Wm.™ Steven Humphrey

As you can probably guess, I don't feel ashamed about much. I'm not even ashamed of the following: 1) That thing I did one time involving a goat. 2) The time I sort of stuck my something into someone's something else. 3) When I impersonated someone, stole their something, and did something extremely dirty with their toothbrush. 4) Put something into my mouth that I was explicitly warned not to put in there. (Okay fine, it was Funyuns).
Again, I have no shame regarding these things – but most of these tales do involve some sort of advanced illegality or could possibly get me killed… hence the lack of detail. HOWEVER. There is one thing I've never publicly admitted – because every time I've shared this information with friends or family members, they were simply AGHAST and begged me to never share it with another living soul.

If you're anything like me, you no longer have time in your busy life for any donkey plop. That's why I'm willing to share what is perhaps the most revolutionary timesaving device humanity has ever created. It's called… “Wikipedia.”
NOW BEFORE YOU GROAN AND ACCUSE ME OF BEING OLDER THAN MATLOCK, LISTEN UP, HALF-WIT. I fully realize Wikipedia has been around for years, and is used a billion times every day by everybody. But no one has ever realized the full potential of Wikipedia… until now. Until… ME.

My mom is the worst. Not in the way Rush Limbaugh or Hitler are the worst – but still… the worst. She's not the kind of mother that steals and smokes your meth, or uses your forearm as an ashtray. She's the kind of mom that murders you… with embarrassment. Example: When I was 16, I had a lustrous, full head of hair that would rival Fabio's. It was the kind of hair that, when sexily tossed in the vicinity of any female, acted as an automatic panty moistening agent. In fact, my hair inspired a three-year scientific study to develop an ANTI-panty moistening agent to lessen the nether-moisturizing effect of my brown, flowing locks. Ultimately all their work was for naught – because eventually strategic portions of my gorgeous hair fell out, making my forehead almost double in size, thereby turning my head into nature's own anti-panty dampener. Life is the worst.

News flash: Republicans are dumb. And not just dumb in the way people who still watch American Idol are dumb – Republicans are deeply, instinctively dumb.

What's up with you and this (heavy air quotations) “OSCARS” thing? I understand you need something to help pass the time, and masturbating for three straight hours might be a bit much – but the “OSCARS”? Seriously?
For those in a self-induced coma, the Academy Awards is this Sunday night (ABC, 8:30 pm, red carpet 7 pm), and you'll probably be attending an “Oscar Party” in which you'll eat cheese, swirl glasses of wine while laughing haughtily, and argue vociferously over why Demián Bichir deserves an award over Jean Dujardin. I'm obviously not invited to this party because I'd spend the entire evening shooting heroin underneath my toenails and sleeping/vomiting in the crab dip.

If you're currently doing something… stop doing it. I need to tell you something very important – and I need your full attention. Are you currently giving CPR to your mother? Stop doing that. What I have to say is that important. Are you just about to bang Mila Kunis and her previously unheard-of twin sister? Stop doing that. I need to tell you something important.
Okay, now that I have your attention, here's what I have to say: If you plan on doing ANYTHING this Sunday, don't do that. There is simply too many amazing things happening on television this Sunday to warrant doing anything else – and this includes, but is not limited to: Rescuing a kitten from a burning building. (Important… but not important enough.) Saying goodbye to your boyfriend who's going to study in Europe for a year. (There's no point… in his mind, he's already porking a cigarette-smoking, beret-wearing French girl who rides around on a bicycle carrying a baguette.) Eating any food, drinking any liquid, or inhaling oxygen or anything else into your lungs. (Only exceptions: pizza rolls, bourbon, nitrous oxide.

Look. You have your opinions? And I have mine. HOWEVER! It must be stated – and you're probably already well aware of the fact – that my opinion carries a weeeeeee bit more weight than yours. DON'T GET MAD! It's not your fault that your views of the world are somewhat less important than the donkey crap that regularly spews from my cakehole. See… here's the thing: I have a nationally renowned television column, while you… ummm, how do I put this… DON'T. But like I said: not your fault. You spent your youth and college years studying “books” and filling your head with… goddamnit, what's the word? Oh yeah… “knowledge.” Me, I chose a different path.
You see, I decided at an early age to eschew the responsibilities of adulthood and spend every waking moment sprawled on a filthy couch wearing nothing but soiled underpants, eating countless bags of Fritos, and endlessly clicking the “channel up” button on my remote. While certainly unorthodox, this decision eventually secured me employment in the only industry where such reckless disregard is actually encouraged: TV criticism.

I do not outwardly dislike old people. This is because when I do outwardly dislike them, they tend to shake their walkers at me, accuse me of being “ageist,” and then wander off, forgetting what they were yelling at me about in the first place.
HOWEVER! I do outwardly like certain old people, such as Betty White – one of the original Golden Girls, who just so happens to be turning a peppy 90-years-young this week. Why do I prefer Ms. White over other nonagenarians? Well, for one, she's never squirted her colostomy bag at me during an argument. And secondly, Golden Girls! And The Mary Tyler Moore Show! And of course her greatest role, as the potty-mouthed old lady Mrs. Bickerman in the 1999 man-eating crocodile horror flick Lake Placid, in which she utters the two greatest lines of cinematic history: “If I had a dick, this is where I would tell you to suck it,” and “Thank you, officer fuck meat.”

Welcome to 2012 – and I've got another New Years' resolution all ready to add to your list. I think you need to do a better job at expressing affection – primarily towards me. This can be accomplished in a number of ways: 1) Erotic poetry and/or fan fiction. Send me more erotic poetry, or if you have trouble rhyming, simply write some lengthy erotic fan fiction involving me dry boning a historical character. Here's a sample from my erotic fan fiction novel entitled, Got a Hankerin' for Ben Frank-er-lin:
“Ben Franklin felt lonely as he stepped out of the shower. Rubbing the rough towel over his moist naked body, he was struck by the realization he hadn't felt the soft caressing touch of a lover since that cold, cold winter he dry boned Betsy Ross. Suddenly… the bathroom door flew open. It was Wm.™ Steven Humphrey dressed as a British Redcoat! “Ha-Haaa!” Humphrey noisily purred, his bulging groin pulsating with sexual intent. 'Me thinks a certain founding father is in need of a patriotic dry boning!'”

Here are some things I said in 2011. Providing “context” doesn't really help my case.
On Batman:
Attaching a cape to a cowl is the stupidest thing ever. One step on your cape, and NECK SNAP! Stephen Hawking's teaching you how to use your fancy new wheelchair.
On I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant:
It's filled with dramatic re-creations of women who had no earthly idea they were preggo, until one day, whoopsie! Plop! Heyyyyy… why is my toilet crying?