New Rule
There’s no such thing as flavoured water. Flavoured water is a soft drink. You want flavoured water? Pour some scotch over ice and let it melt. That’s real flavoured water.
New Rule
If you’re going to insist on making movies based on crappy old television shows, then you have to give everyone in the Cineplex a remote so we can see what’s playing on the other screens. Let’s remember, the reason something was a television show in the first place is because the idea wasn’t good enough to be a movie.
New Rule
Stop giving me that pop-up ad for Classmates.com! There’s a reason you don’t talk to people for 25 years. Because you didn’t like them 25 years ago! Besides, I already know what the captain of the football team is doing these days: mowing my lawn.
New Rule
No more gift registries, or, as they should be called, greed registries. You know, they used to be just for weddings. Now they’re for babies and new homes and graduations from rehab. Picking out the stuff you want and having other people buy it for you isn’t gift giving; it’s the white people’s version of looting.
New Rule
When I ask how old your toddler is, I don’t need to know in months. “27 Months”. “He’s two,” will do just fine. He’s not a cheese. And I didn’t really care in the first place
New Rule
The more complicated the Starbucks order, the bigger the jerk. If you walk into a Starbucks and order a “decaf grande half-soy, half-low fat, iced vanilla, double-shot, gingerbread cappuccino, extra dry, light ice, with one Sweet-n’-Low and one NutraSweet,” ooooh, you’re a HUGE jerk.
New Rule
Just because your tattoo has Chinese characters in it doesn’t make you spiritual. It’s right above the crack of your ass. And it translates to “beef with broccoli.” The last time you did anything spiritual, you were praying to God that what you did when you were high, didn’t result in pregnancy. You’re not spiritual.
New Rule
Ladies, leave your eyebrows alone. Here’s how much men care about your eyebrows: Do you have two of them? Good, we’re done.
New Rule
Stop saying that teenage boys who have sex with their hot, blond teachers are permanently damaged. They’re not. They enjoyed
themselves. I have a better description for them: lucky bastards.