That guttural, anguished scream of abject disgust that woke you up out of a dead sleep this morning was not a dream. That shit was real as fuck and it came from Michael K’s house when he opened his web browswer this morning and saw the fuckery afoot at the hands of YouTuber Matt Benedetto. You see, Matt decided to play god, satan, and Dr. Frankenstein all at once by creating a pair of fingerless gloves out of a pair of Crocs. In addition to the obvious question of, “Why, god, why?”, the Croc glove also leaves one wondering if there is actually any order to the universe, or if we really are just a planet full of gaseous meat sacs bumping around and making an absolute mess out of things with our hubris and undeserved opposable thumbs.
First of all, thanks to all who sent me good thoughts for my eyeball surgery, but I’m going to need you to reschedule those good thoughts for two weeks from now. Because the surgery didn’t happen. They prepped my eyeball and got me under that laser machine, but it refused to cooperate and work. Bitch was like, “I’m not touching that nasty piece of trash’s eyeball.” The worst part, though, was when I got hit with a wave of NOs after asking if I still get some pain killers even though I didn’t have the surgery. I needed them too, because my eyeballs were later hit with something a million times worse than surgery: CROCS FANNY PACKS. If you can hear over the sound of my heaving, you’ll hear the demons of Hell clapping as Satan takes a bow for outdoing himself.
Crocs, America’s unofficial shoe of screaming theme park moms and kids with permanent fruit punch mouth. They don’t need celebrity endorsements, because they really sell themselves. What are you going to wear when you’re screaming at your kid that they’ve had enough red juice? But they continue to pay famous people, possibly in hopes that someone will make Crocs seem cool. As it turns out, Crocs found that person in a human that looks a tattooed Fozzie Bear, and he’s done a good job of selling them.
I’ve always said that you can never trust a grown bitch who wears the devil’s hooves known as CROCS out in public. And look at what we have here.
Last year, the slimy brother of Comic Book Guy from The Simpsons stepped away from his show The Chew and his restaurants after several women accused him of not being able to keep his greasy paws to himself. Some of those allegations (and more) found their way to the NYPD and now an investigation has started. Um, Mario Batali should’ve been eating cardboard and toilet sauce pizza on Death Row years ago for murdering retinas with those hideous CROCS, but better late than never I guess…
Drew Barrymore was in one of the greatest movies ever made, Poison Ivy, and also in one of the greatest TV shows that existed, 2000 Malibu Road, so I used to think that she could really do no wrong. But that thought about Drew was torched from my brain as soon as I learned that not only did she sell her soul to the devil by signing a deal with CROCS (or “Crocth” as she probably calls them), but she also warble lisped out a song in a commercial for them. Oh, Drew, you know that there’s less offensive ways to come out as a Satan worshiper, like sacrificing a goat in the middle of a pentagram painted with blood. WHY, DREW, WHY? A check just ain’t a check if it comes from CROCS. It’s also a vow to spread the message of Satan throughout the land!
Myrtle Snow’s last words on American Horror Story: Coven now make complete sense. When she screamed, “BALENCIAGUUUUUUUH!!!!“, she wasn’t proclaiming her love for them. That magnificent ginger was obviously a future-seer and was damning Balenciaga and warning us all of the horror they were going to shart up onto the world a few years later.