Monthly Archives: July 2009

Amazon; the way to a screwed up future.

A few days ago, we decided to abandon our previous boycotts of Amazon, eBay, and all other online stores, which was originally spurred by all online stores sucking so badly. When Amazon was first invented, we knew how horrible it was gonna be, and we were right; it totally sucks. We told all our neighbor’s, “don’t use Amazon! It’s the work of the Devil! And not a cool work of the Devil like bombs or torture devices, but an evil work of the Devil, like television and tapioca pudding!” but no one listened to us. They kept using Amazon, and you know what? It’s taken over. Everyone’s a brainwashed moron incapable of thought, and although that doesn’t sound too different than days before Amazon, it’s gotten worse. Nobody goes out of their homes anymore because they can get what they need from Amazon at a lower price. On the surface, Amazon sounds pretty good, right? Cheap prices, connivence; who could argue against those things? . . . We could, because when you look into the CEO of Amazon (click here for image of true boss behind Amazon, opens new window) and the corporation as a whole, you’ll see the true evil suckiness of it all. So if you want to sell your soul to the entire Amazon crew for some shanty merchandise, fine, go ahead, but we prefer to take our chances outdoors in the real world. You are all mindless tools for using it. Screw you Amazon, and screw you Amazon users! Now excuse us while we order two dozen flat-screen TVs off some seller on Amazon.

Yep, that’s right, after months of rallying against Amazon, we broke down. Which kinda makes all of the above BS. Our greed for material things overcame our hate for Amazon, and we ordered a buttload of TVs that we didn’t need off Amazon. As you can see, the brainwashing got to us for a few minutes. That’s okay though, because rallying was boring. If people are gonna support evil, we might as well too, seeing as we’re likely more evil than any of them. We ordered two dozen TVs, and we aren’t ashamed to admit it. They’ll probably sit in the garage forever because we already have too many TVs in the house, but we don’t care! We have more money than we know can spend, but what else can we do? Give it to the needy? Haha! We’ll be damned if we give it to the poor! It’s their fault they don’t have money to spend on frivolous items such as food and shelter (or even the necessities like TVs and computers), and helping them only justifies their poorness. So, in a way, we’re helping poor hobos when we write checks to them that bounce because we don’t have money in our banking account (we withdraw all the money before we write the checks). Get their hopes up, then knock them down, that’s what we say.

So instead of wasting money on people who truly need it (get your own money, freaky hobo), we ordered a bunch of TVs off Amazon. We got an email notice from Amazon (we love getting mail from those “do-not-reply@whatever.com” so we can reply to them, usually asking why we shouldn’t reply) saying that they should be shipped and at our house no later than the 15th of July. Now we know better, those lying, thieving bastards. We waited for (near) weeks, hoping and praying that our TVs would ship soon. The 15th came and went without any sign of our TVs. We got really depressed, and started wearing black clothing instead of our favorite colour, brown. Then we started having tantrums and crying a lot, but it was all for attention, just like any average “emo.” They aren’t depressed, they just want attention because they’re Amazon order didn’t come on time. Amazon is obviously to blame for human misery, although emos probably have something to do with it too. If you ever see someone like that, kick them in the shins and give them a broken nose for us.

It was the 17th, and there was still no sign of our TVs. We had starting formulating a plan to get back at Amazon for getting our hopes up and knocking us down (how could someone be so evil?), most of the plan involving nuclear fusion, when out our window, we saw what seemed to be a flicker of light at the end of a dark, hopeless tunnel; a Fed Ex truck that seemed to be turning onto our street! “How droll, dearest Dubba Tubba! An automobile, and it seems to be abutting into our proximity!” were Tubbo’s exact words. Sorta. But it was coming closer, and there wasn’t a doubt in either of our minds that we’d be redeemed with TVs any second. Closer . . . Closer . . . Closer still. And then the Fed Ex truck stopped right in front of our house! We got our Thank-You card ready for the delivery man (inside was a $100,000,000 check, because we had drained our account a few days ago), and watched from the window as the delivery man got out, went to the back of his truck, and came back carrying a single, tiny package. He walked toward our house, then turned around and walked away from us to our neighbors. The very same neighbors who we explicitly told not to use Amazon. They didn’t listen to us; why didn’t they listen to us? And now they get their order first! Dammit! What is that? Who the hell is in charge of Amazon?! We know for damn certain that we ordered our TV before they ordered whatever the hell they ordered (doesn’t matter what it is because it isn’t a TV), and we know that because of spy-wear we hooked up they’re computer. So what is Amazon’s excuse? Nothing! Crap! Crap! CRAP!

Then the Fed Ex guy got back into his truck and revved the engine a few times, making fun of our despair no doubt. That pissed us off, so we dashed out of the house leaving the Thank-You card behind; the only thing this guy was getting was a mouthful of hippo fart.

But the trucker was already going 70MPH, in a 20MPH school area no less; he hit three kids and a dude in a wheelchair. We had no chance of catching him. We leaped for the truck, only to tumble into our neighbor’s (the loser neighbors who got their order before us for reasons we don’t know) front lawn. We caught a glimpse of the Fed Ex truck, which seemed to be on fire as demons laughed and Satan gave the Fed Ex dude a thumbs up. Then we saw the neighbors; they were the oldest people we’ve ever saw. Seriously, they had wrinkles on their wrinkles, and their dentures had cavities. Together, the couple opened their little package. Unwrapped, we saw what they had ordered; a little musical box. They wound it up, and it played a little song, and the old couple starting crying. We thought they wanted attention or something, but they weren’t wearing black. Seeing that “beautiful” scene made us angrier then we’ve been for a long time (like, in two days). Amazon and an old couple thinks a little musical box, regardless of sentimental value, is more important than 24 TVs? We could blame Amazon for it, but we choose to blame the old people. Old people are the crappiest animals in the world, more so than buffalos (we hate buffalos). They aren’t real people; mere beasts, although they don’t deserve to be compared to hippos. Old people deserve to be shipped by a Fed Ex truck to some desert island. They uselessly leech of society with their little social-security checks until the day they die (which is why sometimes we speed the process up), and require more time and energy than Sarah Palin does using the bathroom. We hate every last one of them! Get rid of them! If they want their crap off Amazon before us, fine, but it’ll cost them more than they intended. Which is why we went over and grabbed the music box out of the old wife’s hand. We set it on the ground, and then we sat on it. We heard the crinkle of glass, and the song stopped. Then we went over to the old people, by now they were crying real tears, and we spat in their face. Then we went home.

We still haven’t gotten our TVs yet. Someone out there hates us. We can’t imagine why.

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Reasons not to email us.

We’ve been getting a lot of BS emails lately.  Then when we reply to them/post them on the site/disregard them for the crap they are, the sender gets all hissy-pissy on us.  It’s getting to the point where we don’t know what the hell to do with them!  We thought about asking our lame-ass audience how they want us to respond to the mindless babble we receive daily (and it’s starting to effect us in negative ways; our doctor says that our average anger level is an 11 out of 10, but after reading our emails from the site, it’s gets up to around a 35), but then we thought, “why should they be in charge of how we respond to our technical property?”  Yeah, that’s right fools, our property.  As soon as you hit the “Send” button, we own your email, along with your soul and your first born.  We clearly stated on the Contact page that by sending your email, you agree to the terms and conditions we haven’t written yet.  On those terms and condtions that haven’t been written, we clearly state that by sending us your email, it becomes the property of mods Tubbo and Dubba Tubba (that’s us for all you slowwitted fans out there, and judging by the emails we’ve been getting, that’s quite a bit of you).  So it’s our property.  We own it.  We own you (+soul, first born, etc. etc. etc.)  Don’t like that or any of the other regulations not yet stated?  Don’t know what to do?  Feel lost and alone?  Then don’t send the damn email!  Trust us, we aren’t dying to hear from any of you.  We don’t care about you.  You don’t exist to us.  Some of you seem to be under the impression that we’ve been waiting next to the computer all night every night, hoping for that one email from retard133@aol.com or poophead69@gmail.com.  We aren’t.  We’re better off without talking to you.  The less we hear from you guys, the happier we’ll be.

Yet, for reasons beyond us and Albert Einstein, some of you will insist on emailing us.  We’ve been as cold-hearted and blunt as we can, but we know that won’t stop the flood of emails we’ll be receiving.  Maybe your attention span is just so non-existent that you’ve already forgotten that we’ve DIScouraged emailing us.  The only thing we haven’t done to prevent future emails from you guys is write “DO NOT EMAIL US, IDIOTS,” in big red letters.  Speaking of which . . .

DO NOT EMAIL US, IDIOTS.

. . . And yet, in our small and feeble hearts, we know we’ll got more emails.  So, to our benefit as well as yours, we’re putting up a list of reasons why you shouldn’t email us.  It’s to your benefit so you can decided whether or not to email us.  It’s to our benefit so that we don’t have to go to so many anger management classes.

 1. You’ve just been mortally offended by one of our articles.

This translates to “you’ve just had your worthless feelings hurt by ‘the big bad Tubbo’ and you feel obligated to defending your bullcrap morals by sending an email to strangers over the Internet preaching about how ‘old people shouldn’t be sent off to remote islands’/’kids shouldn’t be lit on fire’/’Yahoo! Enterprises shouldn’t be bombed’.”  We get it, we offended you.  We just don’t care.  We actually have an amazing solution to this particular problem that doesn’t involve emailing us.  Get ready because here it comes; quit reading our articles!  If you feel offended by this site, stop visiting!  See?  See?  Problem solved!  God bless America!

 2. You’ve spotted a huge-a-normous spelling/grammar error.

Every so often we get an email from an aspiring literary major (that, or a boring 30-year-old who needs to get out a bit more) who spots a hugomungus spelling and/or grammar error on one of our pages and feels the need to email us about it.  The first problem with emailing us over something like this is that we don’t make mistakes.  We are perfeckt, and if have nveer made a spelling mistace in all our live.  If fact, we’ve never made a mistake of any sort, ever.  Mortals can’t comprehend our perfection and assume we make mistakes.  They’re wrong, we don’t.  If you see a spelling mistake anywhere on this or any other page, it was intentional.  We probably just wanted to screw with your mind, which we admit we do often.  But make an unintentional spelling error?  Unpossible.

 3. You are a spam-bot.

Any spammers out there today?  It’s okay if you are; you can tell us.  We won’t make fun of you, we won’t block your IP Address . . . We just don’t want you emailing us.  Unlike most people, we don’t like spam, so if there are any spam-bots reading this article today, please don’t send us information about unmarried singles or that one crazy dude who can’t believe he’s doing this (whatever “this” is, we never read far enough into the spam to find out what he was doing) on Father’s Day, Easter, Kwanza, Terrorist Day, and whatever other holiday he’s crazy enough to spam on, but does anyway.  We’re sure those people have quite interesting lives, but we don’t need to hear about them, and if we ever met one of those “interesting” people in public, we couldn’t guarantee they’d make it out alive.  We can guarantee, however, that there face would be quite a bit more “interesting” from that day on.  Click here.  So, if you are a spammer, don’t spam us.  We’ll slice it up and feed it to your children (literally).  If you aren’t sure if the email you are considering sending is spam or not, it probably is, so play it safe and don’t email us.

 4. You need someone to talk to.

Sometimes we get emails from seemingly lonely people who “just need[ed] someone to talk to.”  Often times they sound quite desperate, as if we were the last people they could turn to.  It really pisses us off.  It seems that, being the owners of a popular website, we’re often people’s last resort.  Whether they’re depressed, lonely, or just feeling down, we have one response for all of them:

If you don’t want to get that less-than-happy reply from us, don’t email us about your life or about nothing in general.  Most of the time we don’t even read the whole email, we just send the message.  We don’t want to talk to you.  We hate every last one of you, and when you start emailing us about pointless babble like “I don’t know what to do, I’m considering drastic action”, you cross the line between “average hate” and “full-out loathing”.  So don’t email us.  Oh, and if we really did make someone commit suicide by sending that message . . . Good.

We got the classic four idiots covered right here in this article, so that should be the majority of our emails pre-deleted right here, but we know the torrent of emails won’t stop.  It won’t ever stop.  We suppose putting up with lowlifes and asses is one of the prices we pay for having this website.  Although it’s obviously not worth it, it’s too late to do anything about it now.  And if this page stopped just one idiot from sending us an email, it was worth it.

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A game of cat burning, ruined by a pussy & his wife.

It was a bright Wednesday morning, so warm outside that we felt we just couldn’t justify sitting indoors playing video games all day (which is unusual for us, because usually we make excuses to why we should be playing video games all day).  We decided that weather like this called for a session of one of our favorite games in the whole world; cat burning!  That’s where we go down to the pound, adopt five or six cats (“Oh sure ma’am, we’ll give these cats a great home,” snicker snicker snicker), then light them on fire in our backyard for kicks.  Hold your judgments, prudes, because our game is all in fun, and no one really gets hurt . . . ‘Septs the cats.

We were half way through our greatest session of cat burning ever; the backyard smelt of burnt fur, little cats were desperately attempting a primitive version of “Stop, Drop, & Roll” (and failing quit miserably), and we were laughing our heads off, when all of a sudden our neighbor popped his head over the fence, saw what was going on (we always knew he was a pussy), and started yelling something that sounded like “what are you doing?  You can’t do that,” although it was hard to understand with all the saliva and BS he was spewing.  We told him to calm down before he had a seizure, which was a valid concern because he had been diagnosed with a mild case of epilepsy, but for some reason, he didn’t calm down.  He just kinda got angrier.  He started walking over to us, assumedly to save the few cats who weren’t yet on fire, or maybe to yell at us some more, but we remembered what Bill told us about solicitors, and how should one come into our yard, we should politely ask them to leave.  We decided to try that technique on our neighbor who could be considered a solicitor by definition (although our words weren’t exactly “polite”), but he didn’t stop.  So one of us, Dubba Tubba, walked up to him, pretending like all he was gonna do was “talk” to him . . . little did he know he was about to get his crap ruined.  As soon Dubba Tubba got into range,  BOOM!  Dubba Tubba kicked him in the balls!  Unfortunately for the neighbor, Dubba Tubba had been wearing cleats that day.  POP-POP!  Now the neighbor, kneeling helpless on the ground, was at Dubba Tubba’s mercy.  Dubba Tubba knew this, so he gave him a sharp uppercut to the chin, then elbowed him in that little place in your stomach that really hurts to be elbowed whose name we can’t remember.  Our nieghbor lay on our lawn, dead, and we were about to go back to our game of cat burning (maybe we could burn the corpse too, just so there wasn’t any evidence) but the neighbor’s wife, who was a total hag, saw the whole thing and started sobbing “what have you done to my husband?” although it was hard to tell words from sobs and complaints.  Already we knew where this was going, so we decided to end it before it began.  We both picked up one of the freshly lit cats and chucked them at our neighbor’s wife, who promptly started burning, quite harshly, because ugly always conducts fire.

Now we had a man with a receding hairline groaning and clutching his groin in our yard, and an ugly lady screeching at the top of her lungs on fire next door.  We obviously couldn’t finish our game of cat burning now, and thinking about that made us even madder, so went over to the neighbor’s lawn, because it was time for revenge.  We were planning to go inside their house to break some of their expensive china, but the neighbor’s little boy, who had been watching the whole thing from his little sandbox in back, came up and kicked us in the shin.  We looked down at him and saw little tears in his eyes, maybe from witnessing his parents deaths, but we aren’t sure.  So we picked him up, and punted him like a little football into China.  The neighbor’s wife, still on fire, saw this, started choking from shock and anger, and died.  We started walking back to our house, feeling our work was done (we also made sure to walk on our neighbor’s face on our way back).  We’re still angry, though.  We never got to finish our game of cat burning.  Oh well, there’s always next Wednesday.

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Being lazy rocks.

As of late, we’ve been contemplating our life and what we’ve accomplished in our short time here on Earth. It isn’t much: when we were one, we infiltrated a monarchy and became the undisputed dictators in chief, then proceeded to leave on a jet plane (don’t know when we’ll be back again) in order to make it home in time for dinner. We made with five minutes to spare. When we were two years old, we constructed the first-ever nuclear car. No, it wasn’t a car that was run by nuclear power because that would be pointless (we never got the fuss about “fossil-fuel”; wait until it ruins the environment, then switch to an organic source); it was a gas-power car that doubled as a nuclear bomb, specifically designed with terrorists in mind. Sadly, we were forced to give it up to the (im)proper authorities shortly after we tested in an open field. It was a scarring day. When we were three years old, we successfully discovered the cure for cancer. We just haven’t shown it to anyone; we don’t feel the need is quite big enough yet. And just a few days ago, we both scored a boggling 213 on an IQ test, this time without cheating! We’re just as disappointed as you are, because although the average score on an IQ test is 100-115, we Tubbos demand perfection. We can’t settle for being 4 times smarter than the average dope, nor even 5 times… We should be 10 times smarter at least! We feel stupid now.

Einstein received an approximate 160 on his IQ test. Thinking about that just makes us feel worse.

Now, looking back on these small accomplishments might make a normal person feel depressed or unsatisfied. You, faithful reader, may even think this is our good-bye to the world, our “suicide-note”, per se. Not true! In fact, it’s quite the opposite! We’re completely satisfied with our life and accomplishments, small and worthless as they are. How can we be satisfied with such hollow achievements? Why don’t we try harder to accomplish something meaningful, or at least take the “easy way out of it”? Because. We are lazy.

We’re two of the laziest people you won’t meet. We’re so lazy, sometimes we won’t even type out lazy. We’ll just type “lzy” because the “a” key is all the way on the other side of the keyboard and reaching for it is harder than completing three consecutive triathlons with our legs tapped together with ducktap, gagged with itchy styrofoam, and with two “Kick Me!” signs glued to our backs in a field of soccer players wearing iron cleats (although, now that we think about it, that would be slightly difficult too). We have absolutely no work ethic at all, unless it’s for doing something of little-to-no relevance in the real world; we may spend hours learning to properly perform expert level yo-yo tricks, but we’ll only spend about five minutes working on a report that determines whether or not we’ll graduate into Kindergarden. And all because we’re lazy.

By way of example, a student works semi-hard on a research paper and receives a “B+” on it. He knows in his heart that if he’d just put a bit more effort into it, he would’ve be able to get an “A-“. At this point, most people (including the nerdy unnamed student) would resolve to try harder next time. Not us, though. If we received a “B+”, we’d resolve to try less hard, aiming for the “C+” – “B-” range. We worked as hard as we could (well, not really, but at least we kinda/sorta finished the assignment in a half-assed sort of way), and all the thanks we get is a crappy “B+”?! We should get an “A” just for completing the assignment! We could strain ourselves, trying for something as intangible as that. What ever happened to participation grades? We want to go back to Preschool.

Trying is always the first step towards failing. You can’t fail if you never try. And what’s the point of trying something if you know you won’t succeed? Work ethic is just a fancy word for something far less classy: we call it “sucker-tude”. People who score high on the sucker-tude scale are called “suckers”, or people who are easily tricked and talked into things. People who score low on said scale are called “sensible-minded humans”. Very few people score low on our scale. People think that if they work hard enough for “the Man”, he’ll eventually smile down on them and give them an “A”/a promotion/a favor. News flash: it isn’t ever gonna happen. Run over the dude’s child one time and pay for it the rest of your life! You can work hard all your life and you’ll never get any thanks from anyone. Loyalty, intelligence, and useful skills (even mad skills) mean nothing in the real world; it’s all about how much butt you kiss. Got yourself a bachelors degree? Great, now stuff it back up your butt because no one cares. You can be as lazy as you want as long as your boss likes you. So why try? That’s why we’ve decided to be lazy! It doesn’t make a difference to anyone who matters (“the Man”), and you’re a happier person for it. Don’t believe us? Try it for yourself. On Monday, try extra hard to let things effect you. Be ultra-sensitive about everything, and care about things you normally wouldn’t. Keep it up for the rest of the day, then when you go to bed, see if you feel better or worse about the world. Then, on Tuesday, be overly lackadaisical. Look at things you’d normally care about and laugh. No one cares about it, neither do you! Keep it up for the rest of the day, then when you go to bed, see if you feel better or worse about the world than you did yesterday. You’ll see; laziness pays off.

The trick is to be as lazy as possible. Get as little work done as you can while keeping up the illusion that you’re a hard-worker (yeah, right). You need to know just how little work you can do before someone catches on, then play that knowledge to your advantage. If you don’t work hard enough, someone will discover the truth of your laziness and you’ll either be fired the hell out of your job, or fired out of your school with actual flames, assuming you attend a Catholic academy. Both inevitably lead to more work, something we’re trying to avoid. On the other hand, if you work too hard, you’ll be doing more than you need to . . . you’ll be dubbed an overachiever, something just as bad as being dubbed Mud in the world of laziness. Plus, doing more work than necessary? That destroys the point of trying to be lazy in the first place. Idiot.

If all goes well in these early stages of lazy, you’ll be a High School dropout living off Uncle Sucker (like uncle, like nephew? Psh.), drinking cheap beer and watching “People’s Court” all day, something most lazy people, including us, dream about. It gives us all something to look forward to.

Often times, you can spot a lazy person early in life; they can be lazy before they’re even old enough to know what the word means. Here is a conversation we once had with our consoler, which happened at age two (right after the nuclear car incident; coincidence?):

Consoler: …And what do you want to be when you grow up, Tubbo? A firefighter?
Tubbo: No.

Consoler: An astronaut?
Tubbo: No.
Consoler: Well, what then?
Tubbo: When I grow up, I want to be nothing at all!

At this point, the consoler labeled us “incurable” and we haven’t seen him since.

Another thing many lazy people dream about is dreaming. Day-dreaming, sleeping, whatever, it’s all good. Sleeping and daydreaming are two of the laziest things you can do, because it’s basically doing nothing. Your heart slows, your body stays in one place for hours on end, and your mind stops working (unless you’re having a dream, which sucks, because having a dream while sleeping is like working when you’re not working. It’s as bad as bring paper work along with you on your vacation to Jamaica; do that, and you know you’re doomed to live out your life as a high-ranking sucker, as well as a lifeless tool). That’s why most lazy people try to spend as much time as they can sleeping, even if it isn’t nighttime. Mid-day rocks are the awesome! Sleeping, in general, is one of the best things ever, second only to making small children cry. If you’re married, skip sex and go straight to sleep at tonight; your husband/wife will respect your dedication to laziness.

We were gonna write a few more paragraphs for this article, but then we decided we were too lazy and have decided to stop here.

sleep

Hunched over, eyes to the ground; all signs of a lazy (if depressed) person. This guy has our respect.

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