**You know you don’t have to put a sticker for every family member you have…….only the ones you care about

Icing is gay.  But if you feel the need to Ice, try one of these:

Go up to someone and hand them a bottle of Jack Daniels.  Say, “You just got Jacked Up”.  They then have to drop to a knee and chug the entire bottle of Jack.  There is no way around it.

~OR~

Put a Smirnoff Ice in someone’s coffin.  At the wake when everyone goes up to kneel and take a preyer they will see the Ice.  Already in the kneeling position chugging should not be such a large chore.  People would essentially be lining up, and kneeling only to get iced.  Suckers.

Every neighborhood is divided into (2) sections: the good part, and the bad part.  And 9 out of 10 times the dividing boarder between the two is a set of railroad tracks.  Why are the thugs from the nasty party of town afraid to cross over the railroad tracks?  For some unknown reason the tracks act as an invisible fence.  It’s as if the thugs are vampires, and the tracks are an endless path of garlic and silver crosses.

With that being said, I don’t see why we can’t capitalize on this.  Why pay to surround prisons with electric fences and guards when we can just make a loop of railroad tracks and stick the inmates in the middle.  Thinking about building a moat around your house?….maybe you should be thinking tracks.  Instead of pepper-spray, civilians can just wear little belts made out of tiny model train-sets.  Bruce Wayne can change his name to Bruce Train.  (F U if you thought that last one was cheesy…i laughed)

Jim Gray:  Why did you leave Cleveland?

Lebron: ”Well I never wanted to leave.   In a perfect world I would have loved to stay,but the logisitics of it all.    I’ve done so many great things for Cleveland and everybody who knows me knows I’m so loyal that I had to go.    But Cleveland knows they are still #1 in my heart.  So I didn’t really leave Cleveland.  I still love Akron.   I was great from the ages of 18-25 and took the franchise to heights they’ve never seen.   Now it’s time for me to be great in Miami.   My mom told me I could leave and it wouldn’t be selfish. ”

Lebron James is going to Miami for the ladies.  Miami has better clubs/girls than Chicago, New York and especially Cleveland.  I’d like to quote Joseph R. Cooper who said, “I’m telling you, it’s jobs. We gotta get jobs. Then we get the khakis. Then we get the chicks.”  Lebron has had the khakis since he was 18.  He just wants to wear them where the right people (10′s) will see them.

NOTE:  How long before Kim K breaks up with Miles Austin to get to Lebron? Over/Under at 2 weeks.

What would you say if I told you that I was 5 lbs lighter in the morning than I am before going to bed?  If I told you that 5 lbs vanished off my body in between Seinfeld and Good Day New York?  You would probably assume that my bed sheets looked like the inside of a Carnaval cruise pool filter:  filled with piss, crap and throw-up.  I mean the pounds have to go somewhere, right?  However this is not the case.  I haven’t poo’d the bed since uncontrollably laughing at Joey Gladstone’s one-liners on Full House.

The internetz tells me that I either “burn” it off; or “sweat” it out.  Let’s rule each one out individually:

Burn it Off: You’re telling me that my body burns off five fucking pounds of fuel while sleeping?!  I want to slap you in the throat for insulting my intelligence.  I know I snore, but in general sleeping doesn’t really require a grueling dose of energy.  If sleeping requires five L.B.’s, then typing out all these words should have me looking like the “Spring” version of Lindsey Lohan.

Sweat It Out: Five pounds of sweat?  1lb = 16 oz.  Therefore 5 lbs of sweat is the equivalent of ~7 beers.  Pour seven beers on your bed.  Just do it.  It would like like you just knifed Aquaman in his sleep.

So where does it all go?  I think the tooth-fairy carts it off for you.  But I also think that the Jets are going to win the Superbowl every year.  In other words; I have been wrong before.  If you have a thoery mail it to Thomas Crapper….email address:  CrapsForDays@chrisgaldi.com

Sort of looks like the picture index in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders.

NationalGeographic.com — Mouse Tears Are Aphrodisiacs. According to a new study, male mouse tears contain a sex pheromone called ESP1, which makes female mice more receptive to mounting.

Let me get this straight: mice cry and consequentially get laid?  That’s such a mouse thing to do.  And why are mice so sad to begin with?  I guess mouse-traps are good reason to cry.  Seeing another human in a human-trap would be relatively traumatic for me.  Not exactly like watching the Notebook and holding in a few tears.

In Completely Unrelated News the Cookie Monster Had a Blast at his Birthday this weekend:

Have you ever found yourself alone in a dark, wooded and creepy area?  There is always a lingering fear that some Buffalo Bill mother fucker is going to creep up on you, throw you in his trunk, lock you in his basement and make you play Risk in the nude.

After watching a Dexter marathon recently, I realized that I want to become a serial killer.  In writing out the positives and negatives of mass murder, sitting there like an elephant in the negative column is the fact that I will have to spend a lot of my time alone in these dark and creepy areas that I fear.  But then I was like, wait, if I am the serial killer then there shouldn’t be anything to fear because I am the creep.  I guess what I am asking is do creeps get creeped out at the prospect of being followed by other creeps?  Is there a hierarchy of creeps out there?

Hypothetically let’s say that a creep did happen to creep on another creep.  There is no chance that a third creep could be behind the second creep, is there?  A train of three creeps.  I mean the probability just is not there.  This a situation where the anchor creep is actually safe from all worldly danger, and relieved of fear.  Creeps creeping creeps; nothing creepy about it.

FOX Business — There’s a new concern to add to Wall Street’s growing list of worries about the economic recovery: that the U.S. could slip into a scary deflationary spiral, a development that would inflict serious pain on the economy. Deflation is a decrease in the general price level of goods and services.

Deflation is scary because it makes a long farting noise.  It is also scary because it really hasn’t happened to the U.S. economy since the 1920s during the Great Depression, raising concerns about whether policymakers would know how to fix it.  However this is not a concern for me; because I’m not a policymaker, I’m a fixer.

Without the burden of sales taxes, the price of a “nickel bag” of pot has defied inflation and held at $5 ever since that hippie fuck you call a father was a teenager.  This economic blunder is deflationary kryptonite.  If you are sitting on a “nickle bag” of weed today; you could bet Shang Tsung your soul that it will be worth $5 tomorrow.  Why is this the case?  Because pot heads don’t want to deal with inflation/deflation/disinflation/probation/segregation or any other type of interpretation.  They just want to pinch some weed, put it in a bag, and collect a $5 bill.

Editor’s Note:  I don’t smoke weed, it just looks like I do because I eat a lot of cookies.