Archive for the 'Shoot Screw or Marry' Category

You guys, why are zombie nurse tattoos a thing? You know what, don’t answer that. I don’t want to know.

Because it’s not Halloween without sexy nurses, and because it’s not ZOMBIE WEEK without zombies, and because it’s Friday, let’s just Shoot, Screw, or Marry us some sexy zombie nurses, shall we?

If you’re just joining us, the rules are simple. You have to decide which sexy zombie nurse you’d kill with a high-powered rifle while running away through the abandoned streets of a major city, which one you’d have a hot one-bite stand (I’m sorry) with, and which one you’d settle down with to spend the rest of your brain chomping days.

Our first zombie nurse is here to take your blood pressure and inject you with the ooze from Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles II.

Next we have a zombie eating intestines, or possibly trying to shove them in her ear. I can’t really tell.

And finally we have what is either a staggering zombie nurse or me trying to get home after a long night of drinking.

Today’s tattoos are pretty awesome, so this should be easy, assuming you find it easy to imagine yourself doing it with the walking dead (I know you do, you sick bastards). As for me, I’m not a big fan of needles, so I’ll shoot SZN #1. Screw SZN #3, because you know what they say about zombies in red shoes. And since a bowl of menudo is about the only thing that will cure my hangover after any given Halloween party, I think SZN #2 is my best gal.

Happy Friday, kids! Put your picks in the comments, and put your eyes on today’s vote page if you want more sexy zombie nurses.

Well kids, it’s the end of the week and some of you might need a little lubrication to keep your brain parts going through the rest of the day. If dissolving a packet of Emergen-C in a mugful of vodka isn’t your thing (at least not before lunch), then get out your poppy seed bagel, because today’s Shoot, Screw, or Marry is all about . . .

Butter!

Making vegetables unhealthy since olden times!

And making unhealthy snack foods into deadly, life-shortening poison since my dad invented putting butter on doughnuts in 1988.

This one’s easy for me: Shoot the muffin. Buttered breakfast pastries are disgusting. Everyone knows you put Nutella on muffins. Buttered corn is delicious, but that crap gets stuck in my teeth, so it’s more likely to happen as a drunken, post-bbq one-night-stand. And baked potato: you are the apple of my pie, the onion dip on my Ruffles chip, the Awesome to my Blossom. I love you. Run away with me.

Your picks in the comments. Have a good weekend and try not to have a heart attack.

While we never seem to have any shortage of cheesecake around here, I thought that maybe we needed a little something for the rest of us. So without further ado, here’s some eye candy to help you ladies and gentlegays get through this Friday. Enjoy!

This is Kevin. Kevin enjoys long walks on the beach, eating nacho-sliced jalapeños straight out of the jar, and hell, let’s just say that he also likes making brownies while I watch a Law & Order: SVU marathon since I’m just making all of this up anyway, including the fact that his name is Kevin.

Say hello to Jonah. Jonah doesn’t need one of those anti-static cloths to wipe off his negatives because he can just use the mop on top of his head.

And this is Hans. Hans tried to audition for a role on Metalocalypse before realizing that it’s a cartoon. We don’t like Hans for his brains.

I would suggest that we Shoot, Screw, or Marry, but I don’t know if I can play that game with actual people instead of disembodied tattoos. It just feels wrong. Then again, screwing Hans would be wrong and I’d still do that, so I’ll just throw in that I would shoot Jonah and marry Kevin. Your picks in the comments!

Well guys, it’s been an exhausting week, and I can’t think of a better way to wipe the sweat from my wearied brow than with an iconic mustache. Which is why today’s Shoot, Screw, or Marry is brought to you by . . .

Tom Selleck! Do yourself a favor and listen to the Magnum, P.I. theme while playing along. Your coworkers in adjoining cubicles will glue your phone receiver to the base while you’re out to lunch thank you.

Whenever someone assaults me with a Chuck Norris Fact, I’ve always mentally replaced “Chuck Norris” with “Tom Selleck’s mustache.” Don’t ask me why. It’s just a habit of mine, like saving the marshmallows in my Lucky Charms for last and snorting crushed-up OxyContin nail biting.

And finally, Tom Selleck responsibly enjoying a fine malt beverage.

OKAY, I know that’s Billy Dee Williams, but I didn’t have another Tom Selleck tattoo and I needed three. So today the role of Tom Selleck #3 will be played by Billy Dee Williams. Just pretend that you’re watching a daytime soap. They do this kind of thing all the time. I’ve heard.

Anyway, I’m going to have to shoot Tom Selleck #2. Cute, but boring, like a Jennifer Aniston movie. Screw #3, because drinking Colt 45 has that effect me. And obviously I’m going to marry Magnum. A guy who lives rent-free with a mini-fridge full of beer sounds a lot like an ex-boyfriend of mine but totally is NOT because the ex-boyfriend lived in his parents’ house and Magnum P.I. lives Hawaii.

If, when you leave your picks in the comments, you prefer to call this one “Murder, Mustache Ride, or Marry” I’ll understand.

I watched Jersey Shore for the first time ever this week, and GOOD LORD. That which has been seen, etc., etc.

Anyway, I figure that the best way to cleanse the image of Snooki saying she wants to “get it in” from my mind is to foist it upon the rest of you. Enjoy.

First up is, well, Snooki, of course. I didn’t catch the episode where she wore a jellyfish on her head. Maybe I should keep watching.

Next is a map to Snooki. Spoiler alert: she’s in New Jersey.

Finally, the Snooki Monster.

I was going to turn this post into a round of Shoot Screw Smush, or Marry, but I’m not really DTGVD (Down to Get Venereal Disease), so I’m just going to leave it at that. You guys can play at your own risk.

Is it sacrilegious to play Shoot, Screw, or Marry with our lord and savior? HA HA HA do you like how the person who runs the website with Vagina Virgin Mary and Big Boner Jesus is asking about whether or not something is sacrilege?

Well, anyhoo, tomorrow’s the big guy’s b-day, so, assuming he pre-parties like the rest of us, I’m sure he won’t mind. So?

Yes, Jesus is lord, Jesus is great, Jesus is our BFF. But you know what would make Jesus even better? Boobies. Done and done. Church attendance just went up by fifty percent.

Next: Good ol’ Via Dolorosa Jesus. Boring. But hey, who knew that J.C. was related to Judy from The Lawrence Welk Show?

And finally: Jesus looking kind of like I did after that one night when I got tanked at the bar and told that field hockey player that she “didn’t look THAT fat in a skirt” fell down the stairs.

So. Um. How does one go delicately about choosing which Savior to kill, bang, or wed? Let’s just say this: I think that small-handed Jesus would be better off dying for our sins sooner rather than later. No one wants to carry a five-hundred-pound cross with five-centimeter hands.

And is there any question as to whether or not I would bang Jesus Best of Both Worlds (Boobies!) Christ? Didn’t think so.

So I guess that leaves me with marrying busted-face Jesus, which, fine. Chicks love men they have to fix, right? I just hope that he lets us use that walking on water trick when we need a shortcut to Sunday brunch.

Happy birthday Jesus! You know what he probably wants on his special day? For the five of you reading to put your picks in the comments.

Alright kids. It’s Friday and it’s time for a round of Shoot, Screw, or Marry. It’s been a long week and I am way too tired to actually be funny, so I’ve found some other guys to do it for me. Pop the top off your Starbucks cup and pour in some liquor, because here we go:

Submitted by: dunno source via Submission Page

First up is Barf from Spaceballs. He’s his own best friend!

Submitted by: dunno source via Submission Page

Next is Napoleon Dynamite. I actually never saw that movie. But apparently it was great. Or at least one person thought so.

Submitted by: Kevin via Submission Page

And finally, Ron Burgundy from Anchorman, a movie that I love with the fire of a thousand bottles of scotch.

Well, I going to have to shoot Napoleon Dynamite, because that movie hit a little too close to home looked kind of lame. Screw Barf (even though that might be illegal in some states) because you can’t really expect commitment from a mog that travels through space for a living. And I’ll marry Ron Burgundy because I love jazz flute and an apartment that smells of rich mahogany. And I’m a smelly pirate hooker from Whore Island. And I’ve seen that move way too many times.

I’ll try to keep my ranting to a minimum today since there are already too damn many words in these tattoos as it is. Seriously guys, don’t try to read them in their entirety or you’ll be snoring in your cubicle, especially if you’re like me and like to kick off Friday mornings the Irish way, if you know what I’m saying*.

So.

Submitted by: dunno source via Submission Page

I felt stupid for having had to Google this to know it’s an excerpt from Twilight. Misguided youth is misguided.

Submitted by: dunno source via Submission Page

Again, had to Google. It’s the lyrics to “I’m Movin’ On” by Rascal Flatts. Since I’d never listened to Rascal Flatts, I went to Youtube to hear this song before passing judgment on the tattoo.

You. Guys. Owe me.

Submitted by: dunno source via Submission Page

Finally, something I recognize: Hamlet’s soliloquy. You know what else I recognize? The handwriting of the cheerleader named Staci who sat next to me in the 12th-grade English class where we studied Hamlet. I hope Staci got paid when they turned her handwriting into an ugly typeface, because I’m pretty sure her aspirations to become an “international businesswoman slash supermodel” were never realized.

I suppose we should Shoot, Screw, or Marry? I mean, I’ve already been drinking posted three tattoos, so why not?

Shoot: Rascal Flatts. Gross
Screw: Twilight. Crazy in the head, crazy in the bed (as long as you let her call you “Ed”).
Marry: Ugh, FINE, Hamlet. At least she’s presumably read Hamlet. But she probably also goes to Ren Fairs and insists that you call her “Ophelia.”

Alright, your turn.

_{* What? I’m saying that I like milk in my tea, jeez**!}

_{** I’m saying whiskey}

Well, you guys, it’s been forever since we finished off the week with a round of Shoot, Screw, or Marry, hasn’t it? So how about it? If you’re just joining us and don’t know how to play the game, then figure it out yourself, because I don’t have all day to explain these things to you. Ask your boss or something. Tell him it’s for that spreadsheet you’re working on.

Anyway, at the top of the heap:

Submitted by: Eric via Submission Page

. . . we have everyone’s favorite government-subsidized commodity, corn. Good ol’ corn. You like corn, don’t you? Yeah, I thought so. Corn fucker.

Submitted by: On my best friends arm via Submission Page

Next we have, uh, more corn, this time at the . . . other end of its lifecycle. Don’t ask me why it has wings. I just work here.

Could there be anything worse than flying, corn-studded shit, you ask? Why yes, yes there is. What happens when you put together corn, shit, and the letter of the alphabet that brought us the Klan, KFC, Karl Rove, and everything else that’s wrong with this world?

Submitted by: Electrichaze via Submission Page

That’s right! You get Korn, the worst band ever. Go ahead and tell me I’m wrong. All the evidence I need for my argument is stabbed right here on this guy’s torso.

Man, these never get easier, do they? I definitely have to shoot Korn guy, because the only thing worse would be a full-body Limp Bizkit tattoo meant to cover up a Creed tramp stamp. Screw Mr. Hanky’s corny cousin, because that leaves me to marry regular ol’ corn on the cob, which I’m pretty sure can be made into some kind of hard alcohol. Not that I know how to do that. But I’ll figure it out. It’s Friday and I have the Internet.

Maybe it has something to do with my day job (drinking copyediting), but when Friday rolls around, the last thing I want to do is sober up and look at any more bad grammar. And yet, these tattoos leave me with little choice.

So get out your red pens, kids. Now break them open, shake a few drops into your mug of vodka, and tell your boss that it’s just some Kiwi Strawberry Shasta. Because it’s time to make some bad decisions with some bad decisions, or play another round of Shoot, Screw, or Marry.

At the top of the pile:

Submitted by: myspace page via Submission Page

Our frontispiece is inscribed with “Daddies Girl,” leaving us to wonder just how many daddies it took to produce this ugly girl.

Submitted by: bookface via Submission Page

In addition to the grammatical errors, the epigraph seems to be missing an attribution. Wait, I think I hear my phone ringing. Could you guys hold just on a sec? Be right back.

Hello? Oh hey, Tyler, what’s up? Which tattoo are you talking about? The shitty freehand quote with all the missing apostrophes? Oh yeah, I was just talking about that one! You say you don’t want your name within five million miles of it? Yeah, I guess I wouldn’t either. Okay, I’ll talk to you later. No, no, not about that. I never talk about that. I know the rules.

Okay, I’m back. Sorry about that. Anyway, what were we talking about?

Submitted by: Anonymous via Submission Page

Oh, right. Drinking.

I’m going to go ahead and shoot Little Miss “Any Thing,” because people who obsessively quote Fight Club are usually about as interesting as a “Visualize Whirled Peas” bumper sticker. I’ll screw the rum-lover, because I like his aversion to sobriety overalls bulletproof vest.

That leaves marrying Daddies Girl, which I suppose is for the best. Whether that’s supposed to be Daddy or his girl, it doesn’t look like someone I’d want to mess with.

Anyone have any better ideas?