Who would you rather have as a room mate?
What do we know? Dr. Phil is one of the worst people ever, but he's not going to eat you. This is tough. I'm guessing that Dahmer is a neat freak and probably knows his way around the kitchen. Dr. Phil probably sits on his fat ass all day and watches "General Hospital" and eats your shit. Dahmer would definitely hide out in his room all day and only tip toe out to use the bathroom immediately after you've closed your eyes to sleep. Dr. Phil would be masturbating on the couch and getting Cheetoh stains on the remote. Dahmer, but with a dead bolt on your door.
Who would you rather do your taxes?
Ashton Kutcher is handsome and retarded. Corky Thatcher is just retarded. I got a feeling that Corky is pretty fucking good with numbers. Not in a toothpick counting, janitor logarithmn solving way, but in a more than capable small town CPA kinda way. Ashton's girlfriend was in something once several years ago. He tweets things. He takes photos. I think Corky would say, "That retard can't even count." Enough said.
Who would you rather hang out with?
Is that burrito gonna tell me Mexican jokes? His fucking intro song is "Low Rider". Why doesn't he just wear a sombrero and eat taco's during the show? He should have guests hit a pinata on stage. Wait. He does? You're kidding. You know what the funniest thing about Mexican jokes are? Nothing. There is nothing funny about them. He should go on after Conan, Charlie Rose, Carson Daly, and Rhonda from Up All Night. Somewhere in the ballpark of 4AM. Right about the time I'm either masturbating to Girls Gone Wild commercials or running through various "Die Hard" hostage scenarios in my head. Burrito by a mile.
Who would you rather follow on twitter?
Ashton Kutcher's Hemmorhoid
Another easy one. I've gotta go with Ashton's hemmerhoid. Where do you think he got the idea for "Punk'd"? Ashton has been riding his hemmorhoid's coattails for years now. He would be nothing without that hemmorhoid. No 80 year old wife. No camera commercials. No movie career. Nothin'. He should show some humility and thank God every day for that thrombosed hemmorhoid.
Who would you rather go back in time to give you an orgasm?
This is the easiest one of all. Marty McFly has already proven that he's more than capable of traveling to different decades and making multiple girls soaking wet. He got his mom to practically beg for some future dick the first night in town. Pre-shaky McFly could skateboard, play guitar, and be the most popular guy in town by the end of the weekend. The Time Machine, on the other hand, can only travel through time at the speed of time. He has a fucking blog for Christ's sakes. He is one D&D game short of moving back in with his parents and buying the high school kids beer just so he has someone, anyone to talk to. Maybe he'll get a job at the local video store and keep press clippings of the center midfielder from the girls varsity soccer team. He's thinking about asking her out. He thinks she'll finally understand the brilliance that lies beneath his unsightly, disgusting layers of fear, anxiety, and acne. Then she comes in to the video store to rent a Sandy Bullock rom-com with perhaps the coolest fucking senior on the eastern seaboard, QB1 Jake Johnson. So he cowers back into his parents basement to commit his nightly ritual of auto-erotic asphyxiation while crying and watching Jean-Luc Godard films. McFly.