The William Hicks biopic is getting off the ground, apparently, and Crowe is aiming to direct it. I had no idea that Russell Crowe wanted to make a Bill Hicks movie, let alone that he was a fan of the mad genius.
I was worried for a hot minute about the United States and our crown as the Gluttons of the Planet. Pizza Hut over in the UK and the Middle East were unveiling truly heinous concoctions and there was silent on our Western Front. Worry not, friends. Burger King has got our back.
Pizza Hut UK is upping its fucking game, son! They’re outdoing us Americans at being slovenly Western pigs. Behold!, the hot dog stuffed crust pizza.
Hit the jump if you dare.
Welcome to Bovine America, where shotguns and fast food are going to come stapled to our tits upon birth. Naw man, I shouldn’t stunt. This is goddamn awesome. It’s a moderately attractive female firing a shotgun, generating a rainbow. How can this not be everything George Washington hoped for when he fought the Martians for control of Delaware?
I don’t watch wrestling, but I may need to start. I know The Rock is back, and just today I had this video emailed to me from Patrick Bateman OL’s programmer and resident sociopath. I genuinely enjoy Brock Lesnar as a super-douche hyper-real humanoid character, and I’ve always wanted to lay a stink on John Cena for ruining one of the greatest things in the world: jorts.
Hit the jump to watch Lesnar blast the choad with a ferocity unmatched by anywhere the seven winds cover.
Listen, let’s all calm down with bringing the Skynet Cylon revolution into our fucking grocery stores. Well, anymore than it already is. I mean, laziness is good and all. I get it. You want to be fat. You want to ride your scooters around Walmart while you buy shit you don’t need. That said, we need to draw the line somewhere. I’m drawing it at having a Kinect-enabled Fascist Robot Shopping Cart point out when you’re buying the wrong spaghetti.
Hit the jump for more info, and the horror.
A couple of weeks ago, Rendar and I saw Marc Maron do a live recording of his podcast. As those who worship the crabby but hilarious son of a bitch know, his fans often bring him baked goods. At the show we attended he was given the “turducken of baked goods”, a concoction that shook Olympus itself. What the fuck was it? It was none other than oreos, wrapped in cookie dough batter, baked in brownie mix. At that moment, the Fat Kid in me knew I had to have it. For weeks at the Omega Dinner Table, Rendar and I would mention what a glory it would be to consume such a genuine piece of Fat Ass America. This week though, our own Momma Omega laid it down. She was going to create this Slight on God.
It was wonderful. Upon biting in I proclaimed, “I feel like a piece of shit!” It didn’t stop me though. It was truth made carbohydrate.
Fauja Singh just ran a marathon. He’s 100 years old. I, along with the other cheese-product covered, beer-swilling Americans are absolutely confounded. How is he even alive, or at least not confines to bombing around Walmart in one of those sweet motorized carriages?