Make sure you wait for the cow impression the blue Yip Yip pulls off. This shit is genius. I can’t tell you how much I enjoy these two. This 3 minutes is funnier than anything I have ever seen on the Office. Enjoy.

It all started last weekend. Roger Podacter had finished feeding Snowflake and had arrived at my house to watch some NFL football. As a good house guest does, he had brought along some snacks for everyone. In this case it was a giant tray of salami, pepperoni, crackers, cheddar & colby cheese. Enough to feed a platoon of Marines. Or one gentleman with tight shorts and a back ass. Thus the Adult Lunchable was born.

Everyone loves lunchables. The only problem? They aren’t filling! The problem is now solved. Blue Shorts decided to do something about that by eating a snack tray that was intended for dozens of people. Shaky Knee stopped by to record the event for everyone’s enjoyment and that’s where we are now.

I remember watching this when it happened. I am old, but that doesn’t mean this isn’t beyond hilarious. Take special note of the bottom lip dancing toward the end. Your knee is going to take a pounding.

What do you think?

Look, I’m not a dick.   I don’t like it that women starve themselves.  That advertising is making preteen girls into sexual creatures.  It’s all bad for society.  So the concept of using normal looking women in comercials is fine with me.  I never understood why guys like Kevin James and George Lopez and that dude from Still Standing are married to thin, hot chicks in their TV shows.  It’s not fair.  You can be a fat slob if you are a man and still be on TV.  If you are a woman, you have to be thin, young and hot.  It’s bullshit.

There is a LINE, however.  Dove has a new commercial running on television that features a gaggle of some of the most unattractive women I have ever had the displeasure of laying eyes on. They are pictured above and trust me, the pics look better than the video. These women are horrifying.  There are not enough silver bullets and crosses on earth to quell this monstrous uprising.  Stock up on holy water before you watch this fucking video.  Big Brown thinks that first white broad has giant gums.  Most of these mutants should be crewing the decks of the flying dutchmen.  They should be extras on The Hills Have Eyes.   Tyrone Hill and Clint Howard are on my phone and they think these women are lacking in facial appeal.   For more of this freakshow, put on your lead vest, throw some garlic around your neck and click HERE.

I have no idea what this is about.

Thank you to the good people over at Film Drunk for posting this for what appears to be absolutely no reason at all. I’m very glad they did, fore I can go to my grave knowing I have seen the best thing ever that nothing could every top. God Bless.

Moaning.  This time from the mud room.  Blaine didn’t know how they had gotten past the alarm or gotten past the dog but none of that mattered.  Kelly had taken refuge in the panic room so his panic was not overwhelming,  Purge the house, drag the bodies outside, set them on fire and lock up tight once more.  First things first.  The mud room.

Blaine drew the slide back on his pistol to chamber the the first round in the second magazine of hollow points he had used tonight.  7 from the first mag went into the gurgler at the bottom of the stairs, 4 more into the one in the foyer.   In all honesty Blaine could have dispatched them with one bullet a piece to the forehead.  If there was one thing he had learned from this plague, it was  that the undead were best dealt with by not skimping on the ammunition.  The final four rounds were used on the gurgler that was scratching at the dining room window.  There wasn’t much of a chance that the abomination could make his way inside the house, but then again there shouldn’t be ANY zombies inside the house, should there?  The Moaning continued.  

Blaine tiptoed towards the mud room, and held his pistol out in front of him.  The door was slightly ajar, which was about the 10th thing that didn’t make sense about the way this evening was going.  All doors closed all the time was rule #1 in his house.  Zombies can’t open doors.  That was one thing they knew, and they didn’t know much else.  Like where they came from.  Why they were there.  Why the government wasn’t doing much abut them.  The United States, or what was left of it was at war with several different “factions” at this particular time, but undead stalking the countryside seemed like an equally pressing matter to Blaine.  The commander in chief did not agree.  As was often the case with the United States, problems abroad seemed to come before the problems at home.  Now the problem was in Blaine’s home and he needed to put his .45 against the temple of this particular problem and pull the trigger.  He could concern himself with the  domestic affairs of his besieged government at another time.

Blaine’s hand was on the door now and he pushed it open.  The stench was overwhelming.  He gagged and nearly staggered but braced himself against the wall behind him.  If there was one thing that could be said about Blaine it would be that he did not scare easily.  He did not lose control of himself in stressful, even dangerous situations.  It was this fact alone that made the next few moments so extraordinary.  Blaine was terrified.  The color drained from his face.  Zombies.  Dozens of them.  Blaine was expecting three gurglers at the very most and was greeted by the horde.  They were packed on top of one another, their gaunt, lifeless faces yawning their horrible intentions.  They leaned out of the mud room and began spilling forward across the hall.  Blaine had seen this many on CNN and UNND but never in person.  His complex had personal security up until last July.  The undead had never had this sort of presence in his neck of the woods.  Yet here they were.

Blaine raised his arm and fired.  Gore exploded from the eye of the zombie directly in front of him.  It staggered and dropped to it’s knees as black ooze poured from the crater where it’s eye used to be.  It was replaced by 4 more undead as they pressed forward towards their meal.  Blaine fired and he fired again.  Whatever this curse was that spread from the gurglers to the living, it was transmitted via bite, not via fluid transfer alone.  Blaine shot what looked to be a 90 year old woman in the chest and stomach and was covered in entrails for his trouble.  He wiped the gore from his face and ejected the mag from his Colt and slapped another home.  The zombies were moving quicker now.  Smelling his flesh.  His blood.  Maybe even his brains if you believed what hollywood told us about these monsters.  Blaine wracked the bullet into the chamber and retreated back towards the staircase leading upstairs.  The panic room was up there in the master bedroom.  There were enough zombies to make Blaine consider securing himself inside of it with his wife until a cleaning crew could be summoned to purge this infestation.  Blaine took aim at his nearest attacker and squeezed.  The bullet spilled the zombies brains onto the hard wood floor.  He was about to call it a night and move up the stairs to safety when the gurgler behind him sunk it’s rotten teeth into his neck.  Blaine screamed.

After the initial wave of terror, his discipline reasserted itself.  Blaine spun and drove the butt of his Colt deep into the zombies cheek.  It took a step back with the thunderous impact.  Bone splinters fractured as the 1911 was leveled at the fracted face and was fired.  The zombie’s head was no more.  Blood was pouring from Blaines neck and it continued to pour as the gurglers from the mud room used the distraction to close the distance.  They were on him now.  Blaine swung his pistol around wildly, but the undead were dragging him to the ground.  He fired and fired, emptying the rest of his rounds into the stomachs of his antagonists.  This proved to be unwise as the dead weight drove him to the ground and pinned him.  The rest of the horde began to scratch and claw their way through the pale undead flesh of their fallen companions to get at Blaine.  Get at their supper. It was then that a deafening roar sounded through the house.  Followed by another.  Blaine starred up through a crimson mask of his own blood to see his wife kelly holding his smoking, double barrel 12 gauge in her hands.  

Kelly ejected the two casings and slammed to more shells into the shotgun.  Blaine began to drag himself out from under the lifeless body of the zombies that had him pinned.  The smell was all around him.  The smell of death.  He could feel the smell in his veins.  His eyes, his ears and his mouth.  He could see his wife.  See she was trying to save him.  The 12 gauge sounded again.  Blaine looked up as a gurgler exploded above him, dousing him in a fresh coat of viscous, blackened ooze.  The smell.  It was consuming him.  It was in his brain in his very soul.  Blain vomited.  Not his dinner.  Something worse.  Much, Much worse.  He was hungry.  A hunger that he had never known in his life.  A hunger that would be all he knew from now on.  His wife Kelly.  She was reaching for him with one arm, and aiming the shot gun at the zombies with the other  Trying to fight them and help him at the same  time.  He remembered  her face at their wedding  He remembered her face when they bought this house.  He remembered her face when the plague was first reported.  And now he couldn’t remember anything but his hunger.  She grabbed his arm in a vein attempt to save the man she loved.  She grabbed his arm and he sunk his teeth into her wrist.   At some level, Blaine was horrified at his own actions, but that didn’t stop him.  He bit her again on the forearm and drank in her warm and unpolluted blood.  His hunger was insatiable.   She screamed and Blaine moaned.  He pulled himself up her body and bit her again, this time on the cheek.  Tears mixed with the blood that flowed down his wife’s once beautiful face.  Kelly drove her knee into Blaines midsection then smashed the stock of the shotgun into this temple.  He dropped to one knee and looked up at his wife who would join him in his hunger soon enough. 

Kelly’s tears stopped.  Calm swept over her features.  She looked down at what used to be her husband.  She looked at the wailing corpses behind him, pushing their way past their own dead to try and finish what Blaine started.  She remember his face at their wedding.  She remembered his face when they bought this house.  She remembered his face when the plague was first reported.  She remembered all of this, then she leveled the shotgun at her husband and blew his head clean off his shoulders.  Blaine’s headless corpse dropped to the ground  where it was joined moments later by Kelly’s headless corpse and then an empty shotgun.  And the undead moaned…

How about a doughnut?  I am addicted to facebook.  They do not overload you with ads and I don’t feel like I’m whored out when I log in there.  Every once in a while an advertisement will pop up and usually they are pretty good.  This particular banner took the cake. Or the doughnut. Peep this:

So what’s in store for runners this year…?

To complete the Krispy Kreme Challenge is to:

1) Run 2 miles from the N.C. State belltower to the Krispy Kreme on Peace St. in Raleigh.

2) Eat one dozen doghnuts

3) Run 2 miles back to the belltower.

4) Do all of this in under one hour.

We will again have the roads closed for the event thanks to raleigh police department.
The runners will start at the NCSU belltower, run the 2 miles down to Krispy Kreme, eat their doughnuts and run back.

I have heard of drinking beer and running (which sounds pretty good too), but eating Krispy Kreme’s and running might have that beat.  I love when people don’t take their fitness too seriously.  Look, I get it.  You need to excercise.  It’s good for you, you feel better about yourself and you look better.  I am just sick to death of people talking about “their routines” and putting up away messages like “At the gym”  or “working out.”  Just go do it and shut the fuck up.  Having a run where you are pounding doughnuts spits in the face of those douchebags.  It’s saying: “Yeah, I run, but I don’t base my self worth on it and I don’t take myself too seriously.”  Fucking A.  If you are interested in signing up for the Krispy Kreme Challenge click HERE.

This video is supposedly taken from an Reo Speedwagon concert according to our good friends @ Fark.  And they usually get their farking shit right. This shirtless jorts wearing wonder is over tan and somehow still has manboobs even though he appears to workout. A deadly combo to be sure.  Join me in piling onto this clowns douchebaggery. Thank you, and God bless America.