This is How You Blackmail Jeff Bezos, Guys

maybe just a little more contrast?

DEAR MR. BEZOS: YEAH, SO. JUST READ the descriptions of those pics the National Enquirer got their hands on, and should Amazon customers see them — which would clearly be in their best interest — they would, quite frankly, question your business judgment. I certainly do!

I do also have just a few really quite minor suggestions about your Instagram filters, but let’s save that for the bit in the deli when we sign the “catch and kill.”

Alright, here’s the deal: Basically, the “sketch” and “cartoon” options are not considered, you know. Au courant, at least, if you want even a shot at being an “Influencer.” But more on that later.

Honestly? I’d say just a little more contrast. Remember that “brightness” is all about the mid-tones, and jeepers, don’t miss out on the red-eye reduction! Saves you hours in post! Are you getting this down?

Now on to the blackmail bit, and apologies for the delay, which I’m sure must be making you feel a bit antsy.

So, you’ve revealed just a teensy bit more than you intended. Now we know what that bulge in your pants was. We thought it was just a great, big, rolled-up wad of billions of dollars in corporate welfare you got for building your second HQ in New York City — that sleepy, second-rate wannabe town that’s been aching for someone, anyone, but mostly you, to help it break out of that loser mentality that’s kept it beaten down and struggling.

That’s how it’s been in New Amsterdam, right? Ever since the Dutch dropped anchor thinking they were somewhere in southeast Asia, and proceeded to eke out their wretched lives eating tulip bulbs with the dirt still on them, forcing their women folk into sexual slavery — exposing themselves behind plate glass windows as they proffered their freshly-baked Apfelkuchen. Ja, das schmeckt!

But, no. It was your, and you may want to ask the little ladies and kids to leave the room at this point, “semi-erect manhood;” due, I have no doubt, to the “cleavage” on display; and as far as business judgment goes, nice try with the “fully-erect manhood and two great big naturals available when you join ‘Prime.’

Nice try but no cigar, except with the simulated depiction of oral sex.

My interest, among other things, peaked, just a little, at “nether regions,” and it raised an eyebrow at the felicity of an AMI executive being named “Mr. Pecker.”

Are you serious?

The Peckers consider baby names:

“If it’s a girl, let’s name her ‘Brandy’. It’d be nice to have a stripper in the family, especially if she goes the ‘European-style’ route. If it’s a boy — how about Richard? No?”

Sometimes, Mr. Bezos, life is perfect.

The folks at AMI apparently read a lot of trashy pulp novels from the 1950’s (“She was a Kitten with a steno pad… but a Tigress between the percale sheets!”) and I squirm with delight at their inability to say “penis,” “erection,” or “pubic.”

Even my five-year-old great-nephew can say those!

(At least, he could before Doug Ford replaced the Ontario sex-ed curriculum with free copies of “Saint Paul’s Epistle to the Ephesians.”)

Reading the tantalizing, babelicious descriptions had raised my temperature to such a degree that — well.

I had to take things in hand.

Five minutes under a cold shower, which is apparently all my landlord is able to provide this week, has ruined my Galaxy S2. Waterproof, my eye!

Let’s cut to the chase, Mr Bezos, or now that we know each other so much better, how’s about I just call you Jeff? Hmmmm?

Or, sure, maybe just stick with “Mr. Bezos.” Mr. Bezos is fine. Not a problem.

I’m not going to pussyfoot around, here. I publish this on my blog (readership approaching one hundred, it’s possible my mom subscribed twice, but whatever), OR I get free shipping OR next-day delivery, I’ll decide later, on… Well, I dunno.

That iPhone X is lookin’ pretty damn tasty, Mr. Bezos.

OK, OK, relax! It was just a thought. No, really, forget it.

Sheesh! Jump all over me or what!

I’ll be fine. I’ll just — stick it in a bag of rice.

My phone.

OK, so text me. No, call. Yeah, nearly had me putting it in writing, you sly dog! Ha! Nice one! You’re good!

All the best,

Dave “Pecker” Roddis

P.S. 
I’d be happy with even the 8GB iPhone X, just so you know. Also, about the semi-erect thing, Cialis works great, with, honestly? only a really small chance of stroke, with just a slightly bigger chance if you’ve taken aspirin in the past ninety days. And if you order the generic ones from India you get 50% off your next purchase. I’ll send you a coupon.

They call it “the weekender,” that’s just man to man between you and me, and I think you’ll find it’s totally worth the risk. Start with half a one first and see how it goes, is my idea.

Aspirin! I know, seriously?

֍

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Keep your kids, like. Ignorcent?! (TM) with Dug-Up Ford and Susan Dreamy, D.D.

Hi, I’m like,

susandreamy

Susan Dreamy?  D.D?  That’s Doctress of Dreaminess, OK?  And I’m here today to help you live a dreamy,

Life?  Also to talk to you about the things that are really, really,

Like, important?  OK?  So let’s get, like, started?

So Dug-Up Ford and like, the Conservatives in Ontario, have, like. Your kids best interests.

At heart?

They know that being like, a Doctor or Doctress of Dreaminess takes hard, like.

Work?

And they want your kids to live a dreamy, you know, life?  Just like. You know.

I do?

They want to keep your kids, you know.  Ignorant and Innocent, OK?

That’s why they came up with this new, awesome, like.

Conservative Thing?

It’s called

Ignorcence!™

And they tee-emmed it, which is so you know that it’s like.

Theirs?  OK?

Ignorcence™ is like, ignorance, but super dreamier cause you’re like. Innocent, too!?

Conservatives know that your kids are being distracted by like, shhhhhhhh!!!!! naughty things? 

Like wobblyboobies or crotchpackets and sticking goggodoodies up your, you know.

Gash?

That’s wrong!  You don’t find out about, like naughty things like your poodangle or your whattamahoozie in school!  That’s like, dirty snowflake stuff!  Not dreamy, OK?

It’s better for your kidz to focus on arithmetic and, like.

Yeah!?

So Mr. Dug-Up and the Conservatards are doing, the right, you know. Thing? And rolling back naughty! whisper! sex! ed!  So we can forget all the stuff that’s not dreamy!

And then your kids can learn about whipwangs and bleedywunckets, like, after school!  Your kids will be, like.

Ignorcent!™

and so fucktarded dreamy about sssssssssshhhhhhhhhhh!!!! SEX!

It’ll take like, five of them? Working together just to figure out how to stuff Johnny’s peeperdoodle??!! into Jenny’s, like.

woofooney???!!

Like at recess?  You know? But they can always do that for, I guess, like.

Homework?!?!?!

That’s, like, your Ford vote working for Ignorcence™! Like, day and night!

Let’s make Ontario Ignorcent™ again!   Thanks Mr Dug-Up!!  Thanks for your

Ignorcence!!!???™

Also, when your kids go on, like, Facebook, there are sometimes, like, GUYS?  Who sound really really dreamy cool, but then they want to meet you after class is out, but it’s like OK?

Because your mom and dad sent them!  That’s like.

Super dreamy??!!!

Brandy met someone about a month ago, and we, like, just got the postcard from, like.

Brazil?!??!?!  

Brandy’s having an awesomely awesome dreamytime and meeting a lot of cute, like.

Boys!!!??

Brandy is super super IGNORCENT™!  Thanks Mr. Dug-Up, you’re, like.

SUPER DREAMY!!!?!?!?!?!?!?!??

And so is being your new thing, like IGNORCENT!
Except that’s SUPER SUPER AWESOME, too!


DREAMY, LIKE.  JENNIFER!!?? INTERVIEW!?!?!?!?

Hey there!  Jennifer!  You look super super awesomely dreamy??!  How is your, like,

Ignorcence!???????????????™

“It’s OK, I guess. Yeah. Feels good. I dunno. Protected. Whatever.”

That’s, like.  AWESOME, and, like. The twins?

“Well, you know, fucktard Fords. I drank some dishwashing soap and hot water and jumped up and down for three hours.  Finally that lady down the hall managed to scrape them out with a coat hanger.

“Johnnie and I named them Ford-Blobs One and Two. Then we buried them in the back yard, but the cat dugged ’em up.  Gross.

“We’ll just fuckin’, I dunno. Wait for the full moon. Worst case scenario, like, pray harder and bury ’em deeper next time?  

“So, like, sorry but I gotta finish my relief map for geography class. Nice talkin’ to ya.

“Oh yeah, if ya see Johnnie, tell him to come home and hurry up cause I’m still fuckin’ bleeding.”

That’s SUPER SUPER DREAMY JENNIFERRRRR !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Have a DREAMY LIFE, GUYS!  IGNORCENT™!!!????!?  OK?????!!!!!???!?!?

Planting little kisses all over my face in the mirror…

I mean, normally that’s YOUR job, gentle and misguided reader.  But I’ll give you the day off from following my EULA to the very letter.   You deserve this not for any action on your part – puhLEEEASE! – but  because I have triumphed over the forces of darkness that have been swirling around my ankles like a choirboy’s cassock at a Vatican audition.

But first:  What was your favorite Trump moment of the past week?  Mine was his retort to Theresa May, PM of Britain.  In case you hadn’t heard, Prime Minister May, in an unprecedented public shaming, chided Trump for displaying extreme, and almost certainly fake, racist, anti-Muslim videos obtained from extreme UK right-wing group “Britain First”.

May’s office condemned Britain First for its use of “hateful narratives which peddle lies and stoke tensions.”

The statement continued, “The British people overwhelmingly reject the prejudiced rhetoric of the far-right, which is the antithesis of the values that this country represents — decency, tolerance and respect.”

Then, unequivocal condemnation:  “It is wrong for the President to have done this.”

Trump, like a defensive high school kid caught red-handed smoking behind the recycling bins and sent to the Principal’s office, decided to “Back atcha” her with a little arrogant, patronizing cyberbullying:

trump-may

How was he to know that he targeted the tweet to the wrong Theresa May?

Yup, that’s right.  Although this sounds like something lifted verbatim from satirical magazine The Onion, it is unfortunately true: Theresa May Scrivener, a 41-year-old British citizen with a protected Twitter account of six followers, said, “I haven’t been able to leave my house. I’ve been bombarded and contacted by press from around the world.”

She added,

“It’s amazing to think that the world’s most powerful man managed to press the wrong button,” she said. “I’m just glad he was not contacting me to say he was going to war with North Korea.”

No kidding.  Britain First, a hate group, is reviled by most British citizens (who, despite May’s brave words are no slouches in the racism department), is in trouble with the law, and represents possibly the worst candidate for publicizing by a President of the United States that you could possibly choose. From a fringe position of near invisibility to world-wide notoriety in one instant—all thanks to The Donald.

I wonder what the gaffes are that we DON’T hear about…?


And now, back to me, thank ya JEEEEEEZUS!

A-fobbin’ off we go, a-fobbin’ off we go…!

 

I appear to have reached an all-time low,

which, seeing where the bar is situated, makes me limbo champion of the universe as I touch the back of my balding scalp to my yellowed heels.

I had been thinking it was time to post again, but, being too beaten down and so very dangling on the edge of extinction to really care, I dithered.  I dallied.  The only thing I had ready was a video, and that would make two videos in a row.

For some reason, I imagined my readers would really care about this.

As if! And once again possessed with that profoundly cynical Weltanschauung—which is a brand of German washing machine that tells you to at least rinse out your skivvies, dude, then locks you in the basement until you comply— I  rallied!

What is my solution?  Post a cute cat video that’s not even by me!  I oughta be horse-whipped.  Horse-whipped, I tell ya!

Altogether, now:

“This is the only cute cat video I will ever post.

“Today.”

From My Squalid Kitchen: Episode 6—Mature Mayonnaise Marathon

UPDATE: I received this heartfelt email from a “fan”:

Dear Wannabe Film Maker Who Can’t Even Operate His Smartphone:

Me and a couple of other male colleagues booked maternity leave so we could watch your “Mayonnaise” epic, which clocked in at 20 minutes of nothing but you stirring an egg in a bowl. Talk about bait and switch! We tried to cancel and go back to work, but you know. Until Planned Parenthood mans up and drops the pro-female PC liberal bullshit, we’re basically fucked.

It’s like, over for us, but maybe you could edit it down a bit, for the sake of. You know. Personkind.

Also, do you know where we can score some good weed? We’ll be at the food bank today, just before it closes. Thanks, dude.

So I had another go at the edit and I’ve got it down to 12 minutes – that’s seven minutes less. This video is now tighter than Kirstie Alley’s thigh warmers.  Sorry, culottes.

And THAT’s the way (uh-huh uh-huh) we all now apparently LIKE it (uh-huh uh-huh).  Enjoy!

~

What can you do at 62 with an egg yolk and some oil? If you guessed “get a guaranteed seat on the subway”, you’d only be partially right.

This is the second attempt at this episode, after I forgot to turn the camera on, dropped the yolk in the sink, and watched a large roach stampede by during the first attempt. But if you’re into the “gross factor”, never fear—I make the mayo while smoking.

There’s no planning in any of this, you know. None.