by the Mitchells

Fuck Yous, 2005

December 23rd, 2004

>I figure at this time of year, it’s either blow off some steam verbally or punch a relative.

So here are my big FUCK YOUS for 2005:

1. Stand-up Comedy

What happened, man? We used to be friends. But now I realize that all my goals and ambitions boiled down to telling dick jokes in front of little old ladies in North Dakota. Sure, some of my friends have “made it” — and I see some of the funniest minds of my generation doing unfunny crap like trained sea monkeys for the TV networks.

If you could only see what Doug Stanhope, K.P Anderson, Dave Mordal or Joe Rogan can do on a stage, you’d shoot a TV executive tomorrow. I mean, actually buy a gun, load it, walk into their offices and spray some lead. Not that I’m encouraging that sort of thing.

Which reminds me. People say about these comics, “Well, no one held a gun to their head.” Trust me, if you’ve spent a decade or so doing comedy in places like Pocatello, Idaho and Moosejaw, Saskatchewan — and trying to pay your rent — you have a fucking gun to your head.

2. Metallica

I bought your early albums from “Kill ‘Em All” on, and went to your early concerts. That’s right, I and fans like me paid you a ton of good money to finance your rise from a second-rate Motorhead to a first-rate Bon Jovi.

Now you call us thieves? Fuck you, listen to your last couple albums and tell me who the thieves are. Then again, I’m pretty sure you haven’t listened to your last couple albums, because no one has. That’s why you’re losing money, dipfarts.

3. Christians Who Aren’t Me

What is wrong with you people?!? Christianity is about humility, and charity and love, and I see so much pride, and greed and hatred.

I try to spread the Word in my own way — by being a Christian without being an enormous ASSHOLE about it. That’s right, I said ASSHOLES, FUCKHEADS, CUNTS. Find me those words or anything about those words in the Bible. Find me half the bullshit you believe are sins in the Bible, while you walk past that homeless guy without giving him a buck. Jesus would give the guy a buck, and you fucking know it.

Lighten the fuck up. Let people see that we aren’t idiots, that we KNOW the earth is more than 6000 years old, that we KNOW God didn’t plant dinosaur fossils around just to fuck with us, and that we may have even given in on the Earth revolving around the Sun.

Read the fucking manual. And thump it less.

4. “Funny” E-mails

Nothing funny has ever been e-mailed to more than ten people. Period. And if some asshole mails this shit around with George Carlin or Denns Miller’s name on it, I will hunt you down and eat your trachea.

Possibly to be continued. Four more family dinners to go.

I wasn’t in Canada, I promise

August 23rd, 2004

>50,000 cans of Moosehead missing; 2 empties found

Associated Press, August 23, 2004

FREDERICTON, New Brunswick — The Royal Canadian Mounted Police are trying to solve a beer caper that occurred near Canada’s border with Maine.

The mounties are searching for 50,000 cans of Moosehead along with the driver of a tractor-trailer that was hauling the brew.

The abandoned truck has been found — along with two empty beer cans. Otherwise, the only other evidence is that the Moosehead cans are imprinted in Spanish and English. The beer was destined for a Mexican supermarket chain.

Newspaper and broadcast reports say the shipment would be worth more than $75,000 if sold on the retail level.

Dangerous Fugitives Brought to Justice

July 16th, 2004

>From the Star Tribune:

TOKYO — Former world chess champion Bobby Fischer, wanted since 1992 for playing a tournament in Yugoslavia despite U.N. sanctions, has been detained in Japan, clearing the way for his extradition to the United States.

For as weird as I think it is that playing chess could be an indictable offense, how weird is Bobby Fischer that he has to add international intrigue to the game in order to come out of retirement. Still, I can think of less fun things than wandering the globe as a fugitive for 14 years with the help of $3.35 million.

Ladies and gentleman, Bobby Fischer has been found.

Grand Experiment

May 30th, 2004

>Steph’s last post gave me an idea.

Let’s make alcohol illegal and heroin legal for just one year, and see how things work out.

Upside: Fewer traffic deaths, less domestic violence and fistfights in general, massive weight loss on a national scale, less pain, more sleep.

Downside: Puking levels remain unchanged, more walking friends around for hours when they turn blue.

Not Work Safe

May 20th, 2004

>See the post below this one, but just to be clear there are some things here (links, mostly) that are NOT WORK SAFE.

This website reflects the dual nature of Steph’s and my personalities and careers. She is nice, I am not. And if you run across, say, a picture of a guy with a fire extinguisher up his butt, you’ve been warned.

(Actually, I think I e-mailed that photo to every “friend” who kept passing along lame jokes and fake virus alerts to me, but I don’t think it’s actually linked here. Sorry if that disappoints anyone.)

The Grass Is Greener

May 13th, 2004

>Pertinent to Steph’s last post, I just looked at our lawn and the rain is doing it a world of good.

This pisses me off. I’ve been out there hacking up the soil with a garden rake, mixing in richer soil, putting down patch and mulch in the bare spots, reseeding and fertilizing, and watering every day it didn’t rain. Nothing.

Then Mr. Bigshot I-Can-Make-It-Rain God comes along and in two days flat the lawn is growing like, um, Astroturf? No, that doesn’t work. Astroturf is the work of Satan.

Anyway, why can’t God let me be better at just this ONE thing? what kind of stupid cosmic rivalry is this? You don’t see me going around trying to create ostriches, do you?

The Ostrich — King of Birds

March 31st, 2004

>Stephanie and I have been arguing a lot lately about whether or not I can have an ostrich.

Her arguments are mainly as follows:

1. There is something wrong with you. You are a complete fucking idiot.

2. We live in a townhome in an urban area where it gets very cold.

3. Ostriches are mean.

4. You can’t ride an ostrich anyway.

My counter arguments go something like this:

1. Am not!

2. We can keep it in the garage.

3. They are only mean to people who are going to eat them and pluck out their feathers and make ugly leather out of them. I just want to ride mine around.


I should mention that the only abuse my ostrich might suffer is that I remember a Curious George book from when I was a kid, where Curious George fed a trumpet to an ostrich, so that the ostrich had a big trumpet-shaped lump in its throat. While Stephanie is indeed a big dumb monkey, and she might do something like feed a trumpet to an ostrich, we don’t have any trumpets at this time.