Mercy kill + Fishsticks = Win Win

The Easy Game

Dumplings

Lutherans

Apples to Apples

Kitties

Jeggings

Lamb Chop’s Play Along

Science

Spooning

Any man named Leslie

Scams

Used jock straps

Ursula the sea witch

Any Pokemon other than Magikarp.

It’s easy to think

Of things that are better

Than Nicolas Cage

Yeah, I know Magikarp eventually evolves into the Gyarados, but honestly, who has the patience? Or a better question- what kind of Pokemon trainer would be so inhumane as to let Magikarp suffer long enough for it to evolve? The easy solution (really, it's what's best for everyone): put Magikarp out of its misery. You can't honestly think it's having a good time flopping around on the ground, incapable of inflicting any damage on its opponent? Just kill it. It will probably thank you. And then double bonus- fishsticks for dinner!

Besides Magikarp, there are a few things that are worse than Nicolas Cage, but I've been hard pressed to think of more than a dozen or so. Here's what I've come up with so far:

I'm sorry if this list will give you nightmares. Really, I am. Btw, these pictures aren't paired next to each other for any particular reason (except Bump-its and Pocatello, Idaho). It's just the way I formatted them. Then again, I bet Ann Coulter is just the kind of psycho who drives a Hummer. And Stephanie Meyer probably is a slow walker- I still want to punch her in the back of the head even if she isn't. I also bet Maggie Gallagher is the kind of sick mother who would enter her toddler into a beauty contest. And M Night Shayamalan? He's totally the twisted kind of weirdo who would be into that creepy 3-boobed chick. As for Rebecca Black and the Double Down? They're both cheesy, they both give you heartburn, and they're both...fried?

Cartoon Hotties (Bow-chicka-wow-wow!)

Hentai

Sometimes I wish

I was Yu-Gi-Oh

(Google image search)

Because I would be attractive

And magical

Hey,

Lots of people are attracted to cartoons.

It's a well-documented fact that people have lower hotness standards when they are smashed. I'm pretty sure there's even a Mythbusters episode about it. What a lot of people fail to realize is that the drunk goggles also work with the hotness level of cartoons.

But let's warm up with an example of real-life people first. First, people who I would have sexy time with completely sober:

Ohmygosh, I'm drooling all over myself!!! Okay, I would do these next people if you got me tipsy. Note that gender ceases to be deal-breaker.

It's like, I love you Jason Mraz, buuuuuut...you're two mai tais short of Matt Damon. Now let's look at people who I would only do if I were completely sloshed.

I don't care how many tween girls and lonely middle-aged women think Rob Pattinson is hot- he's just icky. He's pasty, boring, stupid, terrible at acting, and you just know he's a miserable kisser. I mean look at his lips! Does he even have lips? But I guess I would still do him if I was drunk. Same with my truck-driving senator, Mr. Scott Brown, and with the mostly irritating but occasionally endearing Jack Black.

Still, no matter how drunk you get, there are limits to how low you will sink with your fuckery. I draw my line with these unfuckables:

No surprises, really. It would take a lot more than alcohol for me to put out for these charmers. I'm talking millions and millions of dollars, probably followed by years and years of therapy. Except for Mr. Cage. There's no way in hell that would ever happen. Ever.

Enough real people. Bring on the cartoon hotties!!! This works the same way as it does with real people, for the most part. I guess the major difference is that I actually have a shot with Chris Pine (a very miniscule shot), while I will only ever have a shot at sexy time with Prince Eric in my dreams. Because he's not real. And I'm not sure if he even has a penis. Part of me thinks that cartoons (especially the Disney ones) would look like Ken dolls if they pulled their pants down. Anyway, that's not important. The point is that if he were real (or I guess if I were a cartoon), we would get it on somehow. Because he's smokin' hot, as are his two Disney compadres:

Yep, Disney knows how to draw 'em hot. And now for our get-me-tipsy-first cast of characters:

I freakin' love Yu Gi Oh. With a happy little nudge from a drink or two, I would be all over these fellows. Heart of the cards, guide me indeed (right into their pants!). I would just have to be careful not to get poked by the pharaoh's hair- I mean, I'm assuming the carpet matches the drapes. And now onto cartoons that are only hot when I'm absolutely sloshed.

Before you judge me, let's take a careful look at these cartoons. I know that they look like animals, but really they act more like people. Simba is voiced by the adorable Matthew Broderick, and just look at that dashing silky hair. You can't tell me that he also wouldn't be a very good spooner. Then there's Raphael- do you see those muscles!? And the Beast- well I'm sure he's a beast in bed.

And now our last bunch of cartoons. No amount of alcohol could ever tempt me.

Frollo and Squidward for obvious reasons. And then there's the nameless prince that the Beast transforms into after Belle confesses her love. It's not that he's terribly ugly - he was just, so...disappointing. We grew to love the Beast, and then he turned into that. A pea-brained prissy with a weird nose, Angelina Jolie lips, and hair that's verging on a mullet. I hate him.

The secret to good poetry is to not be like Nicolas Cage.

People do stupid things when they are drunk. Like singing karaoke. Or getting a unicorn tattoo. Or peeing in the sink. I write poetry. And for some inexplicable reason (it may have something to do with magic), my drunk poetry is phenomenally better than my sober poetry.

Yes, I also write poetry when I am sober. It's where I got started. Unfortunately, the majority of this poetry usually falls somewhere between trash and poop. I guess I can't be too hard on myself. Most poetry out there- probably like 99% - is complete crap. Most of that 99% comes from English majors, I'm pretty sure. Anyways, given the suckiness of my past poetry, you'd think I would have given up and moved on to a more sensible hobby. The problem is that I've tasted that elusive 1%. On rare occasions, I've been able to extract that one sparkling diamond poem out of the trash and poop. It's like Dave Matthews or Nicolas Cage - they were able to miraculously produce that one good noteworthy performance, and now, no matter how shitty they are at what they do, they just keep pumping out more and more shit because they know that glorious feeling of pure shit-free success, and they want more.

But I don't want to be like Dave Matthews, and I definitely don't want to be like Nicolas Cage. In my perfect world, I would be the Lady Gaga or the Meryl Streep of poetry, pulling diamonds out of the poop left and right. I want to find that happy 1% more than just once in a blue moon.

Fortunately, fate has smiled on me. At last, at last, a key to good poetry! All my writing needed was a swift kick in the pants from a bottle of vodka. And lucky for me, I love drinking! It's really a fantastic set up for me.

The future looks much brighter now for my poetry. And while I'm still no Gaga or Streep, I'm probably on par with Robert Downey Jr. and I'm moving on up! The best part of it is - if I still write the occasional shitty poem, it doesn't matter because - hey, I was drunk.