Robski's Fungul of the Week

Boring Art House Movies

Fungul to those stupid art house movies that hipsters, pretentious yuppies and insecure gays have to go see so they have something to talk about in the colder winter months instead of how great their hiking adventure followed by a low brow dinner of Pale Ale's and "Za" from their local "House of". No one is impressed that you saw Moonrise Kingdom. Today the Missus leaned over and asked do you want to watch Anna.... { long pause }..... Anna Karen, Nina? I responded NO! If you can't pronounce it we aint watching it. Fungul art house movies and Zooey Deschanel too at 33 years old nerd glasses and asking your phone for soup does not make you "adorkable" it makes you an odd woman nearing middle age whose ego is bigger than her talent. If I passed you on the street I would assume you lived with at least dozen cats who help inspire your art which is writing Emily The Strange fan fiction

Poop is never not funny, by Robski

Ever since I became a stay at home mom I have taken the Liz Lemon approach to my life where I am slowly transitioning my pajamas into day wear. This slow transition into a Floridian (Ft Lauderdale gays excluded) has overall been quite a welcome one. I haven't done my hair in weeks and I rarely shave in essence I am comfortable 24/7 and I love it, why you ask? Because in my slobby ways I am still managing to keep up with my personal hygiene my na-na is still fresh as the morning dew. Now the following is a story of personal hygiene regarding someone I know who has given me permission to discuss this story however they asked that I wouldn't use their real name, so for the purpose of this story lets just refer this anonymous person only as "My Husband". 

"My Husband" has the opportunity to work from home and on these days this person also transitions their pajamas into day wear, it's nice to walk around the house together being happy and comfortable (assuming this anonymous person lives with me of course). One morning last week "My Husband" and I were chatting when our dog walked up to him.. .I mean "this person" and shoved his nose right up his ass. This is somewhat normal dog behavior however the dogs bulging eyes and linger was anything but normal. This is when "My Husband" looked at me and said "OH I shit myself last night and haven't showered yet". It was later in the morning, maybe early afternoon, Wendy Williams was on and to be honest I thought I smelled something but living with dogs poop smells are common. We laughed it off together because there is no time when poop is not funny and this anonymous person went off to shower.

I am a person who has issues sleeping, sometimes I can't sleep so I do what any red blooded American male would do, I go downstairs and I watch marathons of The Golden Girls that I have stored up on my DVR. I was lying there watching the show and at some point I drifted off a bit and ended up laying my head on the couch cushion and did get some sleep. Maybe 30 minutes or so go by and I remember waking up to the smell of poop again. I thought to myself, oh great a dog dragged poop in on their paws and got some on the couch. At that point I just shifted my head and thought to myself I'll clean it in the morning. Morning rolled around and "My Husband" had taken off on his business trip so I figured I better get to cleaning. I went over to the cushion with the offending odor and I found a peculiar looking streak on the couch, it was not a dog foot print, it was not a dog streak, it was a clear imprint of a poop streak on the couch of what looked like poop in between 2 butt cheeks sitting kitty corner in the same manor "My Husband" does. I inspected the other cushion and found a SPLAT mark on that one. At this point I had to get my Detective Jessica Fletcher hat and magnifying glass on and figure out the mystery of the midnight poop streak. 

I spoke to "My Husband" who when questioned without much prompting the whole story came out. As it turns out "My Husband" had fallen asleep on the couch the night before at which point he remembers sleep farting what could only be described as the most comfortable wet fart he ever had. Since he was awoken by his amazing fart (not the first time this has happened) he just went up to bed and didn't think twice about it. It wasn't until the next day when the dog smelled his ass did he realize he shit himself. I know this as fact since I was there when this person pulled their underwear down to find the offending marks. I brought up the stain on the couch to which he confirmed yes he was sitting kitty corner on the couch when he Mr. Belvedered in his pants (Urban Dictionary it) he also recalls standing up for a second then sitting down again which would explain the splatter on the second cushion which also explains the nose full of shit I got when I had fallen asleep on the couch in the midnight hours. 

After several days of discussion we washed the couch cushions, washed ourselves but will never wash our minds of this hilarious mystery of the midnight shart because as I said before personal hygiene is important but poop is never not funny.

Chi-Chi’s Salsa is #2

Chi-Chi’s Salsa is #2

Words & Pictures by Darren Hanson

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Oh, Chi-Chi’s Salsa, you son of a sow. You vile, beslubbering wretch.

Let me start at the beginning. You ever get a craving that just slowly builds until you satisfy it, or you’ll eventually slip into a madness leading to your guest appearance on World’s Craziest Police Chases? Sometimes there’s a simple fix, like listening to that Frankie Goes to Hollywood song that’s been on a loop in your brain all day. Sometimes the craving is difficult, like smelling your ex’s rain boots, just one more time. There are laws, and they have fine print.

I was on day three of my craving for nachos with salsa, each day building up more than the last. It was time to act. One would imagine that resolving a craving for nachos and salsa would be easier than finding good straightjacket porno.

One would be wrong.

“Party Size” is how big the bag of nachos was that I grabbed from the shelf in the chip aisle at the grocery store. I had no intentions of running out of crunchies during this binge. I also know not to grab the salsa from the chip aisle. There is a larger selection elsewhere, with varieties of heat, flavor, size and price ranges. It’s like the red light district for salsa, and it’s worth the extra travel.

But now the tricky part, the crapshoot. I’ll admit I probably know more about the delicious salsa that Chayanne and Vanessa Williams made in Dance With Me, than I do about the delicious spicy vegetable snack. Luckily I am not too picky with Salsa. When it comes to the jarred stuff, it’s mostly the same, right? I’m not looking for anything highbrow. Is there even such a thing as highbrow salsa from a jar? I can’t imagine throwing a dinner party and having Queen Elizabeth turning to me and saying “Oh goodness, Tostitos Scoops AND Newman’s Own Chunky Medium salsa? Mr. Hanson you have spared no expenses…” “Nothing but the best for you, mum. Might I freshen up that glass of Dom Perignon ’55?”

So I stare long and hard at the variety of salsa on the shelf. It’s true that if you gaze long into the salsa, the salsa also gazes into you. Then we make eye contact. The glass jar of Chi-Chi’s salsa was giving me that ‘come hither’ look. It seems a little bigger-boned than the other jars, which is always a turn on for me (Big Beautiful Salsa!). The price is right. It’s meant to be.

When I got home it was a whirlwind of dinner cooking and cleaning. Every step I thought I should break into the nachos and salsa. I decided to wait until everything was said and done, clean and put away. When I could finally sit down and relax, and enjoy the delicious medium-spicy heat of tasty satisfaction. I poured some salsa into a bowl, and it landed with a plop that reminded me of a bathroom noise, which I should have taken as a symbolic warning of things to come.

The cold, bland and slimy mush I scooped up with my nacho and popped into my mouth was literally the taste of disappointment. When I say mush, I mean it. No discernable tomato bits could be found. A couple tiny specks of onion or something could be seen. It was without any chunky texture, flavorless and bland. Chewing it all up didn’t help much, other than reveal a slight sponginess to the mush as I chewed. There was some odd substance to it, but worse than just a paste. Then the strange salsa flavor came in at the finish, mostly after the mouth was empty. But still, it remained cold lifeless mush. It just wasn’t right. I have never had anything claiming to be salsa that was so bad. This was the “Crow 2: City of Angels” of salsa.

To give another hint as to how bad the salsa was, I smelled the bowl of salsa several times. I then got the jar, examined it, and smelled the contents. To tell you how desperate I was to live the salsa dream, I actually took another bite. Another bite!! The second bite was worse because I knew what was about to slither down my throat. My stomach turned a little, but not from nausea, I think my stomach was actually shaking its head at me in disappointment.

It’s one thing to have lousy salsa. It’s another thing to have lousy salsa in response to a huge craving. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine. The next day I picked up a jar of Tostitos salsa and mission accomplished. But what about the ‘party size’ bag of nachos that were left hanging? Shame on you, Chi-Chi’s. What about that wasted glass jar, the glitzy packaging that blew wind up my skirt enticing the purchase? Just trying to get the skirt out of the way so you can get into position behind me to take care of business, apparently. I suppose I should build a toll booth at my keister. That way maybe I can get a dollar the next time some product decides to go for a Sunday drive up my Hershey Highway.

Apartments.  How fantastic are you?  In this lovely life most of Americans lead the most fascinating is the ever so close living situations known as apartments.  I live in a building that contains 4 apartments. 2 upstairs.  2 downstairs.  I live downstairs.  The people that live upstairs provide constant excitement.  After all it is exciting to be woken up at 2AM because a herd of horse are being paraded through a living room with hardwood floor (Broads wearing high heels on hardwood floors is the loudest and possibly the most attractive noise in the world).  Of course we live with it.  This morning however was as good a moment as we've had.  Apartment living means you share in the joys and heartbreaks of your neighbors, as well as every time those fucks drop something.  I decided to share this mornings proceedings in the form of a play.

I am going to show you how black I am - A Play -

Characters -
Bridget - Upstairs neighbor -
Rich girl from the burbs. Thin build.  Approximately 23-28 years old.  Current style.  Half black - Half white.  (I have seen her parents).  She's a Harvard Law grad that no longer uses her degree.  Just had a baby approximately 3 months ago.  She drives a Beemer that her mom and dad bought.   Has pushed me to a new level of hatred.  She looks like the actor who was in Ice Pirates.

                                                 - the black guy -

John - Boyfried/Baby Daddy of Upstairs neighbor -
Thin and fairly handsome male.  Approximately 25-30 years old.  White.  Not very stylish.  His name is not John, but looks like that's his name.  I was very excited to hate him, but he's nice.  Feet made of cement cinder blocks.

Ev Orfa - Me
Medium build.  Good looking dude.  Constantly looking through the blinds to spy on the neighbors.
Has recently discovered he cannot explode people with his minds, because if he could he would have exploded the neighbors.

Miffy -  My Special lady friend.

The scene opens with Miffy and Ev Orfa sitting on the couch,  and watching the TV. The day was spent having listened to 3 straight hours of 2 adults trying to smash the hardwood floor in the apartment upstairs.

Ev Orfa - Does anyone actually watch this show Bones?  It's fucking terrible...
(BOOOM BOOOM BOOM.  There is a knock on the door)
Ev Orfa - Is that our door?  Sounds like it.
Miffy - I don't think so.

 - The door knocking sounds muffled, like it could be the neighbor's door.  Ev Orfa gets up from the couch to look out the window. It's Bridget knocking on the door.  Ev Orfa is perplexed. -

Bridget - Oh do you believe this fucking shit head!  (boom boom boom on the door She is on the phone)
Ev Orfa - it's Bridget, it's like she's locked out.
Miffy - OK. Why are you spying on them?
Ev Orfa - We gots to know.
Miffy - Well she should be using the door bell.  Bitch.

Ev Orfa returns to look out the window.

Bridget - Oh he's going to get fucked up.  He is a fuck.  Which car is his?  Is his the black car?
Ev Orfa - Ummm the black car is mine.  No that's my car. (he says under his breath)
Bridget - I am going to fuck his shit up.  OPEN THE DOOR YOU SHIT HEAD!!!!! Ok Mom.  I will call you back.
Bridget - (phone rings she answer it again) Well he's a dick.  He's always talking shit about Bridget.

- Ev Orfa who is me is confused... I didn't realize this is not Bridget, it's her twin sister.  I do not know her name.  I will call her Solange -

Character Update - addition -
Solange - Looks Bridget.  A really angry Bridget.  Again the guy from Ice Pirates -

                                                 - the black guy again -

Solange - He's constantly talking shit about Bridget, and you and Dad.  He's a fucking asshole.  You know what he said?  He said Johnny's not black.  He's white.  Not only that he said, i am not black.  He said you're from Shrewsbury, you're not black.  Black people don't come from Shrewsbury! Fuck this shit.  I am going to fuck up his car... IS HIS CAR BLACK?  I'm going to show him how black I am!  ok.  ok. ok.  Call me back Mom.

Ev Orfa - (comes back into the living room) She's going to fuck up my car! She thinks my car is that prick's upstairs.

Solange - Ok fine mom.  Tell him to open the fucking door.  OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR YOU PUSSY.  He's a pussy.  He wont open the door, because he's scared of me. He's scared of me.  Fuck him.  Ok. Ok.  Alright mom.  Alright mom. I'll be right there.

Ev Orfa - (sighs with relief)

Solange - (walks down the drive and turns the corner out of sight)

- Fin -
by Ev Orfa

Academy Award PreDICKtions and stuff by Robski

As any young red blooded American male growing up in the 80's I remember tuning into the 1988 Academy Awards to see Cher arrive in a stunning and demure Bob Mackie gown. I remember being transported to the glamour, the elegance, the hopes and dreams of every young man, that night I was introduced to awards season Hollywood USA.

Well awards season is upon us yet again and while I am no Hollywood insider I am here to offer you my thoughts on what could be a great show this Sunday or what could be a boring hot mess with Seth Macfarlane singing and Hollywood starlets dressed like fire hydrants going to a drag show.

Best Leading Actress: 

Who Should Win: I say Jennifer Lawrence, yes she was great in Silver Linings playing every high school girlfriend I had (sidebar: now we know why I was attracted to lets call them "damaged" women) but lets cut to the chase she earned the Oscar as everyone's favorite underdog Katniss Everdeen. Any girl who can shoot a bow & arrow and string along Thor's brother and the square jawed kid from The Kids Are Alright gets my vote. Plus she played Mystique in X-men. BAM! my winner

Who will win: What am I Miss Cleo? How do I know, if I was psychic I would be a millionaire living on Tan Penis Island (we miss you 30 Rock) sipping on something fattening instead of a black coffee. My best guess is Jennifer Lawrence could take it, but Jennifer and Jessica Chastain could cancel each other out giving the award to the old broad in Amour.

Best Leading Actor

Who Should Win: I say Bradley Cooper not for his movie roles but for successfully pulling of the role of a lifetime, a straight man in Hollywood.

Who Will Win: Daniel Day Lewis I did not see Lincoln because as a gay we were given the task from our leader (Hi Elton) to see Les Miserables 20 times each this year but I hear he was good in it and he has a big Hollywood Jew backing him. I can't really back Hugh Jackman because it didn't feel like a stretch watching him sing and dance in period costumes. Sorry to use the word period Hugh, I just threw up in my mouth a little too. 

Best Supporting Actress:

Should/Will Win: Anne Hathaway, her diet plan for this role was legendary. She lost half her body weight in weeks, got her hair chopped off with a knife and was photographed stepping out of a car without underwear showing her Les Miss to the world that is both fabulous and gangsta. Werq it Miss Annie, the award is yours

Best Supporting Actor:

Should Win: I am going with Deniro because I know the pain of being called Bobbie by people we don't know and think we are close friends.

Will Win: No clue really, either Tommy Lee Jones because he has a big Hollywood Jew backing or my pal Bobbie D.

Best Director:

Should Win: Ben Affleck BOSTON FUCKIN RULES. But he wasn't nominated, you Academy voters are wicked chuckleheads don't let me catch ya hanging out in Dot

Will Win: Spielberg see above Best Supporting Actor "Will Win" reasoning

Best Picture:

Should/Will Win: Argo. BOSTON FUCKING RULES. I didn't see any Dunkin Donuts in the movie but I'll forgive him it was in the 70s so people were probably getting coffee at Marylou's on the south shore or The Big Dipper or the North Shore. Jeter sucks, Go Boston!  

Google Images Amazing ------


Stream of Consciousness Google Image Search -
Google Search the word BOOM

why?  - 

There's probably a back story and an article, but do you have time?  Nope.  I don't.  Instead I am left to wonder about the pure randomness of this.  I am left with the essence of true comedy, and yes he has an amazing haircut.  Slammin Haircut

Google Image Search - Slam 

AWWWWW YEAH! SLAM - Onyx Would be psyched!  By the way Onyx is not even in the first 20 pages.  Or this one 

  How about Truck?

FUCKYEAH!  that's what I am talking about.  This is a picture of America's balls.  How about America's balls???

Shit Muthafucker, now you are talking my language.  Weedwacker!  The Grim Reaper collecting the harvest!  (this last line should read using the voice of Kip Winger)  Ok how about Kip Winger.

HUNK OF THE MONTH.  Yep.  Kip Winger.  Look at his dick! It's huge. Congrats Kip.  How about Huge Balls?

ughhh I think I turned a corner here... What in Fuck Bro?  Not sure what is happening ummm here... Is this really a picture of a guy's huge balls... and what is this other guy doing???  Is he grabbing them?  Is Mr. Huge Balls like climbing a ladder?  Why would he do that?  Why is there a shirt wrapped around his waste?  Does he think the shirt is hiding his enormo balls?  That's not even close to helping cover those fucking things man.  How about what in fuck???

And here's where we end.  Bachelor Party.  The greatest film ever produced.  Goodnight friends

Ev Orfa -

Zen and Blog Cherries

Zen and Blog Cherries

Words and Pictures by Darren Hanson

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When I grow up I want to be a comedian. Which might just be a little disconcerting, as later this year I will be turning 40 years old. Am I too old to be pursuing this dream? Should I have been working towards this all along? Maybe and maybe. Unfortunately I can’t change the past, and cannot predict the future; all I’ve really got to work with is right now. Right now I can’t worry if my comedy pursuit will end up as more discarded afterbirth of another pipe dream. I can only control what I am doing right now.

And right now I am writing my first ever blog post.

This means now I am a blogger. I imagine someone may overhear me say that in public and think that I said I am a logger, which would make sense since at any time I could very well be wearing a Carhartt jacket while puffing my corn cob pipe and stroking my beard in a manly fashion. “I think that guy fells long timber in the deep woods!” The lumberjacking industry would appreciate my brand of choreographed song-and-dance tree chopping. I imagine my stage name would be Fred Axestaire. Because everything in life comes back to an old time song-and-dance film, right? Well at least I’ll have some balance to my public image.

But I digress.

So my comedy brothers here told me we'd be doing a blog and to write up some stuff. Sounds good. But what to discuss? My love of traditional wet-shaving? Or maybe talk about how I was ripping some Black Sabbath on a plastic harmonica for my wife and boys today? No, I will take the high road for now and avoid the sensational. It is more important that I pop my blog cherry before I wander into something hip deep. Besides, I want to bring you to first base before I roll out the big guns and move in for the clumsy grope. Who says chivalry is dead?

A quick word about my comedy posse here. As the elder member of the Toxic Love Juice Comedy Bandits, I can say the boys here bring their"A" game every time. We're like the Rat Pack, if the Rat Pack was high on Taco Bell. Incedentally, that's as close to a poop joke as I will get in my first blog post. Grilled stuffed classiness, full of sour cream with a side of fire salsa. Based on what these guys are capable of on the stage, you can expect some serious laughter out of this crew. You may even learn a little something about yourself along the way. Probably not though. But you will get some quality laughs, and yes, that's a threat.