Archive for June, 2011


Although those of us at Dan Eats Cat Food.com (tell your friends, whore us out, bring us love!) are nearly omnipotent and thus unable to physically experience the trauma of making mistakes, we understand that mortals can have problems sometimes with life. And, of course, the demographic most desperately in need of our aid to prevent them from becoming drooling, crying, chest-slapping retards is simple: teenagers. Yes, we too were teenagers at one point, although we experience time differently from you. Be that as it may, we have deigned to bless your basic lives with some knowledge and advice that hopefully will turn the horror of adolescence into something marginally productive in society. As always, it must be assumed that this advice is being given to legal 18-year olds. Covering our asses.
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Let’s be frank, here. Teenage love is the strangest, strongest and most damaging of all love, save perhaps anal. Thus, it requires the most help in understanding and navigating the non-Euclidean geometric waters. That’s an H.P. Lovecraft joke for you, by the way. It’s messy, confusing, frustrating, great and terrible all at the same time, kind of like a really difficult bowel movement except with more potential for ejaculation. And it’s not like it’s going to matter anyways. You little bastards never listen to any good advice from those who have gone before because we’re, like, old and can’t possibly understand all the intricacies of teenage dating. Ungrateful little punks. All the same, let’s help you out.

Girls, do you think you love him? Well…you’re right! Get pregnant so he can never leave you.

Boys, if she won’t sexually pleasure you, dump her. Right around the corner will be another girl, probably not as good-looking, but she’s willing to put your dick in her mouth and that is something that you can’t discount.

Girls, if there are aspects of your boy that you don’t like, nag and berate and harass him until he either leaves or changes. If he won’t change everything about himself to suit your ever-fluctuating whims, he doesn’t love you.

Boys, refuse to acknowledge any flaws that you may have in the relationship. You’re the almost-man and that means that you’re always right.

Girls, it’s not out of line or immature to scream at the top of your lungs, including that female banshee shriek teenage girls can achieve, at your boyfriend in the middle of the hallway during lunch because you totally saw him checking out that slut Lindsay’s ass, that fucking jerk.

Boys, that Lindsay has a nice ass, huh?

Girls, yes, it is absolutely rational to never want to see that asshole again because how dare he go to (insert new teenage shit movie here) with his family when he promised you that he would see it with you first when you were holding hands in your car after school.

Boys, erections are perfectly healthy and you should not be ashamed of them. Unless, of course, you get one in the locker room as you’re showering after football practice. Then you might have some other things to worry about beyond a simple erection.

Girls, it’s so heartbreaking when a relationship ends. You absolutely should go and give his big brother a handjob in the backyard when you’re drunk on wine coolers at Brad’s graduation party. That’ll show him.

Boys, you will be able to put it in her butt if you buy her a really nice meal at that Italian place down the road, manage to steal some champagne from your parents’ liquor cabinet (or get them to buy it, if they’re cool) and lie to her about other people doing it. It will be mediocre because she’ll be scared and tense up, which means it’ll hurt her so she’ll cry and you’ll have to abandon it halfway through and just cuddle the rest of the night. It will set a tone for the rest of your dating life.

Girls, is your relationship starting to break apart? There’s a simple solution. Have a baby. Introducing a baby into the mix never creates anything but a stronger love. Note: this is similar to the earlier piece of advice because it’s such a good idea.

Boys, just remember this: if you blow your load in her mouth or on her tits or, God forbid, in her butt, she can’t create a crotch spawn. Pray she’s too stupid to remember that.

Girls, you can totally get pregnant by taking a shot in the mouth or on your tits or in your butt. The whole body is connected! Your heart pumps blood throughout your entire body, right? Why can’t it do that with baby batter, huh?

Boys, it doesn’t technically count as cheating if you fuck her sister or cousin because, hey, you’re keeping it in the family. Also it doesn’t count if she never finds out so…that’s a plus too.

Girls, expecting that your boyfriend or crush will act like Edward Cullen is not realistic. He’s totally more of a Jacob Black. OMGZ!

Boys, if you find out your girlfriend is either reading the Twilight “books” or watching the “movies”, either dump her or distract her and burn her copies. Or burn her body and dump it in the copies. Maybe not that last one.

Girls, if you’re starting to get bitchy, go get a tampon so you don’t period all over your boyfriend.

Boys, if she’s bleeding, run for the hills for the structural integrity of your relationship is in grave danger. Do not come back until the passing of the full moon.

Girls, if your boyfriend hurts you – and he will hurt you – just go ahead and declare all men the sworn enemy of your sovereign vagina. Because clearly every man in the world is a stupid asshole who broke your heart.

Boys, be aware of one fact: no matter how fun it is to be a jerk, no matter how fun it is to snap bra straps or piss off girlfriends, no matter how fun it is to fuck around and sleep with everyone you can…your genitals are outside your body and hanging targets. Be warned. Nah, just kidding. Angry girls won’t go for the balls, no matter how mad they are. They understand the pain they provide and won’t take advantage of it. Teenage girls aren’t psychopaths at ALL, as you know.

And finally, for both genders, the love that you experience in high school is forever. No relationships past high school will ever mean as much or feel as strong as the ones you experience then. It’s all downhill. So be sure to get all your loving in during high school or you’ll miss out!
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(You really hate teenagers, don’t you? – ed.)

Hate? No. Loathe? No. Respect? No.

(I…hm. – ed.)

Success!


It is no secret that we here at Dan Eats Cat Food appreciate and love Mother Alcohol and all the warmth and healing she provides. However, it has become increasingly obvious to us that many of our readers simply do not understand how she works, instead choosing to rely on age-old cliches to give them some sense of knowledge about the topic. Luckily, we’re here for you. We’re going to either Mythbust or agree with various cliches, depending on which are real or just the funniest. Warning: Knowledge About To Be Imparted…Bitches.
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We’re going to start off with the most lame and least-actually-used “oh ha ha he/she/tranny was so drunk” cliche: the lampshade on the head. Frankly, this one makes no sense, at least not to me. First off, if there’s the absolute necessity to place something on your head, there are plenty of things around. Hats. Underwear. A drunk co-ed. A lampshade is the least reasonable option around. Yet for some reason, hack-ass writers use the lampshade on the head to show how wild a party got. I mean, a fucking LAMPSHADE. Nobody is going to get that drunk and if they DO, they want to be having sex instead of wearing furniture. Or having sex WITH furniture. This one got a little out of hand.

Next up, we have kind of a two-part one. The first part is simple: get some booze in you and you instantly think that you are so very sharp and witty. Okay, this is pretty misleading. You see, it only makes people who AREN’T normally sharp and witty believe that they suddenly become so. If you are already sharp and witty, as in, well let’s say myself, the alcohol only makes you even more so. It’s like this: you can’t teach a panda to use power tools but if you have a dog with really strong teeth, you can coat them in steel to make his bite even nastier. You get it?

Off of that one, you also have the mental traintracks helping you believe that you can consume much more alcohol than you can. This one is actually true. At least for the menfolk, we have the surprising ability to take in a lot of booze at once but our iron bodies portion it out over time. That means that we can shotgun a sixer of whatever shitty beer a party has, feel nothing, and move to shots of tequila off the sociology professor’s tits before we start to feel drunk at all. That also means that we get nailed a lot harder when it all hits full force, leading to mornings where you wake up to find that you’ve fucked the sociology professor and her daughter and are subsequently in danger of being arrested. Also known as “Thursday morning”.

The next two also sort of relate. Though I personally have not experienced it, many men (and even some women) tend to utilize the phenomenon known as beer goggles. For those not “in the know”…the hell are you doing here? I’ll explain anyway. It’s the concept that as you drink more, dealbreaker flaws in people you find repulsive while sober start to go away. Well, not so much go away as you stop caring about them. A huge rat’s nest of hair? All the better to wrap your hands in as you do the nasty – literally. Looks like she got hit in the face with the Ugly Flamethrower? You can do it dog-style – again, literally. So large that you’re actually startled that aircraft carriers can fit into buildings? Well…

That brings us to the second part and a personal favorite term of Raybestos: hoggin’. Hoggin’ does not describe putting yourself into a girl that may have a few extra pounds. Hoggin’ does not describe doing it to a girl who may have let herself go just a tad. Hoggin’ doesn’t even mean taking one for the team and distracting Miss Cornfield USA with a few digits in the bowling ball holes while your bro seals the deal with her hot cousin from out of town who happens to like beer and horror movies and fucking without a condom. Hoggin’ means that you get drunk as a pisser, find the closest thing to a Death Star that you can find and pump a weak, terrified load onto breasts that look like turkey platters before Thanksgiving. Some people say that there’s no way no sex can be preferable to bad sex. Hoggin’ proves them wrong, you poor bastard.

Once men get drunk enough, oftentimes they are able to express feelings and sentiments unthinkable whilst in a sober state. This is the “I love you man” Syndrome and, honestly…it’s pretty common. Pred3000 is a great example of this, many times being compelled by the drink to explain that he loves us boys (not that he ‘loves boys’, mind you) and appreciates us being there. It’s kind of sweet. That is, it’s sweet until we pour more booze down his throat and get him started ranting on pop culture in which case he turns into a raging firemonster of pseudo-hipster elitism and sociological condemnation. Also known as the funniest shit in the world.

Some people believe that all you do when you’re drunk and alone is just drunk text people you like. That is completely untrue. There’s also incredibly difficult masturbation. But yes, there are drunk texts too, especially poorly-envisioned ones where you end up accidentally telling a girl that you want to put it in her ass – not hard and not all of it and just for a couple seconds – and that you’d be willing to trade a lick-job and some booze that you no longer have for it. This is also known as the “I Deserve A Damn Restraining Order” strategy so popular with today’s youth and such.

One that is not mentioned as often as it most often pertains to the artistic type, but many times boozeahol can induce feelings of creative omnipotence. These are usually fits of about half hour stints of really being focused on writing and coming up with incredible stories and characters and plotlines. It’s only the next day that you wake up and find the sheet of paper you scribbled on covered with incomprehensible words and phrases and probably some pictures of either boobs or dicks. You also find out that you pissed off half your hall because you had to tell everyone about your wonderful idea. Good show.

Ah yes. Whiskey dick. Schroedinger’s Penis. Having either a permanent erection or de-rection, depending on how much you have imbibed. The fact is, booze makes people hornier than a mutated rhino. If you’re a guy, you have to hit that sweet spot of drunk with your ladyfriends where you are turned on enough that you won’t go soft but not too drunk for it to deflate like a rapidly cooling french fry. It’s a bit of a gamble. Too little and you may not be able to handle yourself. Too much and it’s the Midnight Train down to Impotenceville. Enjoy your ride.

Puking. Yeah, there’ll probably be puking.

Finally, you have your hangover. Everyone’s hangover is different. For some, light is like stabbing them in the eyes with needles. For others, there are relentless headaches. There’s also puking again. And the inevitable social consequences. And having to run back and forth to the bathroom all day because your guts are bubbling like a witch’s damn cauldron. Huh. Hangovers make drinking not fun. Why do we have them? Oh yeah. Because without them, every asshole would be drunk every night. That’s why. It takes a special kind of asshole to ignore the hangovers. Number one, baby!
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I guess the point of the article is pretty simple.

It is, of course: stay in school.

Now I’mma run before Ed gets back and finds that I’ve gotten into the writing machine again. Quiet deuces.