I really hope there never comes a time where I need to run for my life, because I’m pretty sure, I’m dead. I mean realistically I can probably run at full speed for like maybe 3 blocks, possibly 4. But let’s be honest, whoever is chasing me theoretically is trying to kill me, so they aren’t going to give up easily. I mean running as fast as you can is like crazy hard. I’m just hoping that weird adrenaline thing you always hear about kicks in, like when a mother can lift a car off her child. The thing is, I know if that time comes I’m gonna be so pissed when I never get superhuman speed and I’m just out of breath and sweating coming to that realization like, “Aw fuck, I am so getting murdered right now.”



Have you ever woken up and realized you really have to pee but somehow your body has managed to contort itself into just about the most comfortable position humanly possible? And the thing is, it’s not like you’re just on your back or something. It’s like your arm is under your head and you’re sorta on your stomach but also on your side and one leg is stretched out across the bed but bent a little and your other arm is tucked under your body but balled into a fist. It’s like this complex position that somehow all of your body parts communicated while you were sleeping and were like “We fuckin did it, we all worked together and here we are.” So then you wake up, at first there’s that moment of pure unadulterated happiness…until your brain realizes you have to pee and you’re gonna have to get up, so you have this internal conflict on what to do. Do you just try to go back to sleep and wait until your body wakes up because you literally can’t hold it in any more? Do you try to memorize exactly how each of your body parts are positioned and try to recreate it after you go to the bathroom? Or do you just say “fuck it, I’ll change my sheets in the morning” and free yourself of that constraining urine right there in bed. Of course you get up… but may God have mercy, you’ll never quite find that position again. It’s so frustrating. I normally end up shaking my fists up at the sky screaming at the heavens something to the effect of “Why have you forrrrrsaken me!!!!” Dramatic? Possibly, but once you feel a sleeping position that’s comparable to floating on a cloud covered unicorn woven from Silk that made love to a Brookstone massage chair under a gentle blanket of warmth and comfort’s lovechild, you’ll understand. 



I know it’s a little dated, but why did we ever stop talking about the fact that John Tesh decided to try a music career?


You know what’s recently started to piss me off? Have you ever been watching a commercial and it just cuts off in the middle and goes on to another commercial. I’m not sure why this has become annoying to me, I mean I hate commercials. But something about leaving me hanging, I just need to know the fucking conclusion. The most recent example that made me want to dial up Pillsbury on my cell piece and keep saying, “Well then let me speak to YOUR manager,” was this; A father and daughter are sitting at a kitchen table, the father is eating a fresh crescent roll and the daughter goes, “Dad, how come the boy I like, acts like he hates me?” And the father goes, “Well honey, he’s kinda like this crescent roll,” as he tears it open and…BOOM the commercial cuts off. What..the..FUCK? How is the boy like a crescent roll, seriously, I need to know. Is it something about the boy being flaky on the outside but moist and warm in the middle? That sounds nice. Or maybe French people like to eat young boys for breakfast in quaint cafes? It’s like a demented version of an S.A.T question. Do crescent rolls not understand why their bodies are changing and why they get boners in the middle of math class? I don’t know, but I bet it’s really profound and the commercial ends with the father gently brushing the hair out of his daughter’s face, scarfing down the entire crescent roll in one bite and then condescendingly whispering, “Does that make sense? Now go get Daddy a beer.” 



Have you ever had an awakening about something seemingly normal, but all the sudden you realized how fucking fucked up it is? An example is pregnancy. Have you ever just looked at a pregnant woman and thought, “Holy shit, there’s a human being growing inside of that woman, like a person, stretching her stomach, just shackin up in there.” It’s normal stuff, that all of the sudden seems alien to you. The other day there was this little girl on TV and her front teeth were missing. We normally look at this and think “Awww, she has no front teeth, that’s adorable.” But all of the sudden, it just freaked me out. It’s just weird that we can look at a toothless child as something precious, but not an old person. I mean, when an adult is missing teeth we immediately think, “Now there’s a homeless Meth addict” but a child’s face just looks physically different to us, because it’s natural for their teeth to just be falling out of their face. I don’t know my point here, but it’s just weird. Kinda like how a woman growing out her armpit hair is just Nasty McGrossenstein, but a big thatch of hairy pits is awesome city for a guy. Maybe my point is, I should stop smoking so much pot. 



When a dude’s sportin a V-neck shirt, you're workin with about an 80% chance he’s a douche bag, just sayin.

 

I hate to break it to you, but when a baby is born it looks like….a baby. They literally all look the same for like the first two months. I never understood when a baby pops out and someone in the family always has to be like, “Oh my goshhhhh, he looks exactly like (insert husband of wife’s name), just LOOK at him, he has Uncle Gary’s forehead and Janet’s eyes.” Nope. He looks like a smooshed face that just got squeezed out of a Vagina. He is generic BABY. It’s hilarious when they have paternity tests on Maury and they literally put up a split screen of an infant next to the supposed baby daddy. Then you have Leanne standing up and screaming, throwing herself all over the stage, “LOOK at HERRRR, she has your EYESSS and your NOSSSSE!!! How can you deny her!!! She looks JUST LIKE YOU!!!!” Bitch, you could make a case that your baby looks just like Barry Manilow, it’s a fuckin infant. On a separate note, I feel REALLY bad for Sholanda. Watch below and find out why.

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XteyzO65DQ4

 

 Hey sweaty dudes at the gym, your awkwardly loud workout grunts are starting to sound uncomfortably sexual…you might wanna look into that, it’s off putting. 

Why do I feel the need when I’m leaving a message for someone and they suddenly call me back in the middle of it, I have to talk to future them to let them know they’re calling. “Hey Tara, I just wanted to find out if…oh wait, this is you now. You’re beeping in right now, so I will be talking to you in person, bye.” I don’t like that. It’s a complicated thing talking to someone in the future. I mean, WHERE DO YOU BEGIN?!



The other night, the Director of the Emmys, won an Emmy for directing the Oscars, and accepted the Emmy in the control room while directing the Emmys. And then my head exploded.

So working with Adam McKay every day for well over a year now has been like a dream to say the least…But he’s not exactly the easiest person to deal with, and it’s probably time to come clean on what it’s like working for this man…People always say to me “You know you’re working for the nicest guy in Hollywood right?” But no one knows what goes on behind closed doors. The truth is, it’s very draining and it breaks down my spirit and takes every ounce of my emotional strength to handle it on a daily basis.

 

Adam’s a really smart and funny guy, and he takes every opportunity to make sure I’m aware of how successful he is in the comedy world. Here’s how a typical day goes. The morning starts off when I bring him his Decaf Grande Soy Latte. He calls it his “funny juice.” There was one time, ok two times, that he told me his hands were tired from typing, so I had to gently pour the drink into his mouth once it cooled down enough. I didn’t think it was a big deal because this was all part of “the biz.”

 

Once we go through the morning phone calls he has to make, it’s time for his daily affirmation. This consists of me googling his name and reading every single thing having to do with him. He also has me IMDB him and go through every comment on the message board. It’s a lengthy task that can sometimes take up to two hours, but he says it inspires him and one day I’ll “get it.”

 

After that, he normally goes into the editing suite to work on our new movie. While he’s doing that, I schedule things, write, and answer phone calls for him, but at exactly 12:47pm every day (he has OCD about various things including which moments in the day the feng shui is just right) it’s time for his environmental speech. I go and get the keys to his Prius to get it washed and shined and he gives me his daily “Carbon Footprint” speech. Basically it’s just him yelling about how he is the most environmentally conscious person in Hollywood. Then he starts spewing out a slew of vulgarities toward other like minded celebrities such as Leonardo Dicaprio and Al Gore. It can get ugly, and it normally ends with “You wanna see eco friendly motherfuckers, come to my house ANY DAY, it’s solar powered you filthy sons of bitches.” This goes on 6 days a week at exactly the same time. On Saturdays I have to go to his house to pick up his car, but on Sundays he lets me hear the speech over the phone, which I’m very grateful for.

 

Once it’s time for lunch, I pray that he’s not in the mood for “something different.” When he says this, I know I’ll most likely have to drive some place very far, like the time I spent all day driving to Santa Cruz for “the best turkey burger he’s ever had.” This is the most nerve-wracking part of the day because I never know where I might have to go. Three weeks ago, he made me take a coach flight on United to get him Mr. Spriggs BBQ, because he loved the jingle. As soon as I landed in the middle of Oklahoma I had to take a cab, pick up his order of ribs and get directly back on the plane. I learned many lessons that day, one of the biggest being that a young Jewish girl is not welcomed in that part of Oklahoma. Below is a link to the commercial that sparked his interest.

Mr. Spriggs Barbeque on FunnyOrDie.com

 

After lunch, sometimes he’ll let me come into the editing suite to see what they’re working on. The first time I asked to come in, he said, “Sure, just go to the post office and send me a notarized letter asking permission to enter the editing suite on a specific day and time.” I tried to ask why I couldn’t just come in seeing as it was right next door, but he just answered, “Listen, I’m not trying to be dick, but how about…because I said so. Sound good? Or would you like to try unemployment?” I learned that many of the things he asked of me were “because he said so”, which I quickly learned was a good enough answer. So I went to the post office and finally the letter arrived two days later. I guess it was worth it. He tells me it’s better if I stand in the corner of the editing room, but I know one day he’s going to let me sit down. In the beginning he made me face the wall, so I could only hear the film, but look how far I’ve already come, I get the watch it now too!

 

Sometimes Adam makes up unusual rules, but he takes them very seriously A quick example was a few weeks ago, I was at my desk quietly singing “Ain’t no mountain high enough,” to try and keep my spirit up, during a rather uncomfortable day when Adam quickly cut me off, “Hey LK, I don’t wanna sound like a dick, but I really don’t want you singing any Motown songs. We’re in the millennium, so it just doesn’t sit right with me to hear older songs. Let’s keep it fresh.” He has a very short fuse and I knew I had to permanently shelf any songs before 2000. It’s been a difficult task, but I’m getting used to it. Sometimes when I’m in my apartment I’ll occasionally throw on a little Stevie Wonder, but I still have a pit in my stomach that he’ll find out.

 

Once the end of the day approaches, he normally fires me and then rehires me. He always wants me to know that he holds my fate in his hands. He’s fired and rehired me over 70 times since I’ve started. Sometimes we do unwind together though and he tells me stories about the good old days at SNL. He always likes to remind me that Will Ferrell is “like a brother to him.” But the truth is, I’ve never seen them interact outside of the film we just worked on. And to be honest their working relationship was so awkward, the tension was palpable on set. Adam liked to condescendingly refer to Will as, “Mr. Funny Man.” One time in between a take Will was trying to help speed things up so we didn’t go overtime again and Adam didn’t like that. He got on this loud speaker in front of everyone and goes “Hey, Mr. Funny Man, why don’t you just worry about the acting and I’ll worry about the directing. That’s why I make the big bucks. Are we crystal, Chief?” Everyone was silent, waiting to see what would happen next. That was the last time I saw them speak.

 

Anyway, it’s not all bad, we do have fun together! Like the other night, he knows that I’m very very afraid of scary movies, being alone at night, and things like that. So he sent me this email. And of course I trusted him, as I often do. I attached it below. Enjoy! Click the link once you’ve read the emails.

 

Adam McKay

Subject: Really funny pictures.

Body: Wait until midnight to watch this…

http://www.flickr.com/photos/15702350@N00/sets/72157605573751992/show/

 

Lauryn:

Subject: Re: Really funny pictures.

Body: Is it scary? My roommate won’t be home.

 

Adam McKay

Subject: Re:re: Really funny pictures.

Body: No. It’s hilarious.

Emeril Lagasse is always kickin it up a notch. Fuck it man, I’m not surprised anymore. It’s lost all impact. And I gotta be honest, at this point I have no fucking clue where we are on the notch scale.

 

The other day I exited my apartment and was confronted by one of the most spectacular signs I’ve ever seen. I swear to you, this sign is completely real. Here’s the thing, your cat’s dead at this point. Unless it travels back to you on it’s own with it’s magical cat navigation, I would have a memorial service at this point. I don’t know anyone in their right mind that’s about to approach a one eyed black cat. I can’t think of anything more terrifyingly superstitious. Why don’t you just put up a sign that says “Lost: Broken mirror stuck underneath ladder. Last time it was seen was on the 13th floor of a building….next to an open umbrella.” It’s unfortunate, but I’d just throw in the towel on this one, random person who lost their creepy feline. Cat’s scare the fuck out of me just sitting being cats. All snobby and unpredictable, ready to pounce and attack my face at any moment. If the uno eyed black cat isn't dead, then it’s probably participating in satanic rituals involving the sacrifice of small children. Good luck with that.

 

 

 

How come ghosts and stormy nights go hand in hand? Is that like the best weather to socialize in the afterlife? Do they know it’s scarier? Does a ghost call his bro and is like “Yo, look outside it’s thundering mutha fucka…wanna creak around an old house and scare the shit outta people?” And his bro-bro is like “I just opened a tub of Cherry Garcia but you know what, that sounds amazing.” Or maybe God gives them a heads up like “Good news fuckers, we got a pretty creepy thunderstorm brewin out in Wisconsin. You guys’ll have a giggle fest and total blast…tell the gang.” You just see a storm in a movie and you’re like waiting for the shit show. I think it’s almost scarier if I was like lying out on the beach on a summer day and I got fuckin haunted. That would be bonkers. I sit up to slather on some SPF 4 and then boo-yah, a fuckin ghost, in….my…grill. No one would believe me. My friend would come walking across the sand from the bathroom and I would be all “Ah, I was just haunted, like straight up, I saw a ghost.” “What? It’s a beautiful summer day, and we’re out on the beach.” “Exactly, it’s so ironic.” “Are you high?” “Yes.”

 

 

So there’s a new playset out for little ladies that should be called “Bitch, know your role.” It’s the Rose Petal Playset from Playskool. It’s basically teaching little girls that life is going to be a Shit Pie with a side order of Fart salad. It’s literally a house filled with depressing appliances so little girls can clean, do laundry and wash the dishes. And of course a nursery and muffin making set, hoo-ray. I could get all feminist up in this piece about how disturbing this is, but I’m gonna keep it light as a feather. The tagline is “It’s a place where she and her dreams have room to grow.” Ah, who the fuck dreams about doing chores? How about dreaming of, I don’t know, owning a very lucrative pyramid scheme? Or swimming in the Olympics? No, her dreams should be keeping a tidy house. “Look I’m like mommy, I do the laundry over here, then I bake muffins, wash the dishes, take some special pills and cry in a corner.” Yeah, dream big kiddo. Maybe if you’re lucky for Christmas you’ll get the Playskool Landscapers Set.

 

Just when I think I understand pop culture and what people are into, National Treasure 2 comes out in theaters and Las Vegas on NBC is blowing out the candles on their 100th episode cake. Fuck it, I give up.

 

You know a quick way I can tell if people are "off". If they try to harmonize while singing “Happy Birthday.” Don’t do that. If you do that, I have to stop associating with you, and you seemed pretty normal up until now. C’mon dude, we’re just tryin to have fun, you’re not trying out for Nick Lachey’s new gospel choir. Especially when you're attempting to harmonize with people who are completely unaware of what ‘s about to go down. And it's about to go down, like Chinatown. The same goes for breaking out your dance moves at a wedding. Take a seat, you're poppin and lockin and grinding up on my 80 year old Great Aunt. I can fuckin taste the awkwardness.

 

Admit it, you know every word to the Golden Girls theme song…and that is nothing to be ashamed of.

If someone asks you how you are, and you answer, “Livin the dream”, with zero sense of irony…then you’re a tool.

Why is it that those nerdy college professors and Historians who talk on History channel specials and things like that, always act like they knew the people personally and were there during various events in history? They give all too detailed descriptions and strangely specific accounts of things that happened like hundreds of years ago. You got Bernard Theodore Jeevinsons, History Professor from UPenn and he’s all, “The thing was, when Abraham Lincoln first saw his wife that day, he laughed at her, but more of a low pitched chuckle. This was because she was wearing an excessive amount of rouge on her cheeks! And I’ll tell you this, she was not happy at his reaction, she scoffed and then poured herself an ice cold glass of orangeade and retreated into her study.” Seriously, how the fuck do you know that? Were you hiding in a cupboard with a bifocal and a pipe? They all have these weird high horse attitudes, as if they were there having cocoa and crumpets with all of these historical figures. I bet all of their sexual fantasies are about people that have been dead for hundreds of years like, “I have this fantasy of me and Harriet Tubman, she’s wearing a long ripped up skirt and a rag on her head, she's filthy, but she has this sparkle in her eye when she looks at me, and then I proceed to show her my underground railroad…if you know what I’m saying…get it? I’m talking about my penis.”

I’d be embarrassed if I died from a bow and arrow...cause it’s kind of like being stabbed, but from a really far distance...awwwkward.

Is R Kelly not one of the most amazing human beings EVER? I mean what man can bounce back from peeing on an underage girl ON film and continue to come out with mediocre music while still holding a firm grasp on his street cred? Can someone give this guy an award for awesomeness? He seems like he’s doing just fine, and I gotta high five him on that. I think what really impresses me most about his music, is that it’s basically just him talking about creepy shit with a beat underneath. Example A of course is the 476 chapters of “Trapped in the Closet.” This story-song involves prison escapes, affairs, midgets, gun fights, fat women, resurrections, and so much more. And the fact that ALL the characters are lip-synching to R.Kelly’s voice, just knock me over with a feather why don’t you! Obviously I could write pages on the fabulosity of this series of song/speeches, but I wanna focus on the latter. So I thought, now how is this astonishing man going to top himself? And then he comes out with Real Talk ; I’m really hoping everyone is familiar with this song. Otherwise, click the link, you'll be so glad you did. It’s just him on his cell phone being verbally abusive and sexist, fighting with his girlfriend for a few minutes about how one of her friends saw him with someone else at a strip club. Literally, that’s it…and there’s a beat underneath, and then every few minutes he says “This is gonna be real talk.” What?! How did a record label release this? It’s level of amazement makes even David Copperfield tip his hat and curtsy like a young Japanese school girl. How’s he gonna top this one? His next song will probably just be him at the bank depositing checks, putting gas in his Escalade, and picking up his dry cleaning, and then randomly he’ll be like “I’m keepin it fuck-in reeeeaaaal.” And it’ll just be him doing errands all day. And you know what..fuck it, I’ll buy it.

 

Do you know when an animal or a baby is so cute that it actually maxes out the cuteness scale? And the next step off the scale is just pure unadulterated violence. You find yourself so overwhelmed by its sheer adorableness that you can no longer express it by cuddling, petting and talking about how cute it is. You see a little puppy and sometimes it’s literally just too much to emotionally handle. And you have the compulsion to rip it apart and chuck it with all your might against a wall, breaking every bone in it’s tiny body, because it’s so fucking adorable there is no possible way to express that….No?Just me?

 

So here’s the thing. I’ve literally found the cutest puppy on this planet.  And I know what you’re saying “Wow, that’s a big claim, I’m gonna need evidence.” So here we go.

 

My close friend just bought a puppy named Curtis.  This dog is so fucking cute, I wanna bite off it’s head and drink it’s blood through a straw..THAT cute.  So he’s taken all these pictures of Curtis just living life, playin, running through fields, and has been sending them to me.  I also took pictures on my phone a couple weeks ago, and it’s the background of my computer as well, so needless to say I love this dog. So this weekend I’m at an after hours party and it’s around 3 am.  I have my phone and start asking if anyone wants to see the cutest  dog imaginable. One of the guys I was with had his girlfriend there and the conversation went pretty much as follows.

 

Me: Who wants to see a picture of a puppy so adorable you might have to murder it?

Girlfriend: I don’t know, Brandon found this puppy that he’s been sending me pics of, that might be cuter.

Brandon: It’s true, I’ll bet this dog is cuter than yours. I can’t take it. I’ve sent pictures to everyone I know, and I check the dog’s Facebook incessantly.  He’s smiling in one of the pictures! SMILING. I’m unhealthily obsessed. I found him on this website.

Me: Ok, well I’ll bet this puppy is cuter. Take a look and be the judge.

(I hand the girlfriend my phone and she starts flipping through pics)

Girl: Oh my God. Wow, Brandon, this looks exactly like the puppy you’re obsessed with.

(Brandon now grabs my phone, and looks through the pics)

Brandon: Holy fucking shit, this is the dog. THIS IS THE PUPPY.  CURTIS!  I found him on cuteoverload.com.  I can’t believe it!

Me: Wait, what?

Brandon: This is the cutest puppy on earth, I want him. He’s my computer background. This is the same God damn dog.

 

 

So yes, it turns out people told my friend Sean to put pictures of his puppy on cuteoverload.com and since then he’s developed quite a fan base from it. He’s even going to be in a promo on the Game Show network. By sheer coincidence we were all obsessed with the same little guy.  Ok, now get ready to projectile vomit everywhere from your body not knowing how to physically react from such precious wonderment.

 

 

 

 

 

 

If you’ve just signed up for Classmates.com, I’m gonna say odds are you aren’t someone I ever wanna reconnect with.

 

 

Has there ever been a time in all of history, when someone starts or ends a sentence with “No offense” and actually means it? Those two words are in actuality to drill in the fact that “Just in case you weren’t sure if this was an offensive statement, just to be absolutely clear, you should definitely take this personally.” It’s like an added sarcastic bonus thrown in to give you a metaphoric slap across the face.

 

“No offense, but I’m not about to take relationship advice from you, I mean your romantic history is like Dawson’s Creek on the fucking Titanic.”

 

“ Wow, your wife looks kinda like Charles Manson and Roseanne Barr had a baby, no offense.”

 

“I’d rather you not make me a mix CD, cause your taste in music is like super shitty. No offense.”

 

It’s also fun to mix things up and just add “no offense” to really generic statements to make people wrack their brain as to how the fuck it has anything to do with them.

 

“Did you hear about that 400 pound man in prison who lost like 90 pounds and is now suing the prison for malnutrition…No offense.”

 

Wait, what?

 

 

The car I just bought has all manual locks and windows. Somehow I didn’t notice this until I took it home. It took a lot of getting used to. Manual door locks makes it really hard to be casually prejudice. There’s no smooth way to lock my doors. I always end up leaning across to the passenger side, as my seatbelt pulls in the most obvious way possible and it looks like I’m about to take a fucking nap across my car. How am I supposed to protect myself from what looks like some sketchy Mexicano gang member who happens to be on the market for a stellar 2003 Toyota Echo? I mean really. Manual windows are also a fucking Amish nightmare. They make the art of car flirting a whole lot douchier. It seems like these guys always pull up to my passenger side, so again, here I go reaching across my car horizontally to roll down my window at a red light. By the time it’s halfway down I’ve managed to light the city of Fresno with the wind power I generated, and the light’s fuckin green…great.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Yo. How’s everyone doin? My name’s Lauryn and I’ll be representin JERSEY.  I’m Adam McKay’s assistant and part of this cozy Gary Sanchez family. And I got some thoughts on life I wanna share with you all. Word em up.

 

As I sat stoned off my ass the other night watching The Host of Double Dare explain how they make Junior Mints on “Unwrapped”, I realized that The Food Network is like porn for stoners. Sure it’s cool and kinda exciting to watch, and it looks sooo good, but ultimately you aren’t gonna get to eat any of it.  Sure you can pop in a Lean Cuisine and you'll satisfy the hunger, but it's no Bobby Flay...and that’s when you realize how sad you are. 

 

I never thought there could be a person I would simultaneously want to be, but also wanna bang.  Then Robert Downey Jr. walked into my life.  Listen, I’m not a love struck teenager with Joey Lawrence posters on her bedroom, I’m a 26 year old woman who realizes there is no feasible way for me to end up with this guy. And yet, I can’t stop thinking about how, dreamy he is. There, I said it.  He’s a gottdamn dream boat.  I mean, look at him?

 

 

But while the fact remains that I would love to make a Jr. Jr. for him, and drink coffee on a winter morning by one of those huge picture windows up high in a NYC apt while it’s snowing and we’re in robes because we just had a marathon of lovemaking…I also kinda wanna be him.  He’s literally the epitome of cool. He’s got street cred, he went down the drug road, he was in the fuckin big house, but then he’s like, guess what? Watch me bounce back like a mutha fucka.  And so it was. He’s the definition of the bad boy with a soft side. I mean he’s IRON MAN… and now he’s going to be playing a white guy playing a black dude in the upcoming comedy “Tropic Thunder.”  It’s just too much. On a totally unrelated note, what crosses the legality line and makes someone accountable for “stalking”? 

 

 

 

 If you think Carlos Mencia is funny, you should probably kill yourself.

 

 The new commercial for Extra gum shows the piece of gum standing up like a slender body and then proceeds to call it the perfect 5 calorie snack. You know what I consider a perfect 5 calorie snack? A bag of tostitos, a bowl of salsa, and side of guacamole. Oh wait, 5 calories? Nothing, cause it DOESN’T FUCKING EXIST. I really hope they tag on an eating disorder hotline at the end of those commercials, so after these women nod their heads in agreement of Extra’s claim, they can immediately call the hotline and explain how fucked up they are. Who in their right mind considers gum a snack? Possibly the same people that consider a head of Iceberg lettuce a hearty meal, and those people are called anorexic. Hey, with this line of thinking I got a great pitch for Aquafina, how bout, “Water, it’s what’s for dinner.” 

 

 

If you have children and after seeing a Sunny D commercial, you think, “I should add that to the grocery list,"... you’re a terrible mother.