Tourists pat feeding-frenzied great whites
From the back of a dead whale, tourists in Australia patted several great white sharks which were feeding on the carcass. Australia to create laws 'to protect people too stupid to protect themselves.'

There are acceptable ways of entertaining yourself. Time tested, efficient, and much less retarded ways to add some joy to an otherwise meaningless existence. People need to quit being such jerkoffs all the time. I am not looking forward to growing old and sitting in a nursing hom listening to my fellow old coots prattle on and on about how they used to be into extreme sports. My generation wont have tall tales about fishing and wistful memories of kissing the prettiest girl in the county on the winter sleigh ride. Oh no, they're too busy para-sailing and shit.

Unacceptable forms of entertainment.

Shark petting. This is now #1 with a bullet.
Bungee jumping. The less said the better.
Climbing anything. Mountains, rocks, etc. It's not fun, I know it and you know it, let's drop the charade already.
Anti Capitalist protesting, hell, protesting in general. I don't care how loud you yell, it's pretty obvious you're really out there to prove to your buddies how "down" you are. And your cause sucks. The Gap is not "evil" Really, they aren't. The Khmer Rouge was evil. The Gap sells khakis. Anyone who can't see the difference is insane. Meat is NOT murder, and until a cow is appointed to the Supreme court, it never will be. And your protesting tactics are futile. We've seen it all before. Bunch of freakin troublemakers if you ask me.
Volunteering. It's worthwhile, but it's not "fun" and damn well shouldn't be a lifestyle. If you're not making yourself miserable, then you're not really helping anybody.
S&M, bondage, fetishes etc. Yawn. it's just a way of getting some attention. let's ignore them. Ever notice that the only people into polyamory have names like Raven Nightshade and Wolfsbane Nightcraphead loser? When girls named Tiffany and Shaniqua get into it, give me a call.

Acceptable forms of entertainment.
Drinking
masturbation
eating Ice cream
skinny dipping
playing cards
good old fashioned regular sex
mocking those who are different from you
Special Olympics. No really, I'm not mking fun. Have you seen how much fun they have? There should be olympics for everybody. With hugs at the end.

There's a new teriyaki place up on by my house called "Teriyaki
Madness" I am obsessed with "Teriyaki Madness". I haven't actually eaten
there or anything, I don't know if I'm really ready to tempt my Teriyaki
sanity just yet, but I walk by there a lot, mostly after they close, just to
look for signs of mayhem. I have this picture in my head of shirtless
teriyaki chefs snorting MSG and serving up the food in an old shoe, While a chicken pecks out your order
on an old fashioned cash register. Calliope music for sure. There's a huge sign in the window...

"FREE! 12 oz. soda with any teriyaki purchase"

THAT'S FUCKING INSANE!!!!

In world gone mad, one man made a difference. One man was unafraid to hide in the bushes of life, peek in the window of his potential, reach into his "bravery" pants, and stroke his opportunity until he shot his hot steamy success all over his "shirt".

Aw fuck, that was bad. I apologize. I'll start over, you deserve better than that. Sometimes I forget that I'm not an audience of one. There's no I in team. Sure, I woke still drunk from the night before, reeking of cheap whore, hands dirty with shame and humiliation. Yes, It's true, I didn't even brush my teeth before staggering down the the bodega for a tall can of Bud, but my bloodshot eyes were sheilded from the bright morning sun by a pair of knockoff Oakley Blades, and maybe I wasn't seeing the world clearly, but I was SEEING THE WORLD. And I'm going to be JUST FINE. And you'll never know the transformative experience of stopping the shakes before they start if all I'm willing to share is crap like "reaching into my bravery pants".

I was a little hungover, but still hungry. Man-hungry. I walked my bad self into the Winchell's for an american croissant(The french don't deserve donuts, Donuts are for winners) and set upon the task of ordering a dozen.

Ordering a dozen is a lot like life. It's about choice, but within a predetermined set of rules. There's all kinds of donuts, but you only get 12, and whatever twelve you get, it's gonna cost you. But it's gonna cost the next guy too, Nobody gets donuts for free, unless you own the donut shop, but most of us don't own donut shops, do we? There's only a few owners, and a lot of eaters. Like life, see what I mean?

Chapter 1. You want coffee with that?

When you're ordering your dozen, you start with a couple of old fashioned, and glazed raised or two. It's just how it works. Those are the building block donuts. They're like basic intelligence, or physical ability. Morality. Religion. The things we all start with in life. I can hear the naysayers in the back.."Maybe I don't want to start with old fashioneds, or glazed raised. maybe I want 12 Jelly donuts." Well shut the fuck up! Maybe if you got here on time you would have got a seat up front Mr. Smarty Pants Hemp for victory dopehead motherfucker! Try going through life without the basic building blocks. Try being a total fucking spastic, or go live in a dumpster Mr. Insaney pants! The rest of us will have a couple of glazed raised, and a couple of old fashioned. So what we've learned is that when buying a dozen donuts, we're really only choosing 8 or so donuts. Sure we "chose" the first four, and we'll get a dozen to take home, but choice-wise, what we're really talking about is 8 donuts. So the whole destiny vs. free will argument is covered right off the bat.

Chapter2:We're all in the same Gang

Next you pick out a chocolate cake donut, maybe with sprinkles, or maybe not. it's all good, and then you figure you better throw in a plain cake donut as well. Cause we're all the same on the inside, y'know? Black, White, Asian, Non-black Hispanic, or Other______, if you cut us we all bleed red. Diversity is the key to understanding, and tolerance is the glue that holds this house of cards we call America together.

Chapter 3:It must be Jelly, cause Jam don't shake like that
Now you're eying the filled donuts. Go ahead, Live a little. Get your rocks off. That's what we're talking about here. S-E-X. Your "filled" donuts symbolize your sexuality. Your lust. Gettin your freaky freak on til the break of dawn. Picking a filled donut isn't a choice. It's who you are. Do your thing. When you pick a jelly donut or two, noone knows or cares if you just bite into that motherfucker. Or maybe you nibble around the edges, waiting for that first brazen nub of jelly to peek out inviting you to lick it oh so gently. Letting the anticipation of the warm pocket of sweet jelly goodness that awaits in it's moist pocket of sweet sweet dough. But once you get to the jelly, don's stop, keep your rhythym till it's all gone, or you'll end up with jelly all down the front of your shirt, and you'll pretty much have to start over again. Keep in mind though, If you get a chocolate eclair or a Boston cream, the counterperson will pretty much assume that you're sticking your finger in there as soon as you get to the car.

Chapter4:Any other donut means you're gay
Unless of course you actually are gay, then it means you're straight. Or something. Maybe not. I know they put paxil in the maple bars. I had a cousin once who ate a blueberry cruller, and 20 minutes later he was giving some guy a bj. Which is why it's never a good idea to send baked goods to relatives in prison.

Christina who? Pink what? Nice try Shakira, but there's only room at the top for one. Britney.I Love Rock n' Roll.

Tshirts that tell the truth. It's what we need. Surely we have the technology to make a tshirt that somehow picks up on your brainwaves, parses your personality and current thoughts and emotions and instantly displays the results on the front of your shirt. Your vital statistics, your secrets, the truth. Don't try to cover that shit up either. We all have to wear them,and you're no exception. Don't like what your shirt says, do something about it. Some shirts I would have seen recently.....

I have a tiny penis.
Of course this guy doesn't need the shirt to advertise this, his slight stature, cocky attitude, and flashy new sports car spell it out pretty clearly. But the shirt could elaborate further. "I have a tiny penis, and I dont feel too good about it.' Or, "I have a tiny penis and someone's gonna pay!"

I regularly compromise everything I believe in, simply because I'm afraid to be alone
This shirt would also be see through, with little handles to make it easier to lift over the head.

I hate my parents for giving me everything I ever wanted
This shirt would have to have very large type, so it could be read from a distance, becauese nobody wants to get too close to a stinky hippie.

I have extremely low self esteem, so don't even approach me unless you plan to treat me like shit, in which case, I'd be glad to sleep with you.
This shirt would have the added bonus of lighting up lika christmas tree in the presence of anyone wearing an "Anger management problem" T-shirt.

I'm a fucking moron!
This shirt would always look just like everybody else's shirt.

I give great head
See, I told you this was a good idea.

I give great head, because I'm emotionally unstable, and way too eager to please
Or maybe not such a good idea after all.

I didn't get enough hugs as a child
Comes with your choice of accessories: A big floppy Dr.Seuss hat, a snake,a parrot, or a crippling heroin addiction.

If I just realized I was gay, I would be much nicer to women
This shirt is guaranteed to get you laid. And how!

Everybody hated me in high school, and I never really got over it
This shirt would alternate between this message and the names of obscure indie rock bands.

No really, I actually am perfect in every way
Cause I would have to wear the shirt, just like everyone else...

ipod madness I predicted this, but noone believed me. Apple fuckin rules! I am such a nerd. A horrible horrible nerd and I will die alone.

Happy Friday.

Hartman: I am Gunnery Sergeant Hartman, your Senior Drill Instructor. From now on, you will speak only when spoken to, and the first and last words out of your filthy sewers will be "Sir!" Do you maggots understand that?
Recruits: [in unison] Sir, yes, sir!
Hartman: Bullshit! I can't hear you. Sound off like you got a pair!
Recruits: [louder] Sir, yes, sir!
Hartman: If you ladies leave my island, if you survive recruit training... you will be a weapon, you will be a minister of death, praying for war. But until that day you are pukes! You're the lowest form of life on Earth. You are not even human fucking beings! You are nothing but unorganized grabasstic pieces of amphibian shit! Because I am hard, you will not like me. But the more you hate me, the more you will learn. I am hard, but I am fair! There is no racial bigotry here! I do not look down on niggers, kikes, wops or greasers. Here you are all equally worthless! And my orders are to weed out all non-hackers who do not pack the gear to serve in my beloved Corps! Do you maggots understand that?
Recruits: [in unison] Sir, yes, sir!
Hartman: Bullshit! I can't hear you!
Recruits: [louder] Sir, yes, sir!
Hartman: What's your name, scumbag?
Snowball (Peter Edmund): [shouting] Sir, Private Brown, sir!
Hartman: Bullshit! From now on you're Private Snowball! Do you like that name?
Snowball: [shouting] Sir, yes, sir!
Hartman: Well, there's one thing that you won't like, Private Snowball! They don't serve fried chicken and watermelon on a daily basis in my mess hall!
Snowball: Sir, yes, sir!
Joker (Matthew Modine): [whispering] Is that you, John Wayne? Is this me?
Hartman: Who said that? Who the fuck said that? Who's the slimy little Communist shit twinkle-toed cocksucker down here, who just signed his own death warrant? Nobody, huh?! The fairy fucking godmother said it! Out-fucking-standing! I will P.T. you all until you fucking die! I'll P.T. you until your assholes are sucking buttermilk. Was it you, you scroungy little fuck, huh?!
Cowboy (Arliss Howard): Sir, no, sir!
Hartman: You little piece of shit! You look like a fucking worm! I'll bet it was you!
Cowboy: Sir, no, sir!
Joker: Sir, I said it, sir!
Hartman: Well ... no shit. What have we got here, a fucking comedian? Private Joker? I admire your honesty. Hell, I like you. You can come over to my house and fuck my sister.
[Sergeant Hartman smashes Joker in the stomach, sending Joker to his knees.] Hartman: You little scumbag! I've got your name! I've got your ass! You will not laugh! You will not cry! You will learn by the numbers and I will teach you! Now get up! Get on your feet! You had best unfuck yourself or I will unscrew your head and shit down your neck!
Joker: Sir, yes, sir!