Horse-tranquilizers are for wusses. I inject whale tranquilizers into my lonely and mis-guided adolescent face.

People get upset over the half-naked women being objectified in hip hop videos but isn’t a music video merely a representation of what it’s like to be inside the song? And have you ever been inside a rap song? There are literally hoes shaking their giant asses everywhere!

Beef jerky is the official snack of poverty.

As children we spend a great deal of time attempting to piece together puzzles of Big Birds and puppies but rarely get the opportunity to flash those skills in adulthood. That is why I propose Hasbro sink all of their research and development into marketing pornographic puzzles. When Porn Puzzles™ become all the rage - the pathetic single men that buy them will inevitably lose the piece with the vagina.

Whoever said that Eskimos have seven words to describe snow was wrong. Eskimos don’t exist.

I have no sympathy for people who parachute and crash land because their chute malfunctioned. It’s like, “Yeah? Well maybe you shouldn’t have chosen to jump out of a fucking airplane, Terry Schiavo!”

Bea Arthur’s sexuality is no mystery to me. I’m positive that if I ever lift up her blue pastel frock and drop those flowing pajama pants I’ll find a smooth, androgynous, Ken-doll-like lump where genitalia usually exists. Oh, and her vocal chords are there as well.

NERF pulled a fast one on us by manufacturing mattresses and renaming them Tempur-Pedic. The company executives were forced to change the name to Tempur-Pedic after customers repeatedly complained of getting their NERF mattresses stuck on the neighbor’s roof.

I love to eat crack babies. I mean…crab cakes.

If I’m ever trapped in an elevator with a pregnant woman in labor I’ll bash my head against the carpeted wall until I fall unconscious. Hopefully by the time the paramedics wave the smelling salts across my nostrils - the baby will be born, the woman will be gone and the elevator will be at the top floor of my penthouse apartment full of sluts and booze.

One time the power went out and I had to shower by candle light. It wasn’t romantic at all. More like a wet and mildly spooky adventure into cleanliness.

It’s tough to find boobs nowadays but back in the 1980’s it was impossible for filmmakers to make a comedy without baring some breasts. Revenge of the Nerds, Back to School, hell, a major subplot of Adventures in Babysitting was Elizabeth Shue resembling a Playboy centerfold. There must have been some sort of tit clause in Hollywood’s contracts.

I need a tit clause at my job. “Oh, a cup of coffee you say? That’ll be $1.35 and two knockers.” Special note - I reserve the right to veto my own tit clause on a tit for tat basis. No flapjacks, please.

That old cartoon was right on the money. An octopus would be a kickass drummer.

Windshield is a great word. It’s a functional description of the object for which it’s named. More imporantly, it sounds like some awesome medieval device.

“Lord Xavier, the Curds approach from the Eastern Hills! Relinquish your goblet of mead and man the windshield!”

Yeah, hi. I’d like a chocolate pizza salad, a pudding sub, and a bowl of cheesy loose meat. Is there anything bigger than super-sized? I’ll have that.

The Journey of Merrill is a heartwarming mustache movie about a quirky middle-aged man on a mission to find his life’s elixer - milk. This film was made as a senior capstone project at SUNY Fredonia in the Spring of 2006. In 2007 it was given a gold award from the Aurora Awards.

Writer/Director - Kevin Lieber
Director of Photography/Producer - Keith Carlson
Editor/Sound Designer - Casey Siegel

The following was published in The Leader on Wednesday Feb. 22, 2006 and caused the local Christian community to boycott advertising in the newspaper.

Who gives a shit? Not Muffer Van Awesome. Know why? Because I don’t have to!

The morning I woke up with armpit hair was the morning I decided two things – 1. Showers are for girls and daredevil babies – and 2. From here on out, I’m going to do what I want, when I want.

The few acquaintances I’ve managed to keep over the years occasionally try to involve me in their stupid little life events but a quick flip of the bird and a nasty fart in their immediate direction gets my message across. You’re boring.

Oh, your roommate’s band is playing a gig on Saturday night? And? They’re probably worse than a crap sandwich. In fact, I’m sure they are. And as far as music goes in general - unless it’s on my 300GB I-Pod Turbo, it might as well get in the kitchen and fire up a heaping helping of crap sandwiches right here and now.

What’s that? You want me to go to the movies tonight? Sure, I’ll go. Oh, wait.

No, I won’t.

I never have to step foot inside another over-priced, sticky-floored movie theater ever again. Why? Because I can download any movie I like for free and watch it in the comfort of my Dallas Cowboys beanbag chair – naked, bitch.

You got a problem with pirating movies off the ‘net? You think I’m a no-good thief? Suck on it, Mother Theresa.

Everyone knows it’s not stealing if you use a computer. It’s not like I’m jacking DVDs off the shelves of Blockbuster. I was already fired for that. You think I actually care?

Gong!

My old ass parents used to think I’d go to weddings and funerals and all that other family function shit with them. Wrong-o. The only wedding I’ll ever go to is my own. Oh, wait. I forgot. I’m never getting married. Because girlfriends are for pussy-whipped autobots that pick up the check and hold paying jobs.

I refuse to take any disagreeable orders from girls, parental figures or religious leaders. The only way a “Padre” could get my ass into church is if the sermon was about zombie anime and the body of Christ was covered in ground beef and topped with spicy nacho cheese sauce. Then, I’d slurp down my salvation with His Mountain Dew blood.

Hang on, lame ass readers. I’m sick of writing now so I’m going to go shred on this flying-V guitar for a minute. Wiggity wiggity wiggity!!!

Okay, I’m back.

I’d apologize for taking a break but I refused to say sorry to that old lady after I rail-grinded my skateboard on her scoliosis-spine so why start with the kissy kissy now?

I don’t have to care about anything I don’t like and I’m not afraid to let you know it.

The most classic move I ever pulled was when my Uncle Richard gave me some really thick book for my birthday. It was a novel like Moby Dick or Goosebumps or whatever. Either way, the look on Uncle Dick’s face when I immediately chewed up the last ten pages of the book and spit them into the toilet was absolutely priceless.

Face it, dorks. Books are pointless. There’s nothing in them but pseudo-intellectual symbolism that only produces one thing - a decent nap.

Oh, shit. My Steak-Um is burning. Alright, I’m out of here. Just remember that if you think I’m going to help you paint your garage, give you a ride to the emergency room or give a shit about anything you like – I’m not. Why? ‘Cause I don’t have to.