. Chris might as well have said, "Hey Becks, sorry but they were out of the 2% greek yoges at the store. I had to get the 0%. Hope that's okay." And I'm not saying that's wrong, I'm just saying that I now totally understand why she's a virgj. I think she might've been molested as a child. That's my hypothesis. I'm not saying it's right, nor am I saying that it's appropriate for a world famous internet celebrity to throw such a dumbfounded unsubstantiated theory out to his literally millions of readers, but there is something about this woman's past that keeps her from having any sort of elevated human emotion (or a penis inside her vagina).

Vagina could not be drier.

Of course Chris chose Whitney! OF COURSE HE DID. She's wifey material. She's annoying as fuck, but will totally make her huzz an egg salad sandwich after he tweaks his back shoveling and needs something, anything, in his system. Frankly, I don't know how Chris is gonna deal with all of Whitney's "I love you" bullshit, but she seems fertile, so that's nice for her.

When they were rolling around on his stupid fucking tractor and Whitney was like, "I LOVE THIS SHIT! IS THIS FUCKING CORN? I LITERALLY OVULATE THREE WEEKS OUT OF EVERY MONTH," ugh, of course you do. Everything is exciting when you're first in love. My wife pretended to enjoy NBA basketball for the first six years we were together. And then one day, BLAMMO, she grabbed the remote and flipped over to some new channel called Bravo, and this blog was born (and the man inside me died). Chris could've done anything with Whitney and she would've loved it. That's why love is so stupes!

CHRIS:  Hey Whit, check it out, this is where we harvest our oats.

WHIT:  Wowwwwwww. There's so many oats!

CHRIS:  I know! And this is where we flarv the durbage.

WHIT:  Oooooohhhhhhhhh, is that where you flarv? I didn't know you could flarv stuff at this time of year.

CHRIS:  Yeah. And this is where I kill the black children. Not all of them. I don't kill all of them. Just some. And then I make the others watch their friends get murdered.

WHIT:  Do you?! That's awesommmmmme. That's just awesome. Thank you so much for sharing this with me. It really means a lot to me that you'd show me where you murder black children. Can I call your mom "Mimi"?

So now what?

Well, I guess these two will go off and have sex, and Chris will try to shoot his sperm as deep as he possibly can inside this woman's ovaries (?), and eventually it'll stick, and Whitney will gain weight, and flip out about stuff, and Chris will have to go out late at night to get her a Chunky bar because for some reason she needs a Chunky bar, not a Snickers bar, not a Baby Ruth, not even a 100 Grand even though they're so caramelly, no, a Chunky, and then eventually Chris will jerk off thinking about some woman whose hair he smelled while standing in line at the post office and then both of them will die.

Enjoy married life, you two.

The real drama is just beginning.

Ugh what a stupid ending to this blogpost. So cliché.

Fuck you, I'm out.

Hey all you Philly cats (and other people), I watched an amazing doc this weekend about the MOVE bombing. Check it out, it's called "Let the Fire Burn" and it's bonks. They only use old news footage and trial footage to tell the story and it's friggin fascinating. It's on Netflix. Also, Mad Men and Game of Frones start up in a few weeks so I'll probably be blogging about that stuff soon. Or I might just take this blog down and jam a bomb inside my own asshole. Peace. 

Wednesday, March 4, 2015

Coming April 23rd -- The Hudsucker Proxy pt II -- Y'all Ain't Ready

This motherfucker I swear to God.

Yo, no Bach post this week for two reasons:

1. I tried watching that Women Tell All ep and couldn't handle it. I just couldn't handle it. Between Britt's hug and Britt crying and goddamn Sanderson and the yelling and Chris Harrison calling the women "girls" and telling them to shut up and unveiling his new romance novel, I gave up on watching that bullshit after the first hour and 58 minutes. This show is friggin' terrible and I need a friggin' break. I think I deserve one. If you're still craving some Women Tell All bullshit, here's my collabo on Zoo With Roy with him and Sara Circs. But as far as TVMWMMWWM's recaps go, I'll be back next week to blog about the finale. Or maybe I won't. I sort of hope I'm dead.

2. I need to devote more time to making some goddamn money in this world. Since I started this blog FOUR AND A HALF YEARS AGO, I have always maintained that cash rulez everything around me. I don't write this shit to entertain you. This is not a creative outlet for me. I do this for the cheddah. Thank you to all of you who paypal'd me $$$ to dondings@yahoo.com. Thank you to all of you who bought TVMWW t-shirts. Thank you to all of you who consistently spread my 700 Level isht around the internet. But it's time that I make some real motherfuckin' cash. And that's why...

I'm droppin' a new mixtape.

Yeah, you heard it, The Potato Man is back, and my new mixtape "The Hudsucker Proxy part II" is set to drop April 23rd. All freestyle. All fire. All straight-up in-yo-dome chimichanga-style hip hop. Y'all ain't ready. Y'all ain't never been ready. Bout to takeover this rap game once and for all. #HudSux

Most of you know that before I became a world famous television and sports blogger, I was an underground rap legend. During the 2000's, I dropped two solo album covers (no music, just covers) under the name The Potato Man, and one collabo jawn with my boy Loaves as part of the duo, Shit Sauce.


Also fire. 

You can listen to Shit Sauce's :30 second single "Nathan's a Doof" here (off the album Put The Clamps on 'Em). That jawn went double triple double plat, and was mixed, recorded, produced and sung by my main man Monkey. Loaves and I literally didn't do shit for this record besides set up the MySpace page (shout out Tom). But if you listen to that track for just ten seconds you'll realize why Shit Sauce was once recognized as the dopest Hawaiian rappers in the game.

"The Hudsucker Proxy part II" is gonna be illlllllllll. I don't know how many songs are gonna be on it yet. There might me none. But what I do know is that this is a more mature Potato Man comin' at ya. I got health insurance now. I got a bald spot. And my freestyle skillz will be all up in yo area on April 23rd. I expect all y'all mothafuckaz to buy that shit EARLY on iTunes. It's gonna be textbook Potato Man, with some purple rope-a-dope yope comin' straight at da Pope.

April 23rd. Y'all ain't ready.


- The Evster

aka The Potato Man aka Willie Dawkins aka Shreveport Sammy aka Westminster Abs aka Big Bad Willy Bing Bong

Tuesday, February 24, 2015

The Bach: You're a Lucky Woman, Kaitlyn. You are a Lucky, Lucky, Lucky, Lucky Woman.

This is a horrible television show.

The Bach is in Bali! (Not to be confused with Mali, which I may have done last night before I was corrected by my know-it-all wife.) Farmer Chris mentioned that Bali is "the most exotic place" he's ever been, narrowly edging out the Applebee's in downtown Des Moines.


Despite the bonkers location, last night's episode was once again a total snoozefest, probably because the star of this show is a doorknob and the three women remaining are about as interesting as AM radio. We're left with one virgin (borrrinnngggggg), one woman who "just wants to have babies" (barfffffffffffffff) and one lady who after falling in love with a farmer has lost every bit of spunk she once had in her petite (and SLAMMIN') Canadian bod.

But I gotta tip my hat (not actually wearing one) to ABC's editors who threw a little bit of foreshadowing at us during the first few mins of last night's ep. As Kaitlyn was interviewed on her monkey date, she said, "All of a sudden there's that feeling of loss as a plossibility." Turns out, it was more than a plossibility, it was a plobability, and Kaitlyn was sent packing a few hours later. Also, I rewound that scene and watched it over again two more times and turns out she did not actually say "plossibility", she said "possibility", but I still wanted to pretend like she said "plossibility" because I am a liar.

Chris (the doorknob, not the host who makes literally 4 million dollars an episode) obviously should've kept Kaitlyn and sent the virgin home. This is clear because: A) virgins are boring and B) that's a good enough reason right there. The virgj claimed that Chris's response to hearing that she was a virgj "could not have gone better" after he restrained himself from screaming and running away before setting himself on fire.

omg her hair and lol his nose

Now of course as a reality TV expert, I know that you can't believe everything you see on these shows, and they never get these things right on the first take. Luckily, TVMWMWWWMMWMWM has gained exclusive access to the transcripts from last night's ep, which shows Chris spewing complete and total nonsense after the virgin told him that she was a virgin.

VIRGIN: So Chris, there's something I've been meaning to tell you.

CHRIS nods while mouth breathing.

VIRGIN: I'm aaaa... I'm a uhhhhh... I'm a uhhhhhhh...

CHRIS: Go on, you can tel--

VIRGIN: I'm a uhhhhh...

CHRIS: You're a uhhhhhh...

VIRGIN: I'm a virgin.


VIRGIN: I'm a virgin.


VIRGIN: I am a virgin.

CHRIS: Sorry, what?

VIRGIN: I'm a virgin. 

CHRIS: No yeah no no no yeah yeah, totally, TOTALLY. Yeah, yeah. Sorry, what?

VIRGIN: Oh god that feels so good to get off my chest. 

CHRIS: Yeah no. It's umm, what? You're a virrr, I'm sorry, do you? Because I...

VIRGIN: I've been meaning to tell--

CHRIS: I'm sorry do you hear someone cracking up in the background right now? Because I hear... Charlie? Is that you? We can hear you laughing, dude. 

CHARLIE: Sorry, sorry, sorry, I just--

PRODUCER: CUT! Cut cut cut! Cut!!! C'mon, Charlie.


PRODUCER: You knew she was a virgin, Charlie! We went over it in pre-production.

CHARLIE: I know, I know, but omg she's such a vir--

PRODUCER: I know. It's hilarious. And disgusting. But let's run it again, from the top.

VIRGIN: You want me to tell him I'm a virgin again?

PRODUCER: Yes. Yes please, virgin. Thank you. Let's do this again, people, from the top. Andddddddddd, action!

VIRGIN: Chris, there's something I've been meani--

CHRIS: I'm sorry can you still hear him laughing? Because I can still hear him laughing.

VIRGIN: I can still hear him laughing.


WINSTON: Me too.

CHARLIE: Sorry. Terribly sorry.

PRODUCER: C'mon, Charlie. 

CHARLIE: I'm sorry. It won't happen again. I promise. Go ahead, we're still rolling. I'm sorry.

PRODUCER: Okay, from the top. He's still laughing. I can hear him. Okay, are we ready? Anddddddddddddddddd... Charlie.

CHARLIE: I'm sorry, I'm sorry. It's just that...

CHRIS: She's a virgin! 

CHARLIE: You know these cameras are real, right? People will see this. People will WATCH you. 

CHRIS: Quick questch, quick questch: am I supposed to not crack up in her face when she's telling me she's a virgin? Because it's really hard to not just crack up in her face. Is Larry setting himself on fire? Larry?

RIP Larry (and Sanderson)

So now what, people? Now what?

Well, we're left with one boring lady (Whitney) whose #tits are wayyyyyyy bigger than I thought, and one virgin who is wayyyyyyy more boring than the boring lady. Obviously Whitney would be the perfect wife for Chris (the Bachelor, not the oh god give it a rest, Ev). She's sweet and she loves him and that whole thing I wrote before about the #tits and how big they are and how everybody loves big #tits. And the virgin, well, c'mon, let's not be ridiculous. Either way, we're all going to die someday, so do whatever you want, Chris.

(The farmer, not the tweedledick hustler who has somehow finagled his way into making millions of dollars by doing nuh-thingggggggg.)


Bye bye, Kaitlyn.

I liked you.

Your tattoos were dumb, though.

What are those, swallows?

Yo yo yow, I put up one of them #GoogSearch posts the other day. Did you read it? You should. People seem to like them. Whatever here's a giraffe eating dinner

Monday, February 23, 2015

Some New #GoogSearches That Led People to TVMWMWMWMWMWMW

Goggle it!

Welcome back to everybody's (or just @cranekicker's) favorite recurring post on the blog, #GoogSearches. For those of you who need things explained to you, here's what this is all aboot (ps I'm Canadian now).

When people come to the blog via searching for stuff on the internet, Google Analytics allows me to see what they've searched for. For examps, if someone types "fart clamps" into Google, my site might come up because I once wrote a post that had the words "fart" and "clamps" in it. It's obviously amazing so I figured I'd share. Here are some of the latest and greatest #GoogSearches.


Thanks for visiting my website, everybody!

ps fuck you!

It's okay I'm Canadian!

Click here for more #GoogSearches