Megan Amram

Megan Amram

856 notes

Kickstarter: National Debt


Hi you guys! Joe Biden and the rest of the gang here! :) We’re looking for some awesome people to help us Kickstart our dream project of having a functioning federal government! That’s where you come in: all we’re asking for is a little help. And twenty trillion dollars.

As you may know, we (the United States government) are a little strapped for cash. Salvage a first-world government’s economy? In this economy?! As the kids say, “LOL!” (Laugh On Line!) We may be the ones responsible for “this economy” in the first place but still. Uncle Sam may have gotten us into this mess, but WE WANT YOU…to GET US OUT!

There is little if any funding available for small-to-midsize debt-based projects such as this. Through Kickstarter, with your support, the country that you live in can remain a free sovereign nation instead of having to sell Ohio to China, cause then Ohio would probably start speaking Chinese, and that’s FUCKED UP.


For those of you who don’t know, the USA is the best! Originally from England, the United States government has been a major world power since it was founded in 1776. The U.S. has brought you such great things such as sugar, mistresses, and obesity. Proud home to milk and Ashton Kutcher. Really into righteous wars!

For those of you into civil rights: no slavery! For those of you into slavery: we used to have slavery!

Imagine that famous picture on the cover of Sports Illustrated of Terri Schiavo holding an American flag. That’s our flag! On second thought, I think that was a painting I did in 2004 after doing grass for one of the first times. Still, she looks great in a tankini. As the kids say, “LOL!” (LOL A Lot!)


We’d like the United States to be fiscally autonomous. It’s been in the works for many years now, and we think it could be great. Thanks to Kickstarter, we have a chance to reach individuals who will personally bail us out of this mess. How great, for us!

I know it’s a crazy dream, but hey – this is a country of dreamers. Dreamers, and Christians.


Just a little Star Wards humor for ya!


Live A Little! Give A Lot (“GOL”)!


We’ve tried pretty much everything else at this point: war, selling some cars, literally making more money (you’d think that would work!!), blaming people, blaming gay “people,” war, and debt. None of that has touched the debt. Except debt, which has made the debt worse. Also, war!

If we’re able to meet our Kickstarter goal, you will have literally been part of a miracle. A miracle in the great Judeo-Christian tradition of this fair country. Of dreamers!




For your fairly useless donation to help the United States of America not founder under the multi-trillion dollar debt that we have amassed over decades of misspending and unnecessary wars that some may argue constitute war crimes, you get a tote.


If you donate $20, we will list you as an associate producer of the Government by carving your name into the Vietnam War Memorial. You can tell all your friends you’re a ghost because you died in the Vietnam War! You know – the righteous one!


I didn’t want to say this to the $20 people, but those guys are assholes. What kind of an asshole only donates $20 to a multitrillion dollar debt that is growing by 4 billion every day and has no sign of slowing? $25, now that’s the MONEY-money! If you donate $25, you get a tote (large).


You’ve finally taken the responsibility of the country into your own hands! I will make you a tie-dye t-shirt and cook you and five of your friends a hot dog BBQ at my gf’s place. I date her for her BBQ pit.* She’s like a 4. But she’s got a sweet pit. *I call her vagina her “BBQ Pit.”


If you pledge $100, which so far only my mom has done and Barack’s mother-in-law has done (let’s get on this, people), you will not only receive Special Thanks in the State of the Union as well as on the back of all nickels minted this year at the Denver mint, but Stephanie, our videographer, will take you to a Foster the People (“FOPOL”) cover band (“Foster!”) concert on October 28th, and yes, you can tell people it’s a date. This concert’s going to be great! They’re going to play “Pumped Up Kicks” 14 times and then, maybe if you clap enough, they’ll do an encore and it will be “Pumped Up Kicks”!!!


Well HEY there, Mr. Hollywood producer!! A pledge of one hundred thousand dollars or more will get you a walk-on role in the next meeting of Congress. Your vote for bills and propositions will be legally binding, so have fun! Don’t name any public parks after racial slurs!

PLEDGE $1,000,000 OR MORE

Here’s Louisiana.

PLEDGE $1,000,000,000 OR MORE

We will change the American Flag!! We will replace each star with your face. Unless you’re black, since the stars are white and it really makes sense for them to be as close to white as possible. Though, if you’re giving a billion dollars, we’ll assume you’re white or maybe a Dubaian light brown!!!!!!!

PLEDGE $1,000,000,050 OR MORE

Everything from the $1,000,000,000 level, plus a tote.

PLEDGE $1,000,000,000,000 OR MORE

Start whatever war you want!! You want a new Civil War where Asians have to fight their brown Asian brothers???? You got it, bucko!!!! Hate crime Pollacks? A PLUS+++. You want to take over Ireland? Those Pollacks haven’t done anything in years. JUST want to kill Disney Channel kid stars?!? THAT’S PRACTICALLY LEGAL ALREADY! Kill a girl. Kill a kid. You got it.

PLEDGE $20,000,000,000,000 OR MORE

Kill so many kids. (KOL!)

1,361 notes

Ayn Randers

Dear Ayn,

I’m dating a man who I think I love, but I’m afraid he’s having an affair. He comes home late, he acts suspiciously, and he even has red lipstick on his collar. Should I confront him or just hope for the best?

- County Af-fair

Dear County,

Red lipstick? Your husband is a Communist. Divorce him and sell his clothes, children, and pens to make money to spend on cars, human slaves, and bigger pens. This will simultaneously stimulate the economy and punish the slaves for not having jobs. Slaves: what lazybones!

Hope this helps,



Dear Ayn,

I’m trying to figure out which color dress to get my daughter for her First Communion. Is red gauche?

- Paint the Dress Red

Dear Paint,

Hmmm, this is a tough one. On one hand, I hate Communism (“Reds”). On the other hand, I hate religion. On the third hand, I hate women. FYI, do you know how I got that third hand? I bought it from a child! Ho HO! He was easily tricked into selling me his hand for a nickel and a pious man’s drum! I have a baker’s dozen child-hands in my glove compartment!!!!

Hope this helps,



Dear Ayn,

My baby daughter is turning one year old, and I don’t know if I should throw her a birthday party or not. What should I do? I’d appreciate any advice.

- One is the Loneliest Number           

Dear One,

DO NOT reward this tiny unemployed Jew with a party. Your so-called “baby” is most likely an immigrant (read: LAZYBONE) who doesn’t contribute to her family’s income and gives terrible, poor-people gifts like HD-DVDs and sand. Unrelated question: does your baby have any spare hands?

Hope this helps,



Dear Ayn,

My in-laws are coming to Thanksgiving dinner at my house for the first time. I’m not great at hosting: how do I make sure we have enough food and that we all get along?

- Turkey Lurkey

Dear Lurkey,

The lavish Thanksgiving meal is a symbol of the fact that abundant consumption is the RESULT AND REWARD OF PRODUCTION. Do you see a poor “person” on the street? (NOTE: I put “person” in quotes because poor people are more like CHAIRS in my book because you should SIT on them.) Ask this “person” (read: chair) for his half-sandwich for your Thanksgiving meal. Does he not relinquish that symbol for all American pride, the half-sandwich? Does he not relinquish his half-BLT, his half-PB&J? Distract him with some sort of juvenile puppet-based theater and steal that half-sandwich. That is YOUR HALF-SANDY, for YOU ARE GOD. YOU ARE GOD. YOU ARE A GOD EATING A HALF-HAM-AND-CHEESE SANDY. Note: to be clear, it is half of a ham-and-cheese sandwich, not a whole half-ham and cheese sandwich.

Hope this helps,



Dear Ayn,

Are you the warrant and the sanction?

- Dawdling In Dallas

Dear Dawdling,

I am the warrant and the sanction.



Dear Ayn,

I don’t mean to be offensive, but your writing is overwhelmingly juvenile and one-note. How did you become such an influential figure, a cornerstone of the landscape of American conservative politics? You write like a petulant child.

- Hollis Hurlbut, Professor of Comparative Literature, Harvard University

Dear Hollis,

Your mom’s juvenile.

Hope this helps,



Dear Ayn,

I’m in Los Angeles for a day and I don’t have much spending cash. What are some fun things to do that are cheap and easy?

- SoCal SoCheap

Dear SoCal,

Here are some options:

Tattoo “laissez faire” on a celebrity’s bagel.

Build a statue of me, Ayn Rand, out of cheap materials (rose gold, the word of a liberal, Mexican day labor).

Throw that statue at the Chair who built it (aim for the throat).

Go to the zoo and taunt an animal smaller than you (human children count).

Make a coat out of some Dalmatians.

Push a baby into another baby and point and laugh while they cry and then trip the babies and then laugh more at those babies that you tripped.

Make a coat out of someone with Medicare.

Hope this helps,



Dear Ayn,

I’m considering becoming a Communist. Should I become a Communist?

- Commie Dearest

Dear Commie,


Hope this helps,



Dear Ayn,

If I yell enough at gays and Jews and Mexicans and Michael J. Foxes, will my daddy love me? Will he kiss me on the face and not throw paperweights at my face and love me?

- Rush Limbaugh

Dear Rush,


Hope this helps,



Dear Ayn,

I caught my wife reading Atlas Shrugged the other day. She’s been acting strange ever since: yelling for no reason, physically harming children, stealing from those poorer than us, hating other women. Do you know what’s wrong?


Atlas My Love Has Come Again

Dear Atlas,

Women can’t read.


697 notes

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481 notes

OMG just saw the original version of that Sarah McLachlan animal cruety “Angel” video…this is SO crazy, omg

5,991 notes

Paula Deen’s Health Food Cookbook

Recently, Paula Deen has admitted that she’s had Type II Diabetes for years. Accordingly, she’s putting out a cookbook of healthy food. Here are some excerpts!



1 lb. bag of Skittles

3 cups ranch dressing


Mix well. Serve room temperature.




1 pilaf white rice           

1 bowl melted Junior Mints


Cover rice in chocolate. Serve with maple syrup to taste. To splurge, top with a sprinkle of sausage calzones.




1 dozen (12) Cadbury eggs

2 lbs. Frito crumbs

1 package extra-fat pork lard

1 pilaf Paula’s brown rice


Break the Cadbury eggs and harvest the crème-filled white centers. Dip them in the Frito crumbs. Put the lard (make SURE to get the extra-fat kind or it will be BLAND) in a frying pan on high heat, and fry the crème centers until golden-brown. Serve on a bed of Paula’s brown rice.




3 bags Olive Garden® Endless Breadsticks

12 Olive Garden® Stuffed Mushrooms

1 plate Olive Garden® New! Baked Pasta Romana with Chicken

4 Olive Garden® Black Tie Mousse Cakes

1 slice American cheese (optional)


Smash all of the Olive Garden® foods together until they resemble a large patty and top with cheese. For lowest calories, hold the cheese.




34 lbs. sugar


Put sugar in smoothie glass and drink with straw, serve chilled in white wine tumblers or, for special occasions, lap from trough. This delicacy is guilt-free since you can make a conscious choice not to feel guilty about anything you put in your body like Paula does!




1 burger

1 Las Vegas buffet

Christmas-themed elastic pants (optional)


Go to Las Vegas buffet. Make sure the buffet has burgers, or provide your own. Do NOT walk around the buffet. Get a motorized scooter, or stay in one spot and use a jaws of life to pick some of each buffet food out of the tubs and put it on your burger. Elastic pants are nice because your gupa (gunt-fupa) stays nicely inside the stretchy pants except for a few folds of fat with stretch marks that seep out of the pants.




1 peanut

18 sticks of butter, mashed

1 pair Jellies shoes


Cover the shoes with butter and top with the peanut, and then eat the shoes. If you eat shoes it’s like you’re exercising so it’s VERY healthy.




10’x20’ swath of pizza

Another pizza to use as pepperonis on the pizza

Stuffed mushrooms

FYI the mushrooms are stuffed with smaller pizzas

Smuckers magic shell ice cream topping



3 bags gummy bears


Caesar salad dressing

Wood chips (as a thickener)

Grenadine syrup

Butter-flour mixture

Pizza Pockets

1 sewing machine

1 sewing pattern for pants (size XXXL)


Mushrooms are a vegetable and there are definitely some mushrooms on that pizza so technically they are HEALTHY-style pizza pants. Take the really big pizza. Put all of the other ingredients on the pizza. Pour the coke on the pizza. Dip the pizza in the fondue, and resist eating it before you make it into pants, no cheating!!! Sew that pizza into pants using the machine and the pattern. Make sure to sew in some pockets so you can keep a few extra spare Pizza Pockets in your pizza pockets!!!! Then eat your pants!!!!!!!!!!!




3 turduckens


Stuff a turducken in a turducken in a turducken. While you’re waiting for it to cook, make your fat niece make you some pizza pants while you’re watching Pawn Stars and eat your pants and then slap your niece.




1 insulin shot

15 lbs. block of cheddar cheese


Bury insulin shot in cheese. When you’re going into a diabetic coma, just eat your way to the shot!! Eat the cheese fast or you’ll die!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!




1 glass sparkling water

1 ham


Put ham in water.

484 notes

New Year’s Resolutions: Year 3012

Lose fifteen pounds from your problem areas (hips, fifth and fourteenth space-boobs, vestigial face)


Spend more time with your government-rationed .452 of a son or daughter


Take the family on a trip to


Volunteer at your local chapter of the White People Remembrance League (white people have been extinct since 2021, you are an exotic mixture of brown and Asian and Roomba)


Read the Bible, especially the part that is a novelization of “We Bought A Zoo 624: Zoo-n Yi Previn,” which is all the parts


Pray to the Mother Goddess Zooey Deschanel, who first displayed her omnipotent god powers at the 2014 People’s Choice Awards by renewing “19 Kids And Counting” for 998 more seasons


Watch less TV, even though “5,731,476,425,736 Kids And Counting” is SO good


Learn moon-French


Write a screenplay called “We Bought A Zoo 625: We Bought A Zoo-ey Deschanel”


Vote for “5,731,476,425,736 Kids And Counting” in the 3012 People’s Choice Awards for “Best Show Where A Human Lady is Basically A Spider’s Egg Sac With Stretch Marks”


Vote for “Zooey Deschanel” in the 3012 People’s Choice Awards as “Best Deity,” “Only Deity,” and “~*~Kewlest~*~ Bangs”


Buy a new Moon Bounce (here on the moon we just call them “Bounces”)


Get promoted from “slave to Zooey Deschanel” to “human sacrifice to Zooey Deschanel” (lateral promotion)


Organize your space-boobs by type (normal, space, brown, formal, or Chicago-style)


Be all like, “how is it the future and they STILL haven’t invented flying cars” (am I right ladies!!!!!!)


Kill Dick Clark

1,485 notes

Quiz: Do You Have Cancer?

Do you have cancer? Find out with this fun, flirty quiz!!

1.     It’s the middle of class and your crush looks over to see you:

a.     Texting him!

b.     Paying attention to the teacher. Come on – it’s class!

c.      Picking at a large new mole that has recently developed on your forearm!


2.     When you’re out with your friends, you are:

a.     Gossiping about the cute new boy in 4th period bio!

b.     Sharing negative cancer test results over some Frappuccinos (pumpkin fraps, come on – it’s fall, sluts)!

c.      Bleeding from your tumors, you total slut! (Bleeding from tumors = getting to “second-base”!!)


3.     If you could change one part of your body, it would be:

a.     Your abs and/or abdominals!

b.     Your c-section scar you post-natal slut!

c.      The lumps you recently found in your left breast a.k.a. “Thelma” ;) (Finding a lump in your breast = getting to “first-base”!!)


4.     You and your guy are curling up on a snowy night. What do you do?

a.     Kiss a little, nothing further – you’re a good girl you’re no slut ;)!

b.     Go all the way – you’re a naughty girl and some would say the “slut” of the night school/Hebrew School :p!

c.      Die!


5.     The pop song that most describes you is:

a.     “Pumped Up Kicks” (like ANYONE can resist that great song!! Anyone who says they don’t like that song is a total slut, sexually)

b.     “I Wanna Hold Your Hand” (honestly, one of the best songs by one of the best bands EVER, The Beatles! Ever heard of ‘em? ;) They don’t need to sing about sluts to be so sexy/slutty!)

c.      “My Humps” (referring to the humps/lovely lady lumps in your breasts)


6.     If you met a cancer doctor, you’d say:

a.     “Hey, you’re a sexy doctor! Wanna listen to Foster the People and touch my Jew-nips?”

b.     “Hey, I’m a good girl but that doesn’t mean I’m above being a slut, wanna touch my Jew-nips to the sounds of Foster the People, this generation’s The Beatles?”

c.      “I have cancer, gllrrrrrrrrrssh” [the sound of blood gurgling out of your femur marrow]


7.     When it comes to sports, you:

a.     Are a sports-slut!

b.     Are a sports-slut but for sex (so just a plain ol’ slut)!

c.      Are dead from dying from overdosing on cancer!


8.     If your life was an MTV show, it would be called:

a.     “MTV’s Slut-Ass Bitch-Ass Slut”!

b.     “Teen-Mom’s MTV Jew-Nips”!

c.      “Sixteen and Cancerous”!



You go girl – you don’t have cancer! You are also the quintessential flirt, you slut! ;) Also, try wearing “winter” colors like blue, purple, or green. Also, you are a vampire. Also, you are a slut. Also, you’re the movie “Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part II.” Also, you’re an iPad II. Also, you’re a farmhand you slut.


No cancer, but probably you are a slut! But the good kind! You’re a slutty bagel. You’re the kind of girl who wears mascara on both lashes which is fairly slutty but fool-proof to make boys want to give you the Hoobastank. You’re the kind of a girl another girl would see and be like “girls are idiots” but really she’s an idiot girl too because all girls are idiots and sluts. If you have a crush, you should try texting him a flirty message like “Hello! I am a slut!” Also, you’re a Zune you slut.


You have cancer! You big-jugged slut! You have cancer!

653 notes

Political Ben & Jerry’s Flavors: 2011

Rick Berry

Malt Romney

Occu-Pie Wall-nut

Donut Ask, Don’t Caramel

ChocoPie GumBall Street

Women’s Right to Chews* (*Taffys)

Marshmell’ Bachmann

Marshmell’ Choc-mint

Troy Davis’ Capital PunishMint

Rick Santorum Is A Homosexual Assdouche Fudge Swirl

Snickerhead Ranch

2,376 notes


One year ago today, I got in the driver’s seat of a car that my mother paid for and gave me and drove from Portland, Oregon to Los Angeles, California to (at most) flourish and (at least) not die. Ten years ago today, some normal-sized people hijacked some normal-sized planes and flew them into the Twin Towers in New York City, two of the tallest buildings in the United States of America, and killed nearly three thousand people. They killed thousands of people, and they psychologically killed thousands of others and ushered in an age of broken America and they made the date 9/11 into something more than it ever should be. It should be some lame day in mid-September where a lame kid complains about going back to some lame school. Instead, it’s an anniversary.

How many is 3,000? I guess I know the answer to that. It’s a little more than 2,994 and much less than 2,498,670,210,952. But realistically, my brain can’t comprehend more than about 322. That’s how many kids could fit in my high school auditorium, where my twin brother and I once did an interpretative dance as Hitler for a class final (we got an A; suck it, Hitler). I can’t estimate. If I had to guess, I would say there are exactly 100 sites on the Internet. So the tragedy that is 9/11 (or the Holocaust, or Darfur, or…) is too big for my small brain. And there’s a special subset of suburban guilt reserved for the inability to comprehend a horror.

Part of the reason that I can’t make myself feel the grotesque grandeur of 9/11 is that I’ve never been in a tragedy. I’ve experienced bad, but I’ve never experienced tragic in the epic, transformative, Greek sense of the word. Tragedy is like a branding iron. Everyone who lives through it becomes a product of that tragedy. You realize you’re just a slab of meat. You might continue living your life in a fairly normal straight line, but that tragedy knows to whom you belong. You have its smoldering mark on your body.

I’ve never been disfigured by tragedy, but I have felt joy. Transformative joy. Whatever the opposite of 9/11 is, I have felt that. I have experienced the not-small miracle of being able to do what I love. I am healthy enough that I don’t think about how healthy I am. I get to live in the fun house mirror that is Los Angeles. LA is so silly, in the most benign sense of the word. Its streets are stupid and benign. Because I’m privileged and young and white, I am blessed enough to not know about the streets in LA that aren’t silly and stupid and benign.

Because of that, it’s easier for me to imagine one year ago today than it is for me to imagine ten years ago today. On September 11, 2001, I was in eighth grade and I very calmly thought to myself, “Well! I will not ever play varsity volleyball in high school, because the world is over.” On September 11, 2010, I took the first steps of what would become my pilgrimage to my dreams. For the past year, I have attempted to slowly close in on my dreams in concentric circles. For me, the world began on the same day that it ended, albeit nine years apart. (Spoiler alert: I never ended up playing varsity volleyball anyway, due to my doughy, Jewish physique.)

I can’t think of a better day to speak directly to my “demographic” – skinny 18-to-34-year-olds and spam bots. I am talking to YOU right now, Tweeters and Tumblrers and Bloggers and whatever the HECK else portmanteaus we can whip up while sitting in ironic coffee shops ironically listening to Spotify. We are coming of age in a culture not of un-enjoyment, but of anti-enjoyment. Passion is not just superfluous – passion is weakness. If you like things, you might like the wrong things, and then you’re WRONG with a capital “DOUBLE-U” with a capital “D”, and then you’re BAD and ugly and FAT and SUPER FAT. The Internet can’t figure out whether it wants to beatify things or damn them, so it just gets all sorts of contentious. Contention on the Internet is silly in the worst sense of the word. Personally, I hate confrontation. I like to think of myself as a sickly Victorian child, or a maybe a sickly geisha. Very demure and easily persuaded and sickly. If the Internet is a super highway, we all have road rage.

To participate in this chic backlash against passion is to have a small mind. In my humble, unimportant, normal-sized opinion, it is better to have a small BRAIN than a small MIND. If you have a small brain, you can still be a good, kind, hard-working, dumb person who can manage some sort of farm or daycare. If you have a small mind, however, you very well might hurt people with it. You are just getting a sliver of the delicious Bacon, Ham, & Cheese Lean Pocket that is being young in America.

Spending your youthful energy on combative, kinetic apathy is a waste. Stuff is AWESOME, GUYS. Something about everything is awesome. Because I live in LA, CA, USA and not other places in the world, I get to write things like “fuck fuck FUCK fuck fuck FUCK” on the Internet (the title of my next blog post). I can condemn Burkas while comfortably wearing a Snuggie (a gateway Burka). I can do an interpretative dance as Hitler for 322 people (suck it, Hitler). I can do whatever I want (sort of) and I can eat whatever I want (not carbs) and be the opposite of dead.

The people who, ten years ago today, flew those planes into the sides of two of the tallest buildings in America had minds that were even smaller than mine (and possibly yours, if you’re wearing a shirt from Threadless Tees). Their worldview was so closed to interpretation that they thought the only answer was a large-scale terrorist attack. I’m not saying Hipsters are Terrorists (though that is a very funny sentiment that I never thought I’d get the chance to write). I am saying that closing your mind to sincerity and praise and appreciation might be the first step in squandering the fucking awesome human condition you possess. Please do not close your mind to the not-small epiphany that epic joy exists.

Please, PLEASE feel free to completely disregard and disagree with and disJimBelushi (I made that word up, because I CAN, IN AMERICA) this essay. Why should you listen to me, when I’m forehead-deep in the disaffected goo that is my generation? I’m sitting in a hipster coffee shop in Hollywood, a living, breathing, self-important, self-hating cliché. My caveat is, I sort of wrote this for myself. I want to read this diary entry in one more year, or ten more years, or three-hundred-and-twenty-two more years, and see how wonderful and confusing it is to be happy and young in the face of slaughter.

If you are reading this, you are not dead. I myself happen to be very not dead. I’m giddy and sleepy and fighting the need to pee and listening to one of my favorite songs (“True” by Spandau Ballet) and physically not dead. I make enough money to waste it. I’m spoiled enough to be addicted to the culture of coffee. I wear rainbow sunglasses every day. I have a crush on 40% of the boys in my gchat bar. Jesus, this is awesome. I want to be not dead every day of my life.

I love LA and I love NY and I love America and I love being not dead. Happy anniversary(s). Here’s to one and ten more.