I will not hesitate to disarm you with retarded and made-up insults like anus bracelet or gentrified accoutrement.

Nugatory.

Nugatory is a great word.

In other non-bovine and/or equine-oriented news: I got the second Coheed comic and I liked it so hard we had babies. I mean, I'm still liking it even as we speak. We liked eight times last night. MAN! I'm liking its brains out.

New rule for people over 75: STOP DRIVING. Put down the cars and go into hiding. Disappear for small periods of time in which some people may or may not notice you're missing. Here's what people say to me when I talk about this: "But what about when you're 75? Hmm? Mr. Smartypantsbritchesguy? HMM?!!?!!!" After I'm done throwing my seven non-operational telephones at them, I tell them that when I'm 75, I won't need to drive because I'll just sit in my little room in my little wheelchair by myself and look in the mirror and scream at myself. Ha ha but seriously, I am tired of paying high insurance premiums because you're too damn proud to look backwards when you're reversing or because you mixed up left with northeast again. Stop it.

New rule for Burger King employees: NEVER EVER STOP FEEDING ME DOUBLE CHEESEBURGERS!!!!!!!!!!! EVER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! OHMYGOD OHMYGOD I LOVE YOU SO MUCH!!!!!!!!!!! (Let's have relations. [Except for, you know, the guys. And the ugly people. And that chick that screwed up my order last time.])

New rule for my hair: Be cut as is most convenient for me.

New rule for Pat Robertson: Shut up forever a million times infinity. You are the reason why I hate every single person who gets in front of a TV camera until the end of all times when the Dhutu overlords come to reclaim our soul-crispies. I cannot watch 30 seconds of modern television without wanting to punch every person I know in the face nine times and then do a really stupid-looking amateurish breakdance of frustration on my crappy apartmental carpeting. TV and I are breaking up until it stops trying to sell me on near-constant casual sex and the almighty bastion of unholiness known as The West Wing.

New rule for people that smoke a lot of pot: All of you should get together and ride in a little train that goes anywhere except for places that the rest of us have to be EVER. Welcome to Happy Adultland where people stop being the most retarded people of all human history and start actually doing anything at all that can be considered even remotely productive. Like me, for instance. I make babies for a living.

New rule for guys that are trying really hard to be macho: The new awesome way for you to project your masculinity all over us is to put yourself in a little iron box and have it welded shut and then have that box placed inside of a larger iron box and then have that larger iron box welded shut and then have that same larger iron box placed into a very large mechanism which crushes large iron boxes into small bits of fluff and then have that fluff set on fire and burned for as long as possible.

New rule for everybody that lives in the same city as me: Tomorrow is Let's All Stop Playing The "Who Can Be The Biggest Asshole" Game Day. Oh, the day after that too...and the day after that. Hopefully you can see where I'm going with this.

New rule for people who tell me a story that is something I don't really understand or care about because it makes no sense and also you happen to be the owner of the business I'm working for and you are paying me basically nine cents an hour and constantly belittling me. Yeah, um... Rule for people like that: I hate you. When you're around me I'm going to wear a shirt that says "I Hate This Guy" and points to you and you can wear a shirt with a picture of me elbowing you in the kidneys really hard while I am, in fact, elbowing you in the kidneys really hard.

New rule: The Macarena is BACK.