This is the first episode of the BroJob Podcast. Aaron, Ty and Brandon bring their ridiculously inventive humor in this episode while discussing sports, video games, Ty’s attempt to buy a Ferrari and TJ Venn’s uncontrollable sphincter. The content of this podcast is wildly amusing and somewhat crass. It’ll have you laughing off your ass. Enjoy!
http://www.ourmedia.org/node/325668
Podcast: Play in new window | Download (30.3MB)
It’s that time of the week again. It’s Funny Friday. Do you want to play along? Of course you do. Here are the rules: 1. A minimum of roughly 80 percent of everything that you do today must a.) be hilarious, b.) incite hilarity or c.) pay the pickle man. 2. You may or may not do whatever it takes to uphold rule #1. Also, third, don’t be annoying. That has the opposite effect (save it for Over-the-top Tuesday).
If you’re having trouble deciding what to do on Funny Friday, then you’re over thinking the task. Here are some things you can do, though, if you’re really having trouble:
Imitate a retarded person imitating a normal person
Sneak up on friend with one of your farts in a jar
Piss in something that’s not a toilet
Have a coffee drinking contest
Sleep with your fat neighbor but no kissing
Punch a bunny in the face
Push over a one-legged duck (quack!)
See how many grapes you can fit in your mouth
Spin your office chair until you fall out of it/puke
Hula hoop on a chair
Spend some allowance from your spank bank
Tape your hands together with masking tape and poke stuff
Pull your cat’s tail
Take a dump in a fitting room
Chew old gum out of the carpet
Fill a can with spit and drink it
Eat a cigarette
Tape your cube mate’s office supplies to a wall just out of his reach
Play dress up
Cut your own
Make a paper airplane and set it on fire before you throw it
Take your shirt off, sit down and watch your stomach fat get fatter/paint your nipples white with white-out
Look at kittens/puppies/babies
Have a push-up contest with your friend Donny
When Donny wins, murder him (for fun)
Whatever it is you end up doing, have fun with it. After all, it is Funny Friday.
Here’s the problem with laptops.
Here’s the sitch. Family’s away for a short while. Spouse, parents, live-in life partner, master, whoever. You’re alone. You’re thinking, maybe I’ll have just a quick jerk. (Ladies, maybe just a quick flick.) Your fastest release…Internet PORN!
You strip down to your skivvies and, even though you know there’s no one around, you sneak your way over to the laundry hamper and grab an old sock for cleaning up. You scurry to the bathroom and lotion up. When you realize your wonderful circumstances, you instantly “perk” up. You prance and spin and dance your way over to your laptop. When you approach your laptop, you see that it is still in the computer bag. “No problem,” you whisper dismissively, “I got this.”
And, in your complacent attempt to gingerly open the bag’s zipper without leaving a shred of evidence revealing the act of masturbation, you drop your clean-up sock. As you go for it, you forget about the lotion on your hand and spill it all over the computer bag. Now the zipper is slathered in Jergen’s and you panic. You try and wipe it up by salvaging as much lube as you can. Your hands occupied, you start wiping excess lube with your hardened penis.
You freak when the zipper proves to be too abrasive on your tender flesh. You yelp in pain. Instinctively, and as not to disturb anyone (as you would under normal rub-your-chub circumstances), you cover your mouth. In doing so, you transfer lotion from your hand to your mouth, you look down to see your penis is bleeding. You also see that in your frantic struggle you shed pubic hair all over your work files and fallen sock.
You tell yourself, “F*ck it, I started this and I’m gonna finish.” You reach for the computer and manage to open it and turn it on with your non-lotiony hand. The computer is password protected and you type out what you think it is. You kick yourself as you remember inventing a password that not even the world’s top hacker could crack. A breeze for you any other day but, in the chaos, you panic. The letters alternate lower case and capitals. A percentage sign? You press the keys with your cleaner hand, using your tongue to press the shift key.
You finally log on and run the Internet with no luck. The router for the internet isn’t working. You run into the other room and unplug the router, wait 30 seconds and plug it back in. Fully erect, you sprint back to the computer. Realizing your alone time is diminishing, you grab your penis and single-handedly type the name of your favorite X-rated website (the only form of multitasking a man is capable of). You scroll over a video clip and watching a random preview of two Russians prod and poke each other, you bust a load of your future’s best, brightest and whitest directly into your belly button. No time for the clean up sock.
You relax and laugh at the mess you’ve created: The lotion covered computer bag. The blood. The semen. The porn site. You fall asleep. You wake up to your wife screaming at you for scarring her children for life. “No child should see her step-father this way!” she screams.
Laptops are the worst.
What’s the best part about shrimp? They’re American, dammit! Those tiny sh*ts are plentiful and, as far as I’m concerned when you’ve got some of that delicious cocktail sauce, they’re tasty, too. But something happened recently that really puckers my barn hole.
Seven weeks ago (and counting), the oil and gas mogul, British Petroleum or BP, “accidentally” collapsed an oil well in the Gulf of Mexico and is uncontrollably pumping its bubbly crude all over American shrimping waters. Why we haven’t waged war against these f*ck sticks is beyond me.
What’s worse is that we (America collectively, except Lonny) have swallowed this grimy glob and will to continue to do so. In a gesture to keep fishing and tourism industries afloat during this crisis, BP has done what any company does in a crisis situation; they threw money at it. Big money, too. It’s the kind of money that allows sick f*cks the opportunity to do sick f*ck things.
This is the kind of money that says, “Not only am I not going to fix this environmental catastrophe, I’m going to buy you, cut off your balls and make you my eunuch, remove your testicles from the hairy ball skin, staple, then duct tape the skin over your mouth and nose while I tickle you and watch you die to death you p*ssy.”
Thanks to cash reimbursements to support lost business caused by the oil spill, some fishing companies are generating more business than before the spill.
Instead of using this money to protect themselves from future oopsies, companies spend to reinvent themselves. This unadvised spending creates illusions of market stability in uncertain times and opens the flood gates for struggling companies to venture into risky endeavors.
I can imagine the CEO from one of the aforementioned struggling fishing companies thinking, “This is the time we make a big move.” And because he has new money to burn, he goes against all logic and fishes oil soaked waters. After which, some greased wheel at a hackneyed advisory operation like the Louisiana Shrimp and Fisherman Council to okay some new product line. All of a sudden, your kid is hooked on Red Lobster’s/Fishy Joe’s/Long John Silver’s/Generic non-seafood eatery’s Crude Dude’s Boily and Oily Super Duper Shrimp Poppers (try ‘em with tar ball dippin’ sauce!) which by some stroke has been pushed to market by a rejuvenated BP (British Prawns).
I’m really gonna hate that.
The old saying used to say that “you should smoke ‘em if you got ‘em.” There’s no worse advice in the history of all of the things that have ever been advised. Smoking is gross.
If you got ‘em, you should just shoot yourself. This is to say that even a dead and rotting corpse is more attractive than a smoker. If you smoke, you’re dead to me. If you don’t smoke, then we should hang out. If you don’t hang out, then you should. I’m a lot of fun.
By the way, don’t think that you can hide your nicotine addiction by chewing your smokeless tobacco around me either. That’s gross, too. It’s all spittooning your chaw into the empty water bottles in my car. You don’t deserve bottles. You deserve cancer. If you chew, then you should put fire ants in your eyes and cayenne pepper in your pee hole. That’s right. Pee hole.
Oh, and another thing; pull my finger. Smell that? Old wet newspapers and canned, creamed corn. You are that smell to me…completely disgusting. If you’re going to insist on riding your premium, menthol-flavored cancer pony to your grave, please, count me out. I don’t want anything to do with you. Now will you have sex with me?
What’s your favorite bar named after a bird? No, it’s not Boozie, the foul mouthed parrot you keep in a cage. It’s the Meadowlark, silly! Come down Sunday to the Meadowlark 2701 Larimer and see Denvers best comics! Aaron Maslow (me), Alicia Jacobs, Brent The Great, Rob Gleeson and hosted by the wonderfully talented, Tim Coleman! No cover! 9pm. I’m guessing that hands down you’ll have the best time of your entire life, ever (not an understatement).
These damn mutts are so wet
If you’ve been following this blog (and there is no doubt in my mind that you haven’t…Google Analytics tells all!), then there is a good chance you’ve noticed a lot of bullsh*t. No, this blog doesn’t answer life’s little riddles and it doesn’t try to sell you something that you really need. What it does is entertain in the most absurd way. Nearly everything you see here is an invention of my scattered brain or a fantastic reaction to the world around me.
The trouble with maintaining that schematic is that while ideas for content are seemingly limitless, for me, they flow like mud. It occurred to me that I can counter my lackluster approach to content entry by adding a series of themed posts. I call it “Quip & Quote” and I will post it as often as there are days that I post.
I will create a quote like quote that will become an instant classic and then explain it with a short quip or cutting jest. It might be as profound as it is profane or not. It’s going to be something that you’ll think you’ve heard before, but will be as original and fresh as store bought bananas. So sit back, open your eyes and your heart. I’m about to take you for a ride.
Quip & Quote:
A person with a negative attitude is attributed by a unwillingness to change and the title of Douche Bag. That is why in this instance, we say:
“A wet stick is not easily broken.”
There comes a time in every relationship when the love is strained. Every couple has their way of managing these shaky times. One of my favorites and usually the subject of many daytime television talk shows is when a couple thinks it’s appropriate to add another person. I’m talking about threesomes or menage a trois. Mixing it up a little seems to be a good treatment for an ailing partnership. I’m here to tell you that it is not.
The game of ‘plus one’ is dangerous. Men think that a shaky relationship can only be saved in the bedroom. His mindset is that if he can get her to “Oh face” one more time, things’ll be saved. But that’s the tricky part. Women think outside the box spring. A woman would sacrifice somewhat on the lovemaking side if it meant a man would treat her right.
But, a man thinks the word threesome automatically assumes that the girl he’s been fantasizing about at work is going to magically accept his gracious offer to sleep with him and his girlfriend or wife. Wrong. A man’s best chance at attracting another woman to aid his failing relationship is probably going to begin and end with a hooker. Like picking a puppy from a pet store, this method will most certainly bankrupt your budget and leave many piss stains on your rugs. Once you bring your new friend, Cinnamon, home to meet the fam, I’m sure you’ll find that things have already gone awry.
I must say, that nothing makes a woman feel more special than a spin around the bed with some other chick driving. Psyche. Women hate that. A girl wants to feel like she’s the only one in the world. Sleeping with you and your wife doesn’t accomplish that goal. Sleeping with you and another girl doesn’t do it for your wife either. My advice: don’t do this, you can’t make the bonds of love stronger by adding another person; it will only strain things further.
For women, however, salvaging a union with a threesome takes on another meaning entirely. Similar to men, the conquest begins in the bedroom. When women think threesome, they think baby. As wonderful as a bundle of joy can be, this is disastrous. For women, a baby signifies a milestone in life and shows the world that they’re fertile and responsible. This is a strong message to send to the bitches from high school. For men, however, a baby means extra expense. The man must work harder and more often to provide for his partner and his newly fashioned love child. As a result, he fills all of his time working and seldom sees the family he fights so hard to preserve. My advice: don’t do this either. Once again, adding another person to a strained relationship will only hurt your chances of sanctity.
A threesome in a strained relationship, no matter how you describe it, is tricky. If you’re serious about an open relationship or having a baby, make sure that the lines of communication as well as the bonds that tie are solid. It’s not a tool for fixing or enhancing. Threesomes are meant for ruining lives. That’s why the only threesomes you know of are from the porno you watch. If you’re having difficulties with your relationship, talk it out. Touch and feel and listen. If that doesn’t work, cut your losses. Chances are there’s a couple of baby makers out there looking to mingle.
Once upon a time, in an earlier post, I announced I was starting a diet that would include regular exercise, good eating and “lots of water”. From that I learned I should never announce things. While I’ve managed to stay on track with my weight loss goals, I’ve been fighting the process like hell. Just like the goings on at Planned Parenthood, diets suck…the life right out of you.
I must explain that the problem with dieting does not rest in the exercising. I thoroughly enjoy the satisfaction of working out so hard that I sweat out my b-hole. Diets don’t suck because of eating right, either. I like salad (dressing). The reason diets suck is based solely on the suggestion that a person should guzzle down 64-128 ounces of water each day. I’ve incorporated this suggestion into my daily routine and have suffered.
If I had it my way, I would eliminate “watering down” from my regiment. Here, then, are ten reasons why you shouldn’t drink more water:
10. Peeing out your butt hole when you’re not sick or dying is slightly disgusting
9. Tinkling more than a dozen times a day is bad for your water bill
8. The large amount of urine you expel just adds to the production and bottling of more Coors Light
7. The more water you drink, the clearer you see that you should cut out the middle man and drink your own pee
6. Even horses get colic from ingesting too much water
5. When your doctor asks you to pee in a cup your hand gets wet from overflow
4. When you pee in the toilet your feet get wet from overflow
3. Your pea sized bladder fills up quicker than a ten dollar whore
2. Frequent trips to the bathroom have your employer wondering if you’re a illicit drug doer
-and, finally-
1. There’s not enough booze in this swill
You read right. I’m a paid comedian. Actually, I won twenty dollars in a comedy contest last night at Old Chicago’s Comedy on the Rocks contest. I was in the zone. I brought the energy up in the room so high that they had to scrape it off the ceiling with a broom, or so they said. I did a few stories. I told a pun. I had the benefit of having my lovely wife and several compatriots attend the show also. I pretty much ran the gamut and pulled out all the stops. I plan to do it again. Here, have a listen: Feb 24 Standup by wolsamnoraa
My mother is a big, hairy gorilla. That’s right, stay with me. She’s an ape.
If you ask her about it, she claims to be of a young evolutionary age. Her name is Simeon. She was born in a jungle, she fishes ants out of logs with sticks and she has a hairy back like all the other gorillas.
She talks to me using the monkey sign language that she learned at the institute.
You’re probably wondering where I came from and why I don’t look much like a baby gorilla. First of all, you haven’t seen my hairy back and secondly, my father was a run of the mill banana salesman. Mom was his best customer and paid in full with premium primate lovin’.
Come 'ere, Gorilla Baby...mmmuuah
Thankfully, I only got Dad’s good looks and not his lust for monkey meat.
Dad died when I was just a boy of ape. During one of her sh&t fits, mom accidentally suffocated him with poop. I tried to figure out why she was so mad I got confused when she tried to use her monkey sign language while hurling feces.
I found out later that Dad was cheating on mom with some overgrown chimp named Buttons. After that they sent her to sit behind bars at the zoo.
The zoo keepers try to get her to mate by putting male gorillas in her cage. She mates, but I can’t bear to watch. I can see the pain in her eyes when she’s getting aped from behind.
She told me that she misses Dad and that no other gorilla can take his place. I said, “What about another man?”
A switch flipped. She got so excited that the zoo keepers tazed her. I went to the only place I know to find an ape loving man…the “Miscellaneous Romance” section on Craigslist.
I found my gorilla mom a human man. He is ironically named Evolution. He and my mother, Simeon, have fallen in love. She is going to remarry. I am happy for my monkey mom, but I’m disturbed by Evolution’s motives. It’s a sick thing for a man to lust for a gorilla.
I’m not going to their wedding. My mother went ape shit when she heard this and sent Evolution to come talk to me.
Evolution said to me, “Marriage of man and ape is the natural progression.” To which I replied, “Evolution, you can take your love a step farther, but I won’t have you as a step father.”
These guys give douche bags a bad name
I know it’s a little late to comment on the decay of America’s social fabric but I’m going to anyway. I was tuning into some syndicated episodes of my favorite teeny-bopper television programming on a channel called MTV, when I noticed a show I hadn’t seen before. It’s called “Jersey Shore”.
For those of you who don’t know (i.e. anyone over the age of 24), “Jersey Shore” showcases the lives of several twenty-something New Jerseyans or New Jerseyites or douche bags or whatever living in a beach house in New Jersey. These kids are young and sexy and trendy and are always looking to score some tail or coke. Their nicknames and dialects are as revolting and annoying as those of the characters in the movie, “Good Will Hunting”.
From what I can tell, the men on the show gather strength for sun tanning and misogyny by slamming down Jaeger Bombs in hot tubs and smoking menthol cigarettes. The girls in the cast use the power of Bump-its, push-up bras and brash diction to get punched in the face. Watching “Jersey Shore” is like watching a bunch of retards play together. Everyone just makes up his own rules and throws a tantrum whenever he’s expected to share.
Their days are spent wandering around looking for sex and whining about how difficult their lives are. So far as I can tell, it reflects the general attitude of young Americans. The people in the cast are egocentric and insist that the world owes them something for nothing. No work and all play is the Jersey Shore way of life. The characters show a complete disregard for personal responsibility. It saddens me to think that this is what we view as normal behavior.
Regardless, “Jersey Shore” is a great show. I can’t turn away when these freaks get to jabber-jawing. From what I’ve heard, a lot of people like it, too. MTV has decided to bring the cast back for a second season. I guess we’ll just have to wait for another sultry New Jerseyan summer and “Grease” sequel before we can get another taste of this delectable dish.
About three months ago, I decided that quitting my sh*tty job would be a good idea. Even though the action temporarily halted my night terrors and self-mutilation, it has led to a host of other problems. I have since been diagnosed and treated for depression and a disease simply known as the gay. These ailments have caused me a host of other problems that I could not have predicted. Tension is mounting between my wife and me as I sit at home all day. Despite my reluctance, there seems to be only one solution; I should get to f*cking work. Here, then, are 10 reasons that I should get a job:
10. A job provides an opportunity to have money, to give back to society, have a bigger purpose in life, meet new people and be mad at something other than my wife and the house cat
"I've been workforce ready since my conception"
9. There are no more dishes to clean and the floors are as swept as they’ll ever be
8. The fern I planted to provide me with a sense of fruitfulness and hope has died
7. Water cooler talk about Seinfeld reruns is turning me into a schizophrenic
6. I’ve been taking public buses just to see where their routes end
5. Investing money in my home business of cashing in on the Internet has amounted to numerous porn site subscriptions and dozens of pills that combat erectile dysfunction
4. My home office consists of a barcalounger, a box of colored pencils and a guitar I plan on learning
3. Anticipation of checking the mail keeps me up all night
2. Getting drinks “after work” starts at nine in the morning
-and, finally-
1. I spend more money than my wife makes
"Let's take this thing a step farther," Evolution said to the monkeys.
There’s no doubt about it…I know sex. I’m expert in hot, naked relations with other humans. My expertise comes from years of field research and years of hocking sexy (used) wares and information around town to prepubescent teens.
Before that, I voluntarily trained in the mystic arts of “sex safety practices and proper penile insertion techniques.” It was for college credit.
Today, I’m here to tell you that power of great sex can be yours by simply following and practicing a few guidelines. Soon, you will be showcasing your sexual prowess like a boner in sweatpants.
The first step to having the best sexual experiences of your life is honesty with yourself. Learning what your mildly crazy and dangerous side wants out of sex is half the battle. The other half is listening to that craziness. And the third half is accepting it’s okay to want and have those things. You want missionary, that’s great. You want fisting, fantastic. You want anal with a pocket knife, have fun.
The second step is starting and maintaining great communication with other people. Got it? Great…next point.
The third step, and this is important, is trust. Trust starts by building a strong foundation on reciprocating information through active listening will open the door to the best sexy (or bexy) encounters of your life. No foundation means no trust. For example, if you don’t listen to me, I can’t trust that you know that the safe word is “polyester pajama hat.” All of a sudden you’re looking at 15-20 years for rape.
So, there you have it. Find out what you want. Tell someone that you can trust. Get crazy. It’s that easy. If you’re having trouble figuring out what you want, see the list of activities below.
Rate how willing you are to try each one (Afterwards, have your partner(s)/sheep(s) fill one out too and compare. Just discus the activities that match up and get crazy.).
Directions:
Rate these sexual activities in order of your willingness to do them and then share with your partner. Use these four rankings:
“I will absolutely do that”, “I would try that”, “I would never do that…with you”, “I would never do that”.
Conversation at a Table Conversation in the Nude
Role Play Naked Spooning
Erotic Massage Mouth Kissing
Kissing the Body Using Toys
Touching Genitals Using Food
Blowing Genitals with Open Mouth and Hand (Cunnilingus/Fellatio/Hand Jobbing)
Fisting Missionary Position
Doggy Style Position Cowgirl/Reverse Cowgirl Position
T-Square Pile Driver
Rusty Bike Pump Anal Insertion/Licking (Anilingous)
Stimulation Using Props Introducing Another Person
Introducing Yet Another Person/Group of Persons
Trapeze Bondage
Filming a Sexual Session Selling that Tape for Profit
Introducing Animals/Midgets Introducing a Street Performer/Busker
Prostitution Physical Manipulation/Abuse
Using a Condom Marriage
There's no getting around 'it' because you don't know where 'it' is
I don’t know about you, but one of the most stimulating parts of intercourse is satisfying your partner. If you’re like me or any member of an all-girl softball team, then most of your sex is going to be with a woman. There is no greater reciprocation of mutual respect than offering a resounding “OH YES!!” to your woman/women.
From my experiences as a medical doctor and sexual predator, I can tell you that the orgasm you give to your lady comes from stimulation of her clitoris: a mysterious nub button within the confines of a human’s labia majora. However, even though I know it’s there, and she knows it’s there, and the camera man knows it there, the clitoris evades me sometimes.
A buddy of mine told me once about “eating out” with a friend one evening. What he thought was a nice serving turned into an audible “sigh” of discomfort from his lady friend. Apparently, the clam cake appetizer didn’t come to the table at all. That one sigh set the pace for the entire course. He said that he had his dessert alone in a corner with chocolate sauce for lube and a bus boy’s apron for clean up.
My friend’s (and his lady’s) misfortunes led me to ask the question: At the most crucial times, why is the clitoris so elusive? Here are 10 reasons I came up with to explain…
10. It was circumcised in an act of religious persecution (so sad 
)
9. Her mother is a turtle and it’s hiding
8. She’s in labor and you’re spreading her baby’s cleft lip
7. Her father is a groundhog and fears its own shadow (thanks, Sean)
6. The man in the little boat finally set sail
5. She’s a man with big hairy man parts
4. You’re poking around in the wrong hole
3. She’s wearing parachute pants
2. She’s an amputee from the neck down
-and, finally-
1. You can lick around until your tongue turns raw, but you have no idea what you’re looking for
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