weak nights

Israel Turns 60, Moves to Florida

Alright everybody come in from the patio, we just got our first noise complaint!

I know it’s hot inside Dex, but we can’t have the cops coming here and breaking up the party. If they send everyone home, you can’t trick Becky into drinking your Dex-Double-Beck's-For-To-Make-Sex beer mixer that always helps you score with unwitting young women. I know, I know you’re going to need two bottles of Beck's to make it, just walk toward me and stop shouting at Fat Mike.

Hey! Whoa! Come on, Jefferson. Get that out of your mouth, I didn’t buy that and put it on my tiki-themed patio so you could put it in your mouth. Jesus. I didn’t even know a human being could do something so filthy. Get in the house before you get us all arrested. Someone help Jefferson get that out of his mouth!

Christa, come inside, there’s a bottle of water waiting on the counter. I know, I know! But you told me to cut you off when the puke on your shoes went from blue to pink, and it looks like you’ve moved on to green. Eric told you that the green drink was a Chlorophyll supplement? Naw, it’s mostly just his bathtub brewed Ecstacy that he calls Erecstacy, which is an unfortunate name for a number of reasons, not limited to the fact that about 15 guys in the party drank most of it in the hopes of gaining a raging erection but they are now just touching all up on eachother and making out with my lampshades.  Anyway, Christa, I’ve gotta cut you off. Sorry girl, just head to my room and I’ll be there in a few.

Jachelle! Yo, Jachelle come inside and please stop shouting, we got a noise complaint! Jachelle I know your mother just died, and I’m sad to hear it, but you’ve got to come inside. She was also named Jachelle? Wow, then this might not be the best time to tell you that I think your name is really stupid. Just really awful. Jachelle? It sounds like a venereal disease had a child with a sea creature, probably a mollusk. I mean anyone named Jachelle, living or dead, should be ashamed, maybe even consider putting that baby to bed, you know? Cancelling their subscription to LIFE magazine... I'd stick my head right into an oven if my name could easily be mistaken for the sound made by a man eating and vomiting out someone else’s corny excrement. Now get inside and help Jefferson get that thing out of his mouth!

Marcus, don’t puke there! That’s not a toilet! Oh, you were just calling out to Jachelle? She’s gone inside. You’ll recognize her: she’ll be the one with the stupid name.

We Are The Greater Debater

Denzel Washington's new movie The-Mighty-Ducks-in-Suits-If-All-The-Ducks-Were-Black-and-
Instead-of-Hockey-The-Mighty-Ducks-Were-Debating-Harvard is probably pretty inspiring stuff. I haven't seen it, nor will my politics allow me to (green libertarian anti-mason).

But it brings to the forefront of society's collective eyeballs one of my favorite things: shouting. In a debate, you are allowed to shout and berate your opponent 'til your balls turn blue. Sure, you'll lose some points for talking about how your opponent's harelip is so distracting and gross that you'd appreciate it if you could have a puke-bucket on stage with you. But when that harelip freak runs home crying his buggy eyes out, his wet face gleaming in the moonlight like some grotesque, melting wax-museum character, you can rest assured that his debate team trophy won't dry his freak face. The satisfaction of hurting that boys feelings, however, will keep you warm on a cold winter's night.

So I present for your brief listening ecstasy, our first debate of university-calibre:
   

   

SHAQ vs SUPERMAN

A clear and decisive victory there!

We look forward to bringing you more university-calibre debates held by 100% real Baccalaureate degree holders with only the HOTTEST, most logical arguments! See you next time on The Greater Debater.

Political Correction

After receiving a number of strongly-worded letters from the Common Dolphin Defense League and the Association of Concerned Common Dolphin Lovers, the World Taxonomy Society has determined it necessary to make some long overdue name changes.

In order to improve the living standards, self-esteem and general well-being of the Common Dolphin (Delphinus delphis), they will now be known as the Special Dolphin (Delphinus specialissimus).

The CDDL and ACCDL also brought to light some disturbing images which leave the World Taxonomy Society with no choice but to leave the name of the Bottlenose Dolphin (Tursiops truncatus) just as it is. We've also drafted a strongly-worded letter to Bottlenose Dolphin, warning that if he doesn't change his ways, he'll end up just like his Uncle Dale: sad and alone.

SOLVE THE PROBLEM

The #1 Problem for Problems is Solutions. Problems hate solutions.

This WEAK's problem: GLOBAL WARMING.
This WEAK's solution: Become Carbon-Neutral.

STEP 1) Die.

STEP 2) Become Worm Food.

STEP 3) Grow Into a Majestic Jojango Tree.

STEP 4) Become a Sturdy Piece of Lumber.

STEP 5) Become Part of a Building That You Believe In.

RELAX! You've done it! You're now carbon neutral!

See us next time on SOLVE THE PROBLEM when we get all up in a new Problem's Grill: be there when we kick the problem of YOUTH VIOLENCE right up the ass!

THESE CANDIED YAMS TASTE JUST LIKE CINNAMON ROLLS!

11-year-old Weak Nights Correspondent Mitch Michelson reports on his family's Thanksgiving.

No joke, these might be the best yams I've ever had in my whole entire LIFE! But how did we get here? You're sitting there saying "Mitch... Hey Mitch! MITCH!? How come you get to eat such AMAZING candied yams!"

Let me tell you, friends.

Mom and dad were asleep when I ran into their room this morning at 6:30. I jumped on their bed to remind them that it's THANKSGIVING! We've gotta GO GO GO GO GO GO GO GO GO GO GO GO GO GO GO GO GO GO GOGOGO GOOOOOOOOOO to Aunt Jane's house to celebrate! Dad had a boner and
shoved me out of the bed pretty hard. Mom says that the scars on my arms, legs, torso and neck are dad's way of saying that he loves me.

Congratulations On Retirement, Dale

Allow me to welcome everyone today... say, can I get a spotlight?

It's a little bright... but thank you kindly.

We're here today to award Dale Grimley for his many years of service. 50 years in the tissue business, well, that’s nothing to sneeze at. I’m just kidding here, but Dale, you are a king among men, a saint among kings, and a Jesus among other Jesus's. If someone came up to me and said “I just saw Dale Grimley and 20 other Jesus's, well, I'd look right at those Jesus's and then I'd wash your feet, Dale Grimley, because you're the real deal." But I’d be remiss if I didn’t point something out. Something that’s been bothering me all day.

Look at this motherfucker right here. Came in here talking about “Can I get some steak?” I’m gonna call you ‘steak’. Guy can’t eat a grape, won’t eat corn or pie or cake. Only eats steak. A pizza pie won’t satisfy this dandy-man, no sir. Don’t think about handing him soup neither. Everybody get a good look at this motherfucker.

Let’s buy him some rib-eye, some filet mignon, some fine meats and treats… since he’s got a disease. He can’t eat cereal like us, no, he can only eat some prime ribs. What a disease, ‘steak’, I wish I could come down with ‘steak’s disease’! Imagine that, all day just eating steak because I’m some kind of fancy motherfucker.

My Good Friend Couch

This is from when Couch ate too much Pasta Fazool and could barely fit through the door!

I was like "next time take it easy, big guy!"

Here's Couch taking a break on the stairs. Sometimes Couch's diabetes flared up real bad on the way up or down the stairs, and we'd just sit there and talk until his levels returned to normal.

The last time I saw Couch, he was hanging out in the alley behind my apartment. Him and his friend Shopping Cart were drunk on Boone's Farm. Couch smelled more like urine than usual.

This is Couch, Couch's friend Shopping Cart and I. After I got a job, Couch started hanging out with Shopping Cart in the alley a lot more often. To be honest, I didn't like Shopping Cart's politics.

Weak Nights Thought-Line Hot-Line

Around the office I'm sort of renowned for my amazingly concise, fantastically dead-on advice.

Heiderich's got a rash? There's a cream for that.
Sandoval's got a rash? Rub up against Heiderich's creamy rash.
Benny the intern won't stop robo-tripping? Look, I don't have time to solve everyone's problems, and he's probably just experimenting, and when did that ever lead to hallucinations, numbness in toes and fingers, red face, or severe catatonia? Just as often as it led to severe Rad-atonia, I bet.

Since I'm so good at helping people, I was recently given the duty of answering the Weak Nights Thought-line. It's like the hot-lines you called in high school to chat about nail polish, except with more thoughts. I didn't even know we had a thought-line, but apparently every weekend a Weak Nights contributor is hard at work listening to your various complaints, catcalls and backhanded compliments.

I Know This Much: Mitt Romney Would Probably Win Utah

I can feel this one in my gut. It's probably because Utah is known for it's no-nonsense, pro-hair politics.

Ron Paul would probably win in a poll that asks "Which candidate would you like to have a pizza slumber party with?"

Mike Gravel would probably win in a poll that asks "Which candidate would you like to have a pizza slumber party with (and when the stripper shows up after you watch Goonies, and then accidentally dies, which candidate will help you bury the body)?"

I should mention that
1) If you're watching Goonies at a pizza slumber party: don't call up a stripper. You've already reached "Nearvana" (the nearest to Nirvana you can get without dying (Also a good name for a Nirvana cover band (I just googled "nearvana" and there is a cover band by that name))).

2) In the history of the world, a stripper has never accidentally died. There is always something to do with the mafia, or a rival stripper or those really tall stripper shoes (your work-related death is not an accident if your job requires wearing 9" high heels, it is an inevitability).