Uncle Eddie has an assignment for you kids.

Ready?

Go get a baseball bat. Wooden preferably. We don’t want anyone getting killed here or losing an eye. Unless you simply have to hear that satisfying little “ting.”

Got it? Nice.

Now take that bat and hide out in a local public restroom. Check the stall after each person does their business.

Not to worry, I don’t want you doing anything sick. I’m not here to have you compromise your morals- you don’t even have to look into the bowl.

We’re hunting here. Hunting down the OCD nutjobs who leave behind their nasty toilet paper nests on public toilet seats. Apparently their asses are far too valuble to touch a public toilet, but it’s a privelage for us to have to remove it when they’re done? Ohhhh I long for the day when we will exact sweet, sweet vengance.

Simply: they. must. be. stopped.

And I envision a day- A glorious day when the people rise up to rid the land of their scourge.

“Hide In a Public Restroom Stall With a Louisville Slugger Day.”

Do you hear it? Do you hear the countless generations who came before us calling out for us to avenge them? Do you hear the hum of our collective anger finally reaching critical mass? It can all end with a flush and a thud- or a ting, of course, if you insist.

I’m thinking if we all go to our bosses with the idea we could get it off with pay.

Who’s with me?

That’s it. I’ve been avoiding this for too long. I can’t believe that someone who (1) cracked me up on many occasions (2) basically started the jackass craze and (3) looks remarkably like me has one of the all time worst blogs on the web.

You ramble on about boring mundane everyday crap like it’s interesting. You video taped your instant coffee ritual. You whine about criticism.

It’s amazing. You have no kids and yet somehow you qualify as a mommyblogger.

At first I just thought it was another joke. Like, “ha ha look at me- you’d expect my blog to be whacky crazy insane but I’m pretending to be boring! wheeeeeeeeeeeeee!”

No such luck.

Most of the time it’s “so, yesterday I took a train. the sun is really yellow today kids. I’m enjoying a great cup of instant coffee. sorry I didn’t post yesterday, lemme catch you up. i woke up, took a shower, ate food and skated with Tony Hawk. Then after I pooped I went to bed. See you tomorrow!”

Ugh.

Come on Tom, you owe us better. You owe me better- people always point at me and yell your name. And my blog kicks ass sometimes.

The first time I was going to sound off about the horrible awfulness of your site was when you were getting people to promote it by wearing homemade tom green t-shirts. Man, if you want promotion write well. Make us laugh. then you’ll get all kinds of traffic, and not just blurry pictures of soccer moms and star wars kids wearing crappy puffy paint t-shirts.

Now you’re getting all pissy about Martin Short, since he recently let everyone know you walked off that show where he was supposed to be a fat talk show host- because he hurt your feelings. You say you were upset because you thought martin went too far talking about your bout with testicular cancer- WHICH YOU DID A TV SPECIAL ABOUT.

This is coming from the guy who mimicked fellatio on a cow in a grocery store?

Who fashioned lawn ornaments of his parents engaging in various sex acts?

Who is ONLY KNOWN for doing the most ridiculous crap and making total fools out of people who never asked for it?

Comedian, make fun of thy self.

I’m sorry tom, but the joke is most certainly on you. The sad thing is you’re the one telling it. I can’t believe you could say the following :

The sad truth is. Martin Short hasn’t done anything funny since Ed Grimley. (he used to be on SNL) I find it sad, that someone who admittedly was once very funny, can become so mediocre and lame. I used to love the guy, cause he made funny faces and did some cool stuff thirty years ago. But now I just feel kinda sorry for him.

Tom. Tommyboy. Tom Ticky Tom tom. You know of course that with a couple minor changes that paragraph also describes you?

Then you have the nerve to attempt inciting some sad home-made t-shirt campaign against him? Come on- any real man in this day and age knows you settle a feud one way- through the medium of rap. Of course, its still unbelievable you’re even upset about someone MAKING A JOKE. What next? Anna Nicole Smith walks off the set of Stern because he didn’t treat her classy enough?

If you’re going to pollute the web with your thoughts, please shape up. Provide us something substantial. Give us some ha-has. Give us some insight. I had high hopes for your site. But in reality it’s comedic level lies somewhere between Campbell’s tomato soup ingredients and a watchtower article. Quit your pathetic juvenile boring crap and give us some pathetic juvenile funny crap before you’re completely forgotten.

Question: Are you terrified enough to make sure your family is protected? The Ad Council wants to know.

In an effort to further justify the need for homeland security, the Ad Council has sacrificed a rotation of their popular Arbor Day commercials to air a campaign that had i not just gotten a DVR could have possibly convinced me to stop watching television completely.

I know I’m not the only one who gets pissed when these things air.

You’ve seen it. There’s the little girl eating cereal, asking you, “what do I do mommy? do you have a plan for when the Shiites send a car bomb to my elementary school?” It would serve better as an anti-choking campaign since it’s induced vomiting in more than one occasion at my house.

Now, I’m all for preparedness, serious. I (this is no exaggeration) have at least one zombie attack dream a week. And 9 out of 10 times when my mind goes idle I begin strengthening my escape plan for when the undead rise. But, dammit, I know the difference between a PSA and a scare tactic.

Just how many Americans die each year from terrorist attacks? Granted, 9/11 is not to be discounted, but it was an incident- not a trend. And I know that the threat is still out there, BUT this girl is evil. She’s not there to get me prepared, she’s there to keep the fear of terrorism alive because the frickin RAINBOW of DEATH isn’t doing the trick anymore.

Lots of people die of smoking. Lots of people die of crib death. Lots of people die in car accidents and heart attacks. Do that many attacks happen each year that it would seriously make a difference if my family had an escape plan? LOTS of people have been dying in an unpopular, poorly planned, possibly illegal war- if only there was a way to prepare for THAT.

If I had the time I’d root around and find out if there’s an explanation for this. I wouldn’t be surprised to find out the whole campaign was actually being funded by the manufacturers of duct tape and canned goods.

Of course now that I’ve said all this we all know what’s going to happen. Al Qaeda is totally going to blow up a dirty bomb right on my porch- and I have no plan. How embarrassing will that be?

I don’t get paid for this.
I’m not a stay-at-home-mom.

I’m just a warped young man with a few minutes here and there and a pathetically huge need for attention.

I’m not writing this blog for Mrs’ Manion my 7th grade English Teacher. I’m writing this for my friends, fans and the faceless cold abyss of the internet.

So don’t piss me off and correct/laugh at my grammar and syntax.

I’ve seen all kinds of fools (1) who judge people’s sites by their grammar and (2) people who actually apologize for poor grammar. Apologize? I put this crap out to entertain, baby- I don’t expect to get my posts back with a bunch of red circles. Judging blogs by grammar makes about as much sense as judging them by smell.

Grammar has no business here. I’m sorry if the soaps weren’t very engaging today and the kids are at school- find some other hobby than spell checking people’s entries.

Judge textbooks by grammar.
Judge Term Papers by grammar.
Judge my blog by the way your mouse hand gets all tingly and sweaty in anticipation of clicking my bookmark. Judge it by how many snorts I illicit, or how much liquid you spit on your screen.

Better yet, screw judging anyway. Either you come back or you don’t. That’s it.

Phhhhhhhtttt.

“People who get offended by humor can feel free to roll around in barbed wire with Magic Johnson.”
- Jim Norton

I’ve always been a bit of a, shall we say, idiot. In high school I was a class clown. The same proved for most of my undergrad college classes, and sadly also my MBA. If there was one type of person I couldn’t help but pick on mercilessly in high school it was people whose buttons were easily pushed.

I see funny things constantly. It’s like a constant cartoon in my head. A grossly perverted cartoon with nightmarish scenes of gore, and some butterflies and daisies.

What I’ve never respected though are people who walk around with a big HUGE glaring button on their foreheads labeled “please push so i can get offended.” I abuse people like that every chance I get. I understand if your sensitivity comes from serous baggage like daddy left when you were 4 and you spent years fending off constant advances from your uncle. Fine, you get a free pass. It’s the people who act like “oohhh my word! I never think thoughts like that!” that I just want to trip into a steaming pile of rabies.

Give up the act, relax, and admit that you thought it was funny when the kid with downs fell off the swing. You bastard.

Shecky posted an article a while back about some lady who wrote a letter to her local paper b/c she got offended at comedy show.

A comedy show.

When you go to a comedy show, that button should be disconnected, resting in your purse between your prozac and your stungun. If you can’t do that you shouldn’t expose yourself to humor. Or me.

Here’s a thought: Maybe- just maybe- something you find knee-slapping hilarious is totally offensive to someone else. Actually, it’s a given. So please dismount from your lofty steed.

Some of my favorite comics are horrible, horrible, black-hearted miserable wretches of human beings. In a nice way tho.

For instance, I think Murph is the funniest, hardest working guy in Hollywood today. I seriously cry each time I read his blog.

Anyway, there’s my philosophy on getting all flustered over humor. All I ever wanted was for you to admit that funny is funny no matter how it’s presented. Sorry I made you cry in Mrs. Klausen’s class tho.

Wait scratch that. I still crack up thinking about it you pretentious twit.