The word tabernacle is one of those words that sounds like it should mean something other than its actual meaning.  I think it sounds more like a synonym for the word clusterfuck.  For example, a news reporter covering a riot might say:

It’s utter chaos down here, Jim.  People breaking into buildings, turning over cars… an all out tabernacle of theft and violence.

It would also make the Mormon Tabernacle Choir a hell of a lot more awesome.

The next time a woman tells you the birth of her first child was easy, tell her it was probably easy because of her used-up vagina. Then tell her how it was a joke, but since she had a kid it might as well be used up anyway. Then laugh and say that her husband told you to say that. Now it’s in his hands.

A friend of mine has a subscription to Out Magazine. I saw a few issues in his bathroom and I confronted him about it and asked why he hasn’t publicly come out. He said that it was just a mistake and he meant to get Outside Magazine, but he must have checked the wrong box on the magazine order form, and he keeps it around because some of the articles are pretty good.  I told him that made sense and it made for a pretty funny story.  We had a laugh and then I remembered I had forgotten to grab a towel from the bathroom so he could wipe my semen off his face. We shared another good laugh because I can be really forgetful sometimes.

Just imagine you trekked through a treacherous jungle for weeks with nothing to sustain you but bread and water, all the while climbing the highest mountains and crossing the deepest, disease-ridden rivers, all in order to ask the wisest of all elders the meaning of life, and at the top of the tallest peak after your incredible journey you meet him and discover the elder doesn’t speak a word of English. What would you do? I’d probably throw him off the mountain because there’s not much to do up there and not many people can say they threw a guy off a mountain.

What makes the world’s best invisible spy? One that would only occasionally take time out to masturbate in public. Every other invisible spy would be masturbating in public way too often, laughing and snickering, and that is just no good for the business of invisible spying.

I believe the Olympics should be the Special Olympics and the Special Olympics just the plain Olympics. The Olympians who can run 400 meters in under 45 seconds or swim 100 meters in under 22 seconds are special. You’re not special because you have a dent in your head and a lisp. You’re just fucking retarded.

You ever piss in the shower? How about the bathtub? You ever piss in the bathtub, forget you did, then take in a mouthful of water and spray it through your teeth, pretending that you are a giant putting out fires in a little village? Did you get disgusted for a minute because you realized you just took in a mouth full of piss water? I’ll bet you did it again anyway. It’s fun to be a giant.

The pope's hat is called a mitre, and it is filled with candy and hung from a tree branch in Vatican City on the pope's birthday. The cardinals then each take turns trying to break the mitre open, while blindfolded, with a 34 inch wooden cross made by Louisville Slugger.

The other day on Twitter, somebody started the hashtag #popefacts.  As you can guess, these are facts about the Papacy.  Many people began posting facts, some true, some not so true.  Below are the pope facts that I contributed, all of which are 100% factual:

Before he was pope, John Paul II once dunked over Moses Malone in an ABA exhibition game.

To this day, scholars maintain that Pope Clement XII was the ugliest man to ever hold the Papacy.

While Vatican City was under reconstruction in 1955, Pope Pius XII briefly held residence in a motel in Hoboken, New Jersey.

Angelo Roncalli became Pope John XXIII after defeating the other cardinals in a papal conclave poker tournament.

A little known but always enforced papal rule: Anyone who can defeat the pope in a staring contest gets to keep his mitre.

Pope John Paul II nearly lost the Papacy after misusing the Popemobile for late night drive-by baptisms with holy water balloons.

Yellowstone National Park. If you’re into nature and you go to a place like that, you’re ruined. That’s it. You’re ruined. Almost nothing else is the same. And I mean really go to Yellowstone, too. Not just taking the beaten path that every tourist and their retarded kids take to spend a day in the park so they can tell their easily impressed friends and co-workers that they saw Yellowstone. I mean a few miles down a trail hardly traveled. The places 95% of the people fail to see. That Yellowstone. When you see that Yellowstone, the state park located 45 minutes from your house might as well be the shade tree in the middle of town where homeless people go to shit. It can’t even hope to compare.

Yellowstone is a giant dick. Not an asshole. I’m talking male genitalia. A massive, pulsating, hard-on, fired up with a natural testosterone high and two or three Viagra to boot. Pretend you’re a girl who has been fucking guys working with 5 or 6 inches her whole life. Eventually, if you’re not too quick to ruin your life and get married, you’re gonna fuck a guy with a Yellowstone. A fat, 10-inch monster cock that you can barely fit in your mouth, never mind a full on, past-the-tonsils deep throat. Once you’ve had that, you’re ruined. Just ruined. Now you’ve got a big, loose, crater-like vagina, and everything you’ve had before is like a train headed down a tunnel: that train might go in hard and fast, doing its best to make you happy and get you there on time, but that thing is on a track… if it can’t hit the walls to do any damage and fuck some shit up on the way, then what’s the point?

Ah, yes. The wonders of Yellowstone.

I was reading a shampoo bottle the other day at Wal-Mart. The bottle said it was for “colored hair.” I’m no expert, but I’m pretty sure black people don’t like being called that anymore.