Monthly Archives: January 2009

Everything we know about the world, we learned from stereotypes.

Sweet, sweet stereotypes.

They aren’t so bad, give them a chance!  If we didn’t have stereotypes, we’d have to get to know a person (whom we could probably go without) before we judged him.  That could lead to an unwanted friendship that wouldn’t have happened in the first place if we could have just stereotyped the guy.  See how using a much more sensible method of socializing (such as “conversing.”  Brr.) can be dangerous?  What would happen to the world if we all got to know each other before passing judgement?  We’ll tell you- absolute chaos!  

We’ve devised a list of common stereotypes and marked them with a check or an x depending on whether they are true or not to save you the time and energy  that would have been spent making friends, but can now be used more efficiently by making even more stereotypes and further isolating yourself from the rest of the world.  You can thank us later.

  • “I’m skinny so I must be anorexic.” 600px-green_checksvg

How can someone be skinny when foods such as steak and dog are floating around without being anorexic?  It’s impossible, even if they are vegetarians, which means this stereotype is true.  Oh, and that reminds us of something else we’ve been meaning to tell you all:  All vegetarians (and that means every last one) are weird hippies that think they’re better than all of us.

  • “I wear all black so I must be emo.” 600px-green_checksvg

They could have worn brown, yet they choose to wear black.  Seems pretty emo to us.  Keep in mind, however that they aren’t always really emo, they just want attention.  We call those people “posers.”

  • “I’m Asian so I must be a genius.” 600px-green_checksvg

Every Asian is a genius.  It’s like an unwritten law of life.

  • “I’m rich so I must be a conceited snob.” 600px-red_xsvg1

Although this is usually true, we Tubbos break this stereotype everyday.  We’re extremely rich (richer than you at least), but we aren’t conceited snobs (we promise).

  • “I have straight A’s so I must not have a social life.” 600px-green_checksvg

True that.

  • “I’m Indian so I must own a convenient store.” 600px-green_checksvg

Just look at Hapu (or whatever the hell his name is) from the Simpsons!  We know that this stereotype is correct because cartoons can’t show things unless they’re true, right?  Showing things that aren’t true in a children’s cartoon would be like a politician who lies!  It just doesn’t happen.

  • “I’m blond so I must be stupid.” 600px-green_checksvg

Blondes…  Are…  Dumb…

  • “I wear glasses so I must be a nerd.” 600px-green_checksvg

Whenever you see someone walking down the street, you can almost instantly tell if that person is compatible with you or not.  Ask your self this question; are you wearing glasses?  Then ask yourself, is that person wearing glasses?  If you answered yes to both questions, chances are you two will have a grand ol’ time playing Dungeons and Dragons.  If you answered no to both questions, you’ll probably spend the rest of the day listening to Green Day, smokin’ ciggies, and skateboarding with this person.  If you got mixed results, you have nothing in common with this person and should not pursue conversation.  Abort immediately.

  • “I’m Irish so I must have a drinking problem.” 600px-green_checksvg

We actually had an Irish tutor a year or two ago who got fired from teaching because he drank in front of his students.  Or maybe because he beat his students, we forget.  We’ve studied the topic of alcohol extensively and our results are that the only alcoholics in this world are Irishians (we aren’t sure if that’s a word and we probably could’ve just used the term “Drunkian” to cover all the Irish people, but oh well).  It’s impossible to be addicted to alcohol without being Irish; if you’re not Irish and you tell people you have a drinking problem, you’re probably faking.  You may have been diagnosed with a problem, but now you know better!  Congratulations!  Treat yourself to a whiskey for figuring this out!  Conversely, it’s impossible to not be addicted to alcohol if you are Irish.  Our research doesn’t lie. To be fair though, the only Irish person we’ve ever known or have ever studied is our old tutor.

  • “I’m Muslim so I must be a terrorist.”   600px-green_checksvg

If you ever see an Islamic man walking down the street, you know the truth; report to CSI immediately before he reaches the airport he is no doubt headed to.

  • “We’re the Tubbos so we must suck.” 600px-red_xsvg1

Contrary to popular belief, we do not, in any way, “suck”.  

There you have it!  Because of us, you’ll never have to converse with any other human being because of our list that labels nearly every type of person; people are so easy to sort.

Thousands of people have distorted views on society and people in general because of this list.

UPDATE JAN. 31st 09:  We got three angry emails and one comment saying that this post is offensive and it’s only been up for one day.  They said that we should warn younger viewers that this contains offensive material.  We’re reasonable “men,” so here goes; if you’re under 12 or easily offended, you shouldn’t have read any of the above.

Got a problem with it too?  Send your hatemail here.


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People who own Macs are Geniuses

Proof that everyone who owns a Mac is a “genus”:


Not edited- for real.

We should sabotage all Yahoo! Answer users, as well as all people who own Mac computers.  We would have formatted their computers a long time, but what’s the use when all Mac users are “genuses” who could fix the problem in seconds?  

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Valentines Day is a Scam


About once every year (sometimes twice, if we’re unlucky), a day dreaded by all of the non-third-world world …which includes us and most likely you if you can afford the Internet and have enough free-time to read this article… rolls around.  On that day, kids go around schools giving out  poorly manufactured cards with human hearts on them,  aging coworkers with breath that smells of cheap beer and cigarettes pretend to be “hip” again by flirting with the opposite gender and make “kissy faces”, and all around corruption runs free.  You may be thinking, “how can a day like this go by every year without my knowing?”  Well, the sad part about all of this is that you not only know about it, but you likely take part in it.  What day is this?  Satanic Day?  Worse.  Communism Appreciation Day?  Worse.  Back-to-school Savings Day?  Nay, even worse than that.  This horrible day is entitled none other than Valentines Day.

We have thousands of reasons to hate Valentines Day.  For one, being the scandalously charming hippos we are, every girl in our Kindergarten class goes crazy buying dozens of Valentines cards for us and we have no choice but to accept all of them-  who are we to deny the love of a girls life?  The problem is that every girl wants the bragging rights to buying the Tubbo twins the most Valentines, which makes the day a competition between the girls, often times resulting in multiple cat fights.  Last Valentines Day, our teacher actually asked Bill if we could just stay at home, but that nearly caused a riot.  

Now, we enjoy extorting money from simple minded girls as much as the next guy (in fact, we’d bet that we like extorting money even more than the next guy), but we hate fueling governmental propaganda just as much.  All Valentines Day is is something created by the government to help the economy along by playing on innocent people’s love and goodwill.  They’ve played this trick before:  “Love Day”, “Teddy Bear Day”, “Hugs Day”…  All reminders of the oppression.  Why don’t you all see that these are scams?  If we were in on the scam, it would be different and we’d probably support it, but trying to fool us?  The Tubbos?  Who do these corporate dolts think they are?

This is what they’ve tried to make Valentines Day into (and succeeded):


Plus, the whole Valentines Day gives slutty girls a reason to be even more slutty.  At least with Halloween there is some reason to be semi-interested in (seriously, who doesn’t love scaring gullible kids?), but with Valentines Day, all you got are some slutty girls and twenty hearts per household, plus some random naked fairy with arrows thrown in for no reason at all.

Which brings us to something we like to call “Project YXZ”.  It’s our prototype for a new holiday with none of that love crap.  In this holiday (which we are thinking about calling “Mega-Tubb0-Death Day of Ultimate Chaos and Stuff”), instead of a cupid flying around shooting people with love arrows made of cartoonish looking hearts, there will be twenty armed-&-cloaked rangers per town lurking around corners.  We warn you that these bow-slingers are very real (which reminds us.  Cupid isn’t real, and neither is the Tooth Fairy or Santa Claus.  Get a job).  Whenever an unsuspecting person passes a corner, he will be shot down with real arrows and will die a real death.  What fun!  No more of that lovey-dovey crap.  We’d like to see someone fall in love (or breath for that matter) once they’ve been hit with our arrows!

Then, instead of stores selling hyped-up cards bearing so-called warmth and joy, stores will be stocking time bombs.  They will be randomly placed inside normal-looking products.  About one in every hundred buyer will be given not the toothbrush or stuffed animal he thinks he’s buying, but a deadly bomb that is set to blow up the next day.  We think this’ll add a little suspense to our already genius holiday.  

All this will be taking place on February 14th, so that means that Valentines Day will either have to move out and find another day that’ll take it in along with it’s unwelcome company, or just disappear.  We vote for the second option, but as long as “Mega-Tubb0-Death Day of Ultimate Chaos and Stuff” becomes a holiday, we couldn’t care less.  All this probably won’t happen until next year though, so you all will have to wait another whole year before being gruesomely dispatched by arrows.  How ever will you stand the wait?  In the meantime, we’ll keep thinking up ideas because we are wonderful people and we want you to have the time of your life on this special, special day.  Until then, we’ll just have to dodge our Valentine groupies.  It won’t be easy though, as they all know our address and schedule…

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The Greatest Tool Known to Man

The hand (and the index finger) truly is the best tool known to man.  It can do everything- it can pick noses and ears, it can clean a bellybutton, and, when necessary, clear out the butt-tube when that last bit of poop won’t come out.  You groan and groan (and it’s on the tip of your butthole), but it just won’t squeeze out!  Don’t you hate that?  But because of the hand, hours of straining over the toilet isn’t necessary!  Just stick it up “there” and clear away!  We’re telling you, this hand is genius! 

Yes, our hands hate us.

Oh, and we heard this thing called the “light-bulb” is a pretty good invention too, but we’re not so sure.

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Our Stay In a Mexican Jail

Mexico City DOES rock!

Any of you who have visited the Tubbo Site before (which is anyone reading this) know that we like to make about 1 or 2 posts a week, which is understandable because we know that everyone would just go crazy if they couldn’t read a new Tubbo post for multiple weeks at a time.  Although we’d like to watch the world go crazy on account of our laziness, we’ve never stopped making posts…  Until lately.

We know that a lot of you have probably noticed that we haven’t written a new Tubbo post in over ten days, and considering how your pitiful lives revolve around us, you must have been pretty worried.  Well, we’re sorry to report your worries weren’t baseless.  We were in trouble.  We were trapped in a Mexican Prison (speaking of which, why didn’t any of you show up to break us out?  You’re supposed to be our accomplices!).  

So about 10 days ago, we flew out to Mexico without adult supervision (Bill was off on one of his cases- he’s a lawyer in case you haven’t read the auto-biography we published a while ago).  Now, you may wonder even at this early part of the story why we Tubbo’s would want to leave the easy-going life of our Australian Mansion.  Now, we don’t wanna give out too much information because the Mafia wouldn’t like that…  Oops.  But seriously, we’ll give you a hint.  It rhymes with…  Ah, screw that!  Cartels, alright?  And if that clue confuses you, you’re too young to be on the Internet.  Please go up to your mom/dad (or parent/guardian, because heaven’s knows we  can’t offend anyone over the small things like parenting terms) and tell them that they’ve been a bad parent and that you need more discipline.  Thanks.

For the first week in Mexico, we were just chill-axing at a resort.  A “week in the sun”, as we told Bill.  We even got started on a new Tubbo post (which never got published, and you’ll read the reasons soon enough).  Nothing illegal.  Speaking of which, we think that that one-week stretch may have been the longest time we’ve ever gone without breaking the law.  It was kinda scary actually.  But as Mexico is one of the most lax countries in the world about crime, the temptation was great.  We didn’t need any tempting in the first place, and we’re sure that anyone with an IQ over 80 (which probably just wiped out a good 75% of our fans) knows that this is where the cartel business comes in.

We had just gotten a hot tip that the warehouse across the street from our hotel room housed the best people to make some not-so-legit “deals” with if we knew what we were doing.  And we knew what we were doing (if there was a way to wink across the Internet without looking hopelessly nerdy, imagine it right here).  We went over to the warehouse, and although the machine-gunned-armed guards weren’t too eager to allow two four-year-old hippos into the building, we mentioned a name they couldn’t ignore.  We were in.

Gosh, this is like a thriller movie isn’t it?

We walked over to the Boss of the cartel (who was easy to spot  because of the long slashes across his face that were shaped oddly like tiger claws) carrying the “merchandise” in our black suitcases.  We had just finished telling the Boss our proposition when the crack of machine gun fire told us that we had either overstayed our welcome (which we had previously thought impossible mainly because of the sophisticated conversation we upheld and our classy charm) or the guards were gone and the police were on there way.  The guns fired again, this time shattering a window.  Then the doors burst open, allowing us to see the carcass’s of the guards who had been slain.  Blood gushed everywhere, and brains spilled out.  Innards rushed from the stomachs.  Yep, know we’re just trying to make you all sick.  But seriously, now the police were inside, and there was little chance they’d miss when they fired again.

  They fired again.  Obviously their orders were to take down the boss and anyone affiliated with him which was us.  We did the only thing we could do in a situation like that one that allowed us to keep our honor and our standing with the cartel.  We punched the boss in the face, tied him up, and brought him to the police.  We thought maybe we could pull the whole “we were on your side the whole time” gag.

It didn’t work.  They handcuffed us and the Boss and brought us into a jail cell where we spent the night.  They didn’t even thank us for capturing the Boss!  What a ripoff!  We should sue Mexico…  Of course, the prisoners (our inmates) took notice to the fact that we were only four years old and tried to bully us, but they didn’t get very far.  By the time we were finished with them, one of them sat in a corner mumbling something about “scary hippos” to himself, one just lay on floor the rest of the night, and the other never bothered us again.  And we had all of the shoes, which is a mark of status in prison.  We love shoes.

In the morning, Bill came to bail us out.  He wasn’t very happy about flying out to Mexico to break his kids out of jail and grounded us for a week, but we managed to slim the grounding down to about three days before we even boarded the plane home.  In the end, it turned out pretty well for everyone, unless, of course, you count the cartel Boss.  We wanted Bill to bail him out too, but Bill said no even though we offered to keep him in our room and take good care of him.  As a matter of fact, we haven’t heard from him since we got back home.  We should call him…  Just to check up…

There are actually two morals to this story.  1.  Making deals with the Mafia and Mexican cartels are ok as long as the guards don’t get gunned down, and 2.  The law doesn’t matter if you have enough cash.



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Snatched from the Jaws of Death


The title we made, “Snatched from the Jaws of Death”, is pretty accurate if you switch the “Snatched from” part and replace it with a “Punched”.  Yep, yesterday Death tried to claim one of us Tubbo’s, so we gave it a hard punch in the mouth and it left us alone.  That’s how you deal with Death.

We were on our custom-made 80 gear traction-resistant bikes when we came to the local bike dunes.  There were all these dorky teenagers trying to pull off some jumps but they were sucking horribly, so we decided to show them how to do it the right way.  Some of you might think that we should have minded our own business and leave them alone.  Now, that probably would have been a good idea (whoa!  You came up with an almost-good idea!), but if you would have seen them…  Seriously, if we had a 1-year-old kid sister who had never biked before in her life, she would have been better than these fools without trying (of course, that goes without saying because anyone related to us automatically rules at everything).  One of the teenagers tried to do a simple wheelie and fell straight on his face.  We were embarrassed to be within 10 miles of them.  And, of course, we kicked the guy whose face was bleeding because no one embarrasses the Tubbo’s a gets away with it.  

Anyway, we decided to teach them all a lesson and headed over to a particularly big jump.  And when we say big, we mean BIG.  Some of you nerds are thinking something more like a 15 foot jump, right?  No no no.  Wrong.  When we say big, we mean something like a 35-40 foot jump.  We were biking up to the jump, getting ready to show all those losers how cool people bike when everything went all wrong.

Note:  Not only is this note here to annoy you so it takes you a bit longer to find out what went wrong, but also to bring to light something important.  While both Tubbo’s (as in both Tubbo & Dubba Tubba) went up to the jump, only Dubba Tubba actually jumped- Tubbo was going to wait until Dubba Tubba finished and then go on, but as you’ll see in a minute, he never got a chance.

…When everything went wrong.  The sky exploded in the heat of raw power.  Lightning burst and hit Dubba Tubba’s bike which blew into flames!  Dubba Tubba drew his 10-foot Dragon Blade and… Well, no, that didn’t happen, but wouldn’t that be cool?

What really happened was this:  suddenly, and without any provocation, the chains in Dubba Tubba’s bike jammed at the exact moment Dubba Tubba hit the top of the jump.  With little-to-no acceleration because of the jammed chain, Dubba Tubba fell instead of flew.  To emphasize how bad this is, we drew up a small illustration. Sometimes words are not enough.

To sum it up in the words of an idiot, this situation “wasn’t very good”.  Both of us were sure that he wan’t gonna come out of this alive.  The bike feel into the spikes with a sickening crunch and we both thought Dubba Tubba was next.  Many years later, Dubba Tubba would say that his life flashed before his eyes.  “All the good parts too, like the time I punched the little kid in the face and the time I threw a pail of acid on the Babysitter.  It was like TV only better ’cause there wasn’t any commercials!” states Dubba Tubba.

Dubba Tubba was inches from the ground (and the spikes) when it happened…  Dubba Tubba sprouted wings, punched Death in the face for trying to claim his life, and flew away back to Bill’s (our dad’s) house.  We don’t have to do anything we don’t want to.  Yeah, we’re actually serious this time.  Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?  

And that was that.  We got home at about the same time (Tubbo is often called “Speedwalker Grey”).  The only bad thing about this experince is that Dubba Tubba never got his bike back from Death.  Stupid Death.

So that’s what you do when Death comes knocking.  Just punch it in the face.  Owned.

UPDATED JANUARY 6th:   We got some confused emails asking if this post is in anyway related to the earlier post we made a month or two ago titled “We’ve Been Diagnosed With Lung Cancer“.  It isn’t.  That post was nothing but a scheme made to steal gullible people’s money.

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Your improved New Year’s resolution.

We were thinking about New Year’s and all the things that go with it.  We liked how it seemed like everyone gets a new start; a clean slate.  How long that slate will remain clean (at least for us) is questionable, but it’s a nice idea nonetheless.  We also encourage the idea of “resolutions,” and how people can try bettering themselves for the New Year.  We liked this idea so much that we went over to the department store (we know, who goes to department stores anymore, right?), bought a notebook and pen, and thought up shortcomings and failures for the rest of the day.  No, they weren’t our failures.  We don’t have any failures.  They were for the Babysitter:


This goes on for pages and pages.  We could have written a 500 page novella, but we got a little bored so we stopped.

Anyway, after we finished the writing, we strolled over and showed this to the Babysitter.  She said she was happy we were taking resolutions so seriously, and although we had missed a fault (apparently we “fart” too much), she was proud of us and thought we’re finally maturing.  Apparently she was laboring under the illusion that the list was filled with our shortcomings.  That would’ve been silly!  Then we told her that this list wasn’t for us.  It was for her.  That’s why we’re typing this on a portable laptop 15 miles from our house in some bushes.  Number “3” on the list is much truer than we expected (as is “4”, which is much worse).  Please don’t tell her where we are.

Our list may apply to you as well, viewer.  You may be ugly.  You may have bad breath.  You may even kick down little children (although we hope you don’t).  But one resolution can apply to just about everyone, including the Babysitter.  One that every should work on bettering themselves on.  Your resolution should be this: model your life after the us, Tubbo & Dubba Tubba.

We know, we know.  That would be incredibly hard, and maybe even impossible.  But we’re asking you, please try.  Just take it one day at a time.  In every situation, ask yourself “what would Tubbo do?”  You can even print off wrist bands that say “WWTD” and wear them 24/7.  It shouldn’t be too difficult, mostly because in almost every situation Tubbo would react in a compulsive (and often times violent) way.  The Burger Joint is out of burgers?  Tubbo would punch the cashier (who has nothing to do with the shortage of burgers) in the face.  The library is out of books?  Tubbo would burn the whole building down (sometimes he’d burn it down even if it had more than enough books just because setting fires it awesome).  It’s easy, and if you have a twisted mind, fun!

If the entire world was like Tubbo & Dubba Tubba, it would be a happier place.

So, there it is.  We’d just like to thank everyone for the sub-average year you’ve been giving us through this above-average site, and to tell you that we’re really –cough- looking forward to a new year with all of you.  We will continue making new, insulting articles long into the new year, just like we have since 2007.  Three years of literary genius, and we don’t intend to stop now.  Have a completely average New Year everyone! 

Tubbo & Dubba Tubba Grey, signing out.  2007-2009.  We rock.

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