Some of you may remember the Kirk and Mark Show debacle of days gone by.  If not, this link will refresh your memory.  If you’re too awesome to click a link, let me summarize.

A few months back, I wrote an article for Cracked about the world’s worst ways to get drunk.  A few days later, someone on the Cracked forums posted about hearing my article being read verbatim on The Kirk and Mark Show, a Baltimore, MD based morning talk radio show.  Naturally, I was a bit miffed.  This led to me writing an article calling out Kirk and Mark as plagiarists at worst, talentless hacks at best.  I even sent them an email asking for an explanation.  Ian Cheesman got a fucking explanation, why shouldn’t I get an explanation?  I wasn’t even asking for a signed t-shirt or anything.  Just a simple explanation.  Perhaps an apology.  Nothing more than that.  What I got was a bunch of silence.  Guilty, nervous silence.

But that was all in the past.  It is with much joy and vengeance-y satisfaction that I report to you that the Kirk and Mark Show in Baltimore is no more.  As of Monday, the station their show was broadcast on switched to an all sports format.  As a result, Kirk and Mark are, at least for now, delightfully unemployed.  While the move was blamed on the all sports format appealing to a certain demographic, I think we all know what was really up.  Baltimore’s 105.7 could no longer stomach being associated with a bunch of stealing jerks and, out of pure shame, decided to change.  Make no mistake, this is a victory for ScenicAnemia.com.  Without our collective vitriol, anger and seething rage, those douchebaskets would still be on the air today.

As I’m sure you can understand, this newfound influence over world events has left me feeling a bit drunk.  Drunk on power, that is.  And rubbing alcohol.  But mostly power.  And what good is power if you don’t use it?  Don’t answer that, it’s a rhetorical question.

See just now how I said don’t answer that question and you, in fact, didn’t answer it?  Power.  And I’ll be damned if I stop there.  With that in mind, I’ve decided to compile a list of other threats, nuisances and problems that I’d like to rid the world of.

Billy Mays

Billy Mays.  Does that name sound familiar?  Try it this way…”HI!  BILLY MAYS HERE FOR (insert name of shitty As Seen On TV product)!”  I’ve got approximately sixteen different kinds of problems with this man, and every one of them centers around one basic question.  Billy Mays, why must you be so awesome?

By all accounts, the high pitched shriek that you employ to sell products on television is also the voice you use when just talking in real life.  How fucking great is that?  And despite the fact that you are in a perpetual state of screaming at people, those people respond by…buying shit from you?  I know this is the case, because I’m one of those people.  I can hardly make it to the end of your 60 second volume-at-11 sales tirades before I’m picking up the phone and calling to place my order.  This must stop.  I’m not made of money Billy Mays.  I can no longer afford to make three easy payments of $19.95 (plus shipping and processing) every time your infectious hollering lights a fire inside me.  A fire that can only be extinguished by the year round usefulness of a Bedazzler® or the lethal possibilities that come with the Samurai Shark knife sharpener.  I don’t even have a garden, exactly what the hell am I going to do with that Awesome Auger?  You’re bankrupting me Billy Mays.  Bankrupting me through salesmanship.  I will stand for it no longer.

John the Commenter

I will hunt you down and end your shit, John1035 (and assorted other numbers).  Every morning I work up a massive sweat yanking the cord that starts the generator that powers this site.  And every morning, my hard work is rewarded with dozens of comments from some relentless spammer named John.  I’ve left one of his comments intact on Fortey’s “You Too Can Write For the Internets” article.  You know why I left it on that article?  Because it’s the only goddamned article he leaves his spam-ass comments on.

John, seriously, who the fuck are you?  And what is it about our readers that makes you believe they need phentermine so bad?  Are you calling our readers fat?  Are you calling Fortey fat?  Nobody talks shit about Fortey except me, Glenn, Grady and random chicks driving past him on the street.  In case anyone clicked the link, I’m sure you noticed that article was posted on September, 11th.  We’re a classy bunch, y’all.

Anyway, what the fuck John?  Do you think I have nothing better to do than delete your bullshit comments 24/7?  If you are going to mask your spam as actual comments, you could at least put more effort into it.  “Now I can say, thanks!  Beautiful site.”  What the fuck is that supposed to mean?  Have you and your spambots really been sitting at home, chomping at the bit, just waiting for that moment when you can finally say thanks to the most retarded website on the internet that isn’t called lolcatz?

Don’t fuck with us John.  You don’t want to say thanks.  You also don’t hope this site “lives forever.”  You just want to sell us your dirty, illicit diet pills.  You should be ashamed John.  We will have no part of your dirty pharmaceutical game.  Unless they’ll give us a decent buzz, of course.  And if anyone is wondering who that is in the picture, I’m not sure myself.  I just know his name is John and he looks like a douchebag.  Close enough.

Axe Body Spray

These here bitches have crossed a line.  More on that in a second.  But even without their most recent capers, this abomination of a company has been fucking pushing it for awhile now.

There are countless negative influences out there that the youth of the world must overcome.  Is it really in the best interest of the state of the world for these corporate chisel monkeys to sell legions of 14-23 year olds on a lifetime of wearing the Old Spice of the MySpace generation?  For them, yes.  For the idiots wearing it, not so much.  Think about it.  You, whether you’re a man or woman, can smell a crusty old dude slathered in Old Spice.  Rest assured, baggy pant wearing young men of America, chickz at the club can smell you and your Axe Body Spray coming from a mile away.  You think it makes you smell sexy.  They think it makes you smell like a dude with a $4.00 cologne budget.  Just use Irish Spring like a real man and call it a day.

Even without all this, Axe would be on the hit list for their most recent commercial.  In the past, just suggesting that the ladiez will go mad for a dude drenched in low budget perfluorocarbons was heinous enough.  But now, they go and unleash the commercial below.  Watch it…if you are the type who enjoys having your dreams haunted for years to come.