The Dopple Gang: Smart Humor By Dumb People

It's New Year's Eve At Every Bar!

       It’s a brand new year, and it’s time to ring it in with a six hour open bar for only 80 dollars!  Food and drinks, all night, and the best karaoke in town, at Every Bar!  Down the street, or across town, it’s the best night of the year at Every Bar. Tons of your co-workers, or your friends, or some strangers will be there, partying it up in 2008 at Every Bar!

       Did we mention the Every Bar Girls?  Our signature Short-Shorts-Shot-Girls will be trying to say short-shorts-shot-girls all night long, and most likely failing, because they’re my sister’s daughter’s friends and none of ‘em are too bright!  But that’s just how it is, at Every Bar! Come watch as your local police district gets shithoused and sings a ton of Irish songs, even though most of them are fifth generation and are probably more German or Italian than Irish! Witness teachers and nurses seek decent men, and find solace in maneuvering, overpaid young professionals who wore suits out…to a fuckin’ bar!  Someone will undoubtedly get jealous and want to beat those jokers up- and it may as well be you, at Every Bar, for New Year’s Eve!

       Did I mention the food? Generic, greasy fries and burgers! Fish and chips! Regional cuisine that no one cares about! And don’t forget our signature Award-“Winging” Every Bar Hot Wings!  You simply can’t get enough of these wings! Unlimited wings and beer, for only 80 dollars!  Watch the ball drop as you slowly pull your face out of that pile of delicious, tender wings that you wished was actually the Short-Shorts-Shot-Girls tastefully matted nether region.  Instead, slowly paw your way along a wall and make it to the bathroom, where you will wash your hands sixteen times and STILL HAVE OUR HOT SAUCE STUCK ON YOU!  You can’t get away from the taste of these wings!

       The longest all-wood bar of its size, in your county, will be full of flaming shots!  Don’t feel like tipping? You’ll undoubtedly be taught a harsh lesson, after you buy six shots of something incredibly girly shots for your douchebag friends who can’t put down whiskey like real men!  Watch as the bartender doesn’t serve you for a whole hour and those guys in the suits, with their never-ending supply of gin-and-tonics, have already auto-graphed the signature Short-Shorts-Shot-Girls’ perky breasts with our signature Award-Winging Hot Wings!  They wrote their name in hot sauce, which will probably cause third-degree burns, and you have to stand there and watch, all too sober because you didn’t want to part with a fiver! And you even had a good reason this time- it was 80 bucks for the door before tip, and now you’re gonna spend upwards of a hundred just to get the booze they claimed was free!

       And in case that’s not enough- Dancing!  We have a really annoying white DJ with hair that may or may not look cool who loves to tell people it's time to get the party started.  And did we mention Axe Body Spray?   We have so much Axe Body Spray on the dance floor that we can’t keep track of all of the guys who probably read Maxim in here.  And there’s hair-gel, as well, along with a few fake tans, goofy facial hair, and a boatload of thinly-veiled insecurities- ALL NIGHT LONG!  After every hip-hop song that has a real beat, we’ll play some crappy 80s song and you can reminisce about how you weren’t old enough to remember this song when you were 5, when it came out.  But the girls at Every Bar love to dance! In fact, they’re in a circle and won’t let you make out with their drunk and slutty friends! Their flawed logic, that holding out will make them more desirable, is infuriating and drives you insane with rage, but the only thing you can do is try to pick up other girls!  So you better man up, do some shots, and get out there, broski?  Oh you don’t like being called broski, broski?

       Well, take it outside, at our signature “You’re Drunk and We’re Calling the Cops” alley, where countless really girly fights have taken place.  Watch as Overly-Aggressive-Steroid Freak picks a fight with Not-From-Around-Here, or enjoy countless dry-wretches from Too-Old-To-Be-Drinking-That-Hard.  Get calmed down by our signature Kind-of-Hot-Hostess, who claims she’s concerned for your well-being, but is really there just to keep you from coming back inside before the five-o picks your ass up for drunk and disorderly!  Bail is $300 for the night, unless you wanna stay in the tank with the drunks, but it’s only $80 for unlimited, wings, girls, beer, and fun, at Every Bar, this New Year’s Eve!

 

  by an award-winging Michael J. Weingarth

Mom’s Single and Things are Going to be Different Around Here, Son

          Son, I’ve got some news. You see, mom and I, although we’ve been divorced, haven’t been really dating other people. What? No, dating is when you get to know someone before you get involved seriously with them. Well, at least that’s how some of us would date. But that’s what I’m trying to tell you, son. Your mom is single again, which is going to mean you’ll be seeing some strange things, and you shouldn’t be scared at all.

          See, dating is a natural part of the weeding out process. Well, again, that’s only if you’ve still got respect for yourself. Mom, well, she really enjoys the physical aspects of a relationship, so you’ll probably be seeing some really younger guys running around the house a few times per week for the next month or so. After she wears herself out, she’ll probably just start with Frederico, the guy who cuts the grass, or maybe the Fed-ex man and they’ll be over at the house on a regular basis. Knowing her, probably every Tuesday. She already talks to the Fed-ex guy? Well, that’s what we call “flirting”, in the adult world, son. Yes, you should always assume that when two people of the opposite sex are talking, they’re “flirting.” When you combine flirting and a lot of alcohol, you get something called “a one-night stand” and possibly something called “Chlamydia”. Don’t worry about that, though, no girls your age have it yet. And they won’t, probably at least until they’re 14. This isn’t New York…thank God for that.

          Well, if any of these guys start trying to act like they’re your dad, all you have to do is say, “My daddy is a rich lawyer, who used to be the head of a prison gang,” and they’ll stop talking to you for a while. I know it’s not true, son, but you can’t say, “My dad is the regional sales director for a luxury car company,” and expect some 26 year old your mom just nailed to be intimidated. He’s 26, for god’s sake, he doesn’t even know what fear is yet. Wait until he starts losing his hair- or until she starts cutting into him about all those wet towels on the bed, jesus, what a reason for a divorce! What? No, don’t worry about all that, son. Just remember the prison line.

           After she’s done with the studs, she’ll move onto the well-to-do older men, who have too much money and nothing to do with it except try to buy sex. You see, son, older men are undesirable in many ways- they’re not as physically fit, they’re boring at times, they have a hard time not leaving wet towels on the bed, and this causes women to look at younger men in a different way. So older men have to do things to make girls desire them- yes, just like Daddy and the Dodge Viper. And what about Daddy and the Rolex? That’s right, high five! So my point is, you can expect a lot of great Christmas presents once one of these older guys steps in, because they’ll try to buy your love, which is almost as important as trying to earn it.

          But no matter what, son, you should remember that adults do these kinds of things to get by, and there’s nothing wrong with your mother shtupping a few gym-rats before she becomes a gold-digger and whores herself out for stability in her later years. Adults look at life much differently than you, and a lot of them claim to miss being able to be a kid. Probably because their wives leave them at the height of their career so they can stumble awkwardly around the upper-middle class dating scene only to miss the simple companionship and peacefulness of married life. See, when you’re a kid, you don’t really have anything to compare anything to, so life’s just one grand novelty-that’s something new which you have never experienced before-yeah, just like laser tag.

          Look, just don’t let any of them call you son, okay? You say, “I have a dad,” and if they give you that “daddy went away for a long time” spiel your mom likes to use for sympathy, you just say “Mommy left daddy because she couldn’t just ask him nicely not to leave wet towels on the bed, and had to make a melodramatic speech in front of the in-laws instead”, and that should teach them a thing or two about sleeping with my wife. What? I know it’s a little long. Just stick with the prison line for now, and we’ll work on it next week after your football game. What? Well, I don’t really care if the Fex-ex guy was invited, I’ll be there anyway. Maybe with a few 26 year olds on my own. That’s exactly right, song- because Daddy drives the Viper and girls are shallow. See, I knew you’d catch on.

 

  By a 26 year old Michael J. Weingarth

 

Excerpts From "Being Justin Long For Dummies"

Excerpts From Being Justin Long For Dummies

Chapter I - Be 17, Regardless
    Whether you're a seventeen-year-old boy figuring out how to turn eighteen and go to college, or a 29-year-old actor still trying to turn eighteen and grow a goatee, being Justin Long is inseparable from that stammering, terrified "a pretty girl just looked at me and I'm about to cream my pants" demeanor. Some steps that can be taken to help this:

• Be every girl's best friend, but only sputter out your love for her on the off chance that you get a chance to save her from bullies, and she's helping you up from your wedgie/bicycle crash/blowing Bruce Willis.
• Be beaten up every day, but don't take a stand for yourself. Ladies love the "turning the other cheek" if you know what I mean. No? That's because it doesn't work, except with Justin Long.
   

Chapter X - Telling Your Parents You're A Mac
    You've known for a long time that you were attracted to clean graphics, DIY music and film, and outdated copies of Microsoft Office. You knew this was for you even if that meant that you could only select from a narrow range of compatible programs and video-games. Of course, try telling this to Mr. and Mrs. Long, rock-rib PC users from upstate New York, the home of IBM. Mr. Long had an ENIAC poster on his wall during college, and Mrs. Long voted for her TRS-80 for president in 1980, 1984, and 1988, despite the fact that by then most people had switched to the far more advanced PS/2 systems and computers are not (yet!) eligible for the presidency. Try to be kind about it: point out your strengths, especially in the field of media where you work. Don't point out that maybe if you were a Mac, Dad, you wouldn't crash so quickly and Mom wouldn't have to go to Norton to get her fix!!! OH YEAH, WELL MY BEING A MAC MADE ME MORE MONEY THAN YOU DID IN YOUR WHOLE LIFE, OLD MAN!!!! Ok. So that didn't go so well.

Chapter XXII - Kill Shia LeBouf
    There can be only one. Before you know it, he'll be pal-ing around with Jonah Hill just like you used to do, asking if there are any good roles in the next Judd Apatow film. What does he think, that you worked at being the fresh-faced new kid on the block for 10 years just to let it slip away like that? What's that? Transformers did better than Live Free or Die Hard? By a lot!? This has to be stopped now, before he can host Saturday Night Live. He already did!? Kill him. KILL HIM NOW.

by Johnny McNulty

What’s stuck in your teeth after Christmas Dinner?

1.  Foot, after you called your daughter's younger boyfriend “slugger” and taught him how to shotgun a beer

2.  Over-easy revenge, even though you asked for it cold

3.  Popcorn, like always

4.  Entire candy cane that you snuck in 3 seconds before sitting down to dinner

5.  First names of your in-laws….God it’s on the tip of your tongue….

6.  Bottle cap, again from stunts with the daughter's boyfriend

7.  Trident and chewable aspirin

8.  License plate from  Louisiana from “Jaws” Halloween costume

   

9.  Microfilm from North Korea, just in case the house is made while you’re out…

   

10.  Thanksgiving dinner

 

by Michael J. Weingarth

Philip Marlowe Has Really Fallen a Long Way

Scene: Goffle Grill – Hawthorne, NJ

Time: 1:30 pm

(As I enter, the cashier, dressed in a topcoat and fedora, stands with his back to the counter, a plume of smoke billowing above his head).

Me: Ahem. Hey, how are ya?

Cashier: That depends on who wants to know, fella.

Me: …Uh, Chris?

(The cashier turns around. His face looks worn, even without the open gashes and purple bruises. A nametag on his chest reads “Phil”. A nearly extinguished cigarette defies gravity, dangling off his lower lip.)

Phil: I was lying – I’m doing the same no matter which of the world’s billion saps is doing the asking. I’m doing just great. My head splits like a bad bowler and I just got some cosmetic work done on the old chompers by a careless gorilla with a bad attitude, but other than that, it’s all roses and sunshine.

(A thin stream of blood trickles down from beneath his hat.)

Me: Holy hell. You need to see a doctor.

Phil: There ain’t no doctors round here with the prescription I need.

Me: I’m pretty sure there are. This is North Jersey. There’s probably a doctor in here right now.

Phil: Is that a threat?

Me: What? No. I’m just saying that you’re very badly hurt and probably need some stitches.

Phil: I’ll tell you what I need – the truth. And make it snappy. I’ve got a date with the Queen of Sheba and she hates when I’m late.

Me: The truth? Is that my order?

Phil: You’re quick for an ignorant lug.

Me: Hey now, that’s not…

Phil: Now don’t get all worked up over the little peeps of a well-meaning mouse like me. Save your fists for someone who gives a damn. Your order is all I need.

Me: Fine. Two dogs all the way and a black and white, to go.

Phil: (writing down the order) And where were you last night around 11?

Me: That’s none of your business.

Phil: My business is finding out everything that isn’t my business. If you’ve got a problem with that, we could enter negotiations and hammer out a deal.

Me: Is that a metaphor? Who speaks in metaphors nowadays?

Phil: Men with nothing to lose but their lives. Care to join the club? I get a discount for every new member I sign up.

Me: I can’t even tell – are you trying to fight me?

Phil: I wouldn’t dream of it, you dumb ape.

Me: OK, yeah I got that. Screw you. I want to see your manager.

Phil: I don’t think anyone wants to see my manager – he’s not quite the most attractive man, plus he’s got the temperament of a wet mongoose with a parking ticket.

Me: Just get him.

(Phil leans up against the back wall, trying to position himself in such a way that the fluorescent lighting hits his fedora and casts a shadow over his eyes. He can’t find the spot. Instead, he throws down his half-finished cigarette, stomps it out, and retires to the back. A minute later, Phil comes back out with another trenchcoated man. It could be his brother.)

Manager: The name’s Sam Spade. What the hell do you want?

By CS Van Orden

 

MLB Roidstars: Jedi Masters????

How do these major league baseball players get away with shooting up steroids, oftentimes ON THE PREMISES??? Clearly only one explanation can suffice for all this - Jedi Mastery.

by Johnny McNulty

Maybe You Don't Have Rabies, Maybe You're Just Depressed

Alright, Tom, it’s time we had a talk. You’ve been sitting here for a week, complaining that you “need a doctor”, and frankly, I’m sick of it. We’re all sick of it. And we think you’ve been going about this entirely wrong. We, your roommates, have decided that you are most likely suffering from a chemical imbalance which is causing you to be clinically depressed.

Let’s look at the symptoms. First off, you sleep all day, every day, as if you’re recovering from hideous wound suffered at the hands of a large mammal. Secondly, you claim you’re having nightmares about a rabid bear attacking you when you went camping last weekend. Personally, I think that your metaphorical “bear” is just your job, and you’ve grown quite tired of working in advertising sales. You’re always complaining that you never have time to travel-well now’s your chance! You’re young, you should get off your ass and go for it. Maybe become a travel writer, I don’t know. Anything’s better than sitting there, foaming at the mouth, Tom.

Third, there’s that “rabies test” you had us do. Did you know that depression is the second leading cause of rabies in young people, Tom? I’m sure you’re going to ignore that, and- wait a minute, what are you doing? You’re getting up! That’s great Tom, I’m glad we’ve made a diff-hold on, hey, easy on the hugs there, big fella. Okay, take it easy. I can’t hear what you’re saying, it’s like you have lockjaw or something. What? Oh god, dude, stop trying to give me a hickey-OW! Jesus, Tom! HEY GREG, GET IN HERE! TOM’S TRYING TO MAKE OUT WITH ME!

Jesus, Tom. I think you drew blood. Look, dude, if you’re having some weird feelings about guys, maybe it’s time you came to terms with it. Did you know that depression is the second leading cause of homosexual leanings in young people? Well look, Tom, I don’t think just that acting on these urges in a crazed manner, with dilated, blood-shot eyes and a crazed look on your face is any sort of mature solution. You seriously need to consider the fact that maybe you weren’t attacked by a rabid bear, and that maybe you are just depressed. It’s okay, Tom. Everyone needs therapy. It’s not like you’re the only one. Alright, I feel a little woozy. I’m gonna go lay down for a spell. I hope you can come to terms with his and win the fight, Tom. Oh that’s mature, just roll over and pretend you’re dead. Fine, Tom, deal with this on your own.

By a crazed, lock-jawed Michael J. Weingarth

Holiday Gifts from ConspiracyCo: Perfect Presents for Paranoid People

“Space" Camp Special

– The all-inclusive week is chock full of specials and surprises, including a space walk (as if), all you can eat dried ice cream (gross and silly), and overwhelming confirmation that no human has ever left the atmosphere. Says one satisfied customer: “Isn’t it just so convenient? The alleged lunar landing spawned a lovely little Disney ride for the ignorant masses.” Includes complementary “I went to space….CAMP!!!!” t-shirt.

Magic Bullets (pack of 100) – Perfect for the gun-toting conspiracist in your life.  Guaranteed kill shots on any wild game driving in the back seat of a slow-moving convertible in Dallas,TX.  Especially effective when fired by a government operative patsy. And with seven hits per casing, these rounds are a steal!

Area 51 ID – For your loved one obsessed with the cover-up so thorough that all hard evidence is still classified.  Despite heavy pressure from the federal government and its covert operatives, ConspiracyCo was able to secure the very real, incredibly un-fake template for its Area 51 double secret pass cards. Armed with your very own picture ID, you can enter the secret base undetected, if you can find it. Which you can’t. Even if you could, they’d kill you.

Paul McCartney’s bones – Now you can have the ultimate proof that Paul is, in fact, dead.  Real bones from the Beatles’ first casualty. Limited run, only 206 available. All bones carry our ConspiracyCo Certificate of Authenticity, signed by Paul McCartney himself. Free copy of Sgt. Pepper’s with every purchase.

By Chris Van Orden

Really Depressing Nintendo Wii Games

 

1. A.A.S: Aging Athletic Superstar-  An action-packed fifteen minutes of pick-up basketball, corporate softball, or downhill mountain-biking brings that action straight to you!  Feel the vibrations in the controllers as they become your hands, your bat, or your handlebars!  Pop an End-o as you jump a log, or holler in pain as you call your girlfriend to come pick you up after you back gives out.  Combine super challenging button and movement combos to flip off your work buddies as they call you a pussy after you sprain your ankle during the big game!

 

2. Night Janitor Mystery-  It’s a dark building, and around every corner lays a surprise. What’s that bulge in the corner? Is it a rabid dog?  A dead body? Some files documenting a corporations corrupt and evil attempt to destroy the world?  Probably not. Utilizing the Wii’s ability to mimic human movements, carefully turn-on the light switches, empty the trash, mop the floor, and change the toilet paper in the stalls.  By the way, the mystery is why you didn’t finish community college and become an electrician.

 

3. Guitar Loser: You’re the lead guitarist of a struggling new band.  You don’t have any money, and you’re riding solely on faith in your musical ability and your drive to succeed.  There’s only one problem: you have a Wii, and you can’t afford the Guitar Hero controller.  Use the Wii’s movements to paint houses and work part-time as a roofer while living in your parents basement until you can afford to finally buy the damn thing.

 

4. MS Office Suite- Welcome to the exciting world of fast-paced, hardball business! Using your joystick, accurately log in to your account using your keyboard- pointing and clicking never seemed so fun as you peck out the letters, one by one! Carefully use the mouse to left click on an excel spreadsheet and create something you’ve never (or definitely have) seen before- a pivot table. Error-check your immediate superior’s work and mumble under your breath in the break room to that one coworker you think you can trust, and finally, try the new “twist and slurp” real-time system as you drink way too many martinis as the company Holiday party and decide you’re going back to school in a year, anyway.

 

5. Single Mom Hosts Christmas Dinner-  Like cooking?  Too bad, you’ve made your mind you’re going to do it because this is a family, damnit, and you’re tired of people saying you need a man to have a family. You’re independent, right? Stroke your wounded pride and mask your loneliness with the most life-like turkey-basting physics you’ve ever seen, as the joystick commands the spatula, serving spoon, and the SUPER TONGS in the roast potato bonus round. Carefully maneuver your way around the kitchen while assuring your daughter the divorce wasn’t her fault with the “Pat on the head, hug, and give a gift” combo. Ignore your mother as your wrap, wrap, wrap presents (with real-sounds captured from actual wrapping paper!) until 4 in the morning, and eat, eat, eat lots of dark chocolate after the dog pees on the rug and you have a mini-breakdown in front of your estranged cousin Liz.  Pop a couple Ambien/Valium/Diet Pills up into the air and down your hatch as you track their trajectory and try to book a flight to Aruba for next year as Stressed-Middle-Aged-Woman-Vision takes over the screen and your hair goes gray, overnight.

   By a really depressing Michael J. Weingarth
   

Why You’ve Waited Till The Last Minute To Go Xmas Shopping

1. Hate decisions, like to wait until only one gift is available for purchase
2. Seasonal Affectation Disorder prevents you from caring about in-laws too much
3. Honestly, just been pretty drunk lately
4. Allergic to planning
5. Really like hysterical crowds of selfish consumers
6. Waiting for joints to ache, like they always do when bargains are near
7. Didn’t realize knitting an X-Box 360 would take so long
8. Just converted from Judaism on Tuesday

By Michael J. Weingarth