This Week's Rejected Daily Mail Comments -- 5/27/15

Another Post Courtesy of the The Daily Mail - I kid Rupert Murdoch a lot when we see each other at the Friar's Club but his rag does supply an endless assortment of crap for my blog.

When you really, really need to see celebrity nipples poking through skintight blouses there is only one place to go on the web, the The Daily Mail. Now there's another reason to visit The Daily Mail, a new game for killing time at work. The goal is to get as many red down arrows as possible when you comment on their articles.

You'd think it would be easy. The Daily Mail is just like the New York Post except it's targeted at toothless limeys instead of toothless guys from Staten Island. Work some pro-ObamaCare into your comment, maybe a gay marriage doesn't really hurt anyone, and those red arrows will start piling up, right?  Right?  Wrong. The problem is you have to get your comments through those warehouses full of censors housed somewhere just east of Mumbai.


Rejected Comments of the Past Week

Lucy Mecklenburgh works effortless style in orange jumpsuit and black leather jacket at make-up launch
My Comment:  Those paintings are amazing.  Lucy is both beautiful and a very, talented artist.

You know, because those easels are usually used for oil painting and the makeup looks like tubes of paint and this comment would have gotten mega red arrows as all of Britain got off feeling superior to me with their inexhaustible knowledge of all things Lucy. 

Bride-to-be Michelle Keegan nails off-duty chic as she attends her final dress fitting
My Comment:   "Michelle Keegan nails off-duty security guard" would be a better headline.  Especially, if I was the off-duty security guard.

You know, because "nails off-duty" is a funny choice of words and I would really like to nail Michelle Keegan.   I am not a security guard but would be willing to wear the uniform for a tryst if Michelle agrees to wear her wedding gown.

Robin Thicke, 38, is overshadowed by glamorous young girlfriend April Love Geary, 20
My Comment:  I think it's nice that Robin brought his daughter as his date to an event at Cannes. Most guys would bring a two-bit floozy.

You know, because Robin looks 48 but is 38 and April looks 20 but is 20.

Kylie Minogue offers a glimpse of her famous derrière as she steps out in a cute beige semi-sheer minidress
My Comment:   If Kylie sang with her derrière, her music might be more bare-able.

You know, because Kylie looks a lot better than she sounds.


Accepted Comments

Sometimes I do get a comment through the censors. Remember my goal is to get as many red arrows as possible.

Men who masturbate will get their hands PREGNANT says Islamic preacher
My Comment:  If that guy was right, I'd have 800,000 kids.  Rating ▲3

Ivanka Watch

Here's a photo of Ivanka Trump.  I have now submitted some variation of this comment 127 times and it's been rejected 127 times. Besides, can Ivanka be more adorable? No she can not.

Ivanka Trump's sundress gets caught in a breeze as she shows off her impressive swing
My Comment:   That swing is generating a lot of torque, in my pants!  Ivana hump Ivanka Trump.

Extra Bonus Stuff

And because I went to the trouble of photoshopping that cute, little dildo into Christine O'Donnell's cute little hand, here's the original image from Fox News.

Wow, it looks like Christine is making up for lost time. Spit on that bottle rocket and fire away.

Throwback Thursday - On a Bob Melonosky Built for Two

Part 1

My best friend growing up was a guy named Dave DeGreco.  He had long, greasy blonde hair that curled up at the bottom like Mary Tyler Moore, buck teeth, and so many beauty marks on his face that the tough kids called him "Dots."  They used to hold him down in the playground and connect his beauty marks with a black marker hoping it would result in a circus elephant or a Mickey Mouse.  It never did.  When they let Dave up, he would cry and hide in the coat closet.

Despite these shortcomings, and a boatload of others too numerous to mention, Dave ended up with a girlfriend in the 10th Grade.

Her name was Laura.  She was ugly and mean, had hairy arms like Lancelot Link Super Chimp and her dad drove a sky blue Lincoln Continental Mark IV.   They were made for each other.

Prior to his going out with Laura, me and Dave would spend every non-school hour together, playing basketball or wiffleball or watching TV.  After Laura showed up,  I had to renew my friendship with former friends that were even worse than Dave.  Guys like Pete DeSilvio, Tony DePietro and Augie DiDimonico.  Life sucked for me, but on Sundays, the pasta was good.

Then one day, Dave asked if I wanted to go on a double date with Laura's friend Margarita Ruriani.  Turned out Margarita liked me.   Who knew?  I was in 427 classes with her and she never said a word to me.  Once in gym class, during the dreaded square dancing marking period, she tripped me on purpose while I was promenading with Cheryl Satriali.

I had probably rubbed it out to Margarita over 200 times which put her in the same grouping as my math teacher Mrs. Rosner and Trish Nixon.  I couldn't be happier to go on a date.

The girls decided that we would rent bicycles built for two and ride around Hecksher Park before having a picnic and then going to a concert at the band shell.  Pretty damn ambitious for a first date but what choice did I have?

The morning of the big event my grandpa made over-easy eggs with a pile of corned beef hash from a can that was so big, Richard Dreyfus could have used it to build Pike's Peak.  I ate it all.   Then he beat me at Stratego a couple of times even though I moved my bombs.  The old guy was a Stratego savant even though he hated the French.

Bicycles built for two were lame but Dave and I had a plan.  Get the girls to ride in front so we could look at their butts.  Margarita was wearing a plaid skirt that had the potential to ride up on her.  It was my lucky day.

Hairy armed Laura gladly sat up front.  Margarita wanted to be in back because she was afraid to steer.  Now she was going to get to look at my butt.  Fuck luck.

As I mounted the bike my stomach began to percolate.  The lethal combination of intestinal tract microbes, corned beef, chocolate milkshake and cold Pillsbury broccoli and cheddar quiche (I had sneaked out of the fridge) were starting to ferment in my lower bowels.   Copious amounts of  nitrogen, methane and hydrogen sulfide were demanding to be released.  Like Gandalf the Grey, I brought all my magical powers to bear on the elassitude of my rectum, "Thou shall not pass gas!"

My determination lasted 20 seconds.  The warm, supple bicycle seat kind of tickled my balloon knot and  I had to let one go.  Years of practice in classrooms and the backseats of cars allowed me to deliver the bomb slowly.  I lifted up a cheek and opened the smallest aperture I could muster, resulting in a silent but steady release of pressure that lasted all the way to the duck pond.

Margarita didn't seem to notice.  I relaxed a bit and carefully repeated the process.  This time my results were mixed as I released a series of staccato sighs as if my anus were blowing kisses to my attractive co-cyclist.  I was now officially and solidly freaked out and in my distracted state proceeded to slice off a hunk of cheese that could have adorned the head of Andre the Giant.  The sound so frightened the paddling of ducks that they left their bread and rose as one, and didn't stop flying until they got to Sunken Meadow State Park and the safety of the Long Island Sound.

Should I apologize or pretend that the obvious didn't happen?  I was fairly inexperienced in the nuances of the dating game so I just peddled on through the heavy stench of rotting cheddar and corned beef.

When it was time to dismount, I took a chance and looked at Margarita.  Our eyes met.   The disgust I was expecting was absent.  No smile graced her lips but there was something locked in her eyes.  A longing.  Maybe, a longing to be as far from me as a frightened duck.

Later, while sitting under the stars, on a blanket, with Margarita in my arms, listening to the Huntington Philharmonic butcher Beethoven, through whispers and kisses I learned of the joys of eproctophilia.

And thus began the greatest three months of 10th Grade a guy ever had.

End of Part 1

Remember the immortal words of James Joyce:

"It is wonderful to fuck a farting woman when every fuck drives one out of her. I think I would know Nora’s fart anywhere. I think I could pick hers out in a roomful of farting women."   


Additional Reading: Great Farts in Literature.

Throwback Throwback Thursdays

Throwback Thursday - My First Wife, Sarah Silverman
Throwback Thursday - Old Skool Skateboarding
Throwback Thursday - My First Date
Throwback Thursday - Receiving a Major Award
Throwback Thursday - JV Tennis Bob Melonosky Super Jock
Throwback Thursday - Bruce Klein's Bar Mitzvah
Throwback Thursday - HHH High School East Computer Club
Throwback Thursday - My High School German Club
Throwback Thursday - A Cousin Claudia Christmas
Throwback Thursday - I Was a Teenage Poet
Throwback Thursday - I Wanna Be a Football Hero
Throwback Thursday - My Yearbook Photos
Throwback Thursday - My Brief Career as the Catholic Justin Beiber
Throwback Thursday - Bob Melonosky, Teen Rambo

This Week's Rejected Daily Mail Comments -- 5/20/15

Another Post Courtesy of the The Daily Mail - I kid Rupert Murdoch a lot when we see each other at the Friar's Club but his rag does supply an endless assortment of crap for my blog.

When you really, really need to see celebrity nipples poking through skintight blouses there is only one place to go on the web, the The Daily Mail. Now there's another reason to visit The Daily Mail, a new game for killing time at work. The goal is to get as many red down arrows as possible when you comment on their articles.

You'd think it would be easy. The Daily Mail is just like the New York Post except it's targeted at toothless limeys instead of toothless guys from Staten Island. Work some pro-ObamaCare into your comment, maybe a gay marriage doesn't really hurt anyone, and those red arrows will start piling up, right?  Right?  Wrong. The problem is you have to get your comments through those warehouses full of censors housed somewhere just east of Mumbai.


Rejected Comments of the Past Week

Man, 33, pleads guilty after 'killing his stepfather with an atomic wedgie
My Comment:  This is truly a public service announcement.  I will never again perform an atomic wedgie.  However, conventional wedgies will still be in my arsenal.

'You're The Wig That I Want!': John Travolta sports layered mullet
My Comment:  When the Scientologist aliens finally arrive on earth, they're going to take the wig and leave the cannoli.

Khloe Kardashian hits the gym early so she can have breakfast catch up with sister
My Comment:   "Hits the gym" must be Armenian for "free buffet."


Accepted Comments
 
Sometimes I do get a comment through the censors. Remember my goal is to get as many red arrows as possible.

'Thanks for the lift!': Kourtney Kardashian shares snap where partner Scott Disick is pushing up her breast as she sunbathes

My Comment:  

I'd lift those up where they belong

 Where eagles fly

On a mountain high

Rating ▼2

Pregnant Katherine Jenkins dresses her burgeoning baby bump in a midnight blue number ensemble
My Comment:   When you can't see the bump, it can't be burgeoning. Need an alliteration? Katherine dresses her itsy-bitsy baby bump...  Rating ▲155

Kim embraces her 'insecurities' with a nude photo shoot in the desert
My Comment:  Kim looks like I-40, a four lane highway through the Mojave Desert. You can park two 18-wheelers on that butt with room to spare.  Rating ▼1


The Daily Mail Mission Statement:

Extra Special Gift: 

 Because I care, and because hundreds of pussy-faced pudpullers (that's "pus - e faced" - having a face full of pus not a face full of pussy.  Believe me, no readers of this site have ever had their face anywhere near an actual pussy), will visit this site after typing some combination of:

Kourtney

Kardashian

Breast

Naked

Nude

Pregnant.

Here's Kourtney Kardashian naked, and pregnant, with nude breasts, and an eagle, actual size:

This Week's Rejected Daily Mail Comments -- 5/8/15

Another Post Courtesy of the The Daily Mail - I kid Rupert Murdoch a lot when we see each other at the Friar's Club but his rag does supply an endless assortment of crap for my blog.

When you really, really need to see celebrity nipples poking through skintight blouses there is only one place to go on the web, the The Daily Mail. Now there's another reason to visit The Daily Mail, a new game for killing time at work. The goal is to get as many red down arrows as possible when you comment on their articles.

You'd think it would be easy. The Daily Mail is just like the New York Post except it's targeted at toothless limeys instead of toothless guys from Staten Island. Work some pro-ObamaCare into your comment, maybe a gay marriage doesn't really hurt anyone, and those red arrows will start piling up, right?  Right?  Wrong. The problem is you have to get your comments through those warehouses full of censors housed somewhere just east of Mumbai.


Rejected Comments of the Past Week

Kim Kardashian wears daring black dress with high slit and plunging neckline to LA book signing for Selfish
My Comment:   Book signing?  Can Kim spell Kardashian?  Kan Kim spell Kim?

Carroll Spinney narrowly avoided dying in 1986 Challenger shuttle disaster - because his 'Big Bird' suit WOULDN'T FIT inside the spacecraft
My Comment:   When I was a kid, I always thought Carroll Spinney was a woman. I guess he's just a man trapped in a bird's body.

Kim Kardashian squeezes in another work out ahead of the Met Gala in New York 
My Comment:   Does that label say, "Warning!  Object in spandex is larger than it appears with photoshop."  I'm going to be nauseous all day.

Khloe Kardashian gets cellulite lasered off her derriere as sisters Kim and Kendall watch while eating snacks
My Comment:   Looks like Kim and Kendall are eating Khloe's butt trimmings on crackers.  Yummy!  Butt sadly, high in cholesterol.

Has Khloe's rectum hypnotized Kim and Kendall?  There might be a shiny object in it.

However, now we finally know what Rodin's The Thinker was thinking about.

Khloe's butt.

Accepted Comments

Sometimes I do get a comment through the censors, but not this week.  I may have been banned.  :(

My Dick Reviews Game of Thrones: High Sparrow

Today's guest blogger is a frequent contributor of insightful posts and unsightly stains, my dick.

When in Westeros and points east, can you ever visit too many brothels?  No.  Throw in a naked queen under 40 and you've got a pretty solid episode.  Let's get to it.  


Margaery Tyrell

What boy/teen/man/king/maester/black guard/sand snake wouldn't want to switch places with The Kitty Kat King.  Actually, the king stuff Tommen can red keep.  Every king in this kingdom ends up dead before the season's over.  I just want to set a Guinness World Record in bed, with Margaery Tyrell, I don't care how conniving and clever she is.  I'd have my mother boxed up and sent off to Casterly Rock before the sheets dry.  And my mother's nice.
 
Cersi Lannister 

Cersi Lannister is one of those rare women that is so repulsive on the inside, that no manner of outside can overcome the deficit.  I'm not talking stuck on a deserted island repulsive.  I'm talking a personality so foul that even a quickie next to the corpse of her close relative is out of the question.

When Cersi glares at the camera, my mighty sword goes from Valyrian steel to one of Bran's legs faster than a Tyrion quip.

Stop me, please. I'm on a roll.

What I'm saying I guess is," I wouldn't fuck Cersi Lannister with Brienne of Tarth's dick" (apologies and respect to Jeffrey Ross and Bea Arthur).

Quick PC Note:  Like only two years ago that would have been funny without a cringe.  Now, with various gay bashing and feminist bashing and fat shaming, it's still funny but a little cringey.  What if I write:

I wouldn't fuck Cersi Lannister with Theon Greyjoy's dick.  You know, the one in the box.  It probably reeks by now.  Better?  Good, we'll go with it.

I've never fucked a dowager and I'm not gonna start with Cersi.  I'd give prune face from Downton Abbey a go first.

Littlefinger's Christmas Spectacular

We get to see a "Living Manger" of prostitutes representing the Seven Gods of Westeros.

Why didn't I become a hedge fund manager?

Now, I know what happens in a high end Wall Street brothel.  "I'll have the Virgin Mary, Mary Magdalene, Balthazar and a couple of those sheep."  Then, after I drop my derivatives time bomb all over their assets, the rockettes come out and dance in celebration, of me.

You know how your mama always told you not to talk to strangers?

That's why you never listen to your mama.

So who would I choose if I was a high Septon or hedge fund manager?  The Father and The Warrior are not my cup of mead, not that there's anything wrong with a warrior now and again.  The Smith is looking good, The Maiden is a no-brainer and I can't tell the difference between The Mother and The Crone so I'll take both.  I prefer a face on my trollop for pay so I'll pass on The Stranger. 

Sansa

Finally, some good news on Game Of Thrones.  Sansa gets to marry Ramsay Snow.  Truly, a match made in heaven or The Eyrie, which is close enough.  I hate Sansa.  She's an ignorant, sniveling, wimp.  If you look closely, she's bigger than Littlefinger.  I know she can take him in an arm wrestle.  She could have easily killed him about a 1000 different ways since he "saved" her from Joffrey.

And I'm not digging her goth look.

Volantis Brothel and Some Musing on Dany

When at a brothel in Volantis does one pay the extra coinage for the Dany lookalike or does one pay standard fare for an inviting diversion that looks like a meatier version of Shae.

Personally, I'm going with Shae-lite.  Like Tyrion, I prefer my hookers cynical and grounded and brunette.

Also, I'm fairly convinced that I have a shot at the real Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, the Unburnt, Queen of Meereen, Queen of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains, future wife of Bob and Mother of Dragons.

Her first husband was an okay provider but a little rough around the edges.  And in bed?  I moved on from horsey position in high school.

Her current guy is underwhelming in every way.  He looks like a country singer in the lounge of a Ramada Inn, in Altoona, Pennsylvania, on a Wednesday night.  He belongs with the cosplayer at the Volantis brothel.

Little naked chicks on the pommels of your swords?  That's not only classless and clueless, it's middle school classless and clueless.  Give me five minutes and Dany's making moon eyes at me.  I just need to worm my way into her inner circle.

And advice?  Killing a guy for killing a guy before he has a fair trial, before he has a fair trial?  Public Relations 101.  Not a good idea.  Put everyone in a courtroom for a couple of months with a bunch of lawyers droning on, and on, and on, about due process and those freed slaves will be calling for the guy's head just to put everybody out of their misery.

I'd be good for Dany in bed and in the throne room.

So, on the standard Dany Eating a Horse Heart scale where 1 is me taking selfies with a Dany cosplayer at the DemiCon in Des Moines, Iowa and 5 is me spending her hiatus in the Caribbean with Emilia Clarke and a blonde wig, I give Game of Thrones: High Sparrow three and half Danys Eating a Horse Heart.

Other articles by my dick:
My Dick Reviews American Hustle
My Dick Reviews The Hobbit 2
My Dick Reviews House of Cards
My Dick Reviews Orange is the New Black
My Dick Reviews the Hobbit
My Dick Discusses The Debt
My Dick Discusses the Winter Olympics
My Dick Discusses Avatar 3D
My Dick Explains Why the Blind Side is So Popular
My Dick's Thoughts on Patrick Swayze's Passing