Dudes + Cats

Rad or Sad?

Getting your metal on with your friends is rad.

Sloppy emo kid PDA is sad.

Bein' free & easy is rad.

Getting your ass kicked outside of McDonald's is sad.

Having your Misfits poster survive Katrina is rad.

Ewwwwww! Licking your mom is SO sad, not rad. That's my job, dude.

Feats of strength are rad. Especially when you didn't know you had it in you.

Halloween DJs who are trying too hard are sad.

Rad.

Not even the fuzzy blue toilet seat cover and going to make this not sad.

Ok, I'll admit it. This is pretty rad. Well played, sir.

Imaginary friends are sad.

Being well-stocked with toilet paper is rad.

The inevitable loss of innocence is sad.

Garden gnomes who are comfortable getting glam are rad.

Sitting alone in the dark, obsessively checking your friends' facebook statuses is sad. Don't ask me how I know about that.

This was the all-time raddest night of this young man's life.

The side-effects of mixing alcohol and red bull are sad.

Having the courage to have your photo taken holding your yippy little dog in front of another photo of yourself wearing a cardigan and bowtie is rad, rad, rad.

Drunken coding is sad.

Sorry, pal. I can't quite give you a "rad" on this one. Try again later.

Sadder than Ol' Yeller.

Being an enthusiastic eater is rad.

Dental fail = sad.

This is rad as fuck. Don't tell me it ain't.

Things that are closed are sadder than Wilford Brimley's diabetes.

Dominoes and beer are rad.

If I say this is sad, I'm a dead man.

Basement show, chick with an SG and a Youth of Today shirt... well, what do think I'm gonna say, numbnuts -- of course it's rad!

Saving yourself for the President of Argentina is sad.

Whether you're seeking business or pleasure, these rad dudes have got you covered.

Pre-canned whiskey products are sadder than Cypher in the Snow.

Celebrating your birthday under the watchful eye of Bruce Lee is so damned rad.

This is sadder than a Clown College dropout.

Too much metal for one hand is rad.

Having maple syrup poured on you while you're passed out is sad. Trust me on this one.

Rastafarian Welsh Nationalist Ninjas are rad.

Failing at walking in the park is sad.

Scoring cold, hard cash is rad.

Whore-o-ween is sad. Although, I'm sure the dude in the picture will disagree with that assessment.

I don't know what the hell to think of this. I need to know what the backstory is here.

Being restrained by your buddies from punching some chick in face is really, really sad.

Have a rad Pride Month

After a long day of fighting the forces of evil and unfabulousness, Captain Rainbow likes to just kick back on a hideous, hideous couch.

Brokeback Mountain would have been so much better if it had featured these dudes.

Love Doug, love his feral cat.

You tell 'em, Captain Rainbow.

Apparently real unicorns actually piss rainbows. And real men are totally cool with that.

Oh yes.
Oh no.
If you haven't figured out exactly what happens in the midnight hour at St. Ignatius College Prep by now, I'm not going to be the one to explain it to you. Ask Doug.

Once you go centaur, you never go back.

Awwww.

Is this Iowa? No, it's heaven.

You know you're in heaven when you see office supply salesmen from 1983 walking straight out of the sunset... and he's totally glowing, dude.

In heaven, I finally have that recording contract. Oh yeah.

In heaven, dudes with pipes and leather elbow patches rule the mean streets, yo.

In heaven, I am the master of my domain. If you know what I'm saying.

In heaven, wolves, cougars, and eagles live in awesome majestic harmony.

In heaven, monkeys feed you pudding.

In heaven, Abraham Lincoln and Kurt Russel are pretty much the same dude. And they both escape from L.A.

In heaven, those damned kids stay offa my lawn like I tell 'em.

In heaven, this is a totally legitimate way to save a cat's life.

In heaven, you get to hang with Burt any time you want. And he's always wearing a tux.

In heaven, you are still every bit as awesome as you were in 1985.


In heaven, I can grow a sweet handlebar 'stache and I have a limitless supply of PBR tallboys. In heaven, the ladies love both.

In heaven, dudes have their priorities straight. And again, the ladies approve.

In heaven, even the snowmen get lucky once in a while. You go, Frosty.

In heaven, my band rocks your ass EVERY EFFING NIGHT!

In heaven, we don't need no stinking helmet laws.

In heaven, dogs don't need to be spayed or neutered.

In heaven, the whores at Knott's Berry Farm are so much more than animatronic.

In heaven, everyone can breakdance like Gonzo.

In heaven, every dude gets a rad sequined flag vest and every lady gets to caress the buff result.

In heaven, wookies and humans can express their freaky, freaky love freely and without judgment.

Welcome to my Nightmares

Friends, I'm not going to lie to you. You are seeing one tired-ass pirate trying to post right now. I'm tired because I haven't been sleeping well, and I'm not sleeping well because of the damned nightmares. Lemme share some of them with ya:

When I was a wee l'il pirate, my mom forbid me from seeing scare movies because they might give me bad dreams. But somehow, "Bambi II: The Revenge" slipped right past her.

If you don't share my deep-seated dread of disembodied, soft-focus Persian Kitten heads, you simply aren't doing enough hallucinagens.

In my nightmares, these dudes are always working out at my gym.

In my nightmares, I show up at a really cool basement party wearing a clown sweater. Oh wait, that really happened.

You better effing believe I'm being stalked by a giant rabbit in my nightmares. But I'm not going to let that get in the way of special friendship with Carl here. We've got something beautiful.

In my nightmares, Saturday night is Grandma's beard-washin' night.

In my nightmares, I'm stuck at a party with these people; there's nothing to drink but warm Zima; and Nickelback is on the stereo.

In my nightmares, The Hoff is allowed near small puppies.

Okay kid, you're going to have to trust me on this one: whatever you do, do not turn around, because if you do, you will piss those fire engine red trousers of yours.

Aw crap, he turned around. Oh the humanity.

Something tells me this isn't going to end well either.

Great leapin' lizards, there's that damned rabbit again! Run, children, run to the hills! Run for your lives!


In my nightmares, I'm being chased by Jesus in Nikes and he's got a posse of angry, angry santas with him.

In my nightmares, this guy completes my annual performance review.

In my nightmares, doctors will perform a surgery that will literally move your ass to the front of your legs. It's called the B.I.F. (Butt in Front) procedure. P.S. I guess what they say about horizontal stripes making you look fat is true.

That's okay. Smiling is totally for suckwads anyhoo.

Wow. These are really going to have an aerodynamic advantage over me when we have that Big Wheels race down Summit Hill.

President Palin. 'Nuff said.

These dudes pretty much provide the funky soundtrack to my nightmares.

I thought my childhood meeting with Spiderman was going to be a dream come true, but it turned into a nightmare pretty damned fast. And no, I don't want to talk about it.

In my nightmares, I've really really really got to go, only to find some hipster passed on the bog mid-crap.

The other thing that's worse is opening the bathroom door to see this going on.