WBKE - Episode 42: JOIN OUR CULT

Kaboom everybody! This week on Will and Bobby Know Everything, I (Will) instantly start telling Bobby something that I knew he'd hate. Turns out I was absolutely right. We very quickly segue into a conversation about what distopian future we're most likely heading for, and play with the rules of time travel! Bobby also invents a new sport, and I absolutely believe it's going to be the next big thing. Fucking so stupid.

Anyway, listen closely to hear the rules for this week's contest! Whoever sends in the most creative explanation for a sound Bobby is making will win an ACTUAL PRIZE! Just send your answer to us at WillAndBobby@gmail.com!

And here’s how to listen:


2. Go to the WBKE iTunes Store page, or search for the show on the Stitcher smart phone app!

3. Read our insanely detailed How to Listen page!

Also be sure to follow us on Twitter (@WillRogers2000 and @BobbyKoester) and like us on Facebook (and find more in our About Us page)! And please feel free to send any comments or questions to us at WillAndBobby@gmail.com!

Remember, we're also looking for people to send in scary stories for a Halloween episode, so please help us out by asking your family and friends if they've ever seen a ghost or experienced anything that chilled them to the bone!

Thanks guys, and enjoy the show!

Episode 43 next week!

WBKE - Episode 41: Fetish Jade

Hey guys, welcome to a very special (VERY NSFW) episode of Will and Bobby Know Everything. Right off the bat, you'll hear Bobby and me giving you this disclaimer: This show sounds like shit (but no show will ever sound this bad again thanks to some new equipment we got), and this is the first show to our knowledge where the guest host seems to be genuinely annoyed by us. We debated all week whether or not to put this episode online, because there are quite a few moments where things get a little tense, but the fact of the matter is that our guests were perfectly friendly and interesting the clear majority of the time, and the tension itself is worth listening to. All in all, it's a rough conversation, but I think it's a great show!

So a huge thanks to our hosts Fetish Jade and Sophie, who I hope understand that my disclaimer is intended to give hopefully objective context for the conversation, and who I hope know we mean no harm! You can find them at FetishJade.com!

And here's how to listen:


2. Go to the WBKE iTunes Store page, or search for the show on the Stitcher smart phone app!

3. Read our insanely detailed How to Listen page!

Also be sure to follow us on Twitter (@WillRogers2000 and @BobbyKoester) and like us on Facebook (and find more in our About Us page)! To win a super sweet prize, send interesting information or personal experiences with fetishes to us at WillAndBobby@gmail.com! If we pick your fact/story, you will win an ACTUAL STUPID PRIZE! Also feel free to send comments/questions/hate mail!

Enjoy the show!

Episode 42 next week!

WBKE - Episode 39: Candy Cane Lips

Hey guys, welcome to Episode 39 of WBKE, hosted by none other than my (Will) sister Kristen Rogers! I can't believe how well this show came out considering that not only was I in a shitty mood as we recorded, but Bobby Skyped in from Brooklyn, because he wasn't feeling well. It's such a goddamn good show. Kristen tells us about a possibly psychopathic woman who comes into her salon, Bobby talks about a weird control freak who came into his bar, and I generally lose my temper about everything! I say this a lot, but this might actually be one of my favorite shows we've ever done!


Click here to listen from your browser!

Click here to go to the iTunes page for the show, or just stream it from the Stitcher smart phone app!

You should also definitely check out Kristen's BLOG and ETSY STORE, because she's one of the funniest/most pleasant people in the world!

Also make sure you subscribe to our YouTube channel, follow Bobby (@BobbyKoester) and me (@WillRogers2000) on Twitter, and like our Facebook page!

We still want you to send in your scary stories! If you have any personal encounters with the supernatural or a favorite scary story, we want to hear about it! Email is at WillAndBobby@gmail.com with spooky stuff that we can read on next month's Halloween show! Also if you have a friend or family member who has a story, get them involved! You can also leave your story for us as a voicemail! Just call us on Skype! Our username is WillAndBobby, and when you call you'll hear a message from me, prompting you to start talking! Please please please send in stories or tell your friends to, I think it'd be a lot of fun to have your stories in the show!

Finally, feel free to email us with comments or questions and please post about us on Facebook and Twitter and shit. Help spread the word! No one knows who we are!

Episode 40 next week!

WBKE - Episode 38: Will and Bobby's Bogus Journey

Booya, everybody! Welcome to this week's WBKE where we're joined once again by Tommy Becker (who last hosted Episode 2!)! This week we're talking about the devil, ghosts, and whether or not I'm going to hell! It's a deep, interesting, goofy conversation, so you'll have to weigh in with your thoughts on the topic!


Click here to listen from your browser!

Click here to go to the iTunes page for the show, or just stream it from the Stitcher smart phone app!

Now then, you can find Tommy's band, The Emulators, at their site www.The-Emulators.com, and if you're in NJ, go to their show at the Ivy Inn in Princeton on October 6th! Tell Tommy we sent you and maybe he'll blow you a kiss! I wish I could be there!

Also make sure you subscribe to our YouTube channel, follow Bobby (@BobbyKoester) and me (@WillRogers2000) on Twitter, and like our Facebook page!

And we still want you to send in your scary stories! If you have any personal encounters with the supernatural or a favorite scary story, we want to hear about it! Email is at WillAndBobby@gmail.com with spooky stuff that we can read on next month's Halloween show! Also if you have a friend or family member who has a story, get them involved!

Also email us with comments or questions and please post about us on Facebook and Twitter and shit, help spread the word!

Episode 39 next week!

WBKE - Episode 36: Writing

This week on WBKE, Bobby and I are joined again by my girlfriend, Allie, and we have a conversation about writing, a topic all three of us have particular opinions of. We read about 50 Shades of Grey, get philosophical about the concept of freedom, and then Allie tells us about her experiences writing for a summer theater program with one of the slimiest pieces of shit we've ever met! It's fucked up and hilarious. Also, Bobby suggests a new theme song for the show... Click here to listen, or get it on iTunes or the Stitcher app for smartphones!

Also, make sure you check out our new YouTube show Car Friends, which we'll be putting online every Wednesday! And when you  watch it, make sure you subscribe to the channel!

We also have a new entry of Will and Bobby Wrote Something, which I'm pretty proud of. Click here to read it!

Other than that, make sure you follow us on Twitter (@WillRogers2000 and @BobbyKoester), like us on Facebook, and help spread the word about us! We're still a small obscure operation, so please tell your friends about us!

You can also email us at WillAndBobby@gmail.com for any comments or questions!

Episode 37 next week!

Announcing Will and Bobby Present: Car Friends with Will and Bobby

IT'S A BIG DAY, YOU DUMMIES! Bobby and I are excited to announce our very first video series, Car Friends with Will and Bobby. We decided to record the conversations we have when I pick Bobby up from the bus station, because those conversations are even stupider than the bullshit we say on Will and Bobby Know Everything! So kick back, relax, and watch me laugh at Bobby telling poop jokes about Batman:


I hope you guys enjoy the show, it's a weekly series, up every Wednesday! Subscribe to our YouTube channel, tell everyone you know about it, and feel free to email us your love at WillAndBobby@gmail.com!

WBKE - Episode 35: When I Was Your Age Part Two

Hey guys, welcome to Part Two of When I Was Your Age. Last week we had my (Will's) father Richard Rogers as a guest, and now we have my mother, Kathie Rogers. In this episode we learn a lot. A lot. So much that my mom asked if we could put a disclaimer at the top of the show. It's amazing. We delve into topics like dating, getting in trouble, and then we find out what mom was doing when she was Bobby's and my age. It's a great show!

So click here to listen from your browser!

Or get it on iTunes (click here), or find it on the free smartphone app Stitcher!

Also note that Bobby and I have our own Twitter handles now, so follow us and find us everywhere else online by going to our About Us section!

That's about it other than the fact that we just put a new installment of Will and Bobby Wrote Something online. This is Part Five of our ongoing narrative explaining all the various shows, comics, and movies that Bobby and I have come up with. This particular installment is pretty interesting as it's all about a time that Bobby and I faced a turning point in our writing, so check it out (click here to read) and let us know what you think of the podcast and the blog at WillAndBobby@gmail.com

Thanks guys, episode 36 next week!

Will and Bobby Wrote Something: Part Three

Click here to start Will and Bobby Wrote Something from the beginning!

As I mentioned, Bobby and I wrote a second script for The Dead Don't Walk, which is a prequel of sorts to "The Alley," which I posted last month.

We decided at some point that we should probably show an alternate story, which would set up the beginning of the zombie apocalypse, or at least show what happened to a particular group of people when it all started. Matt Battaglia (our artist) sat down with Bobby and myself and together the three of us tried to hatch out a story.

Ultimately we ended up with the idea of office workers having a party when everything goes to hell. I'm just going to jump right into it.

Click here to read the second script for The Dead Don't Walk, titled "The Office."

With this script, we end our explanation of The Dead Don't Walk where we began. At the end of this script we create the image of Gray sitting at the base of the tree, which I posted back in Part One . That image also functions as Gray's starting point before the events that occur in "The Alley," and further show his stoic, world-weary attitude when surrounded by chaos (we also end with a president named "Jeremy Button," for some reason. Stupid).

Just to summarize this project: I love The Dead Don't Walk. I wish we hadn't accidentally ripped off The Walking Dead, and I wish that Bobby and I had just gone ahead with our plans to pitch that show.

It'll remain locked up in a vault for the time being, though, or rather it'll remain posted publicly online until the day that we decide to bring it back. Who knows, it's not impossible.

So that ends The Dead Don't Walk, and now we move on to the third show that Bobby and I ever created.

It is by far the most out-there concept we've ever come up with.

Here's the story of the show Edinburg Falls.

Knowing that we couldn't use The Dead Don't Walk as a show to backup our comedy series, Bobby and I had to come up with something new. We still didn't want to create a second comedy show, and our attempt at horror failed, so we landed on an idea for a mystery series.

We decided at first to feature a writer as our main character, who, at the urging of his editor, goes away to the small mid-west town of Edinburg in an effort to creatively recharge himself.

Bobby and I had long conversations about what should be wrong with the town. At one point ghosts were involved, at another point a murderer was at large, and then ultimately we landed on a genius (I'm serious) idea: Edinburg would be the origination point for American folklore.

Bobby and I went online and studied every kind of American monster we could. At first we assumed we'd find a lot of monsters like Bigfoot, the Jersey Devil, and the Bogeyman, but mostly all we found were interesting creatures with laughably bad names, like the Squonk.

Regardless, we found enough intriguing monsters to make it worth our while, so we started writing. We created a first episode where our hero, terrified by prophetic visions brought on by monsters, tries to leave. As he reaches the towns limit, a wall of stone appears to rise from the ground, locking the town of Edinburg away from the rest of the world.

Bobby and I laid out a general concept that would take us through five seasons of Edinburg Falls. We explained where the monsters came from, we explained what happens to our characters, and most importantly, we explained the flabbergastingly dumb reason why the wall of stone appeared.

I'll leave the full treatment until next month (which pretty much lays out the entire show), but until then, take a look at this drawing I made of the town, and see if you can find the horrible explanation for the town's isolation (and also read a little bit of insane background):

Click here to view the Edinburg Falls town diagram.

That's right, a wall of stone didn't rise out of the ground, the entire town sank into the ground, because (seriously, we wrote this), the town of Edinburg is resting on the head of a giant screw.

More about Edinburg Falls over in Part Four! Click here! Or take a quick detour by checking out spec script we wrote for Arrested Development in Part Three.Five!

Me and My Murderer

Hey guys, for background reading, I decided to post a story I've previously written, because this week's episode of Will and Bobby Know Everything (on iTunes) is all about this event. This story happened back in February (2012), and it's fucking insane. So read this story and then consider this week's podcast the audiobook version. With bonus info. Holy shit. Here we go: I’m a bully.

At least, I was.

I might still be, but that’s not the point.

I’m not going to justify myself, or make it seem like my bullying ways were legitimate or fair, or excusable, but I’ll tell you right up front that I didn’t intend to be a bully. I meant to be the funny guy.

It’s a popular myth that bullies are afraid of the people they attack, but I think that’s actually an accidental result of the mocking rather than the immediate cause.

Bullies attack people that are just different, it’s that basic.

It’s where racism comes from.This post isn’t expressly about me, but I’ll tell you a quick story about myself:When I was 17, I was sitting in stand-still traffic, in the right most lane. I was listening to music and hanging out, when I saw a big muscular black guy walking up the side of the road. Before I knew what happened, I instinctively locked the doors of the car.

My heart sank…

What did I just do!? Did I assume this guy was going to try to steal my car and sit in the traffic?? Was I a racist? What the fuck??

I was seriously worried that I had just revealed myself to be a bigot. I thought about it a lot.

A few months later, I found myself sitting in more traffic. In the right most lane again. Listening to music. This time I looked up and saw a little old white lady walking up the side of the road. Before I knew what happened, my hand reached out and locked the doors again.



Especially little quiet people who wear bow-ties. Which brings me to my story:

There’s a guy that I used to be friends with on Facebook, who, for the sake of this story, I’ll refer to as “Elmer.”

Elmer is a fucking asshole.

On Facebook, Elmer is constantly posting statuses, usually around three times a day, which are typically centered around how abortion should be made illegal, and how any non-Christian is a fool. He posts about how “boughetto” (a crude word which is a combination of “bourgeoisie” and “ghetto”) people are loud and stupid and annoying. He frequently deals in stereotypes about black people. On Martin Luther King day, he posted something fucking crazy about having the day off and whether or not it’s deserved, and how MLK Jr. himself would say “ni**er please” in regards to…something…

Elmer has blocked me on facebook, so I can’t easily quote the post, but if I can find a way to quote the “ni**er please” post in the future, I’ll add it in. If you’re friends with this prick and you can find it, send me a screen cap at WillAndBobby@gmail.com!

Anyway, I find him infuriating. He’s a bully. And so I fucking bully him.

Most of the time I just post asinine shit.

For example:

Last week he posted something about how he couldn’t wait to go home and have his “supper.”

I thought it was absurd that he called dinner “supper,” so at first I was going to post, “You call it ‘supper’?”

But it didn’t seem funny enough.

So then I was about to write, “Oh boy, I love ‘supper...’”

But then it wasn’t weird enough (that’s important to me), so I finally posted, “Oh no, my supper is cold :( “


It’s fucking stupid and irrelevant and not worth getting angry at, while still being weird and funny. And he mostly used to let me get away with just posting weird shit on his page, which was part of the fun.

Not all my posts have been benign though. I’ve called him out about threatening people.

A year ago, he wrote about how he never forgets the people who wronged him, and how one day they’ll pay for it.

It set me off. And I wrote something along the lines of, “So you’re threatening people now? I guess someday we’ll see your face in the papers.”

He went OFF! He freaked out and wrote a long post about how I had compared him to Jared Lee Loughner (a comparison which I didn’t intend, but nonetheless find accurate).

I was mostly worried that I might lose the place where I posted absurd bullshit. And this guy is an accidental comedic genius.

That seems like a good enough background to explain what happened a couple of days ago.

Elmer posted this:

How’s that for some racist bullshit?!
Really, the fact that black people were once discriminated against and hated means that black people should have learned not to be rude to anybody?
If you’re going to use the argument that racism should have an effect on how black people “should” act, it would be that THEY ARE FREE TO DO WHATEVER THE FUCK THEY LIKE after white people did whatever the fuck they liked!
You stupid asshole!
You racist piece of shit!
You bow-tie-wearing human trash!
Now I’m not trying to big myself up or make my role in this world more significant than it is…And YES, I am (or WAS) willingly friends with Elmer, who I would usually just mock with goofy bullshit, but man this set me off.
He was seeming to revel in his own bullshit and awfulness. His anger is well documented. And more than that, he has people who read his bullshit and agree with him. I don’t presume I’m going to change the world, but I also can’t look at small-minded shit like this and move on. I wanted to call him out on his fucking prejudice.
At first I wrote, “Hey [Elmer], which do you hate more: racism or black people?” But I ended up deleting that and coming up with “It’s a good thing white people and Asian people aren’t rude at all.”
Compared to what I was originally going to write, that’s nothing. Even still, I received a fucking frantic, lunatic, rapid fire, SUPER angry response back about how I had twisted his words and how I was spouting “fallacies,” which is a bullshit old-world, biblical term meaning “falsehoods.”
…Which is also old and biblical.
Anyway, he went on to attack me by saying something along the lines of (I’ll add actual quotes if possible) “how do you know I won’t post something negative about white people or Asians in the future.”
To put it bluntly, he’s a defensive nut.
I wrote back “Feel free to surprise me but…” and I went on to point out that even if he eventually posts about how white people can be rude in the modern world, he’s currently talking about specifically black people…who he has written about before…in the same shitty negative tone.
I’ll say it now: Go fuck yourself  ”Elmer.”
After this most recent outburst, where I blatantly point out his racism, he finally decided to block me.
He should have done it years ago.
Unfortunately for me, this son of a bitch gets the best of me here:
He says that I have been antagonizing him for years. And he’s right. I have been. But I’ll say again that it’s because of his misogyny and racism that I lash out.
He also makes a point of saying that he remembers how I treated him in middle school and high school.
Now we’re back to that Jared Lee Loughner bullshit.
What's the point of saying to somebody that you’ll remember them for the way they mistreated you, unless you have some plan for how to get back at them?
I’ll suggest here and now that “Elmer” has, at least in the back of his mind, some idea of lashing out against the people who has wronged him.
Which means that now I have to explain myself:
I bullied Elmer in middle school, and I have to own up to that.
In 8th or 9th grade (I honestly don’t remember), I took a wood-working class which I shared with Elmer.
He was quiet, and I had no reason not to like him, but he shared a work station with me and a girl, whose name I don’t remember.
I flirted with the girl, and we joked around, and we were goofy, and we made fun of anything and everything, including Elmer.
I’ll remind you again that “Elmer” is a nickname for the actual guy. It’s a similar name to the real thing, though, so when I tell you that me and that girl called him “Smellmer,” you may work out what his actual name is.
“Smell” was definitely a part of the name, is what I’m saying.
But it had no true basis.
He wasn’t smelly, he wasn’t weird, he was just quiet and fine.
I’ll tell you right now, that by calling him “Smellmer”, I thought the natural perception was not I was calling Elmer a loser, but that by calling him “Smellmer,” I was calling myself a loser!
It was a joke on a joke.
I thought I was making fun of people who make fun of people.
“Smellmer” is the dumbest, most illogical name in the world, so by using it, I was making fun of people who might actually use it.
But no matter what, whether I intended that fucking stupid name to be hurtful or not, I have to own up to the result, which was evidently that I hurt Elmer’s feelings.
I feel bad about that as a 9th grader. If at all possible, I would definitely send a message to my 15/16 year-old-self saying “leave Elmer alone,” but as a 25 year-old man, I think “fuck you Elmer, you racist fuck.”
So that was middle school. He has every right to say that he remembers how I treated him then, and he has  every right to hate me for it.
But high school? I don’t remember shit about him then! I don’t think I spoke to him at all!
So once again: fuck you Smellmer! You’re talking out of your smelly/racist ass!
No matter what, he posted that thing about how he remembers me for how I “treated” him in middle school and high school, which I interpret to mean he’ll one day show up on my front step with a gun.
I’ll be waiting…To die I guess…Because I don’t think I’ll dodge those bullets like Batman.
I was a bully.
10 years ago.
But Elmer is a bully now.
He blocked me, and he’s way smarter than man, and he works for the fucking government, but still I say, “fuck you, you racist piece of shit.”
Honestly though, how awesome will it be if he tries to murder me?
If I’m found dead, seek Smellmer.
Actually, first check if it was a heart attack, I’m pretty overweight. If there are bullet holes, though, drive straight to Smellmer.
If you’re reading this, and you know who “Elmer” REALLY is, then I suggest you go nuts on his wall, denouncing his crazy views. Fuck that asshole and his asshole friends.
Facebook is a public forum. You’re free to think whatever crazy bullshit you want, but when you put it on a public site like that, don’t expect it to be the same as putting it in a journal you keep under your bed. People can see it and respond. Facebook is a place for conversation and debate.
It’s like being at a party, and everyone you know is there, and a few hundred people you’ve never met, and you see someone you used to know and you happen to notice they’re saying something horrible about somebody else. Do you walk up to them and say, “hey man, that’s not cool,” or do you just pretend it didn’t happen?
What I’m saying is that in a moment like that, you feel compelled to do one of those two things: step up or move along.
I couldn’t help myself, so I stepped up. Frankly I wish I had been more brazen and given him more shit.
Life’s too short to let people get away with hurting each other.
The last thing I got to say to Smellmer before the block was that I do regret being a shit head in middle school, but I’m going to call out bullshit when I see it.
He followed up with a fucking knockout punch. He really got me good. He wrote:
“Enjoy spending the rest of your life pretending to be humble while mistreating people.”
Fuck. He was right: I was pretending to be humble and I was accidentally writing like some small-town super-hero.
He’ll never fucking see the last thing I wanted to say to him though, because I was blocked JUST before I could send it…
My last message to Elmer is:
Bully the bullies!
Concerns, thoughts, questions, stories? Comment here or email me at WillAndBobby@gmail.com and listen to Episode 18 of Will and Bobby Know Everything to hear more posts from Elmer and to hear what happened just four hours after he blocked me. It's crazy.

FYL: I'm Shockingly Annoyed

I commonly talk about how I hate everything, but I'm happy to report that I don't think that's true. I hate a lot of stuff, sure, but definitely not everything. As a matter of fact, every once in a while, I look around and have to acknowledge that most people are more respectful and intelligent than I would expect. And like every other moment in my life when I feel at peace, something fucking moronic pops up that reminds me that people appear respectful and intelligent because they aren't saying exactly what they want to say, or doing exactly what they want to do. If you're at the grocery store, or you're at work, the people you see tend to keep to themselves, for the most part. Most people don't walk up to you and say something crazy. And that's because they're all just waiting to get home and go online before they say exactly what they're thinking or what they've been up to.

There's a website called F My Life, which basically everyone is aware of, but if you aren't, all you need to know is that it's where people go to post something that happened to them that sucked. It always ends with "FML," for "fuck my life." Here's a good example of a normal one:

Today, I offered my phone number to the guy I've been flirting back and forth with all week. He said no. FML

I agree, your life sucks (2076) - you deserved it (282)

There's a common format: "I did something expecting certain result. The result I got was surprising and shitty. FML"

People then vote as to whether or not you deserve those results. It's a simple system.

Like all simple systems, however, people have found a way to fuck it up and annoy me.

Look at this one I just saw:

Today, I found myself humming a Skrillex ditty all day. I'm beginning to wonder if I've had some sort of stroke.FML

I agree, your life sucks (1478) - you deserved it (690)

This is so stupid and weird. It's this guys' own fault that he's humming a Skrillex song. Regardless of his overall opinion of Skrillex, he must like that song! And everyone agreed that he has a right to complain?! Bullshit! This guy is a moron.

Every once in a while, I come across a stupid person's FML and I "star" it on Google Reader. So I thought maybe I'd share a few of the FML's posted by people who have no one to blame but themselves, either because they did something stupid, or because they are just dumb.

Today, I had my first chorus concert. We got a bigger applause when we left the stage than when we sang. FML

I agree, your life sucks (5238) - you deserved it (1622)

Bigger applause at the end of a concert means you did a good job, idiot. No one is allowed to complain about this.

Today, I got myself an organ donor card, just to feel wanted. FML

I agree, your life sucks (13118) - you deserved it (3091)

You can't complain about something you consciously decided to do. More than that, I'm betting you didn't get the card to feel wanted, you got the card, you were feeling moody, and then you posted about it online all blown out of proportion to get people to pay attention to  you. It worked, which is unbelievable. Congratulations.

This next one was actually deleted from the website, but I still have it saved. You're going to have to trust me here, this is real, I swear:

Today, I realized exactly how lonely I was when I typed "I love you" into Google Translate, just so I could click the listen button and hear someone actually say it to me. FML

I have no way of knowing whether or not people agreed with this guy that his life sucks or not, but if I had to guess, everyone sided with him, because everyone is stupid. And this is stupid. And I'm annoyed further.

Today, I went to Hooters for lunch. My food was brought to me by a man. FML

I agree, your life sucks (17262) - you deserved it (9522)

You actually decided to go to a Hooters, and worse than that, you went expressly because you wanted to be served by ladies with big boobs. When that didn't work out, you were disappointed enough to write about it online? And everyone agrees that your life sucks because of that? Maybe it's good that you have such low standards.

Today, I realized that the "holla" tattoo I stupidly got on my lower lip five years ago isn't fading as I expected it to, and will probably contribute to my unemployment for years to come. FML

I agree, your life sucks (1324) - you deserved it (16535)

Wait, you got the outside of your lower lip tattooed? Why were you under the impression that tattoos fade? The reason we have Temporary Tattoos and call them temporary is because the alternative is a permanent tattoo. You deserve this, dummy. Thankfully people were able to see that as well.

Here's the last one, and it's a fucking doozy. It's incredible in how many layers of stupidity go into this:

Today, I went to McDonalds and ordered a happy meal with a girl's toy. The high school girls behind the counter said I was too old to be served one, and I had to go home and explain to my sick daughter why she didn't get her toy. FML

I agree, your life sucks (10685) - you deserved it (1278)

There is absolutely no way that McDonald's told you what not to order.

There is no way that some cashier put their hands on their hips and stared you down because they, for some reason, thought you wanted the girl's toy for yourself.

However, let's assume that's exactly that happened: You didn't explain to them that it was for your daughter? And then when you went home you explained to your kid that both McDonald's is shockingly rigid about who they give toys to and that you're a strangely cowardly person?

I'm not buying for one minute that this would be your kid's ONLY toy by the way. It's not like her happiness was truly dependent upon getting a My Little Pony.

Again, let's assume that's exactly the situation: Why didn't you go to another store and get a shitty little toy and pass it off? This whole thing just screams, "I forgot to ask for a toy, and when asked by my wife why I didn't have it, I blurted out a stupid excuse which, once said out loud, I have to stick to."

And wait a minute, did they give you everything in the kids meal except for the toy? Your story has fallen apart sir, and I think you posted this online to somehow legitimize your story to your wife, "Honey, if I was lying, would I have put it online??"

Why are people siding with this fuck up? Almost eleven THOUSAND people feel bad for this guy that supposedly some bored 17-year-old McDonald's cashier put their foot down that they DO NOT GIVE TOYS TO ADULTS!?

How is that possible??

I'm actually annoyed now, so I'm going to stop posting these.

I know it's unreasonable to be so grumpy over this bullshit, but I find it unbelievable, and no matter what, I'm definitely right about how stupid these are, right?

Scary Story Time - April 2012

Hey guys, happy Friday, the 13th! This is the second of THREE Friday, the 13ths we'll be experiencing in 2012! If you're familiar with Scary Story Time, you should know that I'm going to start doing them on this site rather than my personal blog (WillRogers2000), and if you're not familiar with it, I post a new scary story every month on the 13th, and here's the disclaimer:

Quick disclaimer: I’m a really big fan of horror movies and scary stories. Recently I’ve been finding a lot of interesting little scary stories written anonymously by people on the internet, so I decided to start sharing some of the ones I like. You should know, before you read on, that I did not write any of these stories, unless otherwise noted. You should also know that I won’t always be posting that I enjoy 100%. There could be a ten page story that I post because I like one sentence of it. In that case, I assume I’ll explain why I posted horse-shit and what merit I see in it. Sometimes, I’ll post “scary” stories that I hate, think are stupid, or maybe even funny. But more than that, you should really know that some of these stories may be somewhat graphic, so just steel yourself for anything, especially poor spelling and grammar (I don’t edit these stories). No matter what, though, I hope you enjoy them too, and if you know any stories or sources, please share them with me. Also, if you have any requests, just ask, I have a huge archive of this stuff!

So let's jump right in, being that it's Friday, the 13th, and being that this is the first time I'm posting a story on this site, I'm starting off strong. This is a story called The Song and Dance Man, and it's definitely one of the better written stories I've come across. More than being a good scary story, I think it's legitimately a great short story of any type. When I read this story, I see it like a film, it's awesome. It's also long as shit, so prepare yourself for that, and enjoy this fucking weird, creepy story:

The Song and Dance Man

There are few left alive who remember the Song and Dance Man. Time has claimed the ones that survived the long night and I’m sure they went willing to meet their maker. Life takes on a strange tint after a night like that. The ones still left – Bill Parker, Sarah Carter, and Sam Tannen – don’t talk about it. Sam is lucky. His brain started to turn to porridge a few years back and now he has trouble figuring out how to put on his pants. He got an early reprieve from his memories. He doesn’t wake up night after night; the music still playing in his ears, with tears still drying on his cheeks. The Song and Dance Man came to Belle Carne with little fanfare in the fall of 1956. I had just gotten out of high school and was working as a stock-boy at Handy’s Hardware. I was there the afternoon that Sarah Carter burst through the door, making the bell over the door jingle like mad. “George, you gotta see what’s been set up by the bandstand. There this huge tent up and this man standing in front of it yellin’ like a carnival barker.” Sarah was out of breath and had obviously run from the park and all the way down Main Street. Her hair was whipsawed every which way and one strand stuck to the end of her nose. She gave a quick puff and blew it out of the way, waiting for me to react. With Sarah, I was always two steps behind and running to catch up. The girl had energy in those days and in an unlimited supply. I stopped rearranging the nails and said, “There wasn’t anythin’ up there when I walked by this mornin’. When’d it go up?” She shrugged her shoulders, a quick raise and drop, “Dunno, but it’s up, and you gotta see this guy. He’s all dressed up, head to toe, and he can talk. Boy, he can talk.” I thought bout it and checked the clock. It was near about five and time for me to quit anyway. “All right, let’s go check it out then.” Sarah grinned from ear to ear and was gone. I didn’t doubt she was telling everyone in the gang, the ones that were still in town anyway. Most of us scattered to the four winds after graduation. Only a handful of us remained in town and only a handful of us were on hand to witness the dance. I walked down to the bandstand by myself, not bothering to wait for the others. Most likely, Sarah was already there waiting for us. I met up with Bill as I passed the drugstore, where he worked as a soda jerk. “What the hell is Sara talkin’ about, George? She blew in here and then blew out again before I could ask her anything.” Bill was a big guy, the tallest (and heaviest) guy in our class and I just about cracked up the first time I saw him wearing that little peaked paper cap McClearly makes his soda jerks wear. Bill doesn’t really liked to be laughed at, though, and after the knot under my eye went down, I made sure not to laugh at him anymore. He’s a good guy aside from that temper. He was the best guy on the high school basketball team, too, though he’s one of the few guys who got kicked out of a game. He threw another player halfway down the court, and they were on the same team, too. Bill said the other guy elbowed him in the gut. It had to have been an accident; no one would have done it on purpose. We both walked down the street, Bill smoking a cigarette, a habit that caught up to him in 1995 when they removed his right lung. At the end of Main Street, we crossed Buchanan and entered the park. Normally, at that point, we would have been able to see the bandstand, perched on a hill near the center of the park. During the summer, there’d be concerts: performances by the school marching band, a church choir singing some hymns, that kind of thing. Once, a couple of kids from the high school had put together a pretty good rockabilly group, but someone on the parks committee passed an ordinance that banned rock ‘n’ roll in the park. Small towns, you know? But now, there was a huge, faded yellow tent blocking the bandstand, like the kind in the circus or the kinds those old revival ministers like to use when they’re feeling the spirit and they like to feel your wallet too. There was already a pretty large crowd around the tent and as Bill and I got closer, we could hear the fellow that Sarah had told us about. He sounded like a carnival barker all right. Bill and I walked faster down the path that lead to the tent. We pushed our way through the crowd, up toward the tent and where we thought the man was. “Come on everybody, it’s getting close, getting close, we’re goin’ to have ourselves a heckuva time tonight. Yes indeed, a HECKUVA time. We’ll be singin’, we’ll be dancin’, I PROMISE that, and the Song and Dance Man always keeps his promises!” We still couldn’t see him; still too many people were blocking the way. It looked like the whole town had shown up to see the Song and Dance Man. Bill tugged on my sleeve and pointed. I followed his finger and got bug eyed. It was Reverend Harper, the Baptist minister. I’ve lived a good long time, but I ain’t ever seen a man that could thump a Bible harder than he. Harper preached against the evils of sin – sin in drinking, sin in smoking reefer, sin in smoking tobacco, sin in lying, and, most of all, sin in dancing…yet here he was, lining up to get inside the tent, too, ‘cause he certainly wasn’t preaching. We waved at him, Bill waving with the hand that held the cigarette, and that old Baptist turned red as the Red Sea and turned and walked away. Bill and I grinned at each other and kept on walking toward the front and toward the Song and Dance Man. Finally, we broke through the crowd and there he was. He stood on an old crate, splintered and looking like it was on the verge of collapsing under his feet. On the grass beside him lay a black fiddle case with gold trim along its edges. It looked old, older than the crate, older than the town. It seemed like something ancient. He was all angles, all knees, elbows and shoulders. He was tall and gangling, his body moving and bopping to the rhythm of his words. He wore a red and white pin-stripe jacket, looking like he belonged in a barbershop quartet. A straw hat sat on his head, always getting pushed back or pulled forward by his long fingered hands. Long, six fingered hands. I started when I saw that. I had read that some folks are born with six fingers, but reading about something and seeing it are two different things. His eyes just about flashed blue lightning as he spoke and sparks nearly flew from those white teeth, and he just never stopped talking. He didn’t stop for breath, for questions, or anything. He just kept up that pattern like his very soul depended on it. “All right, all right, all right, we’re getting close, getting real close, yes we are. Are you ready to dance? Are you ready to sing? ‘Cause I’m ready to play my fiddle, yes I am, yes I am. Got a fiddle at my feet and I’m ready to play. Ready to make those strings SING, can you believe it?” He’d clap his hands and that’s as close to a pause as he was willing to do. Sarah and Sam came up to us now, having found us in the crowd. Sarah elbowed me in the rib and said, “What’d I tell you? Looks like he should be in a carnival tryin’ to get us to see the bearded lady or somethin’.” Sam nodded his head in greeting to us, which caused his glasses to slide down his nose, and he gave them a short push back up to where they belonged. He was as tall as Bill, but nowhere near as built. He was the smart guy in our gang. You had to have someone like him around to tell how to do things like take apart the principal’s car and rebuild it in the school gym. Not that we ever did anything like that. “What’s he sellin’?” asked Sam. “A dance, I figure,” I said. “What’s it cost?” The Song and Dance Man must have heard him because he said, “What does it cost, I hear you ask? Why, it don’t cost a dollar and it don’t cost a quarter and it don’t cost a dime. Folks, this will cost you nothin’, just get on in and dance to the song all night long.” We all looked at each other. It was a good deal. A little free music and space to dance? There wasn’t much to do in town back in those days and there still isn’t. This was almost too good to be true. The Song and Dance man stopped now, a minor miracle in and of itself. He dug deep in his pocket, pulled out a gold watch, checked the time, and then grinned a grin that must have shown every one of his teeth. He pocketed the watch and said, “Folks, it’s time for the dance so come on in. Come on in, everyone, because it’s time for the dance to begin.” And with that, he hopped down from his crate, grabbed it up with the fiddle, and darted through the tent flaps. Sarah, Bill, Sam, and I nearly got mowed over in the rush to get inside, but we were still the first ones in. We stopped short when we pushed aside those big old tent flaps, but were quickly driven inside. It was huge inside. There was a hardwood floor beneath our feet that looked like it must be oak, a dark, dark oak polished to a mirror shine. There were candles in holders all along the tent-pole posts and when I looked up, I couldn’t see the ceiling for all the darkness. It was like looking up at a starless night sky, where the moon didn’t dare show her face. The crowd kept driving us and more and more people poured in. It wasn’t just the young people, either. There was Missus Crenshaw, our junior year English teacher who was in her fifties. There was Mr. Hoskins the principal. There was the good old Reverend Harper, still looking embarrassed, but also like he couldn’t help himself. It really was the whole damn town. Hell, even the mayor was there with his wife, standing and talking with the chief of police. Soon, everyone was inside and the murmur from all the talking was nearly deafening. It was already getting warm in there and I was feeling cramped and claustrophobic. We were all looking for the Song and Dance Man, to see where he had gone. No one looked up, so no one saw him until the first pull of his fiddle bow. He was there, on the center tent pole, sitting on a small, wooden platform about twenty feet off the floor. God knows how he got u there, because there certainly wasn’t any latter going up. He dangled his feet over the edge and held his fiddle in one hand and the bow in the other. The fiddle and bow seemed to be made of that same dark wood that the floor was and gleamed in the candle light like a thing alive. I almost doubted that the fiddle even needed the Song and Dance Man to make its strings hum. We all looked up at him and he grinned and jumped to his feet while the crowd gasped, worried he might plummet into their midst. And then he began to play. He made those strings sing. I haven’t heard anyone play like that before or since and I thank God for that every day. It made the air around us crackle and spark. It loosened the joints and jolted the mind. You felt the urge to move deep in the bone, buried in the marrow. I grabbed Sarah’s hands and we began to move across the floor and everyone followed suit, some with partners and some without. Some were doing the foxtrot, some were doing a waltz, and some of us were doing the twist. We danced, moved, shucked, jived, rocked, and rolled. I passed Reverend Harper moving his feet in a clunky box step with Eloise Grendel, an old battle-axe of a Catholic. I saw the mayor’s wife waltzing with Dan Adams, one of our firemen. I swirled with Sarah, moving across the floor, bumping and jostling with the people around us. It was hot and getting hotter in there, and it wasn’t long before it smelled of sweat and bodies moving against bodies. I felt dizzy, but we kept dancing together, kept dancing and not stopping. It was a while before I realized that the Song and Dance man was singing, too, but in a language I didn’t understand. He lorded over us, standing on that platform, making his fiddle sing and sing. His bow rose and fell, slid back and forth, side to side. He played like he talked. There were no breaks or pauses, just a manic deluge of tunes while his tongue curled around words that had no business being said in this world. I gave my head a shake as I spun with Sarah and I realized my legs were tired. My feet ached and my lower back was beginning to throb. I checked my watch and realized we had been dancing for a solid hour. I shook my head again, trying to shake off the dozy feeling that was clouding my thinking. “Sarah,” I cleared my throat. I had only spoken in a whisper. My tongue felt thick and funny. I tried again. “Sarah.” Louder this time, but she still didn’t respond and we kept dancing. I shook her, but she didn’t respond. I kept shaking her until I realized I was doing it in time with the music. So I just tried to stop, and I couldn’t. I couldn’t stop. Underneath the fog, I began to feel frightened. I began to see the faces of the other people now. I saw their terror. Reverend Harper’s face had grown redder than it had been before. Sweat poured down his face, but still he kept moving, twirling Missus Grendel around and around, her head lolling from side to side. She had fainted, but her feet were still moving. We moved past Bill, who danced with Susie Watkins, and I saw her frightened eyes darting around the room, but Bill bobbed his head in time with the music and his glassy eyes looked at nothing in particular. The Song and Dance Man laughed from his perch and kept playing, tapping his feet. His eyes were glowing in that dark, humid place. They glowed and glowed and light glanced off the bow with each sweep. I heard a scream and swiveled my head to watch a woman drop to the floor holding her leg. She had cramped up. I was envious. She got to stop. She got to rest. My own legs felt like dead wood and the ache in my back had deepened. Then her partner stepped on her ankle and I heard the crunch from across the room. He was still dancing; his eyes blank and empty as he moved. She screamed again and started to crawl away, but instead stood up. She started to dance, bringing her weight down on the broken ankle again and again and again. I turned away, but I couldn’t block the sound of her sobbing. The music ran on. I checked my watch again and it was three hours now. We didn’t flag or falter. We kept up the same speed as the fiddle. The damning fiddle. Rapping our feet against the floor. Never mind the blisters that burst. Never mind broken toes or broken ankles. Never mind that deep pain buried in the spine that refused to go. Never mind old hearts and bad knees. We kept up that frantic pace as one mass: a bobbing, thumping, jumping creature with one mind. Reverend Harper died at one point. I watched it happen. He was holding up the still fainted Missus Grendel (whose feet still moved with the music) when he dropped her and fell to the floor. He twitched once, his feet beating a quick, staccato rhythm, and then was still. Missus Grendel got back up and kept on moving. I watched Harper as I danced, trying to see if he was breathing. He wasn’t. I swear to you, he wasn’t, but he still got back up. He was dead, but he still got back up and began to dance again. He turned to look at me and grinned the Song and Dance Man’s grin. His eyes were red, filled with blood from whatever had broken in his brain. I watched as a single red tear rolled down his cheek. I shut my eyes and kept moving. Harper wasn’t the last. He probably wasn’t the first. The old and the sick were the first to drop. No matter what it was – exhaustion, heart attacks, hemorrhages somewhere deep inside – they died, and then they got back up and kept dancing, grinning their grins. I passed Lizzie and Sam. He had lost his glasses at some point. His eyes darted around, terribly aware. I looked at his leg and I saw a jut of some bone tearing through his denim jeans. There was a trail of blood behind him, and as he swirled a spray landed on the legs of the people around him. He stepped on that broken leg, twirled on it, and jumped on it all in time with that fiddle. The night passed. I remember stepping on something at one point and realized I had just crushed Missus Dempsey’s right hand. She was lying on her back on the dance floor. She had been stepped on time and again. I could even see a man’s shoeprint on her stomach. Her head had been caved in and her chest beneath her dress had a sunken look, and still, she was trying to get up and keep moving. The smell of blood mixed with the sweat and I couldn’t breathe any more. The air was thick and from all around I could hear cries and screams, but nothing that drowned out the fiddle or the Song and Dance Man’s singing. And then it stopped. I danced one more step and then stopped myself. I looked up at the platform. We all did, craning our necks upward. He was checking his pocket watch. “All right folks! That’s all for tonight! The dancing is done and the morning has come. You may leave if you can walk and you should walk quick cause this Song and Dance Man is gonna be gone.” We all stood there, like stunned cattle, then marked to the tent flaps. No one ran, because they couldn’t. It was a miracle we could walk. Sarah stepped ahead of left, but I stayed behind. I turned and looked, and saw at least twenty people still standing there. Harper was among them. They were all grinning, their eyes empty. They stood and made no sign of wanting to leave. “Go on now, friend. The Song and Dance Man has what he wants, but he’d be glad to add you too if you tarry and dally too long.” I looked up at him and saw him smile, and then I turned my back to him and left the tent. When I turned back again it was gone, along with the people inside. That’s the story of what happened. The others won’t tell it or pretend it never happened, never mind the 20 people that vanished that night, the mayor’s wife included. They’d rather not think about it. Sarah and I took Sam to the hospital over in the next county, far from folks that knew what had happened. They had to remove his leg. Sam was quiet before and was quieter still after, pulling odd jobs that a one-legged man could do. He doesn’t move around much nowadays; just sits on his porch, a cane across his lap, and massages the stump with his hand. Says it bothers him on cold nights…and warm nights…and wet nights…and dry nights. Bill left and joined the army, and stayed in long enough to fight in Vietnam and won a bunch of medals. He came back and settled down to drink and drink hard, and if you want to find him, you can find him in Eddie Dixon’s bar. No matter how drunk he gets, though, he doesn’t talk about that night. None of us saw much of Sarah after. She came through the best, but that’s how she always was. She left and went to college, but, like Bill, got pulled back to Belle Carne. She teaches over at the high school now, teaching English to the juniors. I stayed here, plugging away at the hardware store. I ran it for a while, but now I don’t do much of anything. I just sit around with Sam, talking about things sometimes, though not often. If I stay too late, if I stay too long, I’ll see his eyes go glassy behind those coke-bottle lenses and he’ll disappear into himself, and I’ll catch him humming a faint trace of a song and the hair on my neck stand on end and goosebumps rise on my arms in great knots. My foot will start to tap out a small beat on the hardwood porch and a big wide grin will spread across Sam’s face. The grin of the Song and Dance Man.

The end

I love that story. That part where the dead bodies get up and start dancing is so bizarre and unreal, and the concept of still being forced onto your feet with a broken leg makes me grit my teeth. Maybe it's not as much creepy or scary as it is disturbing and uncomfortable, but no matter what, that's just a really awesome story.

So what I usually do to finish Scary Story Time is give you a bit of a palette cleanser so that you can move on to the rest of your day without the baggage of the horror knocking around in your skull. So look at this, and feel refreshed:

(Photo Credit: Cat .gif Page)

If you guys want more scary stories, CLICK HERE to go to a list of all the previous posts from my personal site.

Also listen to: WBKE - Episode 5: The Supernatureal

I hope you enjoyed, and check back for a new Scary Story Time in one month!

Because I'm Fat

Walking into a grocery store, I look like I've totally given up. My hair is fucked up and disheveled, I'm wearing sweat pants and a stretched out t-shirt with what might be a million stains. Maybe mustard stains.

I look like every stupid cliché of a fat, single, loser who has completely given up on life.

But guess what, morons, I just came from the gym!



I own you!

Since the beginning of the year, I've been one of those creepy dudes you try not to make eye contact with at the gym! I go to the gym!

For years I've been an on-again, off-again sort of health guy. You definitely wouldn't know it to look at me (I'm big) but of you look at random pictures of me taken in the past 5 years, there's a lot of slimming down and blowing up going on. Hell, at one point I was technically just chubby!

For the past year I've been full-blown fat, though, and like every other time when I've noticed the weight, I'm making an effort to get healthy.

It's amazing, I really do find that whenever I finally discover that I'm fat as hell, it's like flipping a switch: I pay attention to the food I'm eating, I work out. Inevitably that method of operation falls by the wayside again, but by the time that happens, hopefully I've lost just enough weight to allow another year of eating too much pizza.

Bobby, on the other hand, is the kind of person who can eat whatever he wants, and stay thin. Worse than that, for the past few months, he's actively been trying to gain weight. Asshole.

We usually grab something to eat before we record the show, and for a couple of weeks, when he'd come to town, he'd get two sandwiches.

Two foot-long sandwiches.

He had Eyebrows Lady make him two entire sandwiches! (Side note: this also means he ate double the amount of stuff Eyebrows Lady touched)

Did you know that, as an adult, there's really nobody to tell you not to eat a huge bag of potato chips? Did you know that, at any time really, you can just go to a store and buy all the candy bars? There's nothing stopping you! You don't get in trouble for deciding you want to eat a pint of Americone Dream (Stephen Colbert's Ben & Jerry's ice cream) or get a couple cheese quesadillas from Taco Bell. Although I heard you can be arrested...cardiacally!!! (that joke works, and I'm a fucking genius)

I'll tell you a true story about my experience with Taco Bell. Maybe 6 or 7 years ago, I used to eat a nearly inhuman amount of fast-food. Seriously, it was like the movie Super Size Me was playing on a loop, except it's a special edit where the guy never decides to quit and he doesn't have a mustache (yet). I used to go to Taco Bell and get a steak quesadilla and a Cheesy Gordita Crunch. In case you aren't aware, those things are fucking amazing. I usually would park in the lot, in a space farthest from where there could possibly be foot traffic, and eat like a shameful pig.

One day, while on my way to a party, I stopped at Taco Bell to get my bag of shit to eat, and parked in an out-of-the-way spot, as usual. Halfway through the quesadilla, a car pulled up and parked in the spot right next to me. I immediately put the food down on the passenger seat for fear of being seen doing what a lot of fat people do. I figured I'd just wait for the person next to me to get out of their car and go inside, and then I'd resume my cheese-feast.

Except they didn't leave.

I looked over and saw a pretty girl getting into a burrito costume! (Obviously that's not what happened, but I had written "pretty girl getting into a burrito" and couldn't help myself from writing "costume").

So there we were, two similarly gross people, going nuts on fake mexican food, both alone. I did what came natural:

I got uncomfortable, thought to myself "fucking freak," and pulled out of the parking lot, finishing my food on the way to the party.

I'm telling you this story for a reason, I am a fucking freak and I really really need to get my shit in order. I'm feeling pretty good otherwise. I feel creative again for the first time in a long time, I'm being respectful to the people in my life (I think), and aside from some light mental illness, I'm a happy guy! If I can just get my priorities straight in terms of the food I eat, I'll feel even more entitled to be an asshole on the podcast. I can't wait!

Ricky Gervais has a stand up bit from a few years ago, while he was still overweight, in which he talks about how evidently only 2% of the population can claim they're overweight because of a glandular problem. The rest just eat too much. He broke it down into the basic math of it: you ingest more calories than you burn off. I don't know what backlash he may have received from that bit, but as a fat guy, I personally saw it as a really empowering simplification of what I do. It's not an insurmountable problem you can't get over, it's a math equation. He may have been saying that fat people shouldn't complain about being fat, but what he meant (I think) was "stop making excuses." A few years later, he put his money where his mouth was and got in shape, himself.

You know how sometimes you'll go out to dinner with your friends, and a fat friend will just order a salad, and not finish it? It's because they're pretty sure you're paying attention to what they're eating (I have done this). I don't know whether or not that's true, but I do know that this means your friend is really insecure. I personally don't give a fuck about how big anyone else is, as long as they don't live their life afraid and ashamed of it, but for me, personally, I'm pretty sick of being concerned with how I appear to other people, so I really think it's time to try not to just lose enough weight to justify eventually eating again, it's time to just live a little different. I've had 25 years of reckless fatness. That's a pretty long time to do whatever you want. And it's a cliché (for a reason), but food isn't love (except evidently it is: Huggable Vending Machine).

Maybe it's the changing of seasons. It's getting warmer, the earth is a little greener (literally), shit's blooming, and when that happens, a lot of people inevitably start making decisions about getting healthy. Maybe that's exactly why I'm talking about this and feeling the way I am, but even if that's the case, I'll take advantage of that feeling for as long as possible. Otherwise it'd be like walking past a dollar bill on the ground. Sure, it might have poop on it, but a dollar is a dollar. I'm pretty sure that's a poor metaphor, but you know what I mean.

So in that grocery store, with me looking like total shit, and looking like I've come straight from playing video games in my parents' basement (note: I actually might have), I'm going to start taking solace in the knowledge that I look the way I do not because I've given up, but because I'm starting to try.

Full Disclosure: The actual reason I was at that grocery store was because my girlfriend and I left the gym early to get dinner.

Progress, booya.

If you have no idea who the fuck Eyebrows Lady, get to know her: WBKE - Episode 6: Crazy People Part 1

And here's that Ricky Gervais bit: Ricky Gervais on Fat People

Here's a SECOND Ricky Gervais bit I JUST found in which he basically says everything I just said (except he said it first as a huge celebrity). It's him talking about his previous bit, from the perspective of a thin man. Pretty cool (viewer discretion advised): Ricky Gervais - Fat People

Feel free to comment with fat jokes!


Our week on the topic of technology is just about over, but I'm still fascinated by one of the things we discussed: On the show we talked about the idea of having a chip in your head that lets a movie play out right in front of your eyes, because the movie is being beamed straight into your coconut. Yeah, it's years out, many years out, but while I'm intrigued by the notion of expanding our abilities via the internet (which would be part of our consciousness), you have to wonder about practicality.

I get in trouble with my girlfriend now for constantly checking my e-mail, the show's stats, etc. on my iPhone. What the hell is going to happen when I can constantly, without her knowing, be playing Mario Kart in my mind?

More than that, what's to stop me from just sitting in a corner watching 30 Rock and googling funny pictures of dogs? What will keep me tethered to reality?

Yes, human interaction, I know. But don't forget about the huge role social media plays in our lives now.

Remember when there was that earthquake in Virginia back in August, 2011? The tremors from that quake could be felt along the entire east coast! The moment I felt it, I checked every news outlet I could, but they didn't have any information. Then I went on Twitter and immediately found out what happened. A buddy of mine in DC explained that he felt it too, and he had heard it was an earthquake.

Every news outlet was working to write up a story explaining why we all felt the quake. They needed to have the origin point, the magnitude, and the scope. They were busy getting the facts before they could report, while people on Facebook and Twitter were quickly talking to each other and reasoning out/passing along what information they could. It was damn near instant that I learned what had happened.

When we all have computer chips in our brain, will this be the closest thing our species will come to having a shared consciousness? Communication will literally be instantaneous. It's amazing and terrifying.

Remember the Matrix? No, forget that, remember Wall-E!?

Wall-E takes place in a future where humans have left planet Earth because the atmosphere is overpolluted, so now all the surviving people live on a big space ship filled with shops. We all just sit in floating recliners that come complete with cupholders and a personal TV right in front of your face. If Bobby and I lived in the future that Wall-E depicts, and we're sitting side by side, instead of turning to him to speak, I just video-call him. Is that the future? We're all plugged in? And fat as shit by the way, with decreased bone dencity and cute little robots falling in love all around us?

Doesn't sound half bad, honestly, aside from the smaller bones and the robots, I'm basically there already. But won't we still require data plans? Is there a possibility that Bobby and I will be halfway through watching the new Die Hard (or playing the new Mortal Kombat) but then the signal will cut out because I didn't pay the bill?

What would you do in that case? If you were disconnected from what has become the cyber world and now you not only can't google "Bears waving like people" but you also can't communicate with anybody?

Shit's bleak.

I say fuck that. Keep your chips out of my brain!

Instead, I think that we should morph the human body to become more versatile. Think Inspector Gadget.

What's that? It's raining? No problem, a robot arm wearing a nice white glove will pop out my head, holding an umbrella!

You want to go skating, you say? Sounds good to me, MY FEET ARE SKATES!

Maybe I'm being an old man again. Maybe I just have a limited scope of what can be accomplished by merging the human consciousness with the internet. Maybe I honestly won't live to see the day that this becomes a reality, but nevertheless I do think this is what we're all heading toward and expecting. And as dumb as it is, I much prefer my Inspector Gadget idea.

It's more useful to me to be put in my place using my iPhone too much than to get away with staring at the internet because all the function is taking place in my mind. I want to not only have access to the advanced technology, but I want to be chastised for doing it too much. So give me a finger that can become a cork-screw and I'll keep my phone in my pocket.

And if someone could come up with a way for my ass to turn into a chair, that'd be great too.

What do you think? Am I going to far?


Ouija Board: The Movie (Based on Ouija Board: The Thing)

Last year, it was announced that there was going to be an OFFICIAL Ouija Board movie, directed by McG (who directed Charlie's Angels 2: Full Throttle, remember how much everybody loved that?). The budget was announced as being $100 million. NOTE: This project seriously existed.

Fortunately, it was cancelled, because, well, that was a stupid fucking idea.

Unfortunately, Ouija wouldn't stay dead (!!!) and now it's back with a $5 million budget, and now the joke around the internet is that the movie must suck to have such a huge budget cut. Meanwhile, I'm left wondering why they're even spending twenty bucks.


How fucking stupid are we getting as consumers? The bar is set so goddamn low now. All that's required in a blockbuster movie is the bare minimum amount of plot elements possible to make it recognizable as a genre of some sort.

Exciting action movies just need to have things moving around while you hear explosions and shit. Have you ever seen a Transformers movie? I have no idea what happens in them. The point of the movie is literally "Look at that car, now it's shaped like a robot and it's HITTING ANOTHER ROBOT!"

They made a movie out of the game Battleship. It's about alien submarines that jam our radar so we have to blindly shoot torpedoes at them...I actually think that's kind of clever...Dammit...

So now Ouija Board: The Movie is back on track to dazzle audiences by having the same plot as almost every ghost movie ever, except they can use an OFFICIAL BOARD! Hooray!

Now I'll be able to buy the "The official board featured in Ouija Board: The Movie" or maybe tell people that I was into Ouija boards before they got popular.

Fuck this movie (NOTE: I might see this movie)

Based on the Ouija movie, here are some great movies I just came up with ON MY OWN:

Where's Waldo: Detective Waldo Johnson is an FBI agent gone rogue. He's going to tell the media all of his Chief's secrets unless they can find him NOW! Match the tone of the "Bourne" movies and we'll all be rich!

Hungry Hungry Hippos: A mad scientist creates a super soldier serum, but accidentally lightly drizzles it on his pet hippo (I'm getting sick of writing this, so whatever) and it get's big and mad...then it eats shit... I'm a millionaire!

Mr. Potato Head: A man has a horrible disease that causes his body to fall apart. There is no cure, and he doesn't want to upset his family, so he tries to hide his illness. When his head falls off his body, he does his best to look normal by resting it on a pair of shoes and tapes little plastic action figure arms to his cheeks. He lives in a horrible world of pain, crying out in anguish and despair for the majority of the movie, while his psychotic children gleefully place different types of glasses on his face. He begs for them to kill him, but they don't want to end the fun. Eventually the police show up to investigate the man's disappearance because his boss at the Potato Factory (lazy) has reported him missing.

The police walk in to find the mans body discarded and rotting on the floor, and are delighted to see how much fun the kids are having. They join in, contributing a police hat for the man to wear. Eventually they realize that other people should be able to have the same fun as them, so they create a doll of a disembodied head that you can dress up in all kinds of silly clothes. The disembodied head is decided to be bizarre and inappropriate, so they change it to a potato once they remember that the guy worked at a "Potato Factory" (I MADE THIS RELEVANT).

Boom, I'm either rich or in a mental institution.




One last thing: They should call the Ouija Board movie "Ouija Movie" to mirror "Ouija Board."

"Honey, which Ouija thing did we want? Was it the board or the movie?"

A Few Updates

Hey guys, I just made a couple of additions to the website. Up at the top of the page, next to the "About us" link, you'll see two new sections, "Episode List" and "How to Listen."

When you click on "Episode List" you'll get exactly what you might assume, a list of every episode we've done so far. More than that, though, if you click on any episode name, you'll be able to instantly start listening to that episode right from your browser!

When you click on "How to Listen" you'll get pretty detailed instructions for how to listen to Will and Bobby Know Everything. I have instructions for:

  • Your computer
  • Your iPhone/iPod/iPad
  • Your Android phone/tablet
  • Your Blackberry

I can't think of anything I left out, but that might just be because I'm not very smart, so if I dropped the ball, throw me an email at WillAndBobby@gmail.com so I can make any additions I have to.

Alright, that's that, but I think those are pretty damn good additions.

How Is This Possible?

Holy shit, read this: After Drinking Gasoline, Man Lights Cigarette and Bursts into Flames

How do you "unknowingly" go outside for a cigarette? Was he that stupid, or is it just bad writing?

Yes, this man died, so I shouldn't be making fun of him, but this is fucking insane. Can you imagine someone you love dying like this? What would be the stronger reaction, "oh my god, they're gone" or "oh my god, I had no idea they were that stupid."


This Instantly Put Me in a Good Mood

Gwyneth Paltrow uploaded a picture of herself, Steve Martin, and Martin Short, then Stever Martin posted another. It's awesome.

I just noticed that I accidentally called him "Stever," up at the top. I'm not going to fix it. Anyway, click on the picture for the full size!