Roasted Fudge with Duck Sauce

I like comedy roasts.  I like mean and dark jokes that make you go, “Oooooh!” right before you laugh out loud and squirt milk out your nose.  Some of my friends hate mean comedy, and some even take it a bit further and assume that all comedy is based on being mean.  But give me a nasty-spirited personal assault in the name of humor and I am in bliss.  So much “politeness” and “political correctness” in everyday life just makes me crave the crassness of dead parent or pathetic genital jokes.

There is a supposition, mostly put forth by Jeff Ross (self-proclaimed Roastmaster General), that you are only to roast the ones you love.  This supposition is a load of crap.  Of the most famous roasts on Comedy Central, only a few are in honor of someone universally respected or loved.  Justin Bieber?  Larry the Cable Guy?  Bob Saget?  Donald Trump?  Those are famous names, sure, but universally loved?  Seriously – how many of the comedians on Trump’s roast actually voted for the guy and think he will do a Hell of a job as president?

I am thinking maybe one.  Possibly two.

My point being, we roast anyone.  Love or hate, friend or foe, a good comedy roast knows no boundaries.  The jokes just need to be awful, soul-searing attacks of cutting wit.  Although pathetic attempts that speak more to the inability of the comedian can be funny too.  Which is why it is my wish to be roasted some day.  If my friends or family would put together a Roast of Deviant on my birthday, and then stood up and tried to be clever and funny with all the terrible shit about me, then that would be the best birthday present ever.

Never going to happen.

So instead I am going to roast as many people as I can in this blog – without actually saying any names.  If I know you personally, see if you can figure out which terribly evil statement is about you.  A few may be of celebrities I am particularly fanatic about, whether positive or negative.  Anyone can feel free to guess on those.  And please, tear me a new one for the awfulness of these jokes.  There is a reason I am not a stand-up comedian, or a writer on a sitcom, or even talented at writing blogs.  As I said, half the fun of roasts are the jokes that bomb.

  • She’s responsible for more failed marriages than the city of Las Vegas.
  • When he goes to the beach, people confuse him with a cantaloupe with two tooth picks as legs wearing a sumo uniform.
  • She would love to be a whore, but there aren’t enough guys into the “Asian Women with Three Assholes” fetish to support herself.
  • And he’s still playing with deflated balls… his wife keeps them in a jar above his “Worst Back-up in Michigan History” and “Most Overrated Player in History” trophies.
  • Was all her talent stored in the fat she’s lost?  The skinnier she gets, the more she becomes a boring version of Hillary Clinton.
  • He’s Steve Carell from “The 40-Year Old Virgin,” without the hairy chest or winning personality or millions of dollars.
  • Not only is his love gun shooting blanks, it’s about as powerful as a Nerf gun.
  • She wants to be on a break so often that she’d be perfect as a Department of Motor Vehicles counter clerk.
  • She’s dumb as a load of bricks, but that’s okay.  She’s also got the body of a woman who went to a plastic surgeon and asked for the “Four-year old Making a Model out of Play-Dough” cellulite special, so you know she won’t cheat on him.
  • They had to go out and buy a pocket Bible so that when he’s sworn in his hand won’t look too tiny.  Plus, they had to add his name in the title because he can’t touch anything that doesn’t have his name on it.
  • Her pussy is so cavernous, truckers park their semis in there to escape winter weather.

Ah, cruel humor.  Okay, so they were not the best.  At least I tried.  Think you can do better?  Please, go ahead and roast away in the comments!  I can not only take it, I will treasure it.


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