Know What's Fucking Crazy?



So wait a minute.

We eat a whole meal of normal food, made up of some sort of combination of meat, starch and vegetables, and then, when we’re unable to eat another bite, we open up our greedy fucking mouths again to chomp down on some sweetass pastry, pudding, cookie or candy tomfuckery to finish it off?

Holy shit that shit is crazy.

Artificial Satellites.


Jesus, dude.

We build hundreds of these massive metal monstrosities designed to help us watch TV, learn about our planet and talk to each other, then we launch them into inner fucking space, where they crisscross and orbit around us at speeds reaching 17,000 mpfuckingh without crashing into each other.

Holy scientific fuck. 



Mannnnnnn alive.

What in the fuck, dudes? We have huge oceans full of water, and every place the water touches the land this water piles up in different-sized walls of water, then tips over on top of itself? What the fuck, God?

And for fun, crazy assholes actually take polyurethane fucking boards and stand on top of these walls of water as they come crashing down. JESUS! Is that some sort of twisted fucking joke?

Maple Syrup.


OK. Just so we’re all on the same page here, somewhere along the line of recent human history, we figured out that if we drill holes into a specific type of tree and jam a hollow metal pipe into it, the tree will puke sweet, brown goo we then drizzle on top of pancakes and eat.

Fuck me sideways. Really?

Sports Fans.


All year, across every country and corner of the world, totally sane people can be made totally insane by their devotion to a bunch of men paid millions of dollars to play games in or around these peoples’ geographic location (and sometimes nowhere near them (Cowboys fans)).

What the fuck is wrong with you people? Is it that life-or-death if your team does or doesn’t score more points than that other team? Is it completely necessary to dress up like asshats and scream your faces off in bars and on couches at people on a TV screen who can’t hear you and don’t give a fuck about you, and then call into sports radio shows and bitch and moan and sulk for a week after your team loses?

FUCK you people are nuts.

Video Games.


Jesus pixelated Christ, you guys.

Human beings have created CDs full of user interfaces with entire digitized worlds and photo-realistic characters and plots and weapons, that other human beings then buy in a store for $50, take home, pop into an electronic machine and try to manipulate for hours using plastic controllers while sitting on their couch as their lives slowly tick away.

Someone. Please. Tell me what’s not motherfucking insane about that.



Dude! Duuuuuuuuuude.

Holy shit. Fucking wrinkles? Permanent folds or creases in our facial skin that happens from gravity and our skin becoming thinner and less elastic after being on earth for a while?

What the fuck!



Every week, we’re paid a salary to wake up and go to work for 5 days in a row (Monday through Friday) for 8 hours per day (sometimes more).

On Friday night, the proverbial chains come off and we’re free to do whatever. The fuck. We want. For 2 whole days, we’re given a gift of freedom where we sever all ties with bosses and co-workers and they’re officially obliged to fuck off for 48 hours.

We can run around, eat brunch, go to the park, pour maple syrup all over our faces and chests, or roll around in dog shit for all we care. Holy shit. Weekends are fucking awesome.



The next time you’re lying in bed, nestled in blankets on top of a sheet fitted around a mattress, take a moment to realize where your head is. If you’re like 95% of people, it’s sitting lifelessly on top of a case (made out of the same material as the sheets) surrounding a soft, fluffy bag full of motherfucking feathers.

Yup. Motherfucking. Feathers.

Let’s just let that shit sink in.



I love football. I think it’s the greatest game ever created in the history of mankind.

But have you ever just stopped and thought about what’s involved?

This game is fucking INSANE.

We take grown men (and growing boys), dress them in combat gear with helmets and shoulder pads and rib guards and knee pads and cleats, then have them run full speed into each other, with one side’s purpose to evade the other and run or throw their way to a specified area at one end of the field, and the other side’s purpose to absolutely fucking annihilate them and bring them to the ground as violently as possible.

Jesus Concussion Christ.



Unlike many people out there, I can’t make myself burp. 

I can’t physically make my body build up the air inside myself and expel it out of my mouth to make the ridiculous sound generated by this oral passing of gas.

Honestly, what the fuck is that shit? Air. Inside you. That comes out through your mouth and smells vaguely like whatever you just ate, mixed with bile.

Yeah. That’s fucking crazy.



I’m sorry, but pinkies are a bunch of bullshit.  

Have you ever noticed how it’s just this extra smaller finger that doesn’t. Do. Anything?

For real. Completely useless. Doesn’t type. Doesn’t help you hold things. The only thing it’s good for is sticking out and making you look like a dickhead when you’re drinking from a cup. 




On the lower edge of our elbows, where our upper arm bone connects to our lower arm bone and forms a hard, sharp point, there is a piece of stretchy skin that you can pinch as hard as you possibly can, and it will not hurt. Try it.

This piece of skin is calledI shit you nota wenis.

Yep. Rhymes with penis. Except you can’t use it to pee or bone.

Holy. Fucking. Balls. That’s crazy.



Jesus Goddamn Christ, everyone.

It is so fucking hot in New York City right now, I’m about to lose my Goddamn mind. The thermometer is at 99 motherfucking degrees, everyone you pass has that dead, defeated look in their eyes, and down in the subway the air feels like you’re swimming through a pool of wet dog cocks.

Holy hell. What the fuck is this humidity bullshit? Why is the air so hot and thick? And why is there sweat dripping down my back when I’m just standing still?? Someone, please, kill me.

Baby Teeth.


What the fuck is going on.

When we’re born, we grow teeth. But do they stay put? Hell no, they don’t. When we’re 6 or 7 years old, those fuckers just start popping out, one by one. They loosen up, and we pull and ply at them until they’re all gone. Thenand this is the really fucking nutty part—we actually put each tooth in a plastic bag and shove it under our pillow so our parents can creep in, take the tooth and give us money for it.