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Happy Halloween from Ask a Fat Guy!

October 29th, 2010 by Andy

We’ll announce the wiener of the bucket next Monday. Maybe. Keep on truckin’, assholes.

How do I deal with the French?

October 28th, 2010 by Andy

Stefano in Quebec (obviously) writes:

OK look.In Quebec (where i live) there is so many French people.They get on my nerves.HOW CAN I SURVIVE!!!!

First and foremost, let me say that this is copied and pasted directly from the email that Stefano sent me. Just a guess here, but I’m going to go ahead and say that Stefano’s native tongue just may not be English. And his name is Stefano. Not Stephen, not Steve, but Stefano. That sounds just a touch… French.

I think what we have here is not a case of racism, but a solid case of a le dégoût de soi Québécoise.

As angry a guy as I am — and boy howdy am I angry quite a bit of the time — you won’t get me saying that I hate the French. Because I don’t. The French have given the world incredible food (I don’t think I could live without stinky runny cheese), wine, art, and a language which, when spoken to members of the opposite sex, causes pants to fall down and skirts to fly up at a delightfully alarming rate. I will grant you that the French really dropped the ball several times. The Maginot Line wasn’t their finest hour. And that whole forcing Haiti to repay you for the privilege of being your slaves thing was pretty shitty. But we all make mistakes.

And really, are there that many French in Quebec? Isn’t it just mostly Le Québécois? The French-speaking contingent of Quebec? I mean, I assume that, since there’s a much larger French-speaking population in Quebec versus the rest of Canada — or the rest of the world, outside of France, for that matter — then there probably are more French there than most other places. But are there really so many French that you walk around twitching and sneering every time you see someone in a horizontally striped shirt and beret? (Is that French or just mimes? I don’t know. I hate mimes, though.)

And what happened to the even-tempered, friendly, welcoming Canadians that I’ve always met on my jaunts up to our friendly neighbors to the North? Living in Seattle, I’ve had several occasions to visit Vancouver, BC and enjoy the… culture. And fine dining. Oh and the readily available high-quality marijuana.

I guess what I’m saying, Stefano, is to stop being such a bigot and don’t hate people based on their national origin or the language they speak. Hate them for much more valid reasons. Like the fact that they’re Italian.

This one goes out to all my bitches in Ballard

October 27th, 2010 by Sean

There’s just no denying it: people are the worst. They just suck. Sure, individuals can be okay. Even kinda compelling. But mostly, unless they have big tits or a tray with beer, there’s not a lot of point in pretending that you are interested in what they have to offer.

So, here’s to you, you big, dumb bitch: you’ve got a fine body and a face that looks like a down syndrome kid trying to do calculus. Now, I assume that your mother’s botched abortion is probably responsible. It makes sense: that much trucker semen is bound to generate the kind of genetic nightmare that only a coat hanger in the alley behind an abandoned hospital can cure. You’re stupid, lazy, and a complete slob. Any human being who can’t flush a toilet behind them should really have a Javier Bardem come through the door and put a steel bolt right through their temple.

You’re a pathetic child. If there is any justice in this world, within ten years, you’ll be fat as hell, living off welfare checks in a trailer park somewhere, the stretchmarks from your brood of water-head spawn reading like a map of the London Underground. Besides your weekly visits to Walmart for some “dressin’ up” clothes paid for with the extra cash you get giving out handjobs at the massage parlors near the army base, you’ll mete out the rest of your days in the withering last gasps of life’s wasted hours. Yeah, your life will be nothing more than a beer fart in the breeze.

You are a useless failure of a human being. Life is going to go very, very badly for you. Did you hear that? I realize you don’t have the best of hearing, so let me try again: YOU ARE A USELESS FAILURE OF A HUMAN BEING. You’re a fucking child who brings down the collective value of humanity with your very presence. Sooner or later, life will catch up to you.

Good luck with all that.

What is an anal fissure?

October 25th, 2010 by Sean

Blud E. Hole writes in with the astute question: What exactly, in your opinion, is an anal fissure? I wanna know and I wanna win that goddamn candy bucket, you cheap promotional whores! Peace!

I can tell you that it’s not easy getting to the bottom of anal fissures. I imagine that it’s a touchy subject for a lot of people. But the cooling power of knowledge can often bring some relief. Indeed, this is probably one of the most fantastically intelligent questions I’ve heard in some time. Not because I have a fetish for ass trauma (personally, I find head trauma to be far more hilarious) but instead out of the delight I take in educating anyone about a topic that seems particularly unseemly. It’s time that anal fissures stop being the butt of some joke.

So, what is an anal fissure, in my opinion? Well, Mr. Hole, I don’t know that it’s possible to have an opinion about what they are. A thing is either an anal fissure, or it isn’t. Not a lot of gray area, I would think. Seems to me that if you thought you might have an anal fissure, chances are, you probably do. And by probably, I mean, GO SEE A DOCTOR, FUCKO. Having said all that, let’s get back to the question of the moment. What is an anal fissure? Well, this is: GAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!

As the good folks at the Mayo Clinic tell us, an anal fissure is a small tear in the thin skin (the mucosa) that lines the lower rectum. They claim that they may occur when you pass hard or large stools during a bowel movement. Yeah, Mayo Clinic. That’s the only way an anal fissure may occur. A hard shit.

::cough::

As to you, Mr. Blud E. Hole, I can’t speak to your specific interest in this question. Whatever it might be, please, for the good of the general public, keep the flash photography to a minimum.

As to you, Internet Masses, I’m guessing most people stopped reading this posting a long ago, mostly because each of you are still trying to scrub your brains with the cleansing power of grain alcohol.

Don’t be a hero — go take your medicine.


Why is ranch dressing so popular?

October 20th, 2010 by Sean

Sanjay of Tampa, Florida writes in to ask: “Why is ranch dressing so popular? From what I can tell, people put it on just about everything and in such a volume that I have to ask: what is the fixation about?”

First, let me say that I did address this subject somewhat in an earlier post. The moral? Ranch dressing is the oily discharge from God’s anus.

But to answer this specific question, let’s take a moment to think about what we’re talking about here. To be honest, you may be asking the wrong person about the popularity of ranch dressing. Quite frankly, I find it to be one of the more detestable substances wrought from the human consciousness. However, even if I find it to be somewhere between dumpster scrapings and rancid horse semen on the food appeal scale, I will say that it’s popularity isn’t all that remarkable. First, let’s look at a few details of its history. Ranch dressing was developed by a couple living on (you guessed it) Hidden Valley Ranch near Santa Barbara, California. The guy who “invented” it served it as a dressing to his guests (apparently he had a lot of anger issues and took his hatred of people out on them through food). He started the brand Hidden Valley Ranch back in the late 50′s, and it’s popularity just grew from there. In fact, up until the 90′s, Italian dressing, that old reliable standby of oil and vinegar, was the most popular salad dressing in the United States. But once Americans got their hamfists on the creamy fatness of ranch…well, there was no turning back on its queasy mass-appeal.

So, back to popularity. The reasons for its suitability to the American palate is clear: a high fat content and the ability to blot out the taste of whatever you might be shoveling into your food hole. Two tablespoons of a traditional ranch dressing has 15 grams of fat and about 145 calories, where 94% of those calories come from fat. In other words, when you see some tub of guts at the Old Country Buffet sitting down to a bit plate of “salad” covered in ranch dressing, essentially what they are eating is a big plate of liquid milk fat held together by the empty calorie airspace of those pesky green things we like to call vegetables. Because the appetite for leafy, earthy things has been overwhelmed by deep fried cheese, it’s unsurprising to find that the only way huge swaths of the American public will even approach something that was once growing in a field somewhere and picked by some Mexican dude for fifty cents a day is unless it has been covered in creamy and vaguely rancid globs of fat…well, it certainly speaks to the America I grew up in and see around me every day.

Perhaps you say to yourself, But Sean, you are an enormous fat guy. Are you actually going to criticize people for their eating choices? Really? You’re goddamn right, I am. Let’s be clear: I’m not fat because I’m a disgusting pig who will eat anything put in front of him as long as there’s enough cheesiness to blot out the sad taste of failure and poor preparation that you’ll find night after night in most of your larger chain restaurants. Instead, my problem has always been the opposite: I love food, especially rich and complicated dishes. You know, the kind of shit that any sane person has at most once every couple of weeks. Instead, I tend to make a near steady diet of those kinds of meals. Coupled with a complete lack of exercise and basic loathing for self-improvement in all its forms — well, you get the picture. Having said all that, my problem has never been an incessant need to shovel liquid fat into my body with every meal. And don’t bullshit yourself: when they ask you if you want ranch dressing with your onion rings…YOUR FUCKING ONION RINGS…I’ve got to say that maybe it’s time to reevaluate your culinary choices. Christ, you could probably take an old diaper, stew it in the trunk of a car on a hot summer day, then cover it in ranch dressing, and some ignorant Walmart-shopping cracker would wolf it down with a side of basmati rice ’cause that Indian foods is good shit.

Sanjay, all you really need to know about the popularity of ranch dressing is this: Hidden Valley Ranch is owned and operated by Clorox.

Bon Appetit!!


What’s in a Butt Plug cocktail?

October 19th, 2010 by Andy

Joey Jo-Jo Junior Shabadoo writes in from THE INTERNET:

If there was a drink called a “Butt Plugg” what would be its ingredients and why would anyone order one?

Well Shabadoo, if I were to come up with a concoction to label a Butt Plug, I’d probably start with Kahlua, mainly because of it’s resemblance to diarrhea. Then I’d add Canadian whiskey and a cherry. So there’s my recipe for a Butt Plug: One shot each Kahlua and Canadian whiskey, garnish with a cherry.

Of course, Google tells me that a drink called the Butt Plug already exists:

Half-fill a pint glass with Red Bull, then drop in a shot glass filled half-and-half with vodka and blue curaçao. Drink quickly and immediately regret.

I’m not too much of an energy drink drinker, and even if I were, I don’t know that I could bring myself to order a drink called a “Butt Plug.” Not because I would be embarrassed by it, but because I’d be disappointed at the lack of an actual butt plug. But then, I don’t know if I’d want a butt plug from any of the bars I frequent.

As to why anyone would order one, I’m really not sure. For the prices I’m sure you’d be charged for such an abomination, you can get much more bang for your buck by going with a Long Island iced tea.

I have an earwax problem that frightens me — what should I do?

October 18th, 2010 by Sean

Anton from Butte, Montana writes in to ask: “So, let me just come out with it: I have an earwax problem. I’ve got a big blockage, I can’t hear, and the only way to clean it out involves shooting liquid into my ear…and I can’t stand the thought of that. So, what do I do? Could someone knock me out and do it for me? I really need some advice.”

Anton, I got to be honest with you: when I first read your message, I threw up in my mouth a little bit. And then I swallowed that down. And then I proceeded to vomit all over the floor. Repeatedly. So, maybe swallowing that first little bit of bile-thin vomit was probably a poor decision.

As to your poor decisions, I see three fairly outstanding ones. One, you have the kind of hobo hygiene that would cause an earwax blockage of such magnitude that you actually lose your hearing. I can’t even begin to understand how something like that happens to a person. If you are living in squalor, the very mention of cleanliness sending you into fits of deranged ecstasy and speaking in tongues, well, I got to say, Anton, you are just about everything that’s wrong with humanity. The inability to summon the will to keep your ears clean is just about at the bottom of the human effort scale, right next to wiping your ass and keeping rancid food from building up on your face and clothes. Christ, even full-on bums, wiping their collective asses with the Sunday funnies, manage to maintain even that minimal level of personal hygiene. When bums surpass you in dignity, I think we all know that it’s time to mix a cocktail with whatever you find under the kitchen sink. And fast.

This, naturally, leads to your second poor decision: an inability to follow through on simple tasks, even ones that can greatly improve your quality of life. Okay, so you are a nauseatingly disgusting human being. Yet, I do give you one small piece of credit: you did actually seek medical advice. You even followed it, if only to a laughably minuscule degree. What’s the problem here, friendo? You’ve got a ball of earwax that prevents you from having a normal, healthy level of hearing. And all it takes is a date with some peroxide and a fucking ear syringe. You mean that just because it’s an unpleasant experience, even involving facing personal phobias or an admission of just how spectacularly damaged a person you must be to get to such a point in your life, you aren’t even willing to try? Goddamn, you are a stupid bastard, Anton. I mean, why do you think a person risks the unpleasantness of a relationship? Uncomfortable holiday dinners and passive aggressive conversations about laundry are the trade-offs of steady sex and clean underwear. Just how do you make it in the world, anyway? Your looks? Well, Jesus Tap-Dancing Christ, if you are such a slob that you’ve deafened yourself through an inability to maintain the bathing habits of a five year-old, just how long do you think you are going to last before shit just starts falling off you? Don’t look now, Anton, but that thing you think is just a rash? Yeah, that’s leprosy.

And finally, your third poor decision: you decided to share this problem with me. Frankly, you’re just the worst kind of human being, Anton: someone incapable of helping themselves, even when the effort required raises you to the bare minimum of the human experience, yet constantly seeking assistance and advice from people who, quite frankly, probably have a hard enough time simply sharing the same airspace as you. I’d call you a lost cause, but I don’t know that I care enough to ascribe even a judgment to the kind of person you choose to be. Instead, let me just say that Clorox is slightly tangy and would be a welcome accompaniment to any of the finger fruit or vegetable juices enjoyed by the general populace. Mix in some drain cleaner and a dash of Ajax, and well, friend, you’ve got yourself an evening.

Or you could just clean your fucking ears. You disgusting pig.

WIN THIS MOTHERFUCKING BUCKET

October 15th, 2010 by admin

You want this sweet ass bucket, don’t you? I know you do. Head on over and ask us a question to be entered to win. Entries close one week from midnight, last night. Tell your idiot friends!

Also, everyone was sick, busy, angry or all three this week. We’ll be back next week to pretend like we know shit.

Everyone’s sick.

October 13th, 2010 by admin

We’ve all got nasty colds. That’s just life. See you guys tomorrow.

Win the bucket!

October 8th, 2010 by Andy

That candy bucket is still up for grabs, and all you reprobates have to do to win it is ask us a question. Don’t you feel dumb for not doing so already?