Whenever you feel like a failure that hasn’t done anything with their life, just remember that you’re exactly as qualified as any naturopath, acupuncturist, chiropractor or homeopath to practice medicine.
It’s a common catch-phrase among atheists, heard repeatedly from Richard Dawkins, that ‘Everybody is an atheist. We just happen to believe in one less god than you.’ And that’s a very valid point. Dawkins is full of them:
There’s nothing wrong with atheism; it’s an acceptable and completely understandable belief (or lack thereof.) But the problem is it doesn’t make you a good person, or stop you from being a lousy one.
Given Dawkins’ point, what do you call a Christian who makes it his life’s purpose to impugn, insult and mock every religion but his own? The answer is ‘a self-righteous asshole’.
Now what do you call someone who does the same but to Christianity as well? Also an asshole.
You’re just a dick to one more group of people.
Hi this is my cat Bane. I called her Bane because she reminds me of my favourite Batman villain.
Bane went missing two days ago when I threw her out of a moving car because she bit me while I was trying to take a funny picture of her driving the car. If you find her please call 0438 622 773 I miss her really bad.
Also this is my puppy Happy.
Happy will kill himself tomorrow morning unless this picture gets 5,000 notes by midday Sunday. I asked him how this could possibly help him but he just licked my shoes.
And here’s Jennifer Lawrence because she is my favourite and I can relate to her.
omg jenifer lawrence is tumblr
nope i am so done with this site i cant even
omg you have no heart if you don’t reblog this i don’t care if youre a black and white blog this needs to be on your dash
joencatholic asked: ”Hey! I was reading your tumblr just now and wanted to say that I find your writings quite intelligent and refreshing. It’s always nice to see a Christian who doesn’t just blindly accept things, but really thinks about their faith and researches things. I mainly just wanted to say that I read your post about same-sex marriage, and you completely convinced me to your position. It makes all kinds of sense to me. And I’m happy to see a non-Catholic against divorce. Okay bye!”
Anonymous asked: ”Do you really have a degree in physics and chemistry?”
Anonymous asked: ”How much do you know about atheism?”
I know everything there is to know about atheism. Atheism is as simple as it gets. I don’t mean that in a condescending way whatsoever, and I’m sure many atheists would agree with me. Atheism is simply the lack of belief in a God or religion, so it really doesn’t require knowing anything at all. In fact, everyone is born an atheist, and only later do some of us become theists.
I say this because in some circles atheism has a negative connotation attached to it, which is silly. It can be dressed up as a religion in itself, and that’s ridiculous, because you can’t define a person by their lack of belief in something. Especially when the term could apply to anything from Richard Dawkins to a newborn baby, or a dog, or a lamp post. Anti-theism, on the other hand, is a different story.
Anonymous asked: “I just read your article on statistics at Cracked. It was awesome! I really hope that I read more of your stuff soon!”
Thanks! Unfortunately after Wonderman you won’t be seeing anything for a while.
Anonymous asked: “I’m not sure if I like this blog yet. I recently followed you. you might be an asshole tho. so I might unfollow you. we’ll see. hopefully insensitivity and realism aren’t the same to you. I see somethings that are correct on your blog, and I see somethings that’re just you putting down certain groups of people. if it’s excessive, then I’ll unfollow you. we’ll see.”
Interesting comment. Since you follow(ed) me, I assume you have Tumblr, so I wonder why you went anonymous. Anyway, whether an anonymous stranger follows me is really no skin off my back. As to your complaints, I object that I ‘just put down certain groups of people’.
First of all, I would say one of the groups I put down most would be Christians, and I do that as a Christian, which would hopefully show that I am not malicious. Secondly, whenever I do choose to criticise ‘groups’ of people, it’s not simply name-calling. I try to deconstruct the reasoning behind what they do/say and question the logic of it, which is not insensitive at all. For example, I haven’t had anyone explain how selfies don’t require a degree of narcissism or a desire for attention.
Finally, I think it’s worth pointing out that for my last post, about the homeless man, I attempted to write something funny that didn’t insult anyone (or praise anyone, for that matter,) and yet of the 500+ followers that I don’t know personally, a whopping two of them enjoyed it. Unfortunately, it seems we live in a culture where people enjoy making fun of others.
This is my favourite thing I’ve written for Cracked.
If not for dumb intellectual property laws, we’d be enjoying this costumed super jerk today.
Wonder Man’s life is essentially the same as Superman’s — endowed with godlike powers and abilities, he becomes a champion of the helpless and oppressed, and earns the love of a woman who falls for his superheroic alter ego. They’re basically mirror images of each other, except for one important factor: Wonder Man’s utter inability to give one blazing shit about anything.
The other day I was walking through Broadway when I passed a small man, just sitting against a shop wall and smiling at passersby. He was rather grubby and smelly, with unkempt facial hair and feet so mangled and battered they can only be described as ‘Mickey Rourke’s face’. But strangest of all, he had set before him a very old and frayed hat, which he had up-ended for the purpose of displaying his finances to the world.
‘The hide on this guy!’ I thought, especially considering that the contents of the hat could hardly have added to more than fifteen dollars. Not much to brag about, and yet here he was, sitting in the middle of the street and rubbing it in my face. My disbelief at such arrogance must have caught his attention, and apparently mistaking my interest for admiration at his ‘fortune’, he gave me a friendly nod, that could only be taken to mean ‘Jealous?’
Being the bigger man, I took the higher ground. Rather than address his overt egotism, I charitably informed him that he smelled of rodent faeces and cat urine, before advising him that he might like to return to his home, take a hot shower and put on a change of fresh clothes.
He seemed to mistake my good-natured advice for some kind of joke, because he responded with unexpected laughter. I paused for a moment, trying to understand what was funny, because I sure hadn’t been joking about the smell. Unable to see the humour, I realised he was mocking me - possibly because of my lack of hat-money. Finally moved to anger, I snapped. Pointing to his monetary-display, I demanded to know for what possible reason he was flaunting his funds to the rest of the city.
It soon became apparent that English was not his first language, as the only words I managed to catch were “spare change” and “for the hungry.” Those words were enough, however, and I realised I had misjudged this man entirely. I bowed my head in remorse and uttered my apologies. I had to admit, it had been a good two hours since I had last eaten and I was definitely beginning to feel the grumble of an empty belly. Hence, not wanting to offend the kind man any further, I graciously accepted his generous offer and reached for the store of coins.
Selfless as I am, I reached for only a single dollar, when much to my surprise my new friend caught me sharply by the wrist. For a moment I was shocked, but, seeing the confusion in his eyes, I got the point: nowadays a single dollar is not nearly enough for a worthwhile meal. Shamed again at his generosity, I obliged and grabbed a good handful of the coins. And then things started to get really weird.
As I stated, the man was evidently comfortable in his finances. Not only could he afford to laze about in working hours, but his wallet must have been so full of cash that he had resorted to using his hat as a coin purse. If he was hungry, the hat alone contained easily enough for a decent lunch. Imagine my surprise, then, as I watched him clamp his teeth violently around the flesh of my forearm. It was just my good fortune that he had very few teeth in his mouth; I had no intention of catching the other two Hepatitises.
I was just in the process of removing his face from my arm when an officer of the law happened fortuitously on to our situation. Swift to action, the officer released a well aimed taser-shot into my assailant’s buttocks. For a moment I noticed a pleasant tingling between my skin and his gums, though my companion seemed to enjoy the sensation far less.
In seconds the lawman had him cuffed, and while he drooled and twitched obnoxiously, I politely explained to the officer that he had attacked me while I was trying to help him. The officer nodded in understanding, then turned to his captive and informed him “This is the last straw, Alf! You’ve done it now.”
I thanked the officer for his assistance, and could only watch with sadness as he dragged the deranged man to his police car, who all the while shouted something about the hat-full of money and ‘food’ and ‘children’. I was comforted to hear that his generosity remained despite his obvious psychological affliction. Unfortunately, I don’t have kids, so I spent it on a Zinger Box.
Media hysteria about a few people getting their faces eaten off does not a face-eating epidemic make. Happens all the time, really.
#2. What They’re Calling an “Epidemic” May Actually Be Random Chance
Remember that crazy story about the guy in Miami who went insane and ate another dude’s face off? Then every day after that, there was another story of a biting attack? Even the skeptics were all “Wow, another crazy person bit somebody on the subway! There has to be something to this.”
And there was: When humans get into fights, we tend to bite each other, but only in the wake of the Miami thing was there any reason for such incidents to become news — the only thing that changed was that suddenly every bite became a headline. We started looking for a pattern, and there it was. Then we quickly got bored with it, even though right now somebody, somewhere, is biting someone else.
Hey, I wrote this (with another guy.) This is the first time the Eds actually kept and used one of my pics/captions, too. It was the very last one about Jenny McCarthy.
This is a picture of Irena Sendler.
You’ve probably never heard of Irena Sendler, most likely because history class can only contain a certain level of awesome before they accidentally pique the students’ interest, and also because Hollywood doesn’t know how to tell an epic Nazi-era tale of unfathomable badassery if they can’t cast Tom Cruise or Liam Neeson in the lead roll. If it perplexes you to hear me use such grandiose terms when referring to a woman, suffice it to say that experts believe God blessed her with two X chromosomes because her balls were simply too large to be kept safely outside her body.
Irena Sendler, born February 15, 1910, was a Roman Catholic nurse and social worker from Poland a.k.a. the first country to enjoy the forceful company of the German military in WW2. Luckily for Sendler, she was not Jewish, but instead she had the privilege of watching the Nazis round up every Jew in sight before sticking them into a 16-block area that became known as the ‘Warsaw Ghetto’.
Because she possessed a heart instead of a swastika, Sendler didn’t particularly like the idea of thousands of innocent people being herded like rats into a filthy slum, where they could look forward to eventually being tortured and gassed - if the disease and starvation didn’t get them first.
But unlike most people, Sendler balls-ed up and did something about it. Sendler approached the Nazi Epidemic Control and received a pass on the premise that she could enter the Ghetto to check that typhus and other rampant sicknesses wouldn’t spread beyond the borders. But curing diseases was the least awesome of Sendler’s intentions, because when she got in there, in addition to treating the sick, she also made it her mission to sneak out every Jewish baby and child in sight.
In order to remove the children from under the Nazis’ noses, Sendler did everything from nailing them into coffins, wrapping them up to look like ‘packages’ and even carrying one baby out in a toolbox. Allegedly, she trained dogs to bark while passing sentries in order to cover the cries of the babies, and possibly to piss off the Nazis, because f*** them. Sendler did this again and again. And again, until she had rescued 2500 Jewish children.
Sendler commented that the hardest part was convincing parents to part with their children. When pressed by parents on whether their children would survive, Sendler offered comfort with ‘I don’t know, but they’ll definitely die if they stay here.’ Once out of the Ghetto, Sendler found sympathetic families to take them in and wrote up fake documents for every single child. She kept records of their true identities in jars so they could be reunited with their families when the war was over.
Eventually, because karma clearly doesn’t exist, Sendler was caught and captured by the Gestapo, who tortured her for the whereabouts of the Jewish children, so that, you know, they could offer them all the sincerest of apologies. Even after having her legs and feet broken - crippling her for life - Sendler refused to give away the details of even a single child or associate. When they finally accepted that she wouldn’t talk, they sentenced her for execution.
Since she was due for some luck, some of her friends managed to bribe some guards into letting them sneak her away, and she spent the rest of the war being hunted by the Gestapo. After Hitler finally turned his pistol the right way and the war ended, Sendler set about opening those jars and reuniting the children with their families. She didn’t have much luck, as the large majority were dead.
Sendler’s story went mostly untold for the rest of the century, until some school kids found it and turned it into the play ‘Life in a Jar’. When questioned about her heroism, Sendler refused to claim credit and expressed only remorse, claiming “I could have done more. This regret will follow me to my death.”
Be sure to read that quote again, reminding yourself that you will never, ever be that good of a person no matter how hard you try. In 2007, Sendler was nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize. She lost to Al Gore, because again, karma is dumb. She died the following year.
If you’re an Australian, you’re probably familiar with an ad campaign from a couple of years ago that aimed to stop young guys from speeding and killing themselves by targeting every young man’s biggest weakness: his insecurity over the size of his flesh-sword. The ads implied that any guy who did anything remotely hoon-like with his car was just trying to compensate for his small meat-wrench, signified by some variant of female in the background who wiggled her pinky-finger in admonishment.
The ads’ logic were fairly sound, because it’s common knowledge that Australian men care more for their chicksicles than the lives of others. But they probably had no idea just how accurate their campaign was, because recently I realised that - according to science - driving at high speeds actually does reduce the size of your love pump.
In 1905, Einstein invented relativity, which completely revolutionised physics and showed that some really insane things are possible. One of those insane things is called length contraction, and it shows that anytime something moves with great velocity - be it a train, a spaceship or your glue shooter - the length of that thing is decreased in the direction of motion.
But how does that affect your Veinous Maximus? Well here’s a diagram I prepared earlier:
Just in case the subtle metaphor of fruit eludes you, the orange and banana are intended to represent your pubic pearls and pleasure piston respectively, in roughly the position they would adopt when driving your motorized vehicle.
As you can see from the illustration, when in this configuration, increasing your speed relative to onlookers actually decreases the length of your doughnut-holder. Even worse, since the contraction happens along the x-axis, if you happen to have relatively large wank tanks, the effect is exacerbated. Hence, speeding really does reduce the size of your Rumpleforeskin.*
If this worries you, don’t stress, because there is a solution. Since the contraction only occurs along the direction of motion, it is technically possible to avoid any reduction in length just by taping your beef-stick to your belly, or better yet, by driving while fully aroused, (which is already the case if you’re a male doing 160 down the highway.)
*Any change in length perceptible to the human eye would require speeds of around one hundred million kph, which is slightly beyond the limits of current technology.
You may remember the above picture from my avatar on Tumblr, Twitter or Cracked. As far as my knowledge extends, it is both the first and last selfie I’ve taken. Of course it’s not the only picture I’ve taken of myself, but it is the only picture I’ve ever taken of myself for the purpose of posting it online for the world to see.
Now I’d like to point out that I took this picture in 2005, at the age of 15. If maths isn’t your thing, that’s 8 years ago, and if the magnitude of this length of time is escaping you, that’s before Facebook, Twitter and iPhones (or even the word ‘selfie’) existed, and only a couple of years after owning a ‘camera-phone’ involved duct-taping a polaroid to a Nokia 5110.
It should be clear, then, that I am not into taking selfies. A logical question would then be to ask why I still use what is perhaps the only selfie I have ever taken. It may well have to do with the fact I met Laura a year later in 2006. I had a girlfriend, so then for what possible reason would I have to post another picture of just myself online? And if I ever felt the urge to take a picture of myself and post it online purely for the sake of posting a picture of myself online, I had Laura right there to take it, or more likely to slap me until I wept blood for considering it.
A mate of mine once showed me a story about a guy who went to a house party, and after seeing platters of available food, grabbed his Tupperware and started packing it away to take home. Shortly later, the guy was utterly confused when the owner kicked him out of the party. In his head, the guy’s logic made perfect sense: the food was for guests; he was a guest; he had his Tupperware in the car - why on Earth not?
In the same way, when it comes to selfies, people must think: I have a Facebook; I have a camera-phone; I even have a mirror - why not? Technically, there’s nothing wrong with it, the same way there’s technically nothing wrong with completely removing your trousers and underpants before using the urinal.
Perhaps the best way to convey why I consider selfies to be a sin is to remove technology from the concept. Imagine inviting all of your friends over to watch you smile at yourself in the mirror, either covered in makeup or flexing with pride. Better yet, imagine taking a picture of yourself and mailing it to all of your friends - perhaps several times a day.
Actually, now that I think of it, the true spirit of selfies is captured perfectly in this 10 second clip from Anchorman. The truth is that there’s absolutely no denying posting a selfie requires narcissism and/or a desire for attention. Deep down, everybody knows this, which makes it all the more bizarre that the practice is commonplace.
You might be tempted to say the same of writing a blog, but if you genuinely believe that repeatedly photographing (and then photoshopping) yourself is a hobby as worthwhile as writing, then by all means, pick up the state-of-the-art photography tool that is your iPhone and unfollow me.