I’d like to take a moment to thank The Recession.

Thank you, Recession, for forcing movie theaters to cut costs so that I can still have a little enjoyment between pulling my hair out every time I look at my bank account. (Because pretty soon I’m gonna need a weave.)

I give you, the Five Buck Club.

This is so awesome, we need a new word for awesome.

The Gist:
You sign up.
It’s 100% free. No fee at any time.
You get a little card in the mail.
Next time you want to go see a movie when it’s in theaters without waiting for the DVD release a year later, you tote your handy-dandy card and hold it up to the teller and yell, “SHA-ZAM!” and get into the movie for only $5.

(Note: You do not have to say shazam. But I sure as hell will.)

While this card is only good at Kerasotes Theaters, there’s a lot of them. And before you sign up you can check which theaters in your area participate.

The only slight catch is you have to wait until the movie is out a few weeks. But who cares? Opening weeks are too crowded anyway. Watching movies in the front row sucks ass. I’m done doing that forever.

And, the website will even send you email updates of what movies you can see that week for just 5 bucks. Like the sexy personal assistant you never had.

You know what this means: more money for stale nachos and over-priced Sour Patch Kids!

Hello bigger wallet wad, goodbye skinny jeans.

Harmony in the world is finally restored.

Service was great, food was even better. Overall, it was a party in my tummy. With helium tanks and all.

That is, until, I was walking out the door only to be bombarded with merchandise.

Shirts.
Hoodies.
Key chains.
Bookbags.
Condoms. (Oops, I was thinking of the bathroom at the bowling alley. My bad.)

It must be noted that this was NOT a touristy place like Rainforest Cafe. It was a regular old diner.

I can kinda get why those tourist traps are all about grabbing fanny-pack wearin’ people’s money. They deserve it.

But a diner? For non-camera toting locals? Really?

I’ve started noticing this at more restaurants. It makes no sense to me. Just because I love your eggs benedict does NOT mean I want to be a human billboard.

And the T-shirts weren’t even cute! And at $25 a pop, I’d rather go in 2 more times and stuff my face to the point of gluttony instead of trying to squeeze in a too-short too-tight baby tee.

Can you imagine if it was the other way around? Like if Victoria’s Secret offered Clam Chowder?

On second thought, it might help guys deal better with the shopping nightmare: “Here ya go, dude. Enjoy this delicious burger while you stare at falsely-proportioned mannequins wearing thongs and push-up bras that make your girlfriend look like Kirstie Alley.”

Bottom line, eating out and buying clothes under the same roof DON’T MIX.

And if these places want to advertise, they should do it the old fashioned way: By getting a homeless person to walk around in a sandwich board passing out flyers announcing their specials.

Now THAT is the kind of marketing that makes me wanna eat.

Mostly because its name — “Swine Flu” — doesn’t live up to its increasingly frightening reputation. I mean, when I hear “Ebola” or “The Black Plague”, I know I’m dealing with trouble. But “Swine Flu” just makes me think of Babe the Pig lying in bed with a fever. Little did I know that Babe would turn out to be the harbinger of death.

Granted, it’s certainly not a laughing matter. Around 150 people have already died from it.

And walking outside and seeing those extra-precautionary people sporting cotton masks makes me realize this is for real.

However, in an attempt to laugh in the face of despair, I have thought of some interesting ways that people could make some money off of the current state of affairs:

DESIGNER MASKS:
Selling masks with pig noses probably isn’t going to go over well. So, why not class them up a little? Get Louis Vitton and Chanel to start designing uber-trendy facial masks. Who knows? They might catch on even after we get this under control.

T-SHIRTS:
When that college kid got tazed, a ton of people bough t-shirts with his plea on it. So, why not make equally ridiculous T-shirts that say, “Don’t Even Come Remotely Near Me If You’ve Recently Returned From A Trip To Mexico, Or, As God Is My Witness, I Will Not Hesitate To Taze You, Bro!” You could make a fortune.

FESTIVAL:
We could ask Pink Floyd if we may borrow his giant inflatable pig. Then have a festival where people take turns shooting giant white-blood-cell balls at moving cardboard pigs. If they win, however, there will be NO stuffed animal pigs. Only monkeys, purple dinosaurs, and a giant stuffed Scooby Doo. And maybe some live goldfish.

If nothing else, this Swine Flu should get you to realize that life is short. One day you could be complaining about being broke, and the next be laid up in some hospital with a pig disease.

My advice? Live life to the fullest. Buy those baseball tickets. Splurge on that extra-large value meal.

But maybe hold the bacon.

Poor, corrupt Gov. Blagojevich. He can’t seem to catch a break.

If you haven’t heard, and whether or not you care, Blago got DE-NIED.

He hoped to be granted permission to go to paradise, aka Costa Rica to be part of the NBC reality show, “I’m a Celebrity…Get Me Out of Here.”

The judge basically said “Helllll no.” (Note: He didn’t really say that. That was my inferred sub-text.)

According to the Chicago Sun-Times, he was going to rank in the dough– a whopping $123,000.

But don’t feel bad for good old Vichy. He still has a fabulous head of hair.

Perhaps he can grow it out, Michael Bolton style, and sell that for cash.

But, he’s supposedly already received an advance of $21,000 for a book deal, slated to hit the shelves in October.

If you were looking forward to his appearance, fear not– there will still be plenty of a-hole “celebrities” to watch get naked, make-out, freak out, fight, and get drunk– including Spencer Pratt and Heidi Montag, Sanjaya (former 15-min tween heart-throb contestant on American Idol), Duane “Dog the Bounty Hunter” Chapman, Janice Dickinson, and world’s greatest mustache grower, Geraldo Rivera.

Here’s an idea for a reality show: How about we take a bunch of NICE people with FAMILIES who lost their jobs, send THEM on a vacation to paradise, and give THEM a ton of money.

Ahhh who am I kidding?! We drama-hungry Americans don’t want to see boring regular down-and-out people having a good time! WE WANT FILTH! WE WANT SCANDAL! WE WANT TO LAUGH AT RUN-DOWN CELEBRITIES MAKING COMPLETE ASSES OF THEMSELVES BECAUSE IT MAKES US FEEL BETTER ABOUT OUR SHITTY LIVES!

I’m sure Blago would have provided great fodder for all the talk shows. Oh well. Maybe he’ll get a shot at guest-starring on one of the million Law & Orders. (Anyone else super-excited for Law & Order: Foul Odor Task Force?)

No word if he’s planning on selling his place on the reality show.

Move to Texas and all your problems will be solved. (Added Bonus: You can walk around in ass-less chaps.)

Forbes recently came out with a new report about where jobs are prominent, and growth is eminent.

Texas dominated the top 5 cities — in descending order: Dallas; Fort Worth; San Antonio; Houston; Austin.

Well, that’s great news, ya’ll. So jump in your RV and head on down to the Lone-Star state.

As for me, I will not be moving to Texas any time soon, for the following reasons:

- I refuse to wear a cowboy hat. In fact, I loathe them. Almost as much as I loathe mullets. The only person who ever looked good sporting a Stetson was John Wayne.

- I have no desire to attend rodeos, unless Borat will be making an appearance. Watching grown men being thrashed around on some angry-ass bull is NOT my idea of fun. But then again, I also am not a fan of cock-fighting.

- Hearing the plural of you as “ya’ll” dropped an average of 50 times in 2 sentences gives me hives. (Although, to be fair, I get equally as aggravated when my very-Italian-uncle says “youse.”)

- Do not, will not, can not ever like country music.

- I suck at Texas Hold ‘Em. And I don’t know when to fold ‘em.

(NOTE: I’ve just been informed that Texans love their guns. A lot. So, please accept my apologies for any offense the previous stereotypes may have caused. It’s all just for fun, anyways. If it’ll make you feel better, you can leave your opinions of us Yanks in the comments…)

Ok, nothing gets people to come together like a group song.

So come on, ya’ll! Sing with me!

The stars at night
Are big n’ bright
(clap clap clap clap!)
Deep in the hearrrrt, of Texas….

According to the dictionary, a tip is “a small present of money given directly to someone for performing a service or menial task; gratuity.”

I’ve worked and slaved in the food service industry on and off for 10 years. I know what it’s like to meet ridiculous demands from ignorant patrons — like ordering several drinks that contain ONLY 4 ice cubes. So with a section full of hungry people, I’m trying to scoop out single ice cubes with a huge shovel. (Trust me, it’s not easy. And REALLY annoying when you’re in a rush.)

And after my award-winning service and a (phony) smile, I cannot tell you the rage I’d feel once I looked at the check, only to discover a bare-bones next-to-nothing tip.

(Note: Due to those painful memories, I always give 20%.)

Back to the definition of tip — it is meant to be given after receiving a service– you tip the bellhop, the valet, the stripper, or any other profession in which people are taking care of you.

Scanning my $1.99 Vitamin Water, however, does NOT warrant a tip.

Tip jars are like herpes. They are popping up everywhere I go these days.

The most recent culprits? Starbucks and 711.

Let me express why the tip jar at Starbucks annoys me.

My friend was going through the drive-thru, and the employee literally held the tip jar out the window when taking his money. I could see if he got some crazy-ass grande three-pump non-fat skinny extra hot freshly ground triple cream latte, but all he got was a regular coffee. You get a cup, hold it under the spout, pull the lever, and put on the lid.

Does 10 seconds of effort count as a service?

Likewise, at the 711 next to my apartment, there is a tip jar. I have to laugh every time I see it. Especially because the “service” there is the WORST! There’s always a line. That’s because one employee is usually having a phone conversation with her friend (for all to hear) about her two-timing boyfriend, while the other moves like every bone in her body is broken. When it takes 8 minutes to get one drink that I go and get myself, that ain’t good service in my book.

Although, I am pretty involved in that woman’s relationship saga, as a result.

Perhaps I’ll put this in the tip jar: “If he keeps cheating on you, he doesn’t love you. Leave him and find a new guy so you can be happy and do your job.”

I think that’s better than 20%.

Everyone knows the economy blows:
Less money for Twilight books, phone sex, and clothes.
But it’s time to start singing a jolly good tune
That’ll help you stop thinking ’bout financial ruin

Think of puppies and chocolate and really good porn
To make all your insides feel fuzzy and warm
Start dancing and singing or get really high
Or flash senior citizens as their cars drive by.

Don’t worry if you lost your job
To some younger, hotter obnoxious snob
You always sought an excuse to quit
So say goodbye to shitty work shit

Either way, it’s for the best
Now there’s time to get some rest
Catch up on reading TTB
And watch “Battlefield Earth” on DVD.

So cheer up, chum and don’t you fret
The better you feel, the more you’ll get
The more you get, the better you’ll feel,
….So eat your beans with every meal!

(Note: I stole that last line from the Bean Fart song.)

The Obama Chia Pet… the Snuggie… and now…

THE ROPELESS FUCKING JUMP ROPE.

(click on pic above for larger view… if you dare)

I cannot contain my outrage.

It’s the latest invention that makes me really begin to loathe the human species. Or at least those who buy stupid crap.

Ok. So they make some promising claims:

-Jumping rope is one of the fastest ways to get in shape. (Yeah, I saw Rocky.)

-You can burn as many calories in 10 minutes as you can running for 30 minutes. (Hm.. Interested…)

-Jumping rope is “hard” and takes a lot of “skill” (Really? Then it should be considered child abuse that they made us do it in 2nd grade gym class.)

Now you can do it by looking like an asshole with jump rope handles, minus the rope. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you The Jump Snap.

It makes a snapping sound like a rope. Without the rope.

But, by far, the most annoying selling point:

–Even if you can’t jump, just bend your knees and you’ll still get great results.

Are they high? Now you can lose weight by just moving up and down?!?

That’s like going up to your boss and saying, “Hey, I’m not gonna work today– I think I’ll just spend my 7 hours playing Snood. But I’d still like to get paid since I went through the effort of showing up. Thanks.”

The cost of an invisible jump rope? $49.95.

Although… that seems cheap compared to the price of humiliation you will face as your neighbors point and laugh at “the fool jumping over an invisible rope.”

Even more embarrassing? If you trip over the invisible jump rope.

But I’d like to thank Jump Snap for annoying me enough to get my blood boiling. I’m sure I burned a few calories just thinking about it.

Some low-life a-holes posing as Publisher’s Clearing House have created a very convincing scheme.

Pretty simple. Pretend you’re a legit company, send the victim a check, tell them to cash it and then send HALF of the deposit elsewhere. Problem is, the only half that counts is the one the victim writes from her own dilapidated checkbook.

I mean, that could be someone’s college fund! Or birthday money! Or down payment for a Malawi child! (Except if you’re Madonna.)

Makes me sick. People are so desperate for cash these days that vulnerability is inevitable.

So, as payback for these low-lifes, I’m going to go to my personal voodoo doctor and curse them with the following:

- A sudden and permanent case of testicular elephantitis.

- Cover them with glue and bird seed, and strap them to any bench in any park. Then watch the fun begin.

- My definition of jail: Sitting front row at Carrot Top’s show, 6 shows a week. For the rest of their (or his) lives (life).

- Force them to eat an entire bucket of wasabi peas. Then lock away the Pepto-Bismol.

- Tattoo “JoBro Fan 4 Life” on their foreheads.

Ahhh, fantasies. I feel better already.

When should Alzheimer’s patients stop driving?
I’m no doctor, but my guess is WHEN THEY GET DIAGNOSED WITH FUCKING ALZHEIMER’S!

Winners at Annual Academy of Country Music Awards
Lemme guess. Truck driver, Redneck, and Toby Keith took top honors.

BBC apologizes over jokes about jockey’s teeth
Those who live in glass houses…

Thief nabbed with 68 tubes of toothpaste
Well we know he wasn’t a jockey.

Woman divorces husband for cleaning too much
She probably got a suck buddy. Move over, hubby.