Mornings With Drowsy Douche: Native Americans

Why do I wake up most mornings with a fucking headache? Who needs this shit? Why can't I just be a pulsating brain with eyes, ears, and a single hand? That's all I want. Fuck a penis. Fuck a torso. Fuck a tongue and a nose. Why must I be a prisoner to this supple, attractive body with all the hairy fixins? Bluh.




It's 11 degrees outside, and it's supposed to get colder as the day wears on. On Thursday, the high is supposed to be -2. I wonder how Native Americans managed to survive through the brutal winters in the Black Hills of South Dakota. Physically and mentally, it must have been way worse than anything we've experienced. Maybe they found refuge in caves underneath the mountains and told ghost stories to entertain each other. A cave is very conducive for scares. Or maybe they held yo mama joke competitions...

"Your mama smells like that of a horse, and possesses hair like that of a buffalo." SNAP!

"How would you know, Chief Choking Beef? Unless you have made corn squeezins with my mother in the tepee of urges. In which case, you are my father, and I honor you." ...Snap?

Lebonese Prostitutes Unite!

I'm beat. Tomorrow is drill teeth fun time day, so I'm going to let some clips do the work, and serve my massa. Yesssuh, massa! More internet you say, massa? Otay!


Here's Conan making an ass out of Deepak Chopra, the spiritual guru with the red sparkle glasses. And it gets veeeeerrrrry weird at the end in a bubble bath.



Charlie from It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia is one of the reasons I still have hope for the television industry. But then something like the new 90210 comes along and makes joining the Amish a viable option.


Ali Baba Sword. Gold.


Harmony Korine is disheveled and haggard on Letterman, but I think he knows what he's doing. Sly fucker, that one. The video quality is shit, but what can you do?


Beck's "Loser" made me want to huff glue and shoot at pickup tucks when I was in junior high. Instead of the normal preteen fascinations with ninjas or pirates, I wanted to be a wastoid Mississippi arsonist with a hearse and Dorito bags littering my mental landscape.