I was at Old Navy (a.k.a. Retard Junction) today trying to find this pair of corduroys in my size.

Thing is I couldn't find them, 'cause it's all retarded.

So, I told this anorexic chicky that I needed her to look for a pair, you know, work for a living. I told her my size, then I told her to hurry up.

She comes back to me and says "I found them. I found them in the maternity section."

Now, I'm husky, but I'm not preggo fat. I took offense.

"Hey, you could have kept that last part to yourself. You know, like you keep the secret that you puke after lunch to yourself."

I stole the pants!


Other dreams of mine include:

-Teaching myself how to fix up a boat.
-Stopping a robbery.
-Waiting in a crowd to shake the President's hand and then doing that "Psyyyyyyche!" move.

What are your secret dreams, reader? Go on, tell.


I wish stores had a "Half of These Damned Songs Are Just A Guy Standing Too Close To His Amp And Some Other Guy Banging On Something" return policy.


If the news is just giving you a song and dance, you might as well enjoy it. Right?

Case in point:

What's the name of the missing, rich, white girl in Aruba?

How many of our soldiers died on Sunday?

The answers? Why do you give a fuck and eight.
"Say," I said last night, "What if I made you walk behind me and wear one of those covers over your face?"

"Then I'd kick you in the balls and leave you," R. Girl said.

"Couldn't you just leave me?"

"Nope. In fact, if I ever leave you for any reason, I'm going to kick you in the balls first."

"Man, that's harsh."

"Now you've got a damned good reason to stay with me."

"I sure do."


Every Friday Gumball has a root beer float and a hood rat.

Here's hoping y'all get your float and hood rat on this weekend. Have fun!


Didn't anyone see Goodfellas?

You know, the scene where they lift the guy's truck and he runs into the restaurant yelling "Hey, you got a phone? Two n*****s just stole my truck. You believe that shit, huh? You fuckin' believe that?"

Well, that scene played out in London today.

Staff at a central London hospital were told Thursday to look out for an Asian or black man with wires protruding from his shirt...

Four explosions. Mass hysteria. Nobody knows what to do. Someone in a confused crowd points someone out.

"Look! An asian guy with wires!"

"Huh? Where?"

"He's running away! Get him!"

And, like in Goodfellas, you suddenly have a convenient "suspect". Funny thing is, they can't tell if he's black or asian. Hmmm. Maybe it's becasue nobody ever saw him?

I like how they said, "“We all got off on the platform and the guy just ran and started running up the escalator."

Two weeks ago your city is bombed. Today some explosions go off and you question the guy running? Hell, buddy, if I was there you guys would be on the lookout for a stocky, bearded white guy running around the city screaming "HOLY SHIT!".


It's such a nice day. Have two cones.

Yesterday, my Mom and I went to Wendy's after I picked her up at the airport.

I ordered the spicy chicken sandwich.

"Man, why do I always order the spicy chicken sandwich," I said after two bites. "I don't like spicy things, but I always end up getting this sandwich that I can't stand eating."

"That's right," Mom said, "You don't even eat jalapenoes do you?"


"Why is that?"

"Same reason I don't eat glass. I don't like putting things in my mouth that cause me pain."


Driving through my apartment complex the other day, I notice a big fat crow around the garbage dumpsters. The damn thing had a gut. When have you ever seen a gut on a crow?

"Hey," I say to R. Girl, "Look at that big, fat crow over there."

I turn to point out the bird. Staring back at me is one of my Arican-American neighbors. He must not have seen the bird, but he sure as hell heard me.

"Oh, man," I say as I lay on the gas.

This was much like the time in college when I drunkenly decided that the big, black stray cat in the Bi-Lo parking lot would make a great pet. Of course, it was a wild animal and didn't immediately jump into my arms a-purrin' away as I thought it would.

"Hey, hey!" I yelled at the cat, "Hey! You big, stupid, black shit! Get over here!"

"Fuck you!"

I look 50 yards behind the cat to see one of my African-American community members advancing towards me.

"Oh, man."


William R. Kinkade was born at 11:07 p.m. on July 15, 2005. He has a big head and big feet like his Dad.
R. Girl shows Will how much fun it is to get your chin rubbed. I love getting MY chin rubbed! Uncle Brent and Poppa Kyle celebrate.


My good ol' Buddy Kurtis reminded me of the names I came up with for my kids.

Rumplestilts is the grumpy one.
Heine is the yummy one.
Munch and Pump are twins. They always get really quiet when I enter a room. I tend to turn around and leave quickly becase it's creepy to have a munchkin and a pumpkin starring at you in silence.

Things to remember to do.
1.) Ask Dad why they're called "semi" trucks.
2.) Pick up cigars when the kid is born.


Look, it's Jenna Bush doing something!

And what's she doing? Why she's giving a young Tanzanian boy a gift.

And what's the gift? A picture of her pet!

Aww, yes, I can hear that old African aid ditty right now.

We are the World.
We are the Children.
We are the ones who travel to Tanzania and give pictures of our pets to little boys who would much rather have nutrition or some medicine.


A conversation with a Rubberhead:

Cancer Lips: Say, I need some of that thing.

Me: Oh? What thing is that?

Cancer Lips: Oh, you know. That thing ... A trash compactor.

Me: What?

Cancer Lips: You know what I'm talking about.

Me: I have NO idea what you're talking about.

Oh, my, my, my.... the world is full of rubberheads, full of 'em. I just need to get out of their headquarters.


It's Zombie Awareness Week!

Also, be aware that you are more likely to die from falling off a ladder than in a terrorist attack. Is your government manipulating your fears like you were the audience of a bad zombie movie?

(The answer is "Yes".)



Never forget. Always aim for a zombie's head.


How does Brent Kinkade enjoy a day off? First, have some lunch with my brother before his life changes forever with the birth of his son. The due date is tomorrow. Hooray, Circle of Life!

Visit Jimi Hendrix's grave as I've meant to for two years. Boo, Drug Abuse!

Grow a beard. Go to bed.

(Lamp trivia: That lamp in the shadows back there has a monkey for a base. It's a damn monkey wearing a suit.)

How does Brent Kinkade make sweet wuvvy duvvy talk go horribly wrong?

"Oh, Baby, you're the best."

"You too, Peanut Head."

"I wuv it when you call me Peanut Head."

"Do you?"

"Yes, I do, my wittle Pork Chop."


Oh, shit.

"Did you just call me a - Don't you ever call me a fucking pork chop."

"I'm sor-"




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