PolkOut.com wants you to stick the cube in its chest!

You know you want to...mmm...cube.

You know you've been watching too much Nickelodeon when you start having dreams featuring actors on the network.  I had a dream a little while back that I was watching the new Nancy Drew movie staring Emma Roberts.  In my dream she was in the midst of a nude scene, ala Keira Knightley in the Hole, and I just kept thinking to myself, "This girl's like 14...what a whore."  I hallucinated a wolf cub on my shoulder last night, it was refreshingly not horrifying.

I've gone to the trouble of Googling that cover of Cosmopolitan Magazine:

Yes, yes, I know, boobies.  They're awesome.  Big ones, small ones, square ones, they're all awesome.  Not because they're fun to look at or provide exceptional head and neck support, no, that's juvenile, I appreciate them because they nourish infants, and that's respectable.

But forget about that for now--I know it's hard because they're right there in the middle, staring at us, teasing us, raping our eyes and our minds--because I'd like everybody to just think for a minute.  Dictionary.com defines 'cosmopolitan' as, among other irrelevant things (like girly drinks), "So sophisticated as to be at home in all parts of the world or conversant with many spheres of interest".  Now look at that cover; "Caught Butt Naked!", "Hot New Summer Hairstyles", "What Even Experienced Chicks Forget to Do in Bed", and so forth.

Though I have to give them credit for the boobies, Cosmopolitan is, in a large way, responsible for me hating the world.  I remember thumbing through an old copy of Us Weekly that my roommate left on the bathroom floor and I honestly felt dumber.  Articles about shoes and who looks better in what dress and how you should groan while taking a sh!t, written by people who clearly graduated high school by the skin of their teeth and got whatever degrees they claim to hold off the back of a cereal box--a sh!tty cereal at that--is the literary equivalent of pissing in my eyes.  If Sports Illustrated subscriptions come with free footballs, watches, clocks, athletic supporters, then Cosmopolitan and Us Weekly subscriptions should come with free nooses. 

Honestly, what 15 articles could a guy "wish never run in Cosmo"?  Are they going to reveal my secret-f!cking-identity?  My one weakness?  What it is I do in the bathroom when I tell my mom I'm 'masturbating'? 

And ladies, if you want to know the secret trigger to my deepest sex cravings, aside from the stuff I've mentioned in my comics--cats, corpses, women with moustaches, vaginas--and therefore are no longer secret, here it is: waffle fries.  I can't eat waffle fries without becoming aroused.  It's like staring into palm-sized web of a dozen little potato vaginas.  Mmm...waffle fries.

Speaking of totally irreverent sh!t, here are some more popsicle riddles:

Q: What time is it when you're out of ice cream?

A: Time to get more ice cream.

Q: Where should you put your TV?

A: In a remote area.

Q: Why did the computer go to the chiropractor?

A: It had a slipped disc.

And now for a tough one...

Q: What is the most important thing you need when you go skate boarding?

A: Your skateboard.

These are all actual riddles that I got off Popsicle sticks.  Feel free to send me riddles you've found and I'll put 'em up here as I compile more evidence as to why I should have the job of writing these damn things.  Send them to PopsicleSubmissions@gmail.com as soon as you get your eyes to roll back down.

--End Transmission--