Sprint put an app on Facebook that allows you to custom design your own gingerbread man. I challenged my dearest psychopaths to see how they could pervert it and the results followed. A few of mine are in there as well – they’re the REALLY funny ones.

Uh oh, looks like the Broncos lost and the old man is down to his last silver bullet….
 
 

Oh, the things a gingerbread cookie will do to work her way through college…
 
 

Same story as above, just filmed in Japan.
 
 

Y SO DELICIOUS?
 
 

“My seester, she is number four baked good prostitute in all of Kazakhstan”
 
 

Santa has little helpers for all kinds of job functions
 
 

I don’t remember seeing alien shaped sprinkles, but if mom put them out she was just begging for this to happen
 
 

Great for bachelor parties or lonely nights, the Inflate-A-Mate 2000 is always ready to party
 
 

Hanukkah Harry would never stand for this
 
 

And finally, reminding you the bar in internet humor can always go lower than Hitler…

My thanks to everyone for participating, you sick bastards!

Time to get back in shape.

I spent the last week in a training class. In theory, it’s a rigorous 5 day course explaining every nuance of a feature-rich software. In reality, its a 5 day parole from child-rearing and an open invite to shenanigans. Not that I wasn’t the model of professionalism for the entirety of the visit. I only used cash for the hookers and never used my real name when I rented the backhoe to bury them all in the outskirts of town. Professionalism exemplified.

One of the things that struck me when I got to my workstation was the extraordinarily dull desktops I was presented with. I didn’t have an internet connection so I was pretty much locked into the defaults, at least until I noticed Gimp photo editing software on hand. Then it was just a matter of evaluating what my raw materials were. This is what I started with:

And for some reason this stock artwork spoke to me:

…And this is what it said:

I have so many gifts to offer this world that are worth absolutely nothing.

Despite my better judgment, I’m going to go ahead and provide you to a link to more funny. I’m not saying you deserve it, though. Nature’s Most Horrifying Plants is a hard-hitting look at plants that could survive on sun and water, but would vastly prefer feeding on your tears. You’re welcome.

As always, digg to your heart’s content.

A few months back a radio station helped itself to an article I wrote for Cracked for their site. I tried to start a gang war and was woefully unsuccessful. However, just when I thought things concluded neatly, I awaited my reimbursement in form of t-shirt to no avail. The only thing more embarrassing than having my righteous indignation placated by a t-shirt is being denied said clothing. It was time for a new email, this time to the whole morning crew, as copied below.

Man, time sure flies when you’re being callously ignored.

Hi, James. I don’t know if you remember me, but a few months back you reached into my chest and extracted my still-beating heart, plagiaristically speaking . In truth, you made it all right very quickly with such an “Aw Shucks!” brand of politeness that left me completely disarmed and equally pleased. I thought we were building the foundation of a beautiful bromance. Now I’m not so sure.

Not unlike my father who ritually missed my dance recitals (for the record, I was an *exquisite* swan), I was left with an empty promise by you for radio show swag. I don’t know if it slipped your mind or you found yourself too jaded to care once the show received it’s black & white goth-emo makeover:

“We’re bringing you the pop hits of the 90s…but we’re not happy about it.”

…but you’ve left me wounded. Now is the winter of my discontent, especially given how chilly it is and me being topless because of a t-shirt shortage.

[As an aside, is it possible that Cori has gotten hotter? She is seriously a total MILPR
(Mother I'd Like to Passionately Romance...she's too classy for the other acronym).]

Perhaps you don’t understand the impact of what you have done. Your assurances that a forthcoming t-shirt would make everything right allowed me to build up my walls of trust again. After 5 months of a mailbox filled only with dashed hopes, you’ve leveled those walls once again. Granted, walls are an antithetical metaphor for trust, but I’m sticking with the analogy because I’m lazy.

I’d like to consider myself a fan of your work, despite not having heard your show yet. If anyone on the streets of San Diego approached me and asked “Hey there, you statuesque tribute to masculinity. Could you tell me what your favorite radio station in Fargo is?” I would have answered 105.1 without equivocation. Now…I’m not so sure. Is that a chance you’re really willing to take?

I’m sending this message to you (and your associates in case you’ve begun filtering my emails to the ‘I don’t give a crap’ folder) as a last salvo. You now have my fandom, my hopes, my dreams and possibly my love in your hands. What will you do with that power, James?

Yours victimly,

Ian

I know I sound like a True Believer, but ever since I discovered blogging for dollars I’ve been born again in Internet’s glory. That’s why I want to share this small pamphlet with you, explaining how it’s never too late for anyone to discover the bliss of Internet’s embrace.

In reality, the link represents a pretty cool development in my life. Atom.com, formerly atomfilms.com, has picked me up as an official blogger for their site. While they are still all about indie film-making, they’ve shifted the focus to comedy and wanted some self-indulgent text to go along with it. The current plan is that I’ll have a weekly column with them with the occasional longer feature, such as the Comic-con walkthrough above. The weekly entries should begin in August and, while some of the implementation details are still shaky, they should be announced on the front page of the site somewhere.

I won’t be quitting my day job any time soon, but this has some pretty rich potential. Atom.com is Viacom, which is Comedy Central, Spike TV and MTV by extension. If this goes well, other doors may well open. In short, as much as I’m content to just share good news with you folks, I’d greatly appreciate your patronage and sharing it with anyone you think would find my stuff entertaining.

You might ask, “If this Internet cares so much, why does it allow innocent computers to suffer at the hands of viruses and spyware?” Internet acts in mysterious ways, my friend.

By the way, should you ever have any suggestions on list-formatted articles in the cracked vein of humor, I’m always open to it. My meth isn’t going to buy itself, you know.

*BOTTOM FAN

How many tush towels do you have to save before it becomes a good idea to put a pair of rapidly spinning blades in proximity of your child’s genitals?

It’s more than a fan, it’s also aromatherapy. It dispenses an anti-microbial fragrance as it fans, so that your child can enjoy the scent of lavender with nuances of its own feces.

*BOTTLE BOOSTER

Per the website, this product is “not meant to replace a parent’s loving touch, holding and bonding with baby”. Clearly this is a more loving, nurturing form of feedbag that in no way mimics being sat on by an older sibling and being forced to eat whatever foulness they thrust upon you.

Holy smoke! I had no idea it was your content…a buddy sent it to me and said he found it on fark…I couldn’t find the link there so [I] just threw [it] up. I updated the post so that you’ll get proper credit. And on today’s show re-cap, I’ll make note of the update, too.

Sadly, I’ve been in town such a short time, I cannot offer you the key to the city. Would a t-shirt suffice?

Thanks for your note…seriously…I wanna give credit where credit is due.

God, what a dick. His niceness totally deflated me. It took all the steam out of my plans to have my first internet feud. I had a whole array of Yo Momma jokes to unleash, a series of unflattering photoshops featuring his mother, and 12 other ideas that needlessly roped his mother into the affair that will go unused.

Screw that. If he is going to placate me and all of the bloggy goodness I was going ream out of this, I’m gonna get that t-shirt on MY terms. Here is my reply:

I’ll be honest, James. I expected more of a fight. You were supposed to come back at me with an argumentative statement that the internet is public domain, to which I would reply with some copyright legalese stolen from friends in law school. Your civility is equally disarming and vexing. It’s almost TOO polite, perhaps to lull me into a false sense of security. I’m watching you like a hawk, James.

Your updates to the site were greatly appreciated. It shows me you’re a fellow artist, conscious of the lifeblood we spill into our work. We should probably both be wearing berets.

I will happily take you up on your offer for a t-shirt, but I admit it feels a bit impersonal. A free t-shirt sounds like the company line for appeasement. Was it not Marie Antoinette that said “Let them eat t-shirts”? Now, an autographed t-shirt from the whole morning crew…that would be a trophy beyond the pale.

To ensure the shirt is appropriately personalized and not part of your stockpile, here are some suggestions to really make it sing:

- Have everyone sign it underneath the statement “To the funniest guy we’ve ever heartlessly stolen from”. An acceptable alternative would be “In taking possession of this promotional t-shirt you have agreed to indemnify us of any wrongdoing in the aforementioned”, but I don’t know how much white space you have to work with
- Request that Cori juxtapose both the “o” and the dot over the “i” in her name with hearts. She should also do the same for those letters in the “Mi Amor…” that precedes it.
- Jim may also sign it “Mi Amor”, but he should know that I’m happily married and, while I appreciate the sentiment, it’s just not appropriate. Don’t tell Cori any of that, please. You don’t strike me as a player hater so I’m trusting you here, James.
- Could you maybe work in a drawing of a dragon too? Those are so freakin’ sweet.

Thanks again, James. It’s been a pleasure doing business with you.

Ian Cheesman

So a couple of days ago cracked.com published my article on 6 Absurd Phobias And The Recognizable Tools Who Have Them. It hinged on pointing out celebrity fears that they probably uttered in an interview for The Daily Whogivesashit 10 years ago, giving it eternal reprint value on the internet for list-jockeys like myself. Ironically, since skewering them for their neuroses, I have developed a phobia of my own. I live in daily terror that Billy Bob Thornton will corner me at a social function and announce loudly “Hey, I hear you’re marginally funny on the internet. How many times has that got you in Angelina Jolie’s pants, you fucking pissant? OH DIS!”

That’s right, “DIS”. Is there any doubt he’d keep it O.G.?

A day or so later an unenlightened someone informs me that they found evidence I’d plagiarized the jokes from another website…published two days after the article ran. This person doesn’t have a future in forensic work. I follow the link only to discover I have become the comedic foil of the Jim, James & Cori radio morning show in Fargo. Worse yet, it’s a radio station that prominently features both Nickelback AND Daughtry on the header, meaning that my comedy really hits paydirt with people who enjoy only the most exquisitely refined crap available.

They left me with no choice. I had to respond (copied below in case their fascist regime opts to “moderate” my comment). Fargo – I’m comin’ for yo ass.

I’m not sure how to start this, James. I’ve never heard your show so I’m lacking a little bit of context. Are you the boisterous, opinionated Sports Guy? Are you the glue that holds this kooky morning zoo from bursting at the seams? Regardless, since your name appears first in the trifecta, we have issues.

I fully understand that a daily radio show could go lean on content pretty fast. If I were in your shoes I’d blow through my cache of weiner jokes inside of 10 minutes* and be left with excruciatingly dead air. The internet is as good a place to yank material as anywhere. Except when its mine.

The content you’ve provided above is from my article on cracked.com (http://www.cracked.com/article_16472_6-absurd-phobias-people-who-actually-have-them.html), which you have distilled without giving due credit. More than distilled you had the audacity to REPLACE a joke. My jokes are my children, James, and you have no right to choke the life out of them and put them on the street. That’s my job.

You’re probably wracked with guilt right now. Rightfully so. The internet doesn’t exist just so you can steal things willy-nilly (unless its music, pirated software, or 30 second clips of grainy pornography). Fear not – we can make this right. I would accept any of the following as compensation:

- An on-air apology to be made at a predetermined timeslot
- Leverage your extensive contacts in the highest echelons of local Fargo government to have me granted a Key to the City. A commemorative plaque would be nice, but I’m not grubbing.
- Bring me on staff as a highly paid humor consultant, specializing in whinging about perceived slights on the internet

Make this right again, James. The collective gaze of the internet is upon you, anticipating that balance be restored. The internet is also probably wondering if you’re into polyamory, yiffing, or light BDSM. They’re dirty buggers, that internet.

WestSIIIIIIIDE,

Ian Cheesman

*I was being modest. I could easily go for 20 minutes without even resorting to testicular humor. Try that.

I always know when I come home from work I’ll be greeted by the sounds of tiny stampeding feet and excited chirps. Most of that is from my cracked out terrier. My daughter will occasionally give me a passing glance if nothing good is on TV. They’re both equally prone to lick my face.

Carrying on the grand tradition of daughters manipulating their fathers, Quinn knows how to extend her bedtime with me. She just waits until I start singing a lullaby and proceeds to sing along. She fucking sucks. Her atonal warbling is hilariously bad and she knows it. Once I inevitably start to crack up she has license to laugh right along with me and reset the bedtime clock by 5 minutes. Scheming bitch.

I am forced to endure so much children’s programming that I compensate by keeping a mental tally of which females on the various live action bits that I’d want to bang. Katarina from the Wiggles is pretty cute, but that piece of ass on Choo-Choo Soul probably gets first dibs to be the conductor on my skin-train. I’m also strangely drawn to Martin Kratt on Zooboomafoo, but I’m not ready to explore those feelings yet.

Quinn has changed my life for the better, especially in that I have a ready-made excuse to get out of anything. Sorry I can’t make your dull-ass housewarming party – I have to take Quinn to her kickboxing class. Bulletproof, bitches.

This is where I insert something tender and saccharine so I don’t come off as an insensitive bastard. Someone remind me to update this when I teach her to ride a bike or some such shit.