Bad Guy Hideout

Cosmo’s guide to teaching young, impressionable high school girls how to be skanks is now on sale at your local supermarket check-out aisle. Which is my favorite aisle because of the “don’t forget you need” section. You know- the hand santizer, lighters, lint rollers, Junior Mints, home pregnancy tests, deck of cards section.   I’d like to know who decided the universal items to stock there. Because I’ve never been in a check-out aisle and thought, “Ya know? This reminds me, I might be pregnant.” or “They’re right, I *am* running low on lighters with a horses on them.” If I were to stock that aisle, I’d put things you completely forget you need until you see them. Like birthday cards and vitamin D and Old El Paso make-your-own-taco kits.

Anyway, poor Carrie Underwood, standing so pretty next to such ugly copy. “Garrrr Look Here Girls! I show you how to touch naked man. Then we gather stick and rocks and saber tooth tiger bones. Gaaarrrrr. “

Last week, Bad Guy Becky went to Tennessee to visit our friend who was there for work. They ate at Sugar’s Ribs. A bbq rib joint that also sells goats.

Here is the true story of Sugar’s Ribs, as told by Becky.

“L and I went to a place called “Sugar’s Ribs” on the side of a mountain in Tennessee because the people at the hotel’s desk recommended it when I asked for good local southern food that was not a cheesy chain restaurant.  MISTAKE. So we go to SUGARS and I get ribs and L gets a salad.  So I start eating my “ribs” and drinking my draft Miller Light.

All of a sudden L points out the fact that there are a bunch of construction paper arrows pointing to the back door.  Dear jesus.   There are also lots of pictures of goats in frames near the door.  Then I look at the door and it says “GOATS.”  Then a little kid in the place starts talking about how the goat licked her face…. and then she proceeds to eat some fucking ribs.   At this point it’s just too late.  L thinks the ribs are actually made of goat.  I start to feel nauseous and my back hurts like SERIOUSLY bad. I think it was my kidneys being subjected to the toxin.  L says “you don’t have to eat that…lets get out of here”.   Yes.  We walk outside into the parking lot and instantly smell fresh vomit.  Well fuck me in the ass … at this point I knew I would get sick and maybe die.   I wasn’t completely dead yet so I said “lets go get some ice cream..maybe it’ll make me feel better”.

(read more about barfing after the break…)
Read the rest of this entry »

My mother is an intelligent, well-educated woman who is not a teen. This is what she has been “up to” lately…

I like that she did Edward’s face first so he can watch over her as she finishes the rest of the jigsaw puzzle, like the guardian angel vampire teen lord he is.

Because Bad Guy Lindsey may have chained and gagged it. Are you familiar with the Garden Gnome Liberationists? Those who take garden gnomes and set them free into the wild? Or the Travelling Garden Gnome Prank where people steal their neighbors’ garden gnomes and travel around the globe with them, merrily taking pictures with them and then send the photos back to the original owner as a sick form of gnome torture?  Well none of that has to do with this.

Are you there, God? It’s me, Heidi Montag.  Or as I prefer you to call me when we’re alone: Sister Mary Sengwi Jujubai Jesus. Hey God. I like your purse. Anyhow, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about a few things. People have been really critical of me lately, God. Really hurtful and judgmental. At first I thought it was because of my controversial Hermes Jesus crucifiction scarf but then I realized it’s because of my recent 10 plastic surgeries on my face and not my face. (Body.) Sorry, I can’t say b’s very well, it hurts my fragile but perfect jaw.

Anyhow, what they don’t realize is what we talk about, God. That a body is just a shell and inner beauty is inside. And if my inner beauty inside thinks I’m ugly and disgusting and malformed, well then it’s okay with Jesus to change it. That is what inner beauty is all about. It’s about allowing a surgeon to cut open your boobs with a sharp knife, shove a beach ball sized sack of gel into it, sew it up, wipe the blood off, give me drugs and then be ssssssssmokin’ hot in 8 weeks.

If God didn’t want people to get plastic surgery, why did he create plastic surgeons?

If God didn’t want women to have huge fake boobs, why did he create giant sacks of saline?

If God didn’t want me to be a pop star, why did he bless me with this angel voice I will be able to use just as soon as my face and jaw are not swollen from multiple surgeries and my auto-tune machine is repaired?

If God didn’t want anorexia, why did he create cigarettes and mustard?

If God didn’t want World War I to happen, why did he have the giant orange bird swoop out of the sky and murder Archduke Ferdinand in Orange Julius? Or was that Avatar? Whatever.

If God didn’t want God, why did he God to God God God?

God, I ask for the strength of Jesus and Jesus’ super strong friend, Nate, to get me through this tough time.  I need your strength to get through this harsh criticism, like when Billy Bush called me “barbie”. I know you have the power God, it’s not like there has been a major catastrophic event in another part of the world, injuring hundreds of thousands and leaving many suffering, so I know you have time to give me the strength I need to recover physically and mentally and emotionaly and Jesusally. Peace out.

Love and hugs and bishops and shit,

Sister Mary Sengwi Jujubai Jesus

(heidi xoxo)

It’s bad guy wedding weekend, and it kicks off tonight with a rehearsal dinner concert. So in honor of it, here are vintage band pictures of The Debut:

The Debut at Pizzaria Uno, circa 2003. Yeah, they served deep dish pizza AND let bands play. What great management.

The Debut at The Tornado room, circa 2005.

*All images taken by Bad Guy Becky, which is why they are out of focus, grainy and taken with a disposable camera. Click. Craaaaaank. Click. Press button for flash. Wait. Wait. Red light. Click. Craaaaank. Click. Craaaaaaaank. Take to Walgreens. See photos in 7 days. That’s how Becky rolls.

I think we as humans of the earth need to watch more classic cartoons. And since I grew up identifying with Daffy Duck, specifically, Chuck Jones’ Daffy Duck, I am posting Ali Baba Bunny. And so, developmental psychologists, if I idolized a vain, sarcastic, sloppy, highly excitable, jealous, sneaky, competitive duck at age four,  was I probably plagued with flaws earlier than I suspected? Yes? Ok. Time to watch this cartoon and brush my pretty hair.

As an avid left-handed doodler, I spent my youth with a pen and marker-stained left hand. (And sometimes orange due to my childhood Cheetos Paws addiction.) If only I had something to show for my doodles back then, like an official online submission to The Hello Project for example! The Hello Project is an online social collaboration utilizing “one of today’s most common yet neglected canvases: the Post-it®” to say ‘ello!  Exciting. The website instructs: “take a 3×3 Post-it® and write/sketch/doodle your version of hello. Scan it, email it to hi@thehelloproject.com, and then we’ll post it for everyone to see.” This is very exciting for Us Bad Guys who may or may not be diagnosed with restless hand syndrome, which is similar to restless leg syndrome only not as creepy. And with hands.  And sometimes with punching things.

You’ve probably noticed today is “National Post Your Bra Color on Facebook to Raise Awareness For Breast Cancer Day ” but I’d like to re-title it as: “National Pervs From High School Jerk Off While Picturing Girls From Their Past In Their Bras Night.” As for me, I am a lady and do not share my bra color with anyone.  Because, as my late great-great-great grandmother used to say, “If you want to know my bra color, you’re going to have to seduce me. Or pour water on my head when I’m wearing my white cuirasse bodice.”

I mean, why not?

Subject: Death and vomit.

Death. And vomit. I want to die and vomit. Hung. Over. LAX. Missed you last night!!!!  Vodka, vodka, whiskey shot. Matt and I smoke his pipe. Make out with Eric in the bathroom.  Vodka, vodka, gin and cranberry. Matt and I smoke his pipe. Professional photographer with seaside backdrop. Not kidding. Vodka, vodka, vodka. Make out with Eric in bathroom. Lisa arrives mad that they had to wait outside for 20 minutes because Tim wasnt amswering buzzer. My shoes unofficially crowned best at party. Dance with Jake on coffee table. Jake knocks me off, but in an amazing blip of coordination, catches me before I crack my skull open. Vodka, gin, vodka. Someone spills drink on my head. Im mad. Make out with Eric in the bathroom. Vodka. Tim spills vodka into my left best shoe at the party. Gin. Dance, dance, dance with Stacie. Drink, drink, drink. Kiss Matt under misteltoe. Wasted. Leave. Home. Realize phone is still at Tim’s. Mad. Eric takes me back to Tim’s, finds phone, saves day. Make out, make out, make out, grilled cheese. Wake up, want to die, airport, email you. Hugs and kisses and misses. Can’t wait to see the pictures. Asdghkffadgjljgfa

Sent from my iPhone

May 2010 be filled with joy, laughter, and a movie entitled “Michael Cera Screams” where Michael Cera just screams loudly and aggressively for 90 minutes.

(Which was also my prediction on Badly Drawn Monsters. Us Bad Guys have high hopes for this…)

Seriously though, I don’t wish physical harm on anyone (except murderers and rapists and that ugly thing called a “ped egg” they sell at Walgreens) but I am genuinely surprised no one has punched this guy in the face yet. Not even a little tap on the hand. Where has chivalry gone? Is punching a guy in the face who beat up a lady so wrong these days? Last I checked, when Snookie got punched in the face on Jersey Shore, The Situation was there to punch someone in the face.* So it’s not completely gone, right?

If this was 1993, and a rapper beat up a sweet lady, he would have for sure gotten punched in the face by Tupac in Vegas casino.

If this was a fictional movie based upon a best-selling novel of the same name, well, we all know what happened to Carlo Rizzi when Sonny found out he beat up Connie, now don’t we?

Now, let’s not get out of hand, I don’t want anything bad to happen to this man. I’m just sayin’ I’m surprised nothing has happened. No one has even filled a glove full of lime Jell-o and slapped him across the face. No one has taken a wad of 100 bills and lightly tapped him across the head and then fanned him with it.  Also, if the rap community/local police read this, I’m a girl in her jammies watching a 90210 re-run so please don’t hurt me/I have nothing to do with anything involving the conspiracy to punch Chris Brown in the face. I’m just asking….

*I don’t really like this show, I’m just using it for support of my argument, which perhaps makes the opposite point I intended.

This fence, standing at three feet in height, is apparently the coolest fucking fence in Wisconsin. So many teens must flock to climb on this fence that the local authorities felt the need to post this most threatening and imposing warning sign.

why do all german shepards look like cops? (right?)

no comment. just saying that regular gatorade is not on clearance…

I laugh out loud every single time I watch it. (Which in an ideal world, would be everyday at 3PM in my pajamas while I eat Lucky Charms).  Who are these people? Why they are : Schadenfreude.

Today, the ever informative and insightful Huffington Post Living Section wrote an extensive one thousand word article about the “5 Realities of Being a Mistress” which could have been summed up into one sentence called, “you are not really important.” So read it if you want to waste your time but I’d like to offer up a list that may be more helpful:

5 Actual Realities of Being a Mistress

1. You might get AIDS. The reality is, his wife might have AIDS.  Or his wife might be getting AIDS pretty soon and then he’ll have it and then you will. This is especially a reality if you drink each other’s blood.

2. You probably won’t get a Valentine’s Day present. Is there any reason to be with a man if you’re not going to get a Valentine’s Day present? If you have not the slightest chance of seeing a Katherine Heigl movie and getting a heart shaped box full of chocolates that all have surprise pink shit in the middle? I think not.

3. Sometimes The Four Seasons will be booked. And then you will have to have sex in a Marriott Courtyard. There’s nothing more embarassing than being the mistress who gets taken to the Marriott Courtyard. What will you tell your other mistress friends when they tell stories about the Ritz Carlton or Chateau Marmont? That after he banged you he took you out for a romantic, complimentary continental breakfast of orange juice and Rice Krispies boxes? This is the reality, ladies.

4. You are not Joan Holloway. You are Skank Molloway.

5. You’re going to have to give a lot of blow jobs. Most men cheat because they don’t get blow jobs from their wives while they eat meat lovers pizza and watch the Dallas Cowboys and they’re going to want you to do that for them. And the grossest part about giving a blow job is also having to smell meat lovers pizza when you do it. This is the reality of being a mistress.

INT. MIDWAY AIRPORT CONFERENCE ROOM – DAY

Airport managers, Bob and Mindy, sit at a long conference table, arguing. A bowl of jelly beans sits at one end. The flourecsent light above them flickers. They’ve been sitting there for three hours.

BOB: This is impossible. We’re never going to make people happy at our airport.

Mindy takes a bite of a BLACK JELLY BEAN. She gags and spits it into a napkin.

MINDY: Ew, I thought that was purple. Bob, this is pointless. Airports will never be a fun place.

The radio starts to play a “Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer” cover, by local band, Sheryl and Tom. Bob taps his foot.

MINDY: If only there was something…

BOB: Hey! What if we got a BAND to play near the baggage claim! That would make people happy! We could build a stage out of plywood and metal and screen print a backdrop and everything!

MINDY: There’s no way that could be done. Who would have enough time to play at the airport.

RADIO ANNOUNCER (VO): And that was local band Sheryl and Tom. Serving south Chicago for over 14 years. For booking information please call, 555-5535-5458, and call now! They have a lot of time on their hands and have experience playing everywhere! Even airport baggage claims! Yeeee hawwww.

BOB: Mindy- did you get that number?

MINDY: Of course- it was just a bunch of fives.

BOB:Tom and Sheryl are the answer to Midway’s problems! There’s no way airport  patrons won’t have lifted spirits after hearing Tom and Sheryl. ‘Specially round the holidays. We’ll put them…right around the baggage claim.

MINDY: But aren’t the most upset people at Midway the one’s with the delayed flights? They’re not going to benefit from Sheryl and Tom.

BOB: Maybe Tom and Sheryl can be streamed through speakers around the entire airport.

MINDY: We don’t have the budget for Sheryl and Tom speakers.

BOB: Well…if you think about it…the most murders occur at airport baggage claims because people are so upset their luggage is lost. So I really think this would be beneficial.

MINDY: Ok. Yeah. Ill book Sheryl and Tom if you make the stage.

BOB: (quietly humming) “grandma got runover by a shmeindeer. walkin’ home from our house chrrristmas eeeeeve”

MINDY: (spits out another jelly bean) Shit. Thought that was purple again.

END.

Our friend Bad Guy Jessa sent us this picture of the fanciest jell-o shots ever that her awesome mom makes- green apple martini shots with cherries in them and straight up martini shots with olives in them. augh!  Us Bad Guys like vodka which includes eating it in square form…which is actually  the best part about these. Remember in college when you took jell-o shots and sometimes the bad host that made them put them in dixie cups instead of plastic cups and you had to scrape it out with a spoon or toothpick so it really was never a jell-o shot at all but instead a jell-o scrape? bleh. Thank god we’re old and super fancy now. Also thank god for moroccan hair oil which keeps our hair shiny and flippable.

Lady, if you’re going to fuck a muffin, at least have some standards and bang the one *not* on sale.

I’m not sure why I continually find myself sticking up for god damn Suri Cruise. But here I go again. First it was coffee. And now it’s her barely high heels that people are saying will damage little Suri’s tiny bones causing her to become a deformed monster in adulthood, to which her mother had to explain to the American public-turned social workers that they are actually very safe kid dance shoes but people still say she is a terrible mother. A terrible mother they say!

Last week, I saw a three year-old child eating a taco and drinking coca-cola out of a straw at 11pm at the taqueria near mi casa. But was I about to go up to her very intimidating Mexican mother wearing a Looney Tunes jacket and say, “Hola. This child should be in bed! And why is a three year-old eating el pastor anyway? That is a grown-up’s taco. Adios.”

No. Because she’d punch me. In the face. And ya-wanna-know-why? Because no one likes being told how to raise their children. And ya-wanna-know-what else? Wearing tiny heels is not even fucking bad compared to this taco eating, sugar drinking kid at the taqueria at 11 pm. And it’s also not as bad as that whiskey dad that lets his five-year-old son watch Kourtney and Khloe in Miami. And it’s not as bad as when your dad used to take you out behind the wood shed and beat you with a belt on the farm back in 1939. And it’s not as bad as all those parent child molesters. And none of those are as bad as those moms who make their babies be in beauty pageants.

So, to sum up this lesson:

Suri Cruise = not on a path to deformed adulthood because of shoes. But maybe deformed adulthood because of weird dad.

Katie Holmes = not not a good mom for letting her wear tiny heels and Starbucks hot chocolate. Should smile more.

Tom Cruise = might implode one day.

Mexican Taqueria Woman = she will punch you. In the face.

Unqualified Social Workers = if you really care about the well-being of children so much, why don’t you volunteer for Big Brothers Big Sisters  instead of trolling around on the internet making comments?

Me = had a sneaking suspicion the guy next to me at this coffee shop was Aziz Ansari until I saw he had a maltese puppy in a purse and decided no.  Also, might make potato leek soup for dinner. Also, will never post about Suri Cruise again.

Us Bad Guy’s posting habits the past week have been garbage. Until now. Let’s discuss some things, shall we?

This picture was taken at a semi-joke trip to Fleet Farm. To remind you, “loungewear” means “lingerie.” Yes. In a land far, far off the highway, in a warehouse filled with the dreams and tools of farmers and girl farmers, there exists camouflage lingerie. That real people buy and wear. (I think). I wanted to snap a picture of the actual lingerie but right after this was taken we got yelled at by a disgruntled employee in a blaze orange t-shirt and a nametag that read, “Melvin”. Melvin explained that “there are no taking pictures at Fleet Farm.” In my brain he continued to say, “Farmers do NOT like their secrets revealed. If our farm secretes EVER got out to the public, we, heck, the entire farming industry could be destroyed. What is bought and sold between these walls made of sheet metal contain the secrets and successes of millions of years of farming. If a non-farming civilian were to ever see a picture taken in here, the country’s supply of farms would burst into flames….and ya know what? There’s nothin’ no one could do about it, because the tools you need to put out fires are all sold at Fleet Farm….” And then he spit some Skoal into an empty Pepsi bottle, tipped his stetson and walked off into the fishing lure department. (in my brain.)

Dear Banana Republic,

….do you really a think a psuedo romantic photograph of a rugged man with a trombone hugging a woman will entice me to buy your mostly overpriced sweaters? No. It does not. It merely confuses me and makes me wonder if you’re making a distasteful sexual inuendo veiled in ‘holiday spirit.’

Love,

Bad Guy Lindsey

********************************************************************************

Dear Banana Republic Photographer,

Seriously?

Love,

Me.

There’s an article in Vanity Fair this month about how “cute” is taking over American culture. So to celebrate, here is a cute picture of my dog, whose alias is “Purple Pants”. (He likes to remain anonymous.) Anyway, let’s stop cuteness from taking over our country before this happens:

To all you douchebag celeb-bloggers who think Sarah Palin has had plastic surgery: maybe she has, but don’t put a “Then-Now” picture up of her in shitty, cloudy natural light and another one of her in OPRAH’S studio light. It never occurred to you that Oprah’s studio light cost more than most people’s single family homes and is probably made out of thousand year-old Swedish pixie dust made by an ancient and powerful shaman? Oprah looks like she’s nineteen on her show everyday and how old is she really? Sixty? Who cares, it doesn’t matter, because her lighting does wonders. And why does this lack of critical thinking skills surprise me?  In the job description of “celeb-blogger” no where does it state, “must  possess basic logic skills, reasoning  skills a plus.” It says, “must have computer, ability to identify celebrity name when shown face.”

Now, I’m not one to tell people not to go after their dreams or anything, in fact, I encourage it. I’m just saying that maybe, choose one. Choose either being a model/actress OR being a veterinarian. Choose being a model/actress OR opening an animal shelter. Choose being a model/actress OR an animal rescue worker. Because ladies, both careers require a lot of time and focus and I’ve noticed a lot of you all want to do both. I’m not sure if there has been a centerfold in the history of heart-doodled questionnaires that doesn’t want to be a model/actress and an animal “something.” Now I’m not saying there aren’t *any* successful model/actresses that are also veterinarians…I’m sure there is one somewhere…probably. It’s just that, animals are real creatures with veins and organs and an endocrine system and well, it’s hard to learn all that stuff while you’re also memorizing a monologue for tomorrow’s audition for National Lampoons Dorm Sex Road Trip Bong. Think about it. Maybe just get a bunch of puppies instead.

Love,

Bad Guy Counselor.

Vote for Bud Light “Swear Jar” for commercial of the year in Adweek’s Best of the 2000s. Click here to vote.

God I love Martha Stewart’s brain.  She doesn’t realize when she offends guests, she actually thinks people want a jar of beans in their house as decoration, she broke the law, and she says things like, “This is a delicious autumnal gourd bird painting for every holiday feast festivity hearth hot glue gun confectioners sugar slacks.”

She has a recipe on her website on how to make cookies in a waffle iron. A waffle iron! What brain would have thought of such a thing? So my friend, Bad Guy Laura, and I TRIED IT.

Martha’s cookies looked like this:

Our cookies looked like this:

And this:

soooo……..I think it’s clear MS is a wizard in WASP’s clothing.  And that I spit out a burnt chunk of cookie into my sink last night. Thank you, garbage disposal inventor.

*Read Laura’s article about it here. All these photos were taken by her too! *

here.

An outdoor ebay store! Isn’t it convenient? You can stand outside in the freezing cold on outdoor computers and scour ebay for great deals on slacks and electronics instead of doing it  in the comfort of your warm, safe home while wearing pjammy pants and eating Stacy’s pita chips.

CASSIE: Crap. We got assigned to write the copy for The Ugly Truth ad.

BEN: Fuck. (Beat) Fuck me in the fat face.

CASSIE: I know, riiiiight? This movie is everything that is wrong with everything.

BEN: My sister didn’t even like this movie and she liked Joe Verses The Volcano.

CASSIE: Let’s just get it over with. Ok. Oh, I KNOW! We’ll find quotes from REALLY good reviews and just slop those on and we’ll be done.

BEN: Yes! Perfect. Okay, the Wall Street Journal says, “The Ugly Truth wants to have it both ways, reveling in a misogyny it claims to deplore.” Shit.

CASSIE: Ok, New York Times says, “A cynical, clumsy, aptly titled attempt to cross the female-oriented romantic comedy with the male-oriented gross-out comedy.” Crap.

BEN: Rolling Stone says, “Toss this ugly crap to the curb”

CASSIE: Salon says, “Until that final, inevitable kiss, we have to listen to them, and the clatter of their crude, brainless exchanges is unbearable.”

BEN:  We are going to be here until god damn midnight.

CASSIE: No! I’ve got it!!!!! IN TOUCH WEEKLY! In Touch Weekly says, “A sassy, sexy, screwball comedy! It’s wicked fun!”

BEN: Let’s just split it up into two different quotes by the same person.

CASSIE: Yeah-people are stupid- they won’t know the difference!

BEN:And let’s write “IN TOUCH WEEKLY” in really tiny font so people don’t read it and assume it’s a professional, credible source with any sort of taste or knowledge about film whatsoever.

CASSIE: Yessss! Perfect.

BEN: Wanna get thai food and  make out?

CASSIE: Okay.

(They make out)

THE END.

My friend told me to come over and see her new espresso machine. I was not expecting this…

…this amazing golden Wonka machine. With a soaring eagle atop.

To me, November 1st means waking up early with the dog, walking in the brisk November air to get a morning newspaper and coffee and seeing all the sluts do the walk-of-shame still in their costumes from the night before. There’s nothing more satisfying and nothing that raises one’s self esteem greater than seeing a woman dressed as a Slutty Police Cat walking home on November 1st with smeared make-up, one cat ear, and a missing stiletto or a man dressed in a monkey suit stained with Miller Light, waiting for the bus. If you suffer from mild depression or even just bouts of low self-esteem, November 1st is really a time to take a lawn chair out to a highly trafficked residential area and just stare. You’ll be feeling great about your self in no time. Now, all the haters and disagreers will think, “Yeah, but those guys got LAID last night, so that’s awesome.” And to that I say, “No, no, haters and disagreers, it is not. Because they don’t remember it, they don’t really care about each other, and the other person was probably really ugly.” And then I take a sip of my coffee and continue, “And also, they wake up with a pounding headache and now have to venture out into the bright daylight-savings light and face reality. And by reality I mean, clean, mostly sober, std-free, judgmental passerbys.

Sometimes I just want to stop and shake the ladies and say, “No! Don’t you understand!? November 1st is the time you wake up early while hook-up guy is still sleeping, steal his smallest clothes and get the eff out of there. If there is ever a time to steal, this is it. Seize the morning! It doesn’t have to be this way- you do not need to be wearing a milk maid dress on the el train on a Sunday morning. On Jesus’ morning.” Why don’t some girls have the sensibility to steal clothes to avoid public mockery? Or to go to their house at 3 am and make the boys walk home in the morning? Come ‘on ladies. Think with your heads. Like Katherine Heigl in that shit movie about how men and women think with different parts.

November 1st also means seeing pieces of Halloween costumes lined along the streets and alleys. Like this awesome abandoned robot costume on the sidewalk. This drunkard probably thought, “Fuck this robot costume, I’m sick of this. Hmmm…rectangle. Yeah, man. I’m just gonna put my rectangle by all these other rectangles to blend in and no one will ever know. Yeah. Rock on, man.”

The only time of year Gaga, Courtney Love and Minerva all hang out.

also watch it on funny or die.

And now, Us Bad Guys would like to present a true short story by none other than Bad Guy Heez:

Today I went to get a muscle shirt for my skeletor costume at Arc’s value village. I squeezed into one…it was perfect aesthetically…but it was definitely a child’s tank top…and I got stuck in it. For ten minutes, at least. The grunts coming from the fitting room elicited a few responses. I was covered in sweat. Eventually, a manager came over to inquire and I asked for scissors.

She said “I’m sorry, we cannot cut your shirt for liability purposes.”

“Can I have the scissors then?”

“No sir, I’m very sorry.” And she walked away.

It was then that I called upon a strength from within, perhaps even garnered from Castle Greyskull itself…and I ripped down, through the armpits. The left armpit was much harder to get through and had an awkward angle, like I was trying to dunk an attacking goose. But I got through. VICTORY! When I got to the cash register, looking like I had just emerged from trench warfare, the woman said:

“It’s okay sir, you don’t have to pay for the shirt.”

To which I scoffed and replied: “Are you kidding? It’s part of my Halloween costume!” It just may never come off.

To give you a better visualization of Bad Guy Heez and the awesome weirdness he is, I have posted below, my all time favorite picture of him. It was taken a long, long time ago, as he was trying to talk up a lady….

….with a giant shoulder stain. god bless.

AUGHHHHHHOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMOGOMGOMGOGMOGMGOMOGMOGGOMGOGMOGMG

Guess who was shopping today at NORDSTROM!??!?!?!?!!?

HOT  BOY TEEEEEEEEEEEEEEENS!

Teens: A Case Study. Fact: Teens and occult bookstore owners are the only people who like vampires. Fact: Teens have lots of indispensable income, thanks to their jobs at grocery stores. Fact: Teens typically prefer rum over wine. Analysis: Vampire is the new Joe Camel. Vampire wine is the new Camel cigarettes. Further analysis: This wine most likely tastes like shit.

We have already discussed how to make a Michael Jackson costume on the cheap, but lets be honest, girls aren’t going to go as him because he’s not slutty enough. I mean, don’t get me wrong, he’s pretty slutty, but Halloween is a time for girls ages 17-36 (and some 50 year-olds) to dress like the biggest skank ever made and not feel ashamed. This also means, that rich girls will get the most expensive skankiest dresses from Fredricks of Hollywood and Fancy Slut Halloween Warehouse and thousands of poor girls will yet again be Dolly Parton and they will get teased by rich girls in Slutty Nurse and Slutty Health Lobbyist costumes and they will cry and I will cry.

Until now. Here I bring you: “Halloween ‘How-To’ Guide for Poor Kids.” This week: Slutty Lindsey Lohan.

First, drive to the nearest farmland. Turn your car lights off so you can sneak up right next to the barn. Run in and grab a square of hay. Barrel of hay? Bushel of hay? BALE! Thanks, wikipedia.  Get a BALE of hay. Don’t worry about the farmer, he’s been sleeping since four pm since that’s the time farmers go to sleep. Which is why none of them know who Alec Baldwin is or what year it is.  Take it home and glue several hays together so it’s super long and then attach it to your hair with glue or any sort of weaving technique.

Next, go to your fat kid neighbor Jeremy’s house and grab a box of mac and cheese. He won’t mind. He has forty more boxes since his parents shop at Costco and  are too busy being personal injury lawyers to even know a stranger is at their house, stealing from their overweight son. Take out the cheese packet, add a 1/4 cup of water, and rub it all over your body.

Finally, get a BUNCH of cocaine from Scarface. Voila!

And there you have it! A FREE Lindsey Lohan costume!!! See?! It’s not so bad being a poor girl.  Some slut just paid $99 dollars to be a Slutty Slut and YOU get to be a slut for free. Now, lets go trick or treating and hope no one hands out any of those chocolate discs with tin foil wrapping.

Success! We got candy aaaaaaaaaaaaand our friend Bad Guy Andrew was NOT harmed.

thanks, bad guy ben. thank you for this weird, gross commercial.

Besides Ray Barone, I cannot tell you the names of any sports writers and also can’t tell you why people would want to read about sports. Something so visual cannot possibly translate to writing and be entertaining, can it? I’ve decided to give my hand at writing about sports in the post below I like to call, “Bad Guy Hideout’s Recap of the Minnesota Vikings Game Verses the Baltimore Birds.”

Brett Favre plays for the Vikings and today they are against Baltimore Orioles Falcons Ravens. Bird identification is typically not a strength for sports writers.  The ball is thrown around a few times. Brett looks upset when the other guy doesn’t catch it and happy when he does catch it. Boys hit each other and push each other and tackle each other and throw the ball and catch the ball and drop the ball and pick up and run with the ball and run after the people with the ball and take the ball across lines. The score is 33-31. The Birds try to kick a field goal and completely miss. Brett Favre wins, only he wasn’t even watching because he was either bored, sad they were going to lose their first game of the season, or thinking about which kind of chips his wife brought for him for after the game. Someone tells him they won and he cheers like a happy uncle! Vikings win.

Let’s compare it to a professional, reviewing a different game, between the Bills and Brett Favre’s ex-friends: (via the NYtimes)

“ The first turnover goes to the Bills, but it’s a bad break for Sanchez. He tried to lead Braylon Edwards, who had gotten behind his man, but led him too far. Edwards got one hand on the ball but succeeded only in tipping it up just long enough for safety Jairus Byrd to race over and pluck it out of the air.”

If I do say so myself, my article was just about as tedious as a professional sports writer. I’d like to pat myself on the back for this exercise in mediocrity and boring.  But this poses a new mystery: “How was a man as intelligent and hilarious and entertaining as Ray Barone be in a profession so devoid of excitement and intrigue?!”

America, know this: you do not need caffeine to exist. Coffee is supposed to be a fun event. Not something you stand out in the cold for. Unless Jimmy Page is a guest barista to promote his new cd entitled, “The First Good CD to Be Sold at Starbucks. “

People are IN A HUFF that Suri Cruise was drinking Starbucks and wearing high heels last weekend. I’m not sure what the big deal is. Miley Cyrus is like, 1 year older than her and is dancing on stripper poles and making out with boys in trees. When you you compare the two, Suri isn’t so bad. It’s just like Fazoli’s. When you compare it to Spaghetti O’s with Meatballs in a can, it’s not so bad…

this thrilling Continental Airlines airport play set for hours and hours of flight delay-code orange-maintenance problem-lost luggage-deboarding passenger-missed connection fun!. I prefer the fancier Korean Air Airport Playset with its gourmet food and Kosmo Suites and Sky Program II featuring over 300 music albums and on demand videos.

Hey you guys, it’s Kiki. You guys should totally come to the exclusive VIP party this Saturday. I’m dead serious. It’s going to be HUGE. I’ve got the scoop on it and it’s super VIP and exclusive. There’s going to be a VIP area for the VIPs, and I can probably get you on the VIP list that will get you into the VIP area with the VIPs. Huge. It’s going to be so sexy and, best part, the Goose is loose- there’s gonna be a freaking lot of Grey Goose, super hot VIP guys and super hot VIP chairs. That we will sit on and then we will dance on. And then sit on again when our feet get sore. And then we’ll take our shoes off and dance on them again.  I’m dead serious. This is going to be the most exclusive thing you’ve been to since we saw Klohe Kardashian in the Vegas and told her we loved her top. Speaking of tops, break out your sexiest VIP tops- I’m talking VIP glitter,  VIP sequins, VIP rayon, VIP tops with your name on it, VIP tops with a sexy message on it, VIP tops with another top on it- anything. Or don’t even wear a top. Just wear a dress. Or a skirt with no top. It doesn’t even matter because you wanna know why? VIP. That’s why. V. I. P. I’m dead serious. It starts at 10:30 pm but we will be pre-partying at my condo at 4pm. Yeah, it’s a long time but dont worry I have some adderall we can cut up and snort through our noses. So, here’s the VIP RECAP:

4pm: Meet at my condo. Drink some flirtinis

5pm: eat some Doritos so we don’t barf later

5:30: Drink some cosmotinis

6pm: make-up retouch!

6:30pm: pick out tops. (see above)

7pm: boys come over!

7:10pm: make out with a boy in the bathroom

7:15pm: cig break!

8pm: Beer pong! Flip cup! All sing Katy Perry song. Plan trip to Vegas.

9pm: Adderall

10pm: Surprise! Escalade limo is picking us up!

10:15pm: Make up retouch/limo Miller Light bottles/ sing Katy Perry again

10:30pm: Arrive at Club Ice.

10:31pm: Cut line to front, point out my name: Kiki Gorge, enter VIP area.

10:40pm: VIPVIPVIPVIVPVPVIVPVPVIPVPVIVPIVPVIPVIPVIVPVIPVIVPVIVIVPVPVPVIVPPVIVPVPVIV

10:45pm: Dance on chairs.

1am: Fall off chair.

1:05am: Sit on chair. Pour Grey Goose on body and tell VIP exclusive boys to drink me up.

1:06am: Get kicked out of Club Ice.

1:16am: Barf in Escalade.

So, who’s in ? It’s going to be HUGE. I’m dead serious.

ew. the last thing I want to think about when I’m eating baked cheese sticks is someone getting poked in their arm with a giant needle at Walgreens. cheetos and shots. It’s like that health food place that serves only raw food and also performs colonics. some things are best kept separate.

Halloween is coming up. This means that thousands of children across the country will execute one of my biggest pet peeves: coats over Halloween costumes. Augh. Come on, take your fucking coat off. It’s high time you commit to your costume…no coats.

This also means that thousands of rich children will get to have fancy laser masks with  twinkling lights in whatever costume is the trendiest this year and thousands of  poor kids will go, for the sixth consecutive year, as a hobo. They will get teased by rich kids in Watchmen and Transformers costumes and it will be sad and I will cry and they will cry.

Until now. Here I bring you “Halloween: A How To Guide For Poor Kids”. This week: Michael Jackson

He *will* be the number one costume of the year. But an MJ mask can run you like 20 to 40 dollars and who has money for that when you have pizza and video games and vodka to buy?

First. Go to your older sister Laura’s closet and dig out that scream mask she still has when she went as Neve Campell and her dirtbag boyfriend went as the murderer in 1997. She still has it for old times sake, even though she’s a complete whore now and he has five kids with that woman at the courthouse. Dust it off, it’s been awhile since 1997.

Next, walk next door to your neighbor, Krystal’s house. She will probably be passed out because she always is at 1pm. Cut off a lock of her hair. Don’t worry about waking her up, the large amount of valium and finlandia and bbq chips she ate will keep you in the clear. So, chop off a lock of hair. Take it home and glue it to your scream mask. All over the outside. Almost done!!!

Final touches. Get your mom’s fire engine red lipstick and apply to the mouth. Viola!

And there you have it! A FREE Michael Jackson Halloween mask!! See?! It’s not so bad being a poor kid. Some asshole bought this for $30 and YOU just got it for free. Now, lets go trick or treating and hope no one hands out those bullshit black and orange circles.

Sometimes when a bad guy gets home to their hideout they just want to order take-out, watch nbc, not have an eye infection, write some stuff, and chill out.

But sometimes, before that happens, they stumble across this video for no reason and end up watching the entire thing.

augh. I must be fucking tired if I *for real* think this is awesome.

Ok. Time for take-out.

True story: In college, for a brief period of time, I was a bubble wand maker. Yep. And I made this exact one. There was an ad in the online student job area for the job and I thought, “yeah! this is awesome, I can get paid for watching TV and putting together these whimsical wands for excited children!” It lasted for about three weeks because what they don’t tell you is winding copper wire around this beautiful pink stick fucking hurts your hands. So, if you’re looking for a handmade gift for your niece or gay nephew, you should pick one of these up. And thank the person when you order, for he or she probably has swollen, red fingers and will never be able to pluck his violin again.

Us Bad Guys have already expressed our opinion on the health care debate. But that doesn’t keep us from attending protests that are conveniently located near our place of employment and favorite sandwich shop during lunchtime.

Here is a video you should watch by our accomplices, Death-Pac.

You just need to wear Air Force Ones at your wedding. Congrats to Z and A.

for all of you who think Us Bad Guys are judgmental and offensive, we are. But we are nice too. Because we donate to charity (when we get this cute heart in return), volunteer (when Obama tells us to), call our parents everyday (to ask for money), help old people cross the street (when they give us their old-timey diamond bracelet in return),  and give Gwyneth a second chance at GOOP (when she appears to have a fun personality and maybe high.)

why are tiny children playing with little dogs so cute? I feel like one of those girls that sends email forwards of animals or puppies and the font is really big and bright and you can’t really read it and most of the words are spelled incorrectly and then it ends with something about god or “sending this forward to 30 people so you’ll have good luck” or something about american troops.

contrary to popular belief, the devil does not get around on a silver horse or a fiery train from hell. the devil rides in this:

…a camouflage melrose place hummer. that apparently makes stops at Wendy’s.

it used to be, that when a teen had an acne problem they would have an uncomfortable talk about it with their parents who would then take them to a medical physician, who with his/her medical degree, would examine the epidermis thoroughly before prescribing a topical cream or pill or perhaps a change in diet and exercise. now, teen can just go to a vending machine for their acne solutions.  a vending machine. like the kind that sell twix bars and kit kats.

proactiv vending machines. replacing dermatologists one at a time.

and also perhaps, a retaliation against the growing cost  of health care as well as a solution to the typical three month waiting time to get an appointment. or, growing proof that robots and machines  are taking over the planet.

here are a few pictures from last nights dinner- a birthday celebration for one of our dear friends as well as our journey in to vegetarianism.

staring us down from inside the oven.

staring us down from outside the oven

ugh. hacksaw.

magic show-ish.

And here she/he is, Porchetta Farche Facon Riviera. We cried. And then we ate it. And then we cried again. And then we had seconds. And then we cried and drank wine. And then we cried again and then had some Julia Child’s Chocolate Almond Cake. And then maybe cried one last time.

Us Bad Guys had an eye infection and went to a doctor. He told us it would go away in a week, use Visine, and there was nothing I could do about it. We paid this doctor $30 for the visit. It didn’t go away. Then we went to a fancier doctor who told us our eye is super fucked up, gave us eye drop steroids, and said it might take a few months to clear up. We paid him $160 for the visit. Which is why Us Bad Guy’s position on the health care debate is: pay more money.

Civic TV covered a health care protest yesterday. You should check it out.

see more clips at Your Civic Doody

Join Death-Pac: Dying and Enfeebled Against Total Healh Care.

ok, i know this is old, but it doesn’t make me hate it any less. and really, i only hate it because it’s a nightmare inducing creature from my ID that wakes me up at 2 am from night terrors. night. terrors.

dear secretaries, both male and female,

stop. please stop this diet. millions of you are on this diet. I see you everyday with your pencil skirts/pencil pants and new balance shoes carrying it to work.  diet cokes and lean cuisines everyday of your life will not make you skinny and they will make you the opposite of healthy. which is unhealthy. this diet has been going on far too long. and has reached victims at every workplace environment in the country. please ladies and men, stop eating this bland, chemical-filled spread day after miserable corporate day. Stop eating this glob that still leaves you hungry enough to walk to seven 11 and buy a bag of olestra-filled chips an hour after consumption. haven’t you had enough, secretaries, both male and female?  I have. I have had enough of watching you be miserable while we eat our not-lean cuisine and diet coke lunches. you practically cry tears that almost drip on our maybe sandwiches because you are so jealous of actual flavor. please, secretaries, both male and female, don’t drip your salty tears in our food. Our prosciutto is salty enough.

thanks,

Us Bad Guys

confiserie girts

If I were an alien from the planet, Zuelconerf, and my only news were gleaned from the Huffington Post “Living” Section, this is what I would know about Americans. We are:

-stessed

-unhappy

-hooked to blackberries

-divorced

-full of sugar

-upset

-unhappy

-sad

-anxious

-starving

-not creative

-always crying

-unemployed

-making mistakes in relationships

-not doing yoga

-unhappy from not doing yoga

-obsessed with some family called “The Obamas” (see also: style section)

-fat

And then I would fly my spaceship far, far away from this planet called Earth, full of obese, sad, oafs who try to get happy by reading articles from a machine day after miserable day. Is this really how it is? Really?

people are abuzz about the latest 325 million dollar lottery Jaaaaaaackpooooooooot, which reminds us of this amazing, completely nsfw video. I wasn’t able to embed it properly, so you’ll have to CLICK HERE to watch it….

they’re like the cool, not-popular kids in high school that you want to be friends with because they’re so awesome but are kinda scared they won’t like you because you don’t smoke marlboro lights or have a leather jacket or are in a successful rock band or swirl whiskey. sigh.

And now, some thoughts from guest writer and dear friend, Bad Guy Heez:

I’ve been wondering lately-who has the worst job in the world?
Is it the foremost scholar on the red-breasted robin?
An Alaskan solar power engineer during the months of December-February?
Kate Gosselin’s hair?

I thought for sure those were three worst until I attended a food safety training yesterday. Here I was, thinking I would only come away with the tools to correctly serve “moon rock cookies” and “penicillin pizza” to the kids in my after school program. With the knowledge I now have, I could open my very own Outback Steakhouse!

I learned that bacteria multiplies quickest between the temperatures of 41 and 135 degrees Fahrenheit. I learned that a proper three compartment sink has stations for washing, rinsing, and sanitizing. Most importantly, I learned that the only way to test for an outbreak of most food borne illnesses is to accumulate samples of human feces.

Our instructor, a sweet and engaging middle-aged food scientist, took an aside to tell us that she once had to test all the employees of an Ohio factory for shigellosis (a bacteria associated with poor hygiene practice) symptoms. Close to a hundred Midwestern men. She said “Oh, it was no big deal. They would do their business and I would just collect them into a box and move on.”

Collect them??

Maybe I’m being a bit prudish here–maybe “factory worker stule sampler” isn’t as bad as it sounds.

Or maybe I’m not quite ready to have kids.

One of our besties comments under the surname, Janet Reno. She is weird and lovely and one of the funniest people we know. Her most recent comment was the following video. Most people can make it to the four minute mark. How long can you make it?

Ahem, as I have said, it’s a busy week. Some bad guys are helping out with content (see post below) . So here is a post from resident Bad Guy Music Guy, since I don’t know how to write about music. This is very exciting.

****************

Us Bad Guys like music.  In fact, we love music.  Not in an elitist Pitchfork kind of way, even though we are well-versed and opinionated in our own right.  We’ll give it to you straight-up, like a chest x-ray, what we like and what we don’t . This week: The xx, xx.

The  xx are a UK four-piece, combining a mellow 80s new-wave sound with lush pop-soul tinges.  Romy Madley Croft (lead guitar) and Oliver Sim (bass) share co-ed vocal swapping, crafting a dark, emotional, and almost numbingly beautiful self-titled album.  The xx are not the only UK band who are re-envisioning the sounds of the 80s (White Lies also comes to mind), but they have done so in a restrained and cohesive way.  Numerous tracks stand out (“VCR”, “Islands”, “Heart Skipped a Beat”, “Shelter”), as this album should stand out as one of the most impressive debuts of the year.

xx comes out in October stateside, but if you pre-order the album on vinyl or cd through their website, you can download the mp3 album immediately.

since I have  a somewhat busy week, I’ve called upon a few friends to contribute something. anything. I sent Bad Guy Heez an email asking to contribute and he wrote:

“Let me think on it. Possible topics:

-southwest airline employees
-the time I got rejected whilst swimming to talk to two girls on a rowboat (this saturday)
-the time I got full field sobriety tested while completely sober (last night)
-brett favre’s viking debut
-the time one of the children with autism got a hold of the school camera

I’ll think of some others.”

haaaasldkfja. I can’t wait.