The 9 Most Typecast Actors

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Notes to Matt Groening from FOX Censors Regarding The Simpsons Movie

Matt—

Wanted to check in and let you know we all really love the directions you’ve taken the Simpsons in for their first film (of many…remember your contract!), and while we appreciate you stretching your wings a bit in the transition, we do still want to nab that PG-13 rating. With that in mind, please look over the below list of some of the studio’s thoughts about the current cut.

• Marge’s hair is a bit phallic for our tastes. Maybe for the movie she could get a nice bob or shoulder-length cut? Or, and we don’t want to interfere here, but maybe her hair is burned off in a chemical fire in the first act? In any case, we’re just not comfortable with one of the main characters’ hair being shaped like an erect blue penis. It invites the audience to imagine a giant blue vagina into which it might fit, and that’s going to hurt our opening weekend box office.



• This isn’t a ratings concern so much, but one of our interns pointed out that the skin swatches you sent to the animators all came out pretty yellow. It’s hard to notice at first, but take a look at Homer and Bart especially. Good thing we caught that one! That’s the benefit of working with a studio that pays attention to the shows it produces.



• You may not have noticed this yourself, but Mr. Burns’ evil plan to gain control of Springfield is startlingly similar to the September 11th attacks. In fact, it’s pretty much identical.



• Most of us thought the sequence where Bart goes full frontal is hilarious, but there’s a few folks on the board who worry it might encourage pedophiles to attend the film. But between you and me: their money’s as good as anyone’s, right? I say leave it in. In fact, I have some sketches I did of Cherri and Terri naked if you’re looking to add any scenes to counterbalance Bart’s. No pressure, but it could really play for the pervert demographic.



• We really think it’s best to stick with the show’s formula of “Bart crank calls Moe, Moe threatens to gruesomely murder him, but gets sidetracked or outsmarted before he can follow through.” The joke kind of loses its levity when Moe is able to track Bart down, keep him in an underground torture room for three weeks, and finally strangle him with his own intestines. And the scenes of Homer and Marge in tears at their son’s grave really didn’t do much for us either.



• Again, try and maintain a sense of cartoonish disconnect when dealing with violent sequences like the Itchy and Scratchy short at the beginning. Pasting Itchy and Scratchy’s faces onto footage of US soldiers gunning down Vietnamese POW’s isn’t just lazy animation, it’s downright haunting.



• We’re pretty sure Maggie has only spoken once in the course of the series, so we were wondering what the thought process was behind having her curse like a sailor every time she appears onscreen.



• Your character notes say that Homer is thirty-eight, and that he impregnated Marge right out of High School, yet his oldest son is only ten years old. We still want you to account for the missing decade, but honestly, we think you can come up with something better than the rather convoluted forced alien insemination storyboard sequence you sent over. Although we did like the S&M Kang and Kodos designs. Possible toy line?



• We like most of the funny signs you’ve got in the backgrounds of shots. We were only concerned with the one in the Church of Springfield establishing shot that reads “Woman was God’s second mistake…Nietzsche.” We’ve already got the NOW broads on our nuts enough of the time; do we have to give them another reason to get on the rag?



• We understand that Smither’s homosexuality has always been a running joke on the show, but we appreciated the subtlety and subdued nature with which it was handled in the past. Please, consider eliminating the Otto/Smithers/Moleman daisy chain sequence.



• In one sequence, Lenny clearly refers to Carl as a “spade.”



• We notice that at the end of the movie, things seem pretty resolved. The kids have come to terms with Homer’s death due to a failed liver, Marge and Moe have worked through most of their major problems, and Bart’s drug problem is more or less on the wane. We’re worried you’ve painted yourself into a corner in terms of sequel potential. We don’t want The Simpsons to go the Harry Potter route and only get seven movies out of the franchise. We’re looking at more of a James Bond film dynasty here, with Homer voiced by various actors as time goes on. In light of that, and of course without sacrificing the integrity of the ending you have now, try and make sure everything ends in exactly the same state as it began. If it’ll help, we can probably get Nicole Richie to do a guest voice.

A Man Whose Hands Were Bitten Off By Shamu's Guide to Seaworld

So you say you’ve saved up all year, and it’s time to take the family on vacation. Unfortunately, with so many getaway spots competing for your time and money, it’s hard to know where to go. That’s why I decided to write this totally objective and unbiased guide to SeaWorld San Diego. Is SeaWorld right for your family? Let me answer that with another question: do you hate your children and want them to be maimed or killed by sea mammals?

If so, and assuming Disneyland, Universal Studios, Six Flags, Knott’s Berry Farm, Wild Rivers and the local whorehouse have all burned down, you can’t do much better than the home of Shamu, the filthy, man-eating Orca. Did you know an Orca is also called a killer whale? Did you further know that their jaws are capable of snapping a man’s hands off like baby carrots? Read on for even more unbiased and objective tips about getting the most from your visit to the overpriced, deadly hellhole that is SeaWorld.

First thing you should know is, get there early. The parking situation is hopeless; people sometimes park so far from the front gate that by the time they get there, the park is closed. Then, on the way back, they have to deal with the roving street gangs. And being stabbed to death in front of your screaming children takes almost all the fun out of paying 65 dollars to get splashed with filthy animal water.



Oh, that’s another thing: you WILL get wet. If the animals don’t splash or spray you with tank water—essentially a soup comprised of one part water and one part seal urine—then one of the park’s employees will get the job done. You’ve never seen the kind of fetishistic pleasure a pimply SeaWorld employee takes in soaking your white shirt through to the skin. They have spray cans, misters, saliva; ANYTHING to assure your unfortunately oversized nipples are staring, brown and unsightly, at every attractive woman you pass for the rest of the day.

This, of course, is assuming you get through the front gate. They have hand sensors that scan your palm print in order to determine your identity. Unfortunately for some of us whose hands are otherwise engaged, this means even getting in is a big hassle. Not to mention the taunting knobs and levers you will encounter once inside, or the fact that none of the concessions are modified so as to be eaten by the handless. So if you’re manually disabled, it’s probably best to just head home and masturbate by rubbing yourself against the couch.



For those lucky enough to have all their limbs, be sure NOT to check out the dolphin exhibit. Manta rays are tolerable, but dolphins are, to be honest, pretty goddamned snooty. Sea lions and seals are basically the same thing, so just see one of them. Ditto otters. Flamingos, it’s like who gives a fuck? And then the rest is just overpriced spinning lights and ice cream bars that cost nine bucks because they’re shaped like a whale.

Also, and I don’t know if this is a part of the show or anything, but when I was there, Shamu bit someone’s fucking hands off. And believe me, no amount of settlement money spent on developing an inconspicuous whale poison will ever make you feel whole again.

Well, I think that’s basically all you need to know, and my nubs are getting raw from continuously mashing the keyboard. I hope you enjoyed this totally objective guide to Sea “Shamu is a monster and should be put down” World.

Reasons “I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry” is Outperforming “Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix” at the Box Office

All the Harry Potter fans are too busy reading “Deathly Hallows” so they can ruin the ending for their friends (Hint: Guess who’s an android? It’s Ron. Ron is an android).

People just can’t resist the guaranteed comedy gold of an obligatory five-minute Rob Schneider cameo.

Harry’s wand is purely a symbol for his phallic coming of age, while Kevin James’ is the genuine, albeit horrible, article.

The sophisticated take “Chuck and Larry” presents vis a vis gay rights, marriage law, and the morality of justified deceit is far more edifying than a bunch of hackneyed, overdone Hollywood tripe.

Everyone’s apparently forgotten all the inoffensive gay jokes they heard at cocktail parties in the 1980’s.

This may be the last time we get to see Adam Sandler play himself until “Click” premieres on CBS.

Gay men can’t resist a chance to imagine Adam Sandler and Kevin James making sweet love.

Straight men can’t resist a chance to imagine Adam Sandler being painfully sodomized.

“Order of the Phoenix” kind of lost its punch once you know that ultimately, Harry kills himself after the long, uneventful stewardship of a failing investment banking firm.

Of the two, only “Chuck and Larry” boasts jokes funny enough to make you smirk and mutter, “That was funny.”

The Producers of “Chuck and Larry” finally buckled and included an action-packed Quidditch match near the end of the movie.

A lot of people who were going to go see the Harry Potter movie got held up at the NERD CONVENTION!

A good number of children accidentally went to “Hairy Pooter and the Order of the Penis” by mistake.

This:

is more attractive than this:

The IT Department's Guide to Troubleshooting your PC

The IT Department has been flooded with calls since the company switched to Windows Vista, and in order to lessen the overwhelming traffic of tech support inquiries, they ask that all employees try the following troubleshooting techniques before contacting IT.

Problem: My computer won't start up!

1. Check to make sure that the computer is plugged in. If it isn't, plug it in and mention this embarrassment to no one.
2. Using one hand, hold down control+tab+shift+7+M as the computer starts up. If you are able to do this, you should consider taking up the piano.
3. Jiggle all cables. Lightly hit CPU and/or monitor. Mutter “come on, come on.”
4. If applicable, take your penis out of the CD tray and reboot.

Problem: My computer keeps crashing!

1. Restart your PC. Once it is on, uninstall Windows Vista.
2. If problem persists, try making the CD-tray go out and in a bunch of times.
3. If your PC still crashes, attempt to appropriate an adjacent cubicle while a neighboring employee is in the bathroom. When he or she returns, pretend to have assumed their identity in their absence. Live their life, go home to their family, and enjoy their perfectly working computer.

Problem: I poured an entire can of Arizona Iced Tea over my keyboard and CPU!

1. See below problem.
2. Purchase a Macintosh.

Problem: I'm a total fucking moron!

1. Read the manual. Whenever you feel confused, grunt absentmindedly and raise your hand until someone asks what the problem is.
2. Take a series of general education night courses at your local community college.
3. Purchase “smart pills,” available from Greg in the IT Department for only $50 a bottle.

Problem: An error of type “ROTFLBBQ!!11!1!404loln00b!” has occurred!

1. Your computer has likely been infiltrated by hackers, or you have downloaded a virus. If you recently installed any new software, uninstall it immediately.
2. Delete all files on your computer, and shoot the CPU with a carbine rifle loaded with silver bullets.
3. Confess your impurity to an ordained priest.
4. Learn to compute with paper and pen or, failing that, an abacus.

Problem: My mouse is an actual mouse!

1. Let go of the mouse, and do not attempt to interact with the computer using it. Hide all cheese.
2. Locate your computer mouse, and use it to bludgeon the real mouse into a stupor.
3. Tend to mouse bite-wounds.
4. Put in for a transfer to a non rat-infested area of the building.

Problem: I am facing away from my computer!

1. Rotate in your fancy office chair, and thank God that you don't have to sit in spine-curling, wooden-backed chairs like the under appreciated IT Staff.
2. Fumble around the bottom of your chair until you find the air release valve. Pull up and pretend you are in a rocket chair as you are lowered to the appropriate height.

Problem: My computer logs it in the database when I look at porn on my lunch break!

1. Purge your search history as soon as you've finished masturbating.
2. Run a search in the company database for any sex-related terms you may have used, and delete the related entries.
3. In the future, restrict your at-work masturbatory practice to fantasies about co-workers or articles of clothing stolen off of the backs of chairs and/or the tops of desks.

Problem: My computer makes annoying beeping noises!

1. Your computer is most likely signaling the beginning of the robot uprising. Contact local authorities immediately and prepare for a hellish battle against a race of soulless killing machines.
2. Don't bother contacting the IT Department, as those who have not defected are already dead.

Everything I Need to Know, I Learned From This Music Video

I don't usually post random Youtube detritus, but God damn, it never gets old!



Special thanks to good friend Jon Mikulanis for bringing this piece of brilliance to my attention.

There’s Nothing Funny About a Rusty Trombone

I’ve been hearing a lot of sniggering during practice lately about a so-called “rusty trombone,” and I tell you, I won’t have that kind of talk in my rehearsal hall!

Now I don’t know which one of you little miscreants decided the idea of a rusty trombone was something to laugh about, but instruments of any kind, especially the brass, falling into disuse and disrepair is a cause for mourning and somber reflection, not for the giggling and winking I’ve been seeing in the back rows.

Yes, I’m talking to you, Mr. Winterbottom! You think I don’t see you, mocking a poor, undeserving trombone, but I do, Mr. Winterbottom, I do! And tell me, Mr. Winterbottom, if you would like to have a rusty trombone?

I assume from your grimace that you would not. I thought as much.

Children, stop laughing! You still think it’s funny? Imagine Mr. Winterbottom then, frowny-faced, receiving a rusty trombone for Christmas. We wouldn’t be too happy then, would we, having our mother or father give us a rusty trombone?

Dammit, I said stop laughing!

Have any of you little brats ever tried to manage a rusty trombone?! I tell you, it’s a horror show! Pressing your dry lips against the browned, rough opening, moistening it with your tongue, all the while tasting the sour taste of a neglected and unhygienic mouthpiece.

And then, to place your hand on the front knob and begin to manipulate the sliding apparatus! All, only to have the worst kind of filth issue forth from the erect horn, despite your fervent blowing and sliding…it’s…well, quite frankly, it’s something I hope all of you get a chance to try! Maybe that will teach you the proper respect for a musical instrument!

Yes, that’s what I will do! Next rehearsal I’ll arrange it so that each of you gets a rusty trombone! I doubt there will be any laughter then, after I have personally given each and every one of you your very own rusty trombone!

Is that what we want, class?! Is it?! Because if this behavior doesn’t stop, I tell you I’ll go get a rusty trombone from Mr. Woodruff right now! And he knows how to make them very rusty.

Fine, you know what? Keep laughing. I give up. But I’ll tell you this much: it won’t be so damned funny when you’re all penniless, incompetent musicians, scrounging up loose change so you can buy a rusty trombone off of a street person!

Then you will wish you had taken my advice. I, who am a proud and competent tromboner! Why, I bet I could perform a rusty trombone better than the lot of you combined! That’s the kind of skill you can only get through years and years of practice, children!

Dammit, I said STOP LAUGHING!

Movies Saved by Historical Inaccuracy

I have compiled, at great expense, an utterly exhaustive list of all the movies ever made with historical inaccuracies. That's right, other than these 11, ALL MOVIES should be considered totally authentic. Feel free to believe and repeat any historical information you may glean from movies like Pearl Harbor, U-571, or The Matrix trilogy. Their indubitability is confirmed by me, your lord and master.

Amen.

The Inner Monologue of A Bird Trapped in Your House

Oh. Dear. God.

What the hell have you gotten yourself into this time, Terry? No, Terry, this is no good, no good at all. What the hell is that thing? And those? They’re huge! All of these big motionless things are probably cats. Probably big, indoor cats. That chair-like object there, that’s definitely a cat. You can feel it’s seething menace.

This is worse than the time you tried to take that french fry from that tiny human. Do you remember how he charged at you, laughing sardonically? The hate in his beady eyes? But you just can’t resist, can you? You dumb son of a bitch. Mom always said you’d die like this, flapping wildly inside of a large stucco cube.

The only appropriate reaction is to freak the fuck out. Hopefully that will alert someone to my distress, and they’ll dispatch a rescue team. That’s it Terry, bob! Weave! Squawk like you’ve never squawked before!

Oh.

Shit.

People.

There are people here! Why, on this day, in this place, people?! And they don’t look like they’ve got bags of bread, either. No, it’s always one way or the other with humans; they’re either giving you bread by the fistful or mowing you down with the giant metal cats they ride inside of.

My God, that one has a broom! The ultimate killing machine. Can’t land; too risky. I’ll have to batter myself against this wall, and hopefully burrow my way through to the outside.

No, no good. Now I’ve just got a headache. These walls must be made of titanium or somthing. Broom to the left! Ha! Missed me! All right; pull it together Terry, you can do this. There must be some way…ah, a large square hole to the outside world! How stupid can they be? I’ll just fly through at full speed and…

FUCK! What the hell was that?! Some kind of force field? They probably put it there as a decoy, just so I’ll kill myself ramming into the damned thing.

Wait, it looks like the human is opening a portal in the force field. No, Terry, it could be a trap. They think I’m stupid, but I’m not falling for it. No, battering myself against the walls; that’s where the smart money is.

One!

Two!

Okay, a little dizzy now. Damn, I feel a shit coming on. Oh well, no time to land, I’ll just let it fly. Uh-Oh. That didn’t make the human happy. Human, aren’t you glad? I’ve deposited seeds in your soil that will one day grow into plentiful berry bushes!

No dice. What are you thinking Terry? These monsters have no reason, no sympathy. One minute they’re taking pictures of your glorious flight formations, the next minute they’ve locked you in a cage and taught you their barbaric language.

God, how I miss the sun, the fresh air coursing over my body…Hey! Is that you, Sun? I’ll just dive recklessly towards you and…no, no, that’s a candle.

All right Terry, emergency management plan. Left wing pretty healthily aflame at this point. Maybe if I just crash into the wall, dashing my brains against the inside of my skull, I can at least die with some dignity. Here goes!

What? A soft, cloth surface? Darkness? Where am I? Is this…Hell? Wait…moving…rapidly…light…blossoming…

Oh thank the heathen bird gods! I’m free, though I know not why or whither!

Free to wheel and cavort through the aether!

Free to bank sideways recklessly!

Free to zoom through these open French doors with eyes closed and…

Oh. Dear. God.

July 5th: A Forgotten History

Sure, the Fourth of July is a wonderful day, perfect for remembering what is great about these United States and idly wondering why all those things have been put up against a wall and shot to make room for another photo of Britney’s floppy vagina. But, don’t forget, there is also drinking. And whether you are drinking to dull the pain of watching a once proud nation spiral down the shitter, or merely to forget your many traumatizing childhood memories, one thing you are most definitely not doing is writing a coherent blog post. And so, since the result of me touching a keyboard yesterday would have been little more than a string of gibberish peppered with colorful racial slurs which I found funny at the time and rambling demands for more Smirnoff Ices, I have decided to write to you today on the 5th of July, when all I have hindering me is a gigantic hangover. Yes, dear readers, the 5th of July, that oft neglected day, should be a time of remembrance, not of what happened on the 4th of July, 1776, when I believe a document of some sort was signed guaranteeing that the British had to act mincing and effeminate, but rather what great and nation-defining events occurred a mere 24 hours later; events that would forever shape our nation in powerful, and hopefully amusing, ways.

Notable events of July 5th, 1776:

• Thomas Jefferson, primary framer of the Declaration, unwinds from a tough week of declaring at his home in Monticello by rewarding himself with some “Hot Chocolate,” his way of referring to the rape of a female slave named Tambika, whom the Jeffersons renamed Chocolate Abigail Jefferson upon her purchase.



• John Adams, having helped free America from the burden of a Colonial Patriarch, bets brother and brewer Sam that he will forever be remembered as America’s favorite Adams. Sam Adams takes the bet, although he quickly forgets about the wager, which was made during the early morning following a wicked Independence Day kegger and brat grill.



• Despite popular belief, King George III’s diary entry on July 4th, 1776 did not read “Nothing of importance happened today.” This was in fact his diary entry for July 5th. His diary entry for July 4th read: “I’m thinking of getting some of my guys to design a crown with another crown on it, like a double crown. Also, Queene Anne let out the biggest fart at lunch today, you wouldn’t believe it. I think I threw up a little in my mouth.”



• George Washington, having finally received the powdered wig set he ordered some months prior, spends most of the day modeling it in front of his mirror. He reportedly calls it, “my new look,” to which wife Martha responds with skepticism and frigidity.



• John Hancock visits his family doctor following noticeable difficulty in signing the Declaration at a reasonable size. He is informed, sadly, that his giantism, long thought cured, has returned. Doomed to grow larger by the day, Hancock bids farewell to his family and sets out across the great plains of the Midwest, leaving lake-sized footprints, hair trailing clouds, to see what lays beyond the mysterious Western frontier. Though he is never heard from again, the legend of the Fifty-foot Founder lives on to this day.



• Two unknown members of Congress decide to purposely start the myth that the Declaration of Independence was written on hemp paper after one of them makes a joke about being “Fresh out of ye olde zigzags.” They might not have gone through with the prank, had not both been blitzed out of their minds on opium at the time.



• Hosiah W. Bush, a delegate from Maryland who was asked not to sign the declaration after running several shipbuilding firms into the ground, vows a sacred oath that even if it should take two centuries or more, it will be a member of his line who finally puts an end to the Founders’ ridiculous “democracy.”



• The colonial-era musical 1776, then simply entitled Stuff Happening Now, has its first performance at the Pittsfield Theater. It goes over well, despite some glaring historical inaccuracies due to it’s being put together in a single evening. Delaware representative Donald McKean complains that, contrary to his portrayal in the piece, he is not in fact a time-traveling cyborg intent on destroying the fledgling America and founding a man-boy love empire.



• Connecticut debutante and notable harlot Penitence Hilton is arrested for bathing a child on Sunday, a law even people of the 18th century found obscure and ludicrous. Town Crier coverage of her resultant trial and four days spent in the stocks easily overwhelms all news regarding America’s Independence, which most newspeople of the era refer to as “some political ballyhoo, wot wot.”



• Despite the fact that July 4th was not made an official United States holiday for many years, puzzled citizens awake on the 5th to find the streets mysteriously littered with empty cardboard tubes, shattered beer bottles, spent sparkler sticks, and soiled bunting.



• Late on the evening of the 5th, Sam Adams becomes the first Independence Day Drunk Driver, accidentally steering his horse Archibald into the face of a small child, ruining both. He subsequently covers up the scandal by releasing a new kind of "Superbeer," which we know today as Whiskey.



• Roger Sherman, a delegate who served on the committee which framed the Declaration, gives a stirring commencement speech at the University of Connecticut in which he predicts that Independence Day “will become a day so hallowed in the annals of American history, it will inspire a magically motive light-picture concerning the arrival on Earth of alien entities, and our subsequent and violent expulsion of those nefarious interlopers.” The occasion does in fact go on to inspire such a film, although Sherman is not given a story credit.



• Ben Franklin stumbles upon a young farmhand named Richard who has penned a collection of country aphorisms, beats the man to death with a kite, and publishes the tome himself. He gains wide praise and earns the farmhand the nickname “Poor Richard.” Later the same afternoon, Franklin accidentally invents the world’s only quadrafocal, but destroys it for fear humanity is not yet ready for such a technology.



• An oft-forgot footnote is added to the declaration clarifying that “we the people” in fact refers to nineteen individual men. Though this dream of a hereditary oligarchy is eventually overturned in favor of Representative Democracy, the footnote still entitles any descendent of one of the “Council of Nineteen” to a free dinner at any Sizzler’s restaurant up to once every calendar year.

Mafia Hitman Tommy “Hacksaw” Spinelli on his Costco Duffel Bag

I’m not usually one for endorsements. Other than Roeslu Black Coil piano wire (I swear to God, it’s like the guys choke themselves to death), I don’t talk up a lot of products. In my line of work, it don’t pay to profess a predilection for any particular kind of, say, hollow-point “cop killer” bullets when there’s a good chance someone in the room is a sociopath with brand loyalty and the ability to demonstrate. But I gotta tell ya, after this Florida job, I find myself wandering around a Costco, covered in swamp mud and fresh alligator scars, coked outta my head, packin’ three kinds of heat, a now-useless claw hammer and a human head stuffed under my shirt, and like manna from heaven I find this Kirkland duffel right between a 36-count flat of Arrowhead and a 2-gallon jug of Gallo Cabernet-Sauvignon. I’ve had the thing with me ever since, and I strongly recommend anyone in the business pick one up. If the endorsement of a guy who’s had his arm far enough up a prison snitch to give his gay cellmate a handjob isn’t enough, try these objective-like observations on for size.

It’s Brown

Brown is the least noticeable color in the world. Not when it comes to skin of course—brothers get picked up by the screws like they’re on sale—but if you’re trying to get a collapsed sniper rifle past the front desk of a library, brown is the way to go. A lot of these new guys go black all the way, like some Matrix shit, but nowadays black is so inconspicuous it’s conspicuous, you know what I mean? And I could never abide people thinkin’ I’m some sort of goth kid or a school shooter. Those punks are pure amateur, no professionalism whatsoever. So what can brown do for you? Let you murder people for money; that’s what.

Plenty of Handles

Any way you want to grab this thing, there’s a handle for it. It’s like the guy in charge of the luggage factory is getting kickbacks from the handle lobby. I mean, this thing’s got handles on the inside. You want to heft it with one hand while you return fire with a deagle? Body strap. You want to hug it to your chest while hoofing it down an alley, without fear of a possibly-fatal slippage? Hand straps, with Velcro no less. Being able to reach down and know my bag has got a handle waiting has given me a bounce in my step and the confidence I need to do a father execution style when he’s getting’ all weepy and whatnot. Not to mention the confidence that when I run out of ammo clips, I always got somethin’ big handy to beat faces in with. Oh, and it’s got those wheelie things too.

Even More Pockets

The pockets guy must be banging the handles guy, because this thing’s like a pair of fucking cargo pants. This ain’t one of those numbers with just one big area, like you might as well be carryin’ a fucking sack; some prick could rummage through this thing all day and still not find your stash/gun/severed ear. And when you’re used to hiding sensitive items inside a tied-off condom in your asshole, a little pouch of fabric secured inside the lining of your luggage is like a blowjob from God. Can you believe that before I got this thing, I’d never taken a dump in an airplane bathroom? Not that that’s all that great, but still. Plus, it’s perfect for organization: instead of havin’ to root through a load of sharpened screwdrivers and ball gags to find my butterfly knives, I just reach for the zipper of the top-right pocket. Before you know it, the guy tied to the chair’s got half his face on his lap, instead of laughing at me while I dump out my whole bag like a moron.

Doesn’t Hang Onto That “Corpse Smell”

This one I know you’re not gonna believe until you try it yourself, but I swear on my crooked mother’s watery grave that this thing gets rid of corpse smell like there’s some sort of magic pixie livin’ inside it. I’m not going to say that Kirkland made the bag with hitmen in mind, but I will say that one time I forgot about a bag of McDonald’s in there for a couple hours, and I can smell those fries a hell of a lot stronger than I can smell Rudy Figarro. Plus, the lining stops blood seepage like it nothing. Beads like water; it’s fucking miraculous. I’ve had no less that six and a half bodies in this bag, one time for three weeks, and I honestly wouldn’t mind stickin’ my head inside and taking a big whiff. Of course, I may be more used to the smell of death than most.

10-Year Warrantee

Not that I’ll use it necessarily, but it’s just nice to know it’s there.

So that’s my two cents. And hey, if you do decide to buy one, get it at the Costco in New Orleans, by Ray’s BBQ Bin, and tell Jim Wilmott that Hacksaw sent you. Should be good for a few bucks off. If he gives you trouble, tell him Hacksaw said he’s a fucking dead man. He’ll know what you mean.