If America Runs On Dunkin’, She Ain’t Getting Too Far Or, I Am An Ad Exec’s Dream Girl

I hate Dunkin’ Donuts.

I realize that there’s a lot of loyalty regarding this brand and that in certain circles, the aforementioned statement is akin to blasphemy (Boston, for example. They love them some Dunkin’, but what the hell do they know? They support the Pats), but I’m simply not a fan of the company’s products.

Their donuts leave a weird coating in my mouth, their egg flatbreads taste like chewy (yeah, not a flavor. A texture. You just sit there and chew and chew and chew and wait for flavor that never arrives) and their coffee? Their coffee is a sin against caffeine, mankind and the general notion of human decency.

Simply put, their coffee tastes like it’s been filtered through a sweatsock that’s been living in the armpit of a hyperhidrosic pro-wrestler for the past six months.

BUT, I am a sucker and no matter how many times a franchise burns me, if they have a new product that seems remotely interesting — I will trot on over and give it a whirl.

Which is how I ended up grabbing one of these this morning:

Dunkin Donuts Frozen Hot Chocolate also known as your yearly nutritional requirement of sugar or what happens when you forget about the Hershey Syrup you stuck in the back of the fridge.

So, I text my sister warning her about this:

Me: Dunkin Donuts Frozen Hot Chocolate tastes exactly how you’d expect it to taste. I don’t know if that’s good or bad…
My Sister: Coming from you, I’m now thinking frozen chocolate sweatsocks.

Not quite, but definitely an experience I won’t be replicating.

If you’re looking for frozen hot chocolate, save your ducats for the Frrrozen Hot Chocolate at Serendipity 3 in New York City. It’s about three and a half times more expensive than Dunkin, but I’m guessing it also doesn’t taste like a harbinger of diabetes, chemicals made to taste like chocolate and sadness.

Kids Suck Or, Ma Fratelli Was Right

I work in a pretty wealthy area right across the street from a high school.

As a result, high schoolers are always parking in our lot and taking up the good spots, meaning this girl has to make a mad dash from the car to the front door in fifteen degree weather every morning.

While teetering on 4″ heels.

And balancing a giant bag and tumbler filled with coffee.

Every single morning.

Not cute.

So, last week — we started issuing warnings and letting the kids now that starting Monday, we’d tow any car not belonging to an employee/guest of my company.

Yesterday afternoon, a thoroughly pissed off high schooler came into my building and started griping about the fact that we towed his illegally parked car.

I can understand his anger. I’d be annoyed too if I spent all day in class and then discovered that my illegally parked luxury SUV had been towed.

Not understandable, though? Cursing at a lady.

Look, Dude-Bro – I know it’s hard out there for a pimp wealthy, privileged young jock. .

Your teachers don’t understand that texting your boys is more important than paying attention in class, your girlfriend makes you wear a condom because she doesn’t want to get pregnant and your parents, cheap bastards that they are, got you a 2009 luxury SUV instead of the most current model with the customized leather interior. Dude, they might even make you pay the towing fees.

Your life is like, way hard.

But here’s the thing.

I don’t know where the fuck your car is.
I don’t care where the fuck your car is.
I don’t care where you park from now on or that you didn’t see the sign (This ain’t Vegas, dude. We’re not gonna blaze up the neon).
And I really don’t care for the way you’re speaking to me and my co-workers.

I’m not going to lie — I use the Seven Words You Can’t Say On Television with both glee and abandon. But I would never have the temerity to drop the eff bomb in front of complete strangers. Especially if I’m in the wrong and the people I’m talking to are in a position to assist me.

Maybe it’s from living in the South or just from being around men who would never drop the eff bomb in front of a complete stranger, but rule number one — there are only two things you should ever yell at a lady:

A) Excuse me, miss! You dropped this!
B) Hey Mom! Wait up!

That’s it. No exceptions.

So to everyone out there who teaches high school: You deserve hugs and cookies and ponies covered in diamonds.

If I had to deal with jerks like this on a daily basis, I’d pretty much have a Wes Mendell-ian meltdown, tell the kids that for a good majority of them, this is about as good as it gets and that everything after high school will be a soul-crushing plummet to anti-depressants, thinning hair, weight gain and children who are twice as shitty to you as you were to an Office Girl Friday when you were 17.

Jim Hoft Is The Biggest Asshole On The Internet, Or Jim Hoft Is The Biggest Asshole On The Internet

Disclaimer: I’ve already used the word ‘asshole’ twice. The fact that there are some stormy seas ahead shouldn’t surprise anyone. However, if you’re more insulted by my language than you are by Jim Hoft’s, you probably shouldn’t be here in the first place.


The internet is awash with three things — pornography, memes featuring kittens and assholes.

And Jim Hoft is the biggest asshole on the internet.

Apparently, being the dumbest man on the internet wasn’t good enough for Hoft. See, idiocy and ignorance can be remedied. Being an asshole, though? Terminal like stage four stomach cancer. There isn’t a cure.

Regardless of the bile spewed by Hoft, Lara Logan was not sexually assaulted because of her ‘liberal belief system.’

She did not ‘wander into Tahrir Square last Friday’ because she thought it was a good idea or because she missed the rocks, camels and taunts. She entered Tahrir Square because it was her job. Because that’s what a good reporter does. He or she goes into the field to uncover the truth. Because the story matters and people should know what’s really going on.

Does Hoft also refuse to grieve for fallen soldiers? Because blaming Ms. Logan for the sexual assault is akin to saying, “Well, the soldier should have known better. I mean, what did they expect? It is a war zone.”

Hoft refuses to apologize for his words and also refuses to take down his hateful post condemning Ms. Logan. I’m actually glad about the latter because people should know what a victim-blaming, intellectually and morally bereft twat Jim Hoft really is.

What happened to Ms. Logan was not her fault.
Blaming the victim is wrong.
Saying the victim deserved it because of where they were is wrong.
Saying the victim deserved it because of what they wore or said is wrong.

And anyone who says otherwise is an asshole. Just like Jim Hoft.

The Rape, Abuse, Incest National Network (RAINN) is the largest anti-sexual assault organization in the country. They lead efforts to prevent sexual assault, improve services to victims and ensure that rapists are brought to justice. They also operate the National Sexual Assault Hotline (1-800-656-HOPE).

It’s a pretty important organization and if you can donate to RAINN, I urge you to do so.

Airing of Grievances or, Thanks for Taking A Ball Peen Hammer To My Childhood, Hollywood.

Hear that sound? It’s a glitter-dusted clarion call announcing the End of Days.

I have three serious issues with this movie.

1.) The casting of Selena Gomez as Beezus.

I have nothing against Gomez and am sure she’s a perfectly lovely person, but she’s not Beezus Quimby. Beatrice ‘Beezus’ Quimby is not a cute, self-possessed, Nars-Orgasm-wearing teen queen. She’s a bookish, gawky girl who loves to read, play with her cat and trembles with tears when the neighborhood bully boys taunt her by calling her ‘Beezus Jesus.’

2). The relegation of Ramona to tertiary character status.

Growing up, I was all about Ramona. She was plucky, imaginative girl and like me, she didn’t want to dress up like a princess and play tea-party, but rather color, make crafts out of construction paper and have adventures. If I have a daughter, I want her to be a Ramona instead of a Belle, Aurora, Jasmine, Cinderella, Snow White or God forbid, a Miley.

3) The needless romantic subplot between Beezus and Henry Huggins.

Look Hollywood, we all love When Harry Met Sally, but guess what? Harry was wrong — it is entirely possible for a man and woman to be friends without any romantic entanglements. Especially when they’re not so much a man and a woman as they are two teenagers.

Am I irrationally angry about this? Probably, but I loved those books and the Canadian television series starring Sarah Polley. Now there was a faithful adaptation of a children’s book.

So thanks again, Hollywood. Way to take a much beloved relic of my childhood, cover it with sparkles and crap all over it. You never fail to disappoint.