Sidecarsally News

I didn’t know this until today, but Jessica Simpson is now a country music artist. I kind of stopped following her career after I realized she’d never be in Playboy. After finding a recent picture of her, it appears that she has not only abandoned pop music, but her personal trainer as well!

It seems that the public is split 50/50 on whether or not Jessica’s recent look is healthy or fat. Both answers can be true, depending on how you look at it. For example, compared to most Americans, Jessica is by no means fat. She’s just got gigantic funbags and thick, curvy thighs. And her face is a little fatter now. Oh, and her stomach too. Hmm, even her hair seems fatter now - like the actual strands of hair have gained weight.

Shit man, you see what I’m talking about? I’m thinking that maybe she is fat now. This is the Jessica Simpson that I remember masturb- I mean, thinking about:

Spank-a-licious.

Come back, Jessica. We miss your sweet bronze skin and tiny waist. And your milk mustache in that one magazine ad that I cut a hole in. But when you come back, take the stairs instead of the elevator.

My last story was pretty horrible and depressing, but today’s story might just change your life forever - but only if you play the cello. If you don’t play the cello, you’re an ass.

Back in 1974, Elaine Murphy - a Professor of Psychiatry - wrote a letter to the British Medical Journal saying that male cellists often suffered from a condition known as “cello scrotum.” According to Elaine, cello scrotum affects male cellists whose testicles become irritated by the constant rubbing of a cello against their ballsack.

Elaine’s claim seemed legit enough to the BMJ, so they published her findings.

The most frightening health concerns are the ones that affect the genitals. Similar in nature to the other musical ailment “guitar nipple,” cello scrotum was no laughing matter. Well, until this week when Elaine Murphy admitted that cello scrotum is a hoax that she created as a joke.

Well, I’m here to say that it’s not funny to invent ball diseases. Imagine if a doctor told Lance Armstrong that he didn’t have testicular cancer - it was just “bicycle seat scrotum-smashing disease.” He would either be dead, or still have two gigantic cancerous-tumor balls preventing him from out-pedaling the competition.

Next I’m gonna find out that my terrible case of guitar nipple is also a joke, right? According to Reuter’s:

“Murphy also said she suspected “guitar nipple” had been a joke.”

Son of a bitch. My entire life has been a lie.

Unless you’re one of those spoiled rich kids whose parents made you get a part-time job to teach you “responsibility,” getting fired sucks.

One minute, everything is cool and you’ve got money for cigarettes and booze every night. The next minute, you’re scooping up quarters from under the couch cushions and drinking your own urine because there’s only water in the fridge. Why drink your own piss before drinking the water? Well, that is a good question.

Being single and losing your job - like what happened to me a few months ago - isn’t quite as bad. You can start your life over and move to Canada where there are just as many opportunities, and the weed is way better.

A married person who gets fired can usually rely on their spouse’s income for a short while until a new source of income is established. But what if they both lose their jobs at the same time? Well, then you’re just fucked and should kill your entire family and then commit suicide. WRONG.

Meet Ervin and Ana Lupoe, and their five children. They were all killed Monday night in a murder/suicide that was apparently “job-related.”

Ervin and his wife Ana both worked at Kaiser Permanente Hospital in California. According to reports, they were both recently terminated under accusations of fraud. Having no hope for a stable future, they decided to kill themselves and their children.

On Monday night, Ervin went into each of his childrens’ rooms and shot them with a revolver. He also killed his wife, and then wrote a two-page suicide note and faxed it to a local News station.

Before killing himself, he called police - reporting that he found his family dead. When they arrived four minutes later, Ervin was also dead from a self-inflicted gunshot.

In the suicide note, Ervin Lupoe claimed that he and his wife decided life just wasn’t worth living anymore.

So why not just kill yourselves and leave the kids out of your crazy shenanigans? Ervin writes, “Why leave our children in someone else’s hands?”

Well if you put it like that, Ervin…

FAIL.

Not even a week ago, I wrote about the tragic death of little Sebastian Hizey at the Monster Jam in Tacoma, Washington. He was struck in the head by a giant metal ring that broke off a truck and flew into the crowd.

Accidents like that didn’t occur very often before God grew angry about the excessive use of fossil fuels for monster truck entertainment. He expressed His disapproval again this weekend by influencing the untimely death of George Eisenhart Jr.

On Saturday, all was going well at the Motor Sports Monster Truck & Thrill Show in Madison, Wisconsin. That is, until George Eisenhart Jr. walked in front of a passing truck and was crushed like a beer can on my dad’s forehead.

George was a promoter for monster truck events for over 15 years. Just prior to his death, he commented about how spectator safety is not an issue at the shows:

“This is our 16th year, and I wish I had a big piece of wood to knock on right now, but we have not had an incident besides a gal slipping in the aisle at another location.”

Creepy.

I’ll never say “knock on wood” again without actually knocking on some real wood. That plastic stuff with the fake wood-grain doesn’t count.

Whenever I used to think about Belgium, I’d think of waffles and Arnold Schwarzenegger - even though he’s Austrian. Austria and Belgium are like, the same, right? Either way, Belgium doesn’t remind me of waffles anymore, it reminds me of stabbing babies.

At 10AM this morning, a crazy man rode his bicycle to the local daycare in Dendermonde, Belgium. His face was painted white and his eyes were blackened. He entered the daycare and began stabbing everyone he saw.

I know this victim’s father is upset, but those overalls are ridiculous.

Two infants and a woman were killed at the scene. Eleven other children and two women were also injured - three are in critical condition.

Now it’s time for some math. The daycare held 18 children and 6 adults at the time, for a total of 24 people. The suspect stabbed 16 people. That’s 66.6% of the total population of the daycare. Here’s some more math for you:

After the knifetack, the suspect fled on his murder bike, but was captured shortly after. An unofficial statement said the man was a psychiatric patient, as are most other people who stab 13 children for no reason.

If the suspect really is a mental patient, how did he get released?

Doctor: “Well John, you haven’t bitten anyone or eaten your own feces in a whole week. I’d say you’re cured! You’re free to go.”

John: “Thanks, Doc! You won’t regret this decision. Hey, do you have a knife?”

Doctor: “Sure, here ya go!”

FAIL.

I don’t have a news story for you today because the presidential inauguration is like super important, apparently. Some girl on Myspace got so mad about my lack of excitement that she called me names and deleted me as a friend. You can imagine how depressed I was. The self-inflicted cuts are still healing and my pillow will forever smell like my emo tears.

Since I’m too depressed that this girl doesn’t like me anymore, I’m going to write about something else: Taboo questions.

I made this image, but I don’t know why the dude’s naked.

The first question that nobody likes to answer is, “How old are you?”

It’s usually older people and women that are the most sensitive about answering this question. I’m 25-years-old. Wow, can you believe that didn’t feel weird or embarrassing at all? I double in awesomeness every year, so when I tell a hot young girl that I’m forty, she’ll know that I’m exponentially more awesome than she is. It should be the same with all of you.

The next question that bugs me is, “What size are your tits?”

Oh my God, come on. Two numbers and a letter is all you have to say - unless they’re really big, then it’s two numbers and two letters. I’m a guy, so I have no breasts. If I were to wear a bra, I’d be a 32A with padding.

Probably the worst question of all is, “How much money do you make?”

Only people with minimum wage jobs answer this. You can ask a total stranger at McDonald’s, and he’ll be like, “Uhh… $5.75 dude. You got any weed?”

Rich people never answer this question. And just when you think they’re rich, they do something like argue with a waitress over twelve cents on a coffee bill. I think everyone should be upfront with their finances. Your Social Security Number doesn’t have to be a secret either. Also, I need to know what bank you use, and the PIN number to your debit card. Just e-mail it to me.

Monster trucks are always given crazy evil names like CLAM SMASHER or HOMEWRECKER. If the truck is shitty and breaks easily, it’s given a crap name like NATURAL HIGH.

“I killed a kid!”

Six-year old Sebastian Hizey was one of 10,000 fans attending last Friday’s Monster Jam in Tacoma, Washington. He and his family were safely situated in the middle of the crowd about 25 feet up from the dirt arena below.

Previously during the event, Natural High wouldn’t start and had to be forklifted out of the arena. It returned after a break and began a freestyle performance, spinning in victorious circles through the dirt. A giant chunk of metal broke off from under the truck, and people watched in horror as it was into the crowd.

Sebastian was struck in the head and killed, while another man was also hit by the debris and injured. Several people left after the accident, but Monster Jam continued, even as paramedics carried Sebastian’s body away.

A lot of people were pissed that the event continued, and hundreds of beers were thrown into the arena at Natural High. “That sunumabitch. Killed a kid and he’s still out there drivin’? Toss yer beer down there, Tony! Tell yer little sister to toss her’s too.”

Imagine how the driver felt. It’s sad that people aren’t smart enough to understand the concept of a freak accident. Drunk people don’t think like normal people though. No, instead it’s more like this:

Toss those beers at yourselves! How would anyone know this was going to happen? You won’t blame a crowd of people that crushed a Wal-Mart security guard to death, but you’ll waste beer and throw it at an innocent man? I could be drinking that beer, assholes.

In June 2008, I wrote an article about how boring Mars is. NASA landed a research robot on the red planet in hopes to learn more about it. What they found was a cold desert with nothing interesting to offer. That is, until now.

Welcome to Arizona, errr, Mars.

Scientists studying Mars with telescopes recently announced that they have found traces of methane gas on the planet. Our dreams of alien existence may possibly be a reality!

Unless you’re an idiot, you know that 90% of Earth’s methane gas is produced when cows fart, or during the breakdown of long-dead organisms deep underground. The other 10% is created during chemical reactions between water and certain rocks. I’ve known this since before I was born.

The source of Mars’ methane is currently unknown, but there’s either some kind of organic matter, geological activity, or space cows.

Probably not.

Once again, much more information is needed to draw any conclusions, but I think this is what we’ve all been waiting for. Somewhere, deep under Mars’ surface, there are decomposing organisms waiting to be resurrected so they can re-animate and destroy Earth.

I’m founding the Alien Labor Force (ALF) for peace negotiations between us and Mars. Upon the Earth’s invasion, I will act as our ambassador. Every member of the ALF will surrender to the Martians and be enrolled in slave labor in exchange for their lives.

If you choose to fight the Martians, you will be crushed by their superior technology and subjected to horrific experiments. Anal probes will be welcomed by you after your organs are dissected and replaced with animal parts.

Boy George was sentenced to 15 months in jail today for an act that the judge considered “gratuitously violent.”

Apparently, some people consider handcuffing a male prostitute to your wall and hitting him with a chain is violent. I always thought that was a normal part of gay sex.

The microphone would be too easy to change in Photoshop.

Boy George and his male Norwegian escort Audun Carlsen got retarded together on some illegal drugs and then things got out of hand when George noticed that his computer had been tampered with. According to Audun, here’s what happened:

George (British accent): “Oy! Wot the fock? You been messin’ with me computer, mate? I’ll hit you with this chain!”

Audun (Norwegian accent): “Do you really want to hurt me? Do you really want to make me cry?”

George: “That’s my song, ya bleedin’ wanker. ‘Fess up!” *Hits Audun with chain*

Audun: “Oww, don’t hit me with a chain if you aren’t going to drip melted wax on my balls and pinch my nipples too.”

Gay people always have the best drama.

Jackass star Johnny Knoxville failed at boarding a Thursday morning flight from LAX airport after x-rays detected a grenade in his carry-on bag.

Knoxville was detained and the LAPD Bomb Squad was called in to investigate. Turns out, the grenade was only a prop for a photo shoot - there were no explosives inside and no firing pin on the ‘nade. Knoxville had simply forgotten it was in the bag.

I’ve seen Johnny Knoxville purposely shoot himself with a taser gun. I’ve seen him let an alligator chomp down on his nipples too. Both of those stunts would excite me sexually, but bringing a grenade to the airport? Mistake or not, that’s just ignorant.

Knoxville was allowed to board his flight, but not before being cited for “possessing a prohibited item within the ’sterile area’ of an airport” - a misdemeanor charge.

This reminds me of the time I was temporarily detained at the airport while security investigated my Chapstick for explosives and poisons. Believe it or not, it was only Chapstick.

They didn’t even laugh when I asked for it back and said, “But my lips hurt real bad.”

Non-movie-reference-knowing assholes.