Wednesday, February 28, 2007

When Heroin Doesn't Work Out as Your New Weight Loss Program

Recently we have seen a real rise in the laziest ways to get fit. From fad diets to that guy that lost 25lbs. playing his Nintendo Wii, we have seen a serious decline in traditional exercise. Science has rendered us great technology that will allow us to do as little work as possible to attain those tasty abs we've all been wanting to show off at our P. Diddy all white Miami beach party that we were once too embarrassed to go to.

I still say the best cheap weight loss method to date that really hasn't caught on much as a fad in the mainstream's eye is good ol' fashioned heroin, but what the hell. I guess I'll fill you in on all these other amazing products to lessen the fat with the least amount of work possible.

Get fit, sort of, with the Moustache after the jump...

Most of these items can probably be found in the Sharper Image catalogue where you can get that handy cd player that plays cds vertically! (Seriously, horizontal cd players are so yesterday.)

The good ol' fashioned diet pill:

Ah, yes. Speed and if it's not speed, then what's the point? I guess it's gotta work because Anna Nicole Smith supported it and if you're not convinced because of her endorsement then I'm sure
the new Bro Doctor could convince you.

Shock Therapy:

I know what the guy that came up with this was thinking while working in the mental ward: "Hmm. You know what? All my shock therapy patients are incredibly skinny. Maybe there's a connection." BAM! Millionaire. That's right. Like the ad says, you can do it at work, at home, while eating that deep fried chicken stuffed crust pizza dipped in ranch dressing. Doesn't sound too bad, right? Do nothing and get rock hard tasty abs you've been dreaming of. Hey, if it gets out of control you could always do this.

The iJoyRide:
Ok, not only is this device grasping on the i(fill in the blank) fad, but also reaching out to those that so desperately want to be involved in the equestrian scene. That's right, all you have to do is sit! Wow. There went that pizza you ate yesterday and you're also working on your coordination. I mean you can't really buy this much happiness for $500 anywhere else.

(Note: play the video to the right to get the full vision of happiness you can experience)

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PETA Rains On Kansas State's Parade

Remember back in the day when you were in school and it was getting on towards the end of the day, and the teacher had said all he or she was gonna say for the day, and you start to hear everyone start to pack up their shit, and then the teacher asks, "Are there any more questions?" and you realize that you'll be getting out ever-so-slightly earlier than usual, until that one prick in the back shoots their hand up like they were German or something?

Man, I hated that prick.

Well, in life that prick is represented by PETA. And now PETA has up and shat on the devoted, loving fan base of the Kansas State Wildcats (which, honestly, their logo is nothing more than a gayer, reversed Thundercats emblem).

Y'see time was, you went to a Kansas State Wildcats basketball game, and you tossed a chicken on the court. The you tied an onion to your belt, which was the style at the time...

The letter described chickens as "very intelligent and inquisitive animals" that appeared to have been subjected to "deafening noise, bright lights, terror, abusive handling and likely death for the sake of amusement."

The practice also, apparently, "severely tarnish[ed] the image of our University." As opposed to say, these guys.

After the jump, some classic mascot tomfoolery and other wacky antics that may or may not have been banned, as brought to you by the badasses who write this here blog.

Nacho Friendly: I miss a good mascot fight, don't you?

Jerk Stupidneck: When my parents were in the Roller Derby, they saw their fair share of odd fan behavior. My favorite such story was how one time a plastic bag was hurled at one of the referees. When the ref went to examine the contents, he found that he was holding a bag of fresh diarrhea. Why was it thrown you ask? Who knows really, they threw all sorts of stuff. One time my dad made fun of a guy with no arms in the audience so maybe they were mad about that. Maybe he supplied the diarrhea and his friend or fellow fan provided the arms with which to throw it (that's friendship - nay, FANship if you ask me). Whatever the case, excrement tossing is just one of many testaments to the proud legacy of the Roller Derby Fan.

Don't know what the Roller Derby is? Or do you think it's that thing that those sluts in Texas do while spanking each other? Well, dumb ass, let me throw some enlightenment your way (just ignore the nasal dronings of the Sklar brothers in this clip)

Hats Bagelman: I'm from Orange County, CA where our biggest sports tradition is co-opting crappy Disney movies and turning them into crappy sports franchises. But there is one thing that we Southern Californians know how to do and that's murder fans of the San Francisco Giants.

Now I'm not promoting this or making light. I'm just saying that the tradition is some poor Giants fan goes to Dodger stadium and ends up getting shot in the parking lot. It happens every year like the swallows flying to capistrano. Actually this isn't even exclusive to the Dodgers, when the Angels won the World Series five years ago some poor Giants fan was stabbed and bled to death near the ball park.

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Something To Do

It's a sad day when you realize you're old. This weekend I turn twenty-five and while it doesn't feel like I'm staring down the creeping spector of death, there are moments when I'm flabbergasted by today's youth.

Take my formative years, for example. Here I thought I'd had a pretty swell time. Sure there were voice cracks, and disproportioned limbs. There were awkward lies and embarassing incidents. But overall I thought that having a core group of buddies, some folks to hang out with and maybe catch a movie, or discuss the events of the day over a steaming plate of Waffle House, made it pretty worthwhile. We'd talk about college and our plans for the future. We'd concoct ridiculous and elaborate pranks to fill our idle hours. Nowadays, though, things change. Kids aren't as easily entertained. They don't want to flex the creativity muscles we did back in the day. They are much more inclined to just drop to their knees and blow every boy at the bar mitzvah.

"They're making bar mitzvah presents of the act, and performing it at "train parties": boys lined up on one side of the room, girls working their way down the row."

Continue to wonder why we never saw that episode of Saved By The Bell with us, after the jump...

This one time, back in college, I was really really sick--just wicked sick--and so I stayed home from class. In my delirium the tv got turned to Oprah. I have no idea how this happened. Either way, the show was a big expose about rainbow parties. That was probably the first time I said to myself, "Self, did we miss out on some of the finer points of being a teenager?" Naturally I called every girl I ever went to high school with and asked if I'd missed my chance at getting a blowjob from them. To a woman, they all said yes.

Kids today are growing up fast and who are we to judge them? Just because we didn't attend any "train parties", or get lapdances when we were 12 doesn't make us lame. It just means society's definition of "something" is ever-changing:

Nowadays girls don't consider oral sex in the least exotic—nor do they even consider it to be sex. It's just "something to do."

If I have a daughter, she will not come into contact with a Y chromosome before she's twenty-one.

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Tuesday, February 27, 2007

The Mr. Limpet Man of the Year

It's not often for us here at "The Incredible Mr. Limpet" to honor people other than ourselves (let's face it we're all great...okay Stupidneck not so much) but sometimes a story is so touching, so moving, so breathtaking that we have to give them an award. So starting today we are starting "The Incredible Mr. Limpet Man of the Year" an award we will hand out whenever we see fit.

Follow us after the jump to find out our first winner.

This Jobless German Man!

And why did he win such an award well according to Reuters...

"A jobless German has been handed a five-month suspended jail term for stealing a buffet for 60 people and eating it with friends, authorities said on Tuesday.

Using a false name, the 46-year-old from the western city of Dortmund ordered the 3,700-euro ($4,890) feast to be sent to the club house of a garden allotment colony.

Shortly after the caterers delivered the food, he called the company to say they had made a mistake and he would return the order. As puzzled club house guests looked on, he loaded the buffet into his car and sped off."

This is the google image search rendition of what a jobless German man looks like.

That dear reader is what a friend is, someone who will steal an incredibly large amount of food for you in possibly the dumbest way possible. So congratulations German man you have won our top prize. Enjoy it until we find someone else to give it to.

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The Silent Killer

If you saw the title of this post and began reading this thinking "Ah... Hypertension", then you are a god damn moron. Secondarily if you're scratching your head and wondering what "Hypertension" is, well first off it's high blood pressure and secondly I'm coming to kill you so that I might right the gene pool which you are so clearly polluting.

No, you simpleton, Hypertension is the old silent killer, this one is far more nefarious. Technically, your Uncle Bernie, serving 25-life up in Chino, is still The Silent Killer, but this story isn't called "The man responsible for your intimacy issues" so shut the hell up.

Pakistani kites. They're killing children left and right and no one is stepping forward. Where's Princess Diana with her land mines while there are kids getting their throats cut by killer kites?

Sometimes they use string coated in pulverized glass to cut an opponent's kite; other times metal wire - which is often coated in corrosive chemicals, our correspondent says.

This technology of corrosive kites was accidentally discovered by a Texas farmer trying to make a name for himself by manufacturing the worlds largest cheese slicer. 30 years later we have Pakistanis attacking children with kites.

"Come here child!" they say. "Isn't this a fine kite?" they ask. Before they know it, the kid's hanging 75 feet in the air in what Interpol is calling a Pakistani Necktie.

Be careful when searching for "deadly kite" on Google image search

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Monday, February 26, 2007

Nacho Friendly Bows Before Our Brazilian Overlords

In honor of my favorite holiday,Carnival, starting tomorrow, I figured I'd open your eyes to this generation's Space Race. It's a race we're sorely losing, and the Brazilians are just going to town on us.

It deals with sex in marketing. So if you can realize why that photo there to the right is a FANTASTIC ad for a lubricant jelly, then follow me after the jump...

There's no easy way to put this: we're having our asses handed to us in the sexy ad department. Every year we lose more ground, and the gain it. The entire continent is leaps and bounds ahead of us. A few years ago, one firm chucked a giant, sexy spear into the heart of american advertising. The result: the ad was banned! What kind of shit is that?

So what I'm proposing is that we set up some kind of Institute. An Institute where we can study the Brazilians perfected use of sex in marketing, then generate newer, sexier ads for our domestic market. We'll need someone to oversee this whole operation, and America, I'm willing to do it. I can put together a crack team to get to the bottom of sexy ads and from there, we can reclaim our rightful place amongst the best of the best. We cannot, we will not lose this Race.

God, I feel inspired.

Oh, and in case you doubted just how awesome the entire continent is at melding sex and advertisements, check out these posters from last summer, when Brazil and Argentina were set to play one another in World Cup. The first ad is from before the game (Argentina thought they'd win), the second is from after the game (they didn't.)

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Dreamboat Willy: The Godfather

It's true, British sex symbol and possible future king of England; Prince William of Wales will soon be Godfather to the child of than non other than Baby Spice. Why would BS choose young William as guardian to her as yet unborn child? If his being rich and royalty to boot is not enough reason, he has many hidden talents and secret abilities that make him a force to be reckoned with.

The Prince is the president of the English Football Association, Vice Royal Patron of the Welsh Rugby Union, in the British Royal Navy he is both Commodore-in-Chief of Scotland and Commodore-in-Chief of Submarines. Few people realize how such a young man is capable of such great achievement. Is it merely because of the power he wields through his immense wealth and privilege? In a word, yes.

In June of 1991 Prince William was struck in the forehead with a golf club by a careless or highly deranged schoolmate (details of the accident have never been fully revealed to the public). Prince W. suffered a depressed fracture of the skull and was forced to undergo emergency surgery. The Royal Family, with the help of British intelligence agencies and the world’s top scientists used this seemingly tragic situation as an opportunity to give the young boy a few “upgrades.” Through hours of top secret medical procedures ‘Wombat’ was given increased strength, higher intelligence and memory, improved reflexes, incredible gazelle-like leaping ability, his now infamous laser eyes, and of course he was made to be left handed so as to better operate a British standard transmission vehicle.

When a man with the power and abilities of Prince William says he wants to be the guardian of your child, you just don’t say no.

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Saturday, February 24, 2007

Where All The Ladies At?

I can match you on thirty-THREE levels.....ladies

I'm a staunch supporter of Los Angeles. Amongst my friends, I'm the most vocal advocate that this is the place to be. The great weather, the vapid constituency, and the film industry all make it just a great place to call home.

If you don't move to LA when you graduate from my alma mater, you go to New York City. I've always thought New York was a fantastic place to visit, but a punishing, unforgiving place to live.

Unfortunately, I now must concede one point to New York: they've got the ladies. Stats and facts don't lie, and the proof is in the pudding: Los Angeles is a sausage fest. Still, we've got better weather.

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Friday, February 23, 2007

What Do You Want?

Why are you reading Incrediblemrlimpet?
It's my blog.
It's my friends blog.
Jack Bauer sightings.
Free polls from

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She's Gotta Have It

Mr. Feelings understands that we are sexual beings by nature. That is why Suze Orman disgusts me. This headline says it all:

Suze Orman Reveals She is the '55-year-old Virgin'

Sacré bleu!

A closer read of the story reveals Suze's life partner of seven years is some guy called Kathy Travis (funny name for a man, I know). I have some unsolicited advice for Ms. Orman in the form of an open letter.

Dear Ms. Orman,
While perusing the internet today, I stumbled upon a shocking revelation. I think you know which one. No, not your stock advice on Ford Motor Co. It's about your "V" card, silly.

It's alway been Mr. Feeling's philosophy that a sound body leads to a sound mind. And sound bodies need love. The sexy kind of love. Travis obviously has no idea what to do with a hot little number like yourself. Perhaps it's time you broadened your horizons to include, I don't know, me.

I'm tender, passionate and very experienced. Your wealth doesn't intimidate me. It's actually a turn on, just like your close cropped hair. By the way, I like that style, but it kind of does send the wrong message. I mean, it's a little... masculine.

Anyway, the offer is out there, Suze. You've got a lot on your mind, let me take care of your body.

Mr. Feelings
Oh, and yes, my blood work came back clean.

For our friends in Germany, JACK BAUER!

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Mr. Feelings, Out of Rehab

Addiction is no laughing matter. Mr. Feelings should know. After the war (the great one) I traveled deep into Asia seeking spiritual guidance from Sensei Zyi. Instead I wound up in a brothel, turning tricks by day to feed my opium addiction at night.

That said, Mr. Feelings feels for Britney. Her quest for enlightenment is just beginning. Rehab was step one. Checking out, step two. Checking back in, step three
. Checking back out, step four. Checking back in though... bad move. Step five, the way it was taught to me, involves fasting, prayer, and rough sex with Sir Richard Branson in a hot air balloon. Step six, I stalked Kevin James. Step seven, lunch at Clafoutis. Step eight, I slept in, then called in sick to work. Step nine has been going on for six years... I hate my life.

The point being, I really wanted to work in a photo of Britney spears because to me she looks like one of those guys you see at the Scottish Highland Games.
Like she should be wearing a kilt and throwing a telephone pole end over end. Sorry to waste your time. Mr. Feeling's next emotional breakthrough will be better thought out.

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Thursday, February 22, 2007

The house is lovely, but there's poo everywhere

I am clearly some sort of hack finding stories at Drudge Report (bloggers blogging bloggers!), but it's my one stop shop for links about grandmothers being eaten by sharks the size of semi trucks and chupacabra running for president so fucking deal with it.

The point is I have finally found the dream home in Long Island I've been looking for my entire life! And I don't even have to bring my own trash, urine or feces to decorate (I love model homes!)

A slew of great quotes in this story - it sort of reads like a dirty romance novel only instead of talk about naughty bits it's a nightmarish account of squalor found inside someone's home - but I don't think you'll find much better a quote anywhere than this baby right here:

There was just feces all over, [it's the] most horrible situation you could ever imagine.

Sounds wonderful. The perfect spot to rear one's young, or at least that's what the woman who lived there with her 3 daughters seemed to think.
...compared the living conditions of his daughters, ages 10, 12, and 14, to a war camp, calling them "prisoners." He used to live in the Nevada Street home in Lindenhurst with his wife, Deborah. But during their bitter six year separation, he says he had not seen the girls or their filthy and unhealthy living conditions.

Awesome. By the way he is going to use this as evidence to give him custody of the kids, but I'm not so sure the case is rock solid. I mean there wasn't even a lounge chair made out of a neighbor and the law clearly states that human furniture is the only grounds for custody change.

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In case Jimmy doesn't work out.

It's starting to look like NBC wants Jimmy Fallon to take over Conan O'Brien's show in two years. The only problem is Jimmy Fallon is a huge talent and in two years his movie career will probably take off.

Don't worry NBC if this happens we here at The Incredible Mr. Limpet have your back. We've composed a list of other possible hosts that match Jimmy's immense talent.

Click read more to see the list.

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e understand that watching a corpse rot into nothinginess isn't really that funny but it still smells better than Jimmy looking straight into the camera and laughing at his own jokes.

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2. THIS DUCK Look at it! It has four feet! That's kind of disgusting. Wouldn't you tune in every night to just see how it walks around? And you know this thing could swim faster than a mother fucker and that's just about as entertaining as Jimmy doing a Boston accent with Rachel Dratch.

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3. HORATIO SANZ We really like Horatio. Did you see Boat Trip? Totally underrated.

Well, there you have it NBC. I hope this helps you guys out.

Got any suggesstions for NBC? Feel free to leave it the comments section

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Lonely Jerk Brandishes Sword in Delusion of Grandeur

I wish I had a witty post for this article but I think it really speaks for itself. This is why all sword sales should be banned in this country. The only people who would be affected would be sad, sad, lonely nerds and they don't even deserve the right to vote (I think I just alienated the two people who ever even glance at this blog). The Point is, enjoy a great story courtesy of CNN.

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10lb Moustache's Guide to Travel: Destination: Tanzania!

Hey folks. It's the Moustache here. Well, many of you have noticed that I'm somewhat notorious for going to random exotic places, getting belligerent and embarrassing most of America. It's something we have all come to expect, but if you're anything like the romper stomper American I am then you'll love this new column.

Basically, I will be covering various places all over the world and discussing the many advantages and disadvantages to being a disrespectful American in such places.

Ok, for our first stop...TANZANIA!!!

Resting in the beautiful eastern coast of Africa along the Indian Ocean is the Swahili speaking nation of Tanzania. Once a German colony that was later lost to the British when those losers lost one of those World Wars they started, but enough about Germany. According to Wikipedia, Tanzania has everything for the adventurer sort of traveler and is dirt cheap for the drinker traveller. In the north-east we have Mount Kilimanjaro, Africa's tallest mountain, in the north west we have the Great Lakes of Lake Victoria and Lake Tanganyika and there's always the beautiful Island of Zanzibar just offshore for you seclusion types.

Diverse with so many ethnic groups your head will explode will ensure that you can get all sorts of amazing stories about different tribes ruthlessly killing each other for no reason other than sheer bloodshed and glory. English is mainly spoken in the country for all of you unwilling to pick up a basic understanding of Swahili. And for all you hipsters out there there is a thriving music community in the style of Bongo Flava and you may just run into the local favorites Mr. Nice or Cool James.

Now on to an issue of warning in Tanzania. Apparently in recent years there have been reports driving men to live in fear of the night. A demon bat known to the locals as "Popo Bawa" has been reported on numerous occasions to transform into a man and raped men in in the main city of Dar es Salaam and is driving men to sleep in big groups or to smear themselves with pig oil. Sound too disgusting? Too homophobic to sleep with a bunch of men huddled together? Well, I have a few solutions to help you get over this minor problem.

1. Just plain stay out of Dar es Salaam. In my experience travelling the countryside breathes such a better atmosphere anyway and you're more likely to meet people that will rape you instead of demons, which in my experience is much easier to deal with.

2. Don't piss off the Tanzanian witches. They unleash the bat to attack their opponents, so it might be in your best interest when you're getting your palm read not to mention that giant mole on her face or that certain smell of bad cheese that is emanating from her mouth.

3. Use this whole "raping bat demon" to your advantage. Apparently the women are also being abused, but there doesn't seem to be any complaint on their end. Say you find a hot village girl who married some douchebag at the age of 15 and is now about 20. You two hit it off, get some drinks, head back to her place, but the douchebag husband comes home. "Oh shit!" you say to yourself, but don't worry. Just pretend like you are the demon bat and jump out the window into the night. I guarantee the douchebag husband will be so scared about you possibly raping him, you'll be good to come back and use that sexy village woman however you please.

So next time you're in Tanzania you should be pretty much set. So get out and enjoy all the beautiful things Tanzania has to offer!

-10lb Moustache

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Wednesday, February 21, 2007

French government overthrown

Shocking news from our wine sucking friends in Europe. Jacques Chirac, nay the world, was startled today as an invading force approached the French government with an ultimatum: Surrender or die.

Who is this invading force you might ask?

Hornets. Giant Hornets.

Pictured above French Prime Minister Jacques Chirac drinks the Hornet Queen's milk as a gesture of good faith toward Hornet policy

Upon first glance at the Giant Hornet King (Giant Hornet King file photo courtesy of Reuters) seems a laughable fun-loving insect out to have a good time, but what you can't see is his harpoon-like venom barb portruding out of his exo-skeletoned ass.

Chirac as already negotiated a cease fire with the Hornet Nation and a full surrender is expected by tomorrow morning. This is World War II all over again only this time it's got bees. Or bee-like organisms. Brittain you watch your ass and get your Hornet defenses up because this is one enemy America won't be able save your ass from. Normally I'd make fun of the French for their hasty surrender, but ... MY GOD MAN THEY'RE BEES

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Click Click Bloody Pancakes!

Yesterday was Free Pancake Day at IHOP. I nearly forgot all about it, until I looked at my calendar, where a generous gnome had written a reminder. Luckily, my neighbor was hungry, so a quick iChat conversation (and some necessary "pre-gaming" on my part) led to an adventure to the heart of the American dream: free flapjacks.

Drizzle some Butter Pecan syrup with us, after the jump!

After spending some quality time with Patches O'Hoolihan I was ready to embark. My neighbor Steve met me outside and we piled into his Mustang; this being LA, there was no way we were walking this vast distance. Roughly 2 minutes later we were in the parking lot. The lot was crowded; the word must've been out.

We sit down and proceed to skim the menu. Moral crossroads: do we order something small and add the free flapjacks as a side, or do we be dicks and just order the pancakes. Since dying children were involved, we decided to order something. Expressing our order to our waiter, Hugo, was difficult due to our varying grasps on the English language. Luckily, there were cards on each of the table, pronouncing the day to be National Pancake Celebration Day. Additionally luckily, we had fingers which we could use to point.

We sit back and wait for our food to arrive. I notice that they've taken down my favorite photograph at the IHOP: it's a picture of the day that very store opened in 1955. There are three or four men in suits standing outside the IHOP, and one guy in a giant pancake costume. The fake smiles are pretty radiant. Steve posits that if he had a time machine he'd go back to 1961 and be the first guy in line for the first White Castle Burger. I state that with my Time Travel ability I'd go back and get the guy in the pancake suit really high. Then, we discussed how epic RPS-25is.

Hugo returns and we tuck into our meals. Honestly, I only wrote that so I could use "tuck" as a verb to describe eating. I've seen it before and, since my only experience tucking anything involves a full-length mirror, I've always wanted to use it. Thanks Mr. Limpet!

The pancakes are delicious, as most food is when it's free. We banter wittily, we discuss the issues of the day, and observe that the donations for the pancakes go to help children with problems. We pay our bill, donate a couple bucks to the kids as a way of saying, "Thanks. Surely what life you have left to live will be better because my hunger was sated," and return to the Mustang in a syrup stupor. All in all, for a Fat Tuesday, it was pretty delicious.

(Ed's note: be weary when Google Image Searching pancakes)

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Just Another Night on the Town for the Moustache

You know, in the beautiful city that is Los Angeles you can experience multiple things in one evening of existence. You get star struck, you get annoyed by different celebrities because they're obnoxious, or you could just go out and laugh at forty-year-olds in leather pants trying to look like Ozzy Osbourne.

But some nights, things beyond the ordinary celebrity sightings happen and change you forever...

So I head down to Spaceland on Monday night to see my friends Division Day play in the third week of their residency. After having a drink too many and laughing through the opening acts of the evening a friend runs up to me freaking out. It was at this point that the Moustache was informed that Ryan Gossling was in the building. Apathetic to the situation (I have to admit I probably couldn't point out Gossling in a cr
owd of people, but it's not because I don't care, Ryan), I headed for the bathroom to dispose of this extra drink that had just worked it's way through my system.

Now, if you haven't been in the Spaceland bathroom, let me just fill in the details. It's small and usually there are eight people in there waiting to use one of the urinals without the proper deterrent dividers to keep creepy onlookers at bay. It's the type of bathroom where you feel gross washing your hands because it's so unkempt. Well, the odd thing about this night was that there was no one in this bathroom. I was busy absorbing how wonderful it was to not deal with a ton of people doing a pee dance at the door throwing you into an uncomfortable mess of a human being that rushes the job and doesn't take the proper precautions when finishing (shaking it off, if you will) just to get out of this awkward bathroom situation. So with that said, I didn't notice who was talking to me while I was at the urinal.

The conversation began with a man standing behind me saying, "Woah! That's a weird spot for a drain." My brain tried to process this comment, but all I could come up w
ith in my mind was, That was a weird thing to say.

Avoiding saying the thought in my head due to the moustache's supreme people skills, I continue looking down at my urinal minding my own business and say, "It sure is." Upon this the man walks up to the urinal (remember there's no divider) and begins doing his business.

"How are you tonight." Now, most men in bathrooms don't talk while they're at the stall. Most get in, get out and have conversations outside. I don't mind talking at the urinal, but most people seem to have a problem.

"I'm doing well. How are you?" This is about the time I look up to see the man standing next to me. Same height, so it's easy to carry a conversation. And who was this man, you ask? It's Kiefer Sutherland. Now, for those of you who don't know, Mr. Sutherland is a Silverlake area staple. A man of the people. A stand up dude that likes to chill out at an ev
eryday bar and have a few too many drinks. Much like your mustachioed friend.

So I continue on with this odd conversation, talking about music, being skeptical of people that are actually from LA and actually getting some handy life advice. He's pleasant, we laugh and made our tiny, gross bathroom experience a little more enjoyable for each other.

Now things get strange. While I'm shaking it off, the door flies open. There's a bright flash, a giggle and the door closes. I look over at my new friend, who's totally unfazed by everything. I'm a bit frazzled because someone just took a picture of me taking a piss with Jack Bauer.

I wash my hands and leave the restroom feeling more awkward than I usually do. My privacy was invaded.

So, the moral of this story is, kids, if you're in Los Angeles and anywhere near a celebrity, it doesn't matter if you're in the bathroom, or just hanging out at the bar you're probably going to get your photo taken by some psychopath.

Also, if you can find the picture of me taking a leak with Jack Bauer please send it this way. The Moustache would greatly appreciate it.

-10lb Moustache

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Hats Bagelman is going to the Oscars!

Good news everyone, I Hats Bagelman am going to the OSCARS!!!! Now, I know normally to get an invite you have to be nominated or some big time Hollywood hot shot, but thanks to craigslist I have found a loophole.

Continue reading for my response to the ad.

After spotting this ad I knew I could be everything this guy could want out of the date so I sent him this letter:


I recently saw your posting on craigslist regarding the extra oscar ticket and I just wanted to toss my hat into the ring.

I'm a 5'8" with hot latin blood in my veins and I know how to have a good time. Although I'm not considered what many will say is a classic beauty I promise that come Oscar night all the stars will be staring at us.

I've attached a photo to give you an idea what you are in for.

I'm the one on the left.

There's no way he can say no right? I knew it! Well, I haven't heard back from him yet but I'm expecting to hear something soon.

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Tuesday, February 20, 2007

So you want to know more abut Jerk Stupidneck?

The Stupidneck Era is upon us and it makes the dawning of the Bronze Age look like your mother's Dr. Scholl's inserts. Some of you may be asking yourself, "Self, who is this Jerk Stupidneck and how can I protect my heart from his musky charm?"

Well, nothing can save you from the musk's power, but I'm about to slap your half-retarded brains with all you need to know about The 'Neck.

Firstly, never call me The 'Neck. You're not my Uncle and this is not a secluded ranch in Montana where I once roamed free on the back of a clydesdale. I'd prefer you not call, but if you must then it's the whole thing. Jerk Stupidneck.

Secondly, remember at all times that I'm probably better than you. There's one person I look up to and that's this man right here. I may not mention it all the time, but you should know that I am a better person than you will ever be. "How does that even relate to your inane commentary on various news articles and bits of internet fancy?" you are asking yourself right now. I answer you with this - How the hell did I know what you were asking yourself? Because I'm always one step ahead of you. Dick.

Finally, I just want to welcome you to my blog and invite you bask in the glorious knowledge I choose to share with you, the unwashed masses. Just remember, I don't hate you, but I'd rather not be seen near you.


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Hats Bagelman will make you president. Part 1

Although I am a convicted felon and don't really care for politics I figure it is my community service requirement civic duty to give advice to all the 2008 Presidential Candidates. Today's subject: Barack Obama.

The Junior Senator from Illinois is charasmatic, bright, and seems like an all around nice guy. There's only one thing that seems to be holding him down, his love of sweet lady nicotine. While this may play well in the red states there's no way your base of Hollywood Liberals will follow you. (In fact Rob Reiner will stab you in the face if he catches you lighting up). So Mr. Obama I'm going to take it upon myself to give you some helpful hints to quit this totally uncool habit.

STEP 1. Quit with a friend: Now quitting smoking is really hard so it really helps to have a quitting buddy to aid you on your road to recovery. So my advice is to get your good friend Oprah to be your quitting buddy. (I know, I know she's a non-smoker so you'll have to get her to start. That's real easy just casually mention how she's putting on some weight then offer her a Marlboro, she'll be smoking in no time). Once you have Oprah quitting with you you'll not only have her support but the scorn of Dr. Phil, and once Dr. Phil is on the case you will be cured.

STEP 2. Learn new skills and behaviors: Part of the reason people smoke is that it gives you something to do during the day. So now that you're quitting you're going to have all this free time with nothing to do. My suggestion: Origami. FACT: All of our greatest presidents were origami masters. It is rumored that on the day Lee surrendered to the Union soldiers Lincoln fashioned an origami swan out of a tattered American flag. So Mr. Obama why not follow our founding fathers and take up the timeless art of folding paper.

STEP 3. Get Medication: There are a lot of patches and gums that claim they can help you quit smoking. It's bullshit. Here's what you should do: Go back to snorting cocaine. Now, I know some people will say that cocaine is a worse drug than tobacco and to tell the truth it is, but don't worry about that now. You have a primary to win and there's nothing that help you gain the support of Hollywood's elite faster than a chic cocaine habbit. Once you have the nomination sewed up simply go to rehab and clear up all your addictions.

If you follow all of these steps the white house is yours. All I ask is that you appoint me Post Master General. I love the Post Office

*Note last photo courtesy of Defamer

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Is that gun insured? By Survival? I can't take that bet

Endless desert, people living in caves, the national Grandmother memorial, and now ex-cops shooting you and ramming you off the road in a fit of rage joins the ever-growing list of reasons why no one should ever visit Utah.

This story comes to us from my favorite news source,Deseret News... and truly I first saw it on my favorite spot to pick out a sweet new ride or pimp my old one.

A man who was crashed into and shot by a former Lehi police officer is now suing for negligence. Craig Trimble was shot in the leg and stomach by former Lehi police officer Art Henderson after a high speed, bullet-filled car chase down a quiet Lehi street last January.
Deseret News, you had me at "shot in the leg and stomach" but "high speed, bullet-filled car chase down a quiet Lehi street" is when I realized it was love.

Actually I think the best quote in this story comes from Mr. Trimble's insurance company through California Casualty's executive VP Jim Sevey.
Coverage arises from your operation and use of a vehicle, not your operation and use of a gun.
Hey, who can argue with that? I don't recall you checking the "Getting shot at on the open highway" coverage on your last premium renewal, fatty.

Yeah, you heard me right. Got a problem lardo? I'll see you on the highway.

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Pour Some Hitler On Me!

It turns out the sugar packets of choice in Croatia’s coffee houses these days tend to have pictures of Hitler on them. Why the image of Hitler on something so sweet you might ask? Simple, Croatia’s perception of Hitler’s personality is much different from that of you or I, or the civilized world for that matter.

Between 1941 and 1945 when the Croats were not busy being willing enforcers of Nazi ethnic laws, in which they killed thousands of Serbs, Jews, and Gypsies, they were enjoying a public honeymoon with their “Zasladiti Uvodni” (Sugar Führer).

Hitler first ingratiated himself to the Croatian people upon his 1942 visit to Zagreb, wherein he delivered a speech not from high on stage behind a podium, but from ground level with the people, behind a deep fryer in St. Mark’s Square where he served fried dough, spoke of “the Zionist Diabetic Plot,” and added liberal helpings of powdered sugar and honey to each serving of his tyrannous treats.

The Croats’ cuddly image of a sugar loving Hitler was further reinforced on subsequent visits to their country. In 1943 Hitler visited Croatia again and this time donned a chef’s hat in a bakery outside of Karlovac, where he baked schnitzel; distributing them to visiting Polish dignitaries who barked their orders at the flour covered führer from the other side of a glass case displaying cakes. And when Hitler sent a gift basket of gummi-bears to Winston Churchill, it was only Croatian papers which ran the puff piece under the headline, “Reich Reaches out to British for Savory Surrender.”

It was after these and countless other Hitler with sweets occurrences in the news that many Croat marketing firms began associating their products with famous Nazi figures in an effort to establish a bit of lebensraum in a crowded candy marketplace. There was Adolph Eichmann’s Ice-cream sandwiches, Goebbels Gumballs, and Heinrich Himmler’s Homemade Ham Glaze (Hitler himself never endorsed any Croatian candies) . It is still true today that Croatia’s most popular hard candy remains Necco’s Kristallnacht Candies.

Although Croatia has come a long way from it’s dark days of the early 40’s where the Ustasha gladly did the Nazi’s bidding, it may be some time before you can enjoy a cup of joe in Croatia without seeing the face of history’s most brutal dictator.

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Monday, February 19, 2007

The Moustache Has Landed!

Carrying the burden of moustaches is quite hefty. In the spirit of great moustaches from Groucho Marx to Rollie Fingers to Yosemite Sam to your creepy uncle Carl, I will attempt to bring some insight into the daily lives we lead.

There is much to talk about considering I have problems, you have problems, your "friends" have problems and so forth. Don't know how to use the restroom appropriately at work? Pondering if when insects eat their young do they stop to consider the taste? Can't seem to get the right amount of milk in your cereal? These questions demand careful analysis and I will do my best to answer them.

So let's wax up together and hit the town.

-10lb Moustache

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Babydaddy Tips From Nacho Friendly

One thing kids like to be is fooled. I remember, once, I told my nephew I was taking him to Disney world, but I really took him to a burned down old warehouse. "Oh no," I said, "Disneyworld has burned down." He cried and cried, but I think that deep down, he thought it was a pretty good joke. Then I started to take him to the real Disneyworld, but it was dark, so I went home.

Deep Thoughts by Jack Handey

On the news that the ante has been upped (hey Giselle, what's Brazilian for "revenge eff"?), I figured I'd dole out some solid parenting advice.

I'll be the first to admit I shouldn't be having any babies for a long, long, long, long, long time, but that doesn't mean I'm not prepping for that special day. Y'see, I can't wait to really screw with the lil buggers.

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Tonight reminded me of an idea me and a couple guys came up with. Let me set the scene:

As I approach my gate at Reagan National a spritely young girl walked in front of me with haste. She was trailing a heavily-drugged pitbull that looked like this:

Anyway, it turns out she's sitting in the seat in front of me. The dog doesn't make a sound the entire five-hour trip from DC to Salt Lake (sat on the runway waiting to be de-iced, much to the dismay and worry of the first-time-flyers next to me). I missed my flight to Long Beach in SLC, but they had room for me on a flight headed to LAX. Lo and behold one row up and across the aisle, up against the window is this drugged up dog. The other folks in her row were a mother and her brood, an infant baby and a boy toddler. The dog had barked once or twice, but after take off hadn't said a peep. Everything was kosher during the Laverne & Shirley episode (oh Garry Marshall you genius! God owes you.) About a half-hour before we land I've got the ol' iPod on, and I hear this wailing pierce through my Cock Lorge so, I'm all like WHAT THE???

Turns out the toddler was in some sort of pain, but every time the mother asked him where he hurt, the grotty little wanker said, "I DONNNNNNNN'T KNOOOOOOOOOOOOW." This went on, nonstop for sometime, even as we waited on the tarmac to park. The wailing, it was ceaseless.

And here's where the parenting tip comes in: When I'm a parent, I'm gonna save a number in my cell phone that says "SANTA" and I'll have it be some friend, a friend who'll I'll have previously agreed to ONLY call in these situations. Lil feller starts acting up in a confined space like an airplane, I'll calmly extract my cell, flip it open and ring up "Santa". I'll look at the bastard and say, "Yes hello, Santa. Hi it's Duke's dad (what? Are you gonna eff with Duke Friendly in third grade? Hell no. That kid's covered, at least through elementary school.) Oh yeah, no problem I can hold..." this is key, this is when you look at him and say, "they've got me on hold. Said he'll back in about two minutes. You think you can be a good boy in two minutes?" Just watch as he clams up nice and quiet-like. Sure, the first time or two he'll wanna talk to Santa, but that's where the friend comes in. You just tell "Santa" what the kid did; if the kid wants to talk, let him, and Santa will know to say, "That's one toy off your list this year."

Oh man, that's one I can use year-round! I'm gonna make a great father.


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Friday, February 16, 2007

Mr. Feelings Feels For You!

Part of feeling is feeling angry. I'm angry for you! In the tradition of Fight Back with David Horowitz I'm gonna fight the good fight for Joe Consumer. My first target is Habitat for Humanity.

I don't know what kind of business they are, but one look at their henchman, and you know they are no good.
Quick note about President Carter, when he's not posing as a humanitarian, he's busy peddling his Japanese up-skirt porn (Mr. Carter's Panstu Suprise Show).

Long story short, Mr. Carter, don't call people when they're watching King of Queens and then demand they pay you cash just to end the phone call. That's not charity. That's harassment.

Mr. Feelings feels angry!

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Dear Mr. Feelings...

Dear Mr. Feelings,

I write to you in dire straights. I have been seeing a man for about 6 years now and everything is great. He takes me out to nice restaurants, always remembers my birthday, and is very giving in bed. There is only one problem: he is married with children.

The only other time I sought advice was from Mo-Town legend and radio personality, Smokey Robinson on a radio show he used to host called "Between the Sheets." Smokey assured me that, "If it is love everything will work out. Love conquers all baby." But it has been 3 years since I received this advice and I feel as if nothing has changed. I am starting to feel used and ashamed. I am so distraught about this that I often cry at work just thinking about him, and as a city bus driver this is a very dangerous prospect for many people.

Mr. Feelings what am I to do? Should I confront my man? I think maybe I should come clean to his wife and children.

Please Help Mr. Feelings,

Me in La Puente

Dear Me in La Puente,

It's time to get serious. You are on your way down a dark, lonely road of despair and spinsterhood (ack!). Ask yourself, how in love with his wife is he? Probably not very much, so you've gotta make his mind up for him. This relationship is an omelet, and it's time to break some eggs.

Tackle this wife issue head on. Fortune favors the bold! Get to know this woman. Follow her for a day. Walk a mile in her shoes. Then murder her in those shoes. Sure, your man will be sad at first, but some of that sweet loving you offer him every night will make him forget all about that fat, dead cow (moo!). Give him a week to grieve, then have the little ones sent off to boarding school (field trip!). He'll be sure to pop the big question then.

The important thing to remember is that you love him and need him more than anything else in the world. He's the sun to your solar system. Let him warm you from your heart all the way down to your genitals.

Let me know how it goes!

Mr. Feelings

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Mr. Feelings Has Arrived!

Hi there! My name is Mr. Feelings, and I love you! I'll be stopping by from time to time to answer life's tough questions. Any and everything is fair play with me. No, really, anything! Work, love, sex, heck, I'll even tell you where to find a great steak next time you're in Bennetville, Indiana (the answer is Montgomery's Buffet... shhhh).

Do we have any teenage readers? Female? First period? Write me! I'll help you feel this thing out.

I'm young, but people say I have a wise soul. Let me share that wisdom with you! Write me at:
I love you!
Mr. Feelings

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Nacho Friendly is here to save your souls.

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Well, with Mr. Nacho Friendly (pictured above) joining The Incredible Mr. Limpet family, we are finally complete. Please welcome him with open arms because maybe his words will touch your heart.

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Bach's Feline and Fugue

O Internet. What wondrous innovations do we have to thank you for? Global communication at one's fingertips, news on demand from countless sources, bickering on bulletin boards, blogging about bickering on bulletin boards, bickering about bloggers on bulletin boards and of course German Scheisse Porn.

(As an aside I'd like take this moment to ask why do the Germans shoulder most of the blame for Scheisse Porn? In my limited experience I've noticed it's mostly Japanese... Perhaps the Germans were the innovators of the genre and thus earned themselves the notoreity)

Not only has the internet given us all these things, but it also lends a voice to those people who would otherwise be shut out from society. No longer do these sickly looking depression cases have to rely on suicide hotlines for their expression! Nay, with YouTube and other such services they have the ability to show their piano playing cat to the world!

Now that I've offended 83% of the internet, I must admit that this video made me laugh. I'm not sure if it's because at first I thought it was going to play "Chopsticks" and waited through half the clip to find out it was just a stupid cat putting it's paws on the keys, or maybe it was the fact that "Nora" would press the keys and then stare into the camera as if to say "Ahh the Muse! It speaks to me! Can you hear!?"

After writing a review of an internet cat video I'm beginning to think I'm the depressed shut in calling the suicide hotline every Christmas.

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From now on your life will be slightly better

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Welcome to The Incredible Mr. Limpet. You have come here to witness the single greatest waste of time the internet has yet to offer. With the help of contributors Fatty Arbuckle, Jerk Stupidneck, Mr. Feelings, and myself Hats Bagelman we'll help guide your life through the important things: The days news, help with your love life, sports, finances, high society, and remebering the importance of the greatest generation.

So blow off all that work you were going to do, take a seat, and enjoy the ride. Oh and in case you forget always remember our mission statement.

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We'll always have Paris

Like most people, I had thought that we destroyed every last communist back in 1989 when Hasslehoff flew over East Germany in his fiery chariot and killed every first born communist male child. Evidently, I was wrong.

Pop culture icon and American treasure, Paris Hilton, was pelted with Cigarettes and Lipstick at a mall appearance in Austria. The alleged demons behind this attack? Dirty Reds.

The only light in all of this is that Paris is picking up where Tiffany left off and enlightening Europe with a tour of shopping malls. It warms my heart to see a down home American girl braving the slings and arrows of Rooskie Devils to bestow the American dream upon those unfortunate souls outside of the US.

I didn't even know Europe had shopping malls... Don't they still use the barter system?

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Thursday, February 15, 2007

So it Begins

The Incredible Mr. Limpet > John Lennon > Jesus

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