Fellow non-Inuit Northeastern inhabitants,

Snowpocalypse 2010 is upon us, and though Roma Torre claims this is a perfect time to stay in and catch up on our kegel exercises, the involuntary isolation is driving us madder than Charlie Sheen in Inception 2: Dream in a Dream in a Dream, Squared. And who is to blame for this seasonal imprisonment? Look no further than “Ah, Fuck It” Snow Plow.

While the streets pile up with wintry cloud excrement, burying our motor vehicles and drowning our Pomeranians, AFISP sits idly by, sipping warm breast milk and not giving a shit. Really plow face? What kind of civil servant are you? Would an ass doctor turn the other cheek if earth was suddenly attacked by swarms of angry colons? Does a caricaturist run the other way when he senses a Bar Mitzvah nearby? Those are obscure rhetorical references, so we’ll help you answer the  questions: no. So, why are you ignoring your duties worse than Bernie Madoff at the Money Return Center?

If you don’t clear us out of this Staten Island asylum soon, we’re gonna show you how to plow in the big leagues. Mainly by ramming our tractors through your garage. Translate those metaphors as you see fit. Oooh, Home Alone 2 is on.

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Holiday Gang Bang!

What better way to ring in Ralien year 4538 than a topical roundup of people who deserve during the holidays? No races excluded!

#1 -Re-gifter: Finding a vintage collector’s edition minor league baseball jock strap from the 90s is no picnic. It takes time, effort, and latex gloves. So, when Grandma re-gifts it to the mailman, we get madder than an eBay super-seller with a fresh poor seller rating. Next time we catch someone unwrapping last year’s famed Mamma Mia Chia Pet, we’re going to lose our shit like a dog walker with Alzheimer’s.

#2 Overzealous Christmas Song Player: Auld Lang Syne, White Christmas, Kool Kwanzaa! We love a good Christmas song as much as the next person. But, when our ears have to endure two months of Christmas tunes starting the moment the last poisoned Halloween treat has been handed out, we get a little bleedy in the ears. Making us listen to a thousand hours of “Dancing Through the Snow” is going to lead to someone getting a “One-toothed Open Smile,” and we’ll be laughing all the way.

#3 – Hannukah Skimper: Joy of joys! A festival of lights – eight days of Potato McGriddles, miniature acorn tabletop spinning games, and lavish gifting. Unless you happen to be related to Hannukah Skimper, the cheapskate uncle who gives you one “big” gift instead of eight medium-sized ones. And by big, he means the size of the box in which he wraps your Burlington Coat Factory Outlet gift card.

#4 – Sober at the Holiday Party: Ah, holiday parties. A time when friends and co-workers dress up and have sex with whoever they like, all under the assumption that everyone will be too drunk to remember it in the morning. Enter Sober At the Holiday Party guy, the office Boy Scout who passes on the hooch and is ready to recount all of last night’s debauchery in an animated Power Point presentation.  Looks like we’re going to have to introduce SATHP to what the kids are calling, “getting totally punch drunk.” Love?

#5 – That One Faulty Christmas Light: It’s amazing with all the iPods, iPhones, and iBacon Fryers out there, technology continues to let us down. Case in point, the one faulty Christmas light that betrays the other 115,765 blanketing your one bedroom townhouse. How the hell is your 15-foot reindeer ever going to be seen from space if one little bulb can’t get its LCDs together?

As we type, Americans everywhere are giving thanks by ingesting enough tryptophan to kill a small gargoyle. And rightly so – there is much to be thankful for this harvest: Applebee’s new pillow top booth seating, legal sex at the David Barton juice bar, and the color blue! But none of these gems shines as bright as Does It For the Story Friend, the mate you’ve kept around since Expo ’67 for the sole purpose of being regaled tales not even Darren Aranofsky after six expired Four Locos could think up.

Explicable only by a denting of the brain parts responsible for rational thinking, DIFTSF’s commitment to putting herself in excessively ridiculous situations makes her the best BFF in the land of BFF4Ls. Why? Because it means you’re not the one funneling eight gravy boats and performing an operatic rendition of 50 Cent’s newest single in a wet t-shirt karaoke contest at Bugsy’s (“Only 22 minutes from the strip!”) on a Monday night. But come Tuesday morning, you get to facetweet all the pictures, and recount the story to any creature with a pulse for the rest of your boring-in-comparison life.

So thanks DIFTSF. You put the enter in entertaining. And for this, we both salute and worry about your mental and physical well-being. THE END.

Everybody knows the only real way to fly is half cut. Even God needs 12 Sambuca Cranberries just to make it through the full body scans and cavity spelunking the good employees at the TSA treat us to these days.  So, it’s understandable that by the time you fill the 0.4 square inches beside us, you can really only see colored shapes and your breath smells like an anesthesia from the 1800s. And guess what? We are in the same boat captain. Bon voyage!

However, the last thing wished for at the TSA free wish counter was to spend the next 18 hours flying to Bhutan sidled up to a guy so blacked out he uses our shoulder as a drool wipe.  Sure, we love a good sob story about the life ruining losses suffered during the great Laser Disc crash of ‘94, or how long it takes to bring a Dallas Cheerleader hermaphrodite to climax, but brothers have got to stop close talking our face, because the alcohol content in 16A’s breath is making our eyes water worse than the time we tried limited edition onion-flavored contact lenses.  The only good thing about “I’m Totally Wasted” Airline Passenger being more liquored up than Michael Caine at a vodka heiress’s open bar wedding-karaoke festival, is knowing he’ll pass out somewhere over Uzbekistan. Unfortunately, all is mitigated by the fact that when boozy the bear goes down, it’s open mouth time all over your lap.

Next time you come across ITWAP hammered in 3H, channel your best Steven Slater and remind him to keep his mouth securely fastened by securing your fist to the upright position of his chin.  Flight attendants cross check for paiiiin.

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Halloween Gangbang!

A roundup of people who deserve it on All Hallow’s Eve.

#1- Slutty Tease: Everyone knows Halloween was invented by a nun who needed a loophole with which to bypass her bond with Hova for one night of dirty body-slapping with a “Hacksaw” Jim Duggan look alike. And god bless her – a girl’s gotta eat (even if it is a 2×4 jammed into the back of her throat). But ever since Sister Mary Clarence’s contribution to the holiday calendar, women worldwide have only taken her intentions halfheartedly. I.e. If you’re gonna dress like a sexy cat hooker on October 31st, you better be ready to hump like a Jaguar. Otherwise, you’re just a rooster tease, and it’s hot enough in this giant bird costume without the burning loins.

#2 – Teenage Trick-Or-Treater: Some kids wait all year for the chance to spend a little quality time with their biological parents collecting razorblade infested apples and supporting obesity. But, guess who ruins the party every year? That’s right, Teenage Trick-Or-Treater, the seventeen year old souped-up Acura driver too cool for a costume, but not cool enough to realize raping a new suburban development (they always have the best candy!) of all the good stuff before 6 oclock and leaving the kiddies to forage through leftover condoms and pre-chewed bubble gum is a knob move. Go huff a gluestick Chad Baker.

#3- Pumpkin Smasher: We didn’t spend 91 hours on a to-scale replica of the 1995 Metro Mayors Caucus Meeting in pumpkin form (no stencil required), for a drunken divorced guy to chuck it at his ex-wife’s new husband’s bimmer. Just saying.

#4- Office Party Planner: Offices are for crying, not draining people of their last $12 dollars to plan a “Halloween Haunt Fest the likes of which you haven’t seen since the old management days.” Thanks Frank, but we’re pretty sure the last thing we want to spend our mildly-earned pesos on is watching you do the monster mash in your signature Ru Paul costume (transvestite Rand Paul) while noshing on cauliflower brain dip and hitting on the sexy maid, who always ends up being the weeknight janitor, no many how many times you block it.

#5- Terrible Treat House: If there’s one certainty in a night full of abstractions and illusions, it’s that we will come home to a shag carpet, empty our pillow cases, and consume high fructose corn syrup at the rate of Charlie Sheen’s penis on speed, before feeling our abdomens cramp up and suffering through Lebanese meat caliber night sweats. Unfortunately, some pills get off on breaking tradition, choosing instead to stock their homes with low-calorie, gluten-free, fiber-enhanced, carob-flavored sawdust bars. Next time, better have some mallomars on hand Terrible Treat House, or we’re gonna make sure you wear the “Sham Wow Guy” costume all year round.

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For those of you who don’t know, salmonella (also known as chicken surprise) is a microscopic living creature that passes from the feces of people or animals to other people or animals, causing illness and diarrhea.  Shorthand: it’s the double-ended runs you get after Step-Aunt Doris serves poultry cooked in her 1982 dBay (eBay’s second second hand off shoot) bedazzled Easy Bake Oven.

It’s bonkers really, how someone could think serving a bird pinker than Perez Hilton’s g-string could be a winning idea. Almost as amazing as going through 14 rolls of Charmin in one night. And as our digestive system suffers the Altamont treatment at the hands of Miss Salmonella Surprise, we can’t help but wonder what on Christine O’Donnell’s green earth we could have done to deserve this? Sure, we tried to back out of dinner at the last minute to go see Jackass 3D and then showed up with a four-dollar bottle of wine product from Bodega Supreme, but we’re poor and bored, and it’s not like the angry blog market is booming. Certainly the crime doesn’t fit the punishment. So, as we simultaneously glue our ass to the can and our face to a bucket for the next 14-1567 hours, you know we’re going to be busy planning our revenge. And like the prehistoric mutant feces that just crawled out of our esophagus, it’s not going to be pretty.

Next time we find Mrs. SS serving a chicken that still feels like dancing, we’re going to throw our health inspector hat into the ring, write up a 65 page citation, let it incubate for 24 hours and then hit her directly in the long intestines, just as she boards an Air India flight to Mogadishu.  The things you can do with a turkey baster – fascinating.

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It’s true. Someone over at the company that makes penguins believed us when we said we could write English. And now you can read our English in this convenient cargo-pocket size tome. It’s got a selection of our favorite blog entries, and lots of new ones you can’t read here, which forces you to buy the paper version. See how that works? It’s also got pictures and graphs and shit.

Stevan Segal had this to say about it: “The secret is not to act, but to be.”

Thanks Steven!

People Who Deserve It makes a great gift for people who can read, people who can’t read, and people who don’t know what reading is. So buy one today!

Available at: Penguin, Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Indiebound, Borders, and soon, Urban Outfitters.