Tag Archives: children

10 Worst Celebrity Baby Names of 2010 (and Some from 2009 too)

 

Yeah, yeah…I know I usually do these type of lists at the end of the year, but truth is kittens, mama missed doing the Top Ten Worst Celebrity Baby Names last year, and there are some real doozeys already for 2010.  So let’s get started, shall we?

10.  Mars Merkaba (child of Erykah Badu  and Jay Electronica)

Neo soul/R&B artist Erykah Badu has always been an original creation of her own making.  A little wackadoo, but worth the trouble nonetheless.  And I loved when she named her first son, Seven, because – as she said – “Seven as a number and a force cannot be divided.”  How fuckin’ cool is that?

But I take issue with naming your baby Mars, after the Red Planet.  Maybe the name stands for something else, but to this white Jewish matzoh cracker, it just looks random and stupid.  ‘Nuff said.

9. Kaydnz Koda (child of  T Pain)

Y’all know I do not really keep up with rap artists, and this includes T Pain. But I do know the African-American community likes names with a  (how do you say it…)  um…unique sound. 

Kedisha

Tameeka

Uniqua (that one’s from The Backyardigans, doncha know)

You get the idea.  So you tell me this…is the latest trend amongst the rap artist community to adopt names with more consonants than a Polish province?  This name’s just a hot mess, and it goes perfectly with his daddy’s mouth grill. Yeah, I said it.

8. Ikhyd Edgar Arular (child of M.I.A)

Okay, I stand corrected. Maybe it’s not just African-American rappers who are all consonant-crazy cuz M.I.A. hit her son up with a mouthful as well. She showed me there boy.

7. Sparrow James Midnight (child of Nicole Ritchie and Joel Madden)

Well thank GOD for Nicole Ritchie and Joel Madden because without them coming up with the pussy of a choice name – Sparrow – for their son, then I would’ve thought all the crazy was relegated to the rappers.

I adored the name they picked for their daughter (Harlow) – so much so, I wished I would’ve thought of it.  But naming your boy Sparrow is just asking for an ass whoopin’.  Although I guess it’s better than naming him(gulp) Swallow, but who am I kidding? Either choice makes him sound like a gay pirate.

6. Atlas Heche Tupper  (child of Anne Heche James Tupper)

Ok, speaking of wackadoo celebrities, few have anything over Anne Heche.  Jesus, she’s a whole carton of crazy town, so I should probably thank her for only naming her kid after a book of maps and not after one of her hallucinatory characters she ‘heard’ when she snapped and went off the grid after Ellen dumped her sorry ass way back when. So Atlas, consider yourself…um….lucky?

P.S.  I can’t WAIT ’til that kid grows up and writes the tell-all about growing up in that household.

5. Petal Blossom Rainbow Oliver – Jools and Jamie Oliver

I like Jamie Oliver. I really do.  I think what he’s trying to do for our kids, by making school lunches healthier, is admirable and desperately needed.

But the name of his latest creation reads like something you make up while tripping on Ecstasy at a bad 1990s rave revival. It just sucks weinis.

I’m sure Petal Blossom Rainbow will end up in some crunchy granola West London preschool co-op with other unfortunately labeled celeb spawns like Apple and Moses Martin, or some other self-important Brit.

4. Bandit Lee (child of Gerard Way, My Chemical Romance)

I’m sure Gerald Way and his pretty baby mama are too young to catch this cultural reference, but sorry…everytime I hear the name ‘Bandit’, I can’t help but think of that Baaaad 70s movie, ‘Smokey and the Bandit.’

Which makes me think of Burt Reynolds.

Which then makes me think of Burt Reynolds in ‘Boogie Nights’.

When always make me think of porn. Bad 70s porn.

Which mean when I hear of Bandit Lee Way, I think this child was born to act in porn. And I can’t imagine any parent wants people to relate their offspring to anything porno-related. 

Oh and the band, My Chemical Romance, is worse than 70s porn… and won’t last as long.

3. Dexter Lloyd (child of Charlotte Church)

When did Chalotte Church grow up, btw? Last I saw her, she was this precocious child star with this amazing operatic voice.  Now she’s popping out babies!

And in classic British fashion, she has given her child a name guaranteed to prevent him from getting laid for a long, long time.  Good job there Char…oh and don’t forget to forgo all basic dental care…another British classic worthy of repetition.

2. Bob (child of Charlie Sheen)

Let’s see if I can stop laughing long enough to write about this gem.

Jesus, what’s NOT wrong with Charlie Sheen? Well, the fact that he named one of his twins the most boring name, like, EVER, is a start.  OR maybe we should blame the baby mama for not only allowing Charlie to name a child he’ll never be around long enough to raise, but for believing the age old lie every woman has told herself at least once,  “He’ll be different with ME this time. I can change him.”

We never learn.

Anyway, for all my bitchin’ about the strange tongue twisting names many celebrities come up with, at least they’re not boring like Bob. There’s just no excuse for such right-brain laziness in Tinseltown.

1. Nakoa-Wolf Manakauapo Namakaeha Momoa (child of actress Lisa Bonet and actor Jason Momoa)

I swear, I didn’t make up this name just so I could end on a high note.  Just let me know who should call Child Protective Services first, you or me, because this name is just pure, unadulterated abuse.

I didn’t think it could get worse than the last time I wrote this list, but shut my mouth.  I’ve been proven wrong again.

Dog Gone It

So the big talk over here at Camp Mix & Bitch is if and/or when we’re going to adopt a shelter dog.  It’s either a dog or a third kid, believe it or not. 

One of the strange side effects of turning 40 has been this overwhelmingly strong urge to nurture something small.  It’s like my body realizes it just made a hard right turn down mid-life crisis highway and is desperate to propagate the species one…last…(cough)…time. 

Biology’s a bitch my fine furless  friends.

Good thing for me and Mr. Mix that I tied up the internal plumbing years ago, otherwise I may let that toxic drug known as estrogen overrule my common sense and get myself knocked up on purpose.  Mr. Mix is an infinitely patient and selfless man, but even I know I’d be pushing it too far with another one.

Between you and me (ahem), if I had my way, I’d be high tailing it over to China or Vietnam in a heartbeat and grab me one of those beyond adorable and precious little Asian babies.  Hey, if they’re stupid enough not to want their girls, I’ll take ’em.

AsianBaby2.jpg Asian Baby 2 image by arthur-o_O

C’mon, how cute is she?

Don’t you just want to bite those little cheeks?

Btw, I am not implying that a dog replaces a human child.  I’m just saying that I can handle an adult dog…a baby (even a beyond gorgeous Asian girl baby) is beyond my emotional and financial resources at this point in my life. And I’m pretty sure Mr. Mix would leave me if there was a third baby to contend with around here.

So as long as I don’t get a puppy, I think he’s cool with abating my aching womb syndrome.

Anyhoo, so I’ve been doing lots of research, on breeds, on shelters, on what to expect when you’re expecting something furry, etc. etc.  And while I’d like something of a scrappy variety like this little guy…

Drama Queen and Sweet Pea long for a dog more along the lines of this…

I know, I know…it’s not a dog, it’s a duster. But they want something small and cuddly that they can pick up and hold. I get it.

So I start finding dogs on Petfinder and submitting applications to different shelters. Holy Friggin’ Shitballs Batman! These applications were ridiculous.  I think I could’ve adopted me some Angelina orphans for less hassle than to get me a goddamn dog in this town.

Long story a bit shorter, I finally chucked the idea of the smaller rescue outfits in favor of the good ‘ol Humane Society of Fairfax County.  Within 24 hours, they called me after I filled out only a 2 page application (versus the 4-6 pages monsters with the other rescues, each asking for, like 5 references, my mother’s maiden name, how large is my husband’s left nut, and will I promise to wipe the dog’s ass after every poop for the rest of my life, so help me God?).  They told me they’ll line up the kinds of dogs we’re looking for, gave me the address, and made an appointment for next weekend.

Done. Capeesh. Finite.

So once we get the precious mutt, I promise to post some pictures. Wish me luck people!

A Distorted Reality is Now a Necessity to Be Free

This is a post I’ve been wanting to write for a while now.  I have been trying to take a phrase here, a thought there, and compile it together in some sort of coherent piece.  Needless to say, I’ve got next to nothing.  So, I’m just going to rattle on here a bit, so stay with me, ok?

I don’t know why this is, but I think most relationships rest on the edge of a knife.  They are inherently fragile entities, based much more on conditional circumstances than we would care to admit.  I bring this up because I now know about five couples going through various stages of divorce.  Some of them weren’t a surprise, others were a shock. 

They all prove a central point: no one knows what really goes on with a couple not just behind closed doors, but in the hearts and minds of each involved.  You could live with someone everyday of your life, eat meals together, bump uglies, clean up after one another, and not know what’s really going on with your partner.  That’s a scary thought in and of itself.  Just as frightening is to think that during a low point of your life – diagnosed with cancer, losing your job, having your business go under, or your child is in some sort of trouble – that’s when your husband or wife completely bails on you. 

Although for some people I know, the reasons are not so dramatic.  It’s a slow, creeping cold which grows over too many years of not being heard, of not being seen…so even when your significant other finally gets a clue, oftentimes it’s too late to crawl back from the abyss.  The chasm has grown too great in distance.

I know something about this not just as an armchair spectator.  Mr. Mix and I went through our own crisis back in 2005.  It was a confluence of influences for us, both financial stress and the internal combustion of two people growing apart at vastly different rates.  Wow, that makes it sound simple, doesn’t it? It wasn’t, of course.  So, how did we survive through that hell, while others around us are falling to pieces? 

I’ve thought a lot about that over the last few months, and whatever I’ve got, it’s probably speculative at best.  While, yes, I run an advice site, I’ve never pretended to have all the answers.  Those who believe in their own hype fall the hardest.

I wish I could say I had this steely determination to save our marriage, but at that point, I was out.  And the only reason why I went to counseling in the first place was to be able to look my girls in the eyes and say yeah, mommy tried everything to make her marriage to their daddy work.  We didn’t find some therapist in the phone book or go for the first shmoe on our insurance plan either.  I asked my friend who I knew also went through a hard time – and was thriving now – and got the name of the therapist they went to.  Of course, he didn’t take insurance and he wasn’t cheap.  My mom and her husband offered to pay for the sessions, as long as we went in with an open mind.  I know how lucky we were to be able to accept such a gift.  It probably was one of the deciding factors which saved us.

It also didn’t hurt that all around us were devoted couples – not all of them happy, mind you, but all of them hell-bent on staying together.  Our children went to the same school, we had monthly pot luck dinners at each others’ homes…we were ensconced in one another’s lives.  And as much as I like to think of myself as a non-conformist, I was not immuned to the effects of social psychology in the form of latent peer pressure.

Lastly, but a point which probably should’ve been mentioned at the top of the list, Mr. Mix was willing to do anything and everything to get our marriage back on track.  Like being awoken from a long-suffering coma, he finally heard what I had to say.  Not every time, or for every session, but enough.  Likewise, I realized over time how hurtful my communication style could be…so much so that after a while he couldn’t hear so much of what I was saying, but rather how I was saying it.  Trust me, it takes training to take one’s raw anger and frustration, calm down enough to get to the root of the issue, and convey such info with love and respect. 

In the end, however, that’s the only way any of us are going to make it.  To give the ones you love the benefit of the doubt…to show the same kindness, decorum, and compassion you would to your best friend….to remember it’s more inportant to be loved than to always be right. 

I think back on how bad off we were…how even now – with all the work we’ve done and how far we’ve come – that all it takes is a few weeks of not connecting to feel the cold creep in some.  I guess the difference now is we try to nip that crap in the bud before it has a chance to kill all we’ve worked towards.  There are, and will always be, what psychologists call ‘permanent issues’ – specific conflicts which may wax and wane, but never fully go away.  Sometimes, they feel like a light nuisance, like a gnat buzzing in your ear…other times, it’s like a jack hammer in your gut.  But I suppose some maturity comes when you realize that someone else isn’t the ‘cure all’ answer…that they have a litany of baggage which may make your current issues look like nothing in comparison. 

That all said, I’d say that most of the friends and family in various stages of divorce right now are probably better off splitting up….not because their outside circumstances are so dire, but because one or both partners lack the character or conviction to do the work needed.  Some have been outright abusive with their actions.  I don’t believe you stay married at all costs.  That said, it’s a death for all of us when someone you know splits. 

It never stops being a big deal.  It may be necessary, but it doesn’t make it any less tragic.

Ms. Mix & Bitch’s Pouting Session #1: Not Home for the Holidays

So the whole Mix & Bitch gang was supposed to go to my mom and stepdad’s house in North Carolina for the Thanksgiving holiday.  And while I know plenty of you dread the idea of having to see the people unfortunately related to you, I was really looking forward to going this year.  For one thing, they built themselves quite the rustic palace – and I only say rustic because of its location, not it’s amenities.  With 10,000 square feet and air and heating systems for every wing, it’s not exactly winning any green earth awards anytime soon either.  But my mom really goes all out with the decorations and my stepdad cooks a mean bird.  And thank God my mom loves her box of wine just as much as Kathy Griffin’s mom because she gets more charming by the glass (a trait I too share).  We spend the weekend doing North Carolina mountainy thingys like fishing and hiking the trails and roasting marshmallows at the open fire pit…sigh, it’s just good country fun.

Anyway, the reason why we’re not going is because Queen Mama Bitch (she’s not a music fan at all, hence why no ‘Mix” in her title) is having some unusually bad acid reflux and thinks she’s going to die.  Or that she has a tumor growing on her gall bladder. Or maybe she’s really been having a heart attack the whole time.  In other words, she’s a fucking hypochondriac.  And I wish I could tell you this happens with aging parents, but she’s been this way since I was eight years old.  So she wants to stay down in South Florida, where the “good” doctors are and get this resolved before trekking back to the boonies of Carolina. 

I know I sound selfish. I am, btw.  And I do get it that it’s scary to have pain that doesn’t go away.  I promise you all, I am much more understanding with her on the phone.  But between you and me, the whole jumping to the worse conclusion deal has gotten way old with me.  She’s had a particularly stressful couple of weeks down in Florida (for reasons I can’t get into) and hence, her upper GI tract is inflamed.  Doesn’t take an MD to see the stress is getting to her.  I’ve really been missing her and wanted to see her…so I’m pouting via blogging. I told you all I was a spoiled brat.

The good news is that some very cool Mix & Bitch friends are hosting Thanksgiving and have invited us – there’s also going to be an after-Thanksgiving shin dig on Friday I had wanted to attend.  So that works 🙂   I just hate feeling like the third wheel for someone else’s Norman Rockwellian Thanksgiving Day parade.  I have really stank memories of Thanksgiving with my parents – either it being just the three of us barely talking to each other, or getting the pity invite from someone and feeling like I was looking at happy family functioning through the looking-glass.  I would always end up feeling lonelier than ever.

A lot of that changed once my parents split for good and my stepdad came into my mother’s life.  King Stepdad Bitch (he is also not a fan of music, hence why he shares in my mother’s title) can be a real piece of work, but for all his craziness (and trust me, he’s packaging a full load of the crazies) he brought a genuine sense of joy and – dare I say – merriment back into the holidays for me and my mom.  He’s a trip and then some, and he kinda looks like a Jewishy Santa Claus so he just screams holiday friggin’ cheer.  It’s a good time, and I’m going to miss it. So there’s that.

Ms. Mix & Bitch’s Confession #42: I Wouldn’t Want to Join Any Club Who Would Have You as a Member

So, eldest spawn, Sweet Pea, is a member of the Girl Scouts.  Next year, Drama Queen wants to join, and I myself am a former Scout as well.  I used to also be a member of a (wink) Spiritually Vacuous, Dememted and EnTitled Greek organization best known for its perfection of the eye-roll and hair flip simultaneously. And after many other tried-and-failed attempts, I slowly came to the realization that I’m not a joiner.  I’m not comfy in big cliques, and I’m not a fan of the group-think.  That doesn’t make me any better or worse than the rest of you…it just means I know my limits, and if you ask me to join your club – no matter how much I like you – I’m not going. No way. No how.

Ironic because I’m not a loner by nature.  In small doses, I actually like people.  Need then, to be brutally honest.  But I think most of us lose some of our minds and natural common sense and decency when we’re part of a collective.  This is also ironic because when studying for my history masters degree, my sub-specialization was the roles of women in utopian communities.  And my recent favorite documentary is called “Commune.”  I love the idea of groups coming together to better the world, to shed the individual skin in order to experience the spiritual ecstasies often found in collectives. It just never works out that way.  And I am becoming, admittedly, more particular and fussy with age and don’t like people in my space for too long of a time anymore.  Besides, after studying the roles of women in communes, cults, collectives, kibbutzes – what have you – you know what I found out? Even in the most democratically organized of them, most of the women ended up caring for the kids, cooking and cleaning up after everyone else. Oh, and of course, being sexually available to every man on the compound, or otherwise being considered too bourgeoisie and uppity for their own good. 

Yeah…my thoughts exactly.

Anyway, don’t ask me how I got on this rant when thinking about my little ones in Girl Scouts.  I know it’s an innocuous organization…even if they do push those cookies harder than Frank Lewis did his Blue Magic heroin in the 70s…I just get a bit uneasy when they ask to join anything.  Color me suspicious. You wouldn’t be the first, and that’s just how I roll over here. 

Just be lucky you don’t have to live with me. I’d probably end up flushing your toothbrush down the toilet.

Bang a Gong, Get It On

Dear Ms. Mix & Bitch,

My wife and I have been married for 4 wonderful years. For two of  those years, we were intercoursing like rabbits. We were having sex everyday and sometimes 3 times in a day on weekends. At that time, I had a good job that was a half hour away on a bad day.

After our daughter was born, her needs cut into our sex lives but we would still be able to find time to do it every other day. After I got laid off, I found a new job that was an hour away by train. I have to get up at
4:30am to get ready for work and don’t get home until 5pm. Because of this, I try to stay on a strict sleep schedule so I can at least get 6 hours of sleep. The downside is that it’s cut into our sex lives by a lot. Now we are lucky to do it once a week. It’s very frustrating to my wife since everytime she tries to wake me up I’m either completely out or I’m in a mid sleep stupor and I tell her to leave me alone (I don’t remember any of it but she makes sure to let me know). What I’ve noticed is that my lack of sleep has killed my sex drive. Whereas before the mere sight of her made me want to jump on her like a hungry lion on a gazelle, now it takes a concentrated effort on my part to get aroused. All this leads to a very frustrated and, at times, angry wife. I love her more now than ever before and would like to please her as much as she desires but it’s become so difficult due to work. I’ve tried to explain to her that it’s not that I don’t love her, it’s just that losing even an hour of sleep can wreck the rest of the day. I’m not sure what else I can tell her to keep her from getting mad. I can’t leave this job since it’s tough finding a new one these days and also because I like working there. What else can I tell her to keep her from getting mad or should I just give in and lose some more sleep to fulfill her needs?
 
Signed,

Sleepless in the Midwest

Dear Sleepless,

First of all, I don’t know why you’re calling yourself “sleepless” or saying how lack of sleep is killing your sex drive ‘cuz here from the cheap seats, it sounds as if you’re making sure you’re getting plenty of beauty rest.

Listen, I get that a long commute and new baby’s gonna crank into your “intercoursing” time (never call it that again, ok? It’s just…creepy), and it sounds to me that all this extra responsibility is what’s ruining your “lion” lust.  Guys have a lot of pressure on them these days. Understood.  But dude, listen here and listen good….

MAN UP!!

That means you’ve got to lose an extra hour or two of sleep during the week in order to rock the casbah, so to speak, then do it.  You get cranky without your 6-8 hours a night? Guess what….you’ll get used to it. New mothers do this all the time and their bodies adjust after a few weeks.  So can your Princely Primadonna Ass.  Catch up on your sleep with a nap or two over the weekend.  Jesus Christ…give me a REAL problem dude…you’ve got a hot wife who turns you on and just wants to bang you all the time. Poor you, boo hoo.

Write me when you think she’s banging the out-of-work actor next door, k?

No mix today – my computer’s down (on my daughters) and I have no access to all my music. Yep. That’s right. It doesn’t just come off the top of my head. Usually.

Ms. Mix & Bitch’s Confession # 25: If Only All Old People Were This Cool

Ok, I admit it.  I am not “one” with the old people.  I just don’t like ’em.  And I know that’s ageist and all, but I’m just being honest here.  I used to work with a bunch at the Jewish Community Center in New Orleans…a bunch of Depression-Era-old ladies with a bad attitude, a weird smell, and a penchance for double knits. And they were really cheap too (and don’t give me the whole “Jews are cheap” schtick ‘cuz most of the old bags we  served were Catholics, so there). Look, I get it.  Maybe if I had lived through Black Friday and bread lines and Hooverville shanty towns, I’d be more careful with a nickel too.  But hey, give AIG, Goldman Sachs, and the Department of Treasury a little more time and I’ll get a chance sure enough, right?

Anyhoo…long story short, there’s this guy on Twitter (named Justin) who lives with his 73-year-old dad and he writes down the crazy funny shit his dad says.  I haven’t laughed this hard in forever, so had to share it with you.  Go to Twitter @shitmydadsays and catch the wave for yourselves.  If only all old people were this cool. I’m just saying…

“Oh please, you practically invented lazy. People should have to call you and ask for the rights to lazy before they use it.”

  • “Nobody is that important. They eat, shit, and screw, just like you. Maybe not shit like you, you got those stomach problems.”

  • “You worry too much. Eat some bacon… What? No, I got no idea if it’ll make you feel better, I just made too much bacon.”

  • “If mom calls, tell her I’m shitting… Son, marriage is about not having to lie about taking a shit.”  

  • “I need to change clothes? Wow. That’s big talk coming from someone who looks like they robbed a Mervyn’s.”
  •   
  • “The baby will talk when he talks, relax. It ain’t like he knows the cure for cancer and he just ain’t spitting it out.”
  •   
  • “You sure do like to tailgate people… Right, because it’s real important you show up to the nothing you have to do on time.”
  •   
  • “Just pay the parking ticket. Don’t be so outraged. You’re not a freedom fighter in the civil rights movement. You double parked.”
  • “I like the dog. If he can’t eat it, or fuck it, he pisses on it. I can get behind that.”

  • “Remember how you used to make fun of me for being bald?…No, I’m not gonna make a joke. I’ll let your mirror do that.”

  • “That woman was sexy…Out of your league? Son. Let women figure out why they won’t screw you, don’t do it for them.”

  • “Son, people will always try and fuck you. Don’t waste your life planning for a fucking, just be alert when your pants are down.”

  • “I wanted to see Detroit win. I’ve been there. It’s like God took a shit on a parking lot. They deserve some good news.”

  • “We didn’t have a prom. Dancing wasn’t allowed…What’s Footloose?…That’s the plot of the movie? That sounds like a pile of shit.”

  • “Does anyone your age know how to comb their fucking hair? It looks like two squirrels crawled on their head and started fucking.”

  • “You’re being fucking dramatic. You own a TV and an air mattress. That’s not exactly what I’d call “a lot to lose.”

  •   
  • “You’re like a tornado of bullshit right now. We’ll talk again after your bullshit dies out over someone else’s house.”
  • “Jesus Christ, Just give the dog his fucking food. Why’s he gotta do a trick first? YOU don’t have to do shit before YOU eat.”

  • “It’s not the gardener’s job to pick up the dog shit. If you don’t want to pick up the dog shit, then learn a skill like gardening.”

  • Do these announcers ever shut the fuck up? Don’t ever say stuff just because you think you should. That’s the definition of an asshole.”

  • “A scar ain’t 13 god damned stitches. I’ll introduce you to men with REAL scars, then we’ll all laugh at your fucking 13 stitches together.”

  • “I’m sitting in one of those TGI Friday’s places, and everyone looks like they want to shove a shotgun in their mouth.”

  • “You’re gonna run into jerk offs. But remember, it’s not the size of the asshole you worry about, it’s how much shit comes out of it.”
  • “I wouldn’t worry about money…No, it has a lot to do with happiness, I just meant YOU shouldn’t worry, cause you’d just piss it away.”

  • “No, you can not borrow my t-shirt…How about instead of standing there looking shocked, you do your fucking laundry?”

  • I think the baby shit….Well, I’m smelling shit right now, so if it ain’t the baby, one of you has a big fucking problem.”

  • “Sometimes life leaves a hundred dollar bill on your dresser, and you don’t realize until later that it’s because it fucked you.”

  • “The universe does not give a fuck about you. You are a speck in its shit.”

  • “Fucking Radio Shack. It’s a wonder they even know how to use a bathroom and don’t just walk around all day with shit in their pants.”

  • “Don’t listen to the pussy side of you when you make a decision. People gravitate towards being a pussy. Remove the pussy, son.”
  • “Happy birthday, I didn’t get you a present…Oh, mom got you one? Well, that’s from me then too, unless it’s shitty.”

  • “Anytime someone sells you food in a sack, it’s not a sack of food, it’s a sack of shit.”

  • “I turn the kitchen faucet on and the shower burns you, yes, I get it…No, I’m not gonna stop, I’m just saying yes, I get that concept.”

  • “Why the fuck would I want to live to 100? I’m 73 and shit’s starting to get boring. By the way, there’s no money left when I go, just fyi.”

  • ‘You don’t know shit, and you’re not shit. Don’t take that the wrong way, that was meant to cheer you up.”

  •   
  • “Here’s a strawberry, sorry for farting near you…Hey! Either take the strawberry and stop bitching, or no strawberry, that’s the deal.”
  •   
  • “The worst thing you can be is a liar….Okay fine, yes, the worst thing you can be is a Nazi, but THEN, number two is liar. Nazi 1, Liar 2”
  • “Who in the fuck is tila tequila? Is she a stripper?…That’s her? Yeah, that’s a stripper, son, I don’t give a shit what you say.”

  • “Everybody loves that Da Vinci code book. Bullshit, it sucks. I read it. It’s for all the dummies.”

  •   
  • “I’m having a Makers Mark, you want one? What? 7up? I ain’t mixing fucking makers with 7up. Might as well put a lil’ fucking umbrella in it”