five out of five

We here at 5 out of 5 love you. We love you very much. I just watched 3 Twilight films back to back to back.

Getting slapped in the face cracks me right the fuck up. Now, mind you, this isn’t ME getting slapped in the face. I actually find that quite irritating. But, other people getting slapped in the face is wonderful.

I have always said that there are two surefire ways to make comedy gold, when it comes to anything. I am usually speaking about film when I am saying this, but…

1. You put a chimpanzee in human clothes
2. You slap someone in the face

Trust me here. I even find myself giggling when it happens in dramatic films. I love something very serious happening, and then someone takes one to the face, and I just crack up. I really don’t know why. Maybe it is because I love to slap people in the face. Maybe it is because I see the true potential in it.

Now I am more of an openhanded, fore-handed slap in the mouth kind of guy. I have found the backhand to be to cliche, and really not quite as effective. A good wind up, arm back, palm out wide, and a really good follow through. That is what makes a proper  slap in the mouth. A good openhanded slap in the mouth is good for many things. A teacher who forgot that you really got an “A”, the dude behind you at the movie theater who just said that he likes going to see Twilight films, or (my personal favorite), an unsuspecting midget who just asked, “What’s up?”

For reference to what I am speaking of, see the above picture. With how much shit the McDonald’s company takes on a regular basis, Ronald needs to keep his pimp hand strong.

Now, keep in mind the backhand does have it’s place, but not as much in the comedic setting. A good backhand can come out of nowhere. It doesn’t require much of a wind up, and can be tossed out at a moments notice. Now, the backhand is usually reserved for an underling who is out of line, or a drunk best friend who is trying to touch your penis.

It is a good, strong response. This is not the comedic approach, rather the punishing approach. Use sparingly.

In conclusion: ‘Tis better to give, than to receive.

On a scale of 1 to New World Order by Ministry, I give this a Digital Copy of Arachnophobia.

-Jeff

The only person in the whole wide world who knows what you go through is you. You are the only person who understands how difficult it is for you to be in the world—how hard you try. You are the only person who knows you could have said something terrible, but you didn’t. You are the only person who feels precisely how terrible it is to have said something you shouldn’t have. No one understands how bad you feel about it, too.

Many people are very kind and offer their sympathy and even their empathy. Many people will say, “I know exactly how you feel!” But do they? Do they really? Of course they don’t! They might even secretly think you are overreacting and really ought to just get over it because there’s always a re-run, or you can always return those shoes, or sure you can’t bring the hobo back to life but no one is ever going to know and it’s going to be fine—but they are wrong. They cannot possibly grasp the emotional complexities of the situation in which you suffer. They cannot even begin to understand the nuances of your pain.

Only you understand, with crystal clarity, how terrible everything is, and how unfair, too. Only you. So revel in your warm compassion. Roll around in your feeling of righteousness. Know that you suffer and enjoy the soupcon of suffering plopped on top like marshmallow fluff that comes from the clear and razor-sharp truth that is the fact that you are the only one who truly, truly can care the right way, to the correct depth and with all the feeling that the situation desires. In this way, you win.

In conclusion: Self-pity party: VIPs only.

On a scale from one to the Fire Swamp, I give self pity a warehouse full of Kleenex and YOUR MOM.

—Jen

Anonymous asked: Utah drivers

Utah drivers drive into trains. Not only do they drive into trains, some people film them driving into trains, and other people post those films on websites! Since most of these people live in Utah, presumably, it is to be assumed that they all have cars, because I don’t know if you know this, but Utah is not generally a pedestrian-friendly kind of town. So. All of the above: Utah drivers. All of the above: Fuckin’ awesome you guys. Trains! Cars! Explosions!

I submit to you, readers, the truth about Utah drivers: they are the baddest-ass drivers among all drivers in all the states. So if you see a Utah license plate, watch your ass, people. There’s a train coming. A train of awesome.

In conclusion: Not more powerful than a locomotive, but by gum they’re going to try.

On a scale of zero to interplanetary nuclear warfare, I give Utah drivers a solid PEW PEW PEW PEW.

—Jen

Originality is scarce in the world. Hipsters have taken over the earth, and they look like they’re all twins, birthed from a hipster mother in a hipster hospital where hipsterism is bestowed by a fairy godmother who comes rolling into the hospital room wearing a fixie with a bird on it, and leaving behind a pair of horn-rimmed glasses and a fondness for Steve Buscemi’s early work.

But this guy. This guy said, “Fuck hipsters.” This guy said, “Fuck your GQ hair.” This guy said, “I am a unique and beautiful snowflake who believes that a long and luxurious fall of hair spilling down my neck, complimented by a nearly-shaved head crowned by a flare of dangerously spiky goodness on top, which ought to remind you of a crown—the crown you should bestow me with for being my own person and rocking my own little world—is fucking rad.”

I love this guy’s hair. It makes the world a better place, knowing that this guy’s hair is out there. He walks around wearing hair that most people would think was weird. He goes to Game Stop wearing this on his head, and he does not care that stupid, rude people are standing behind him, taking mobile phone photos to share with their friends, because they don’t understand and they never will.

This guy is fierce, this guy is free, this guy rocks this hair.

In conclusion: Learning to love yourself—it is the greatest love of all.

On a scale from one to this guy’s hair, I give it FOUR this guy’s hair and an enthusiastic fist bump.

—Jen

Anonymous asked: I can’t help but notice you have yet to review reviews. The answer is not “turtles all the way down”. Neither is it, “Turtles half way down, then a sharp left and on to Walla Walla. Jackass.”

I can’t quite make out what is actually being said here. It is very true, we have yet to review any of our own reviews. I was actually thinking that the turtles were always more of the “ninja” variety.

This comment had a lot of potential. It being the first trolling comment received, I guess that the anticipation that I had building for it was just kinda crushed a bit. I was hoping for something a little bit more special, and a little bit more…sensible.

This reminds me very much of waiting for, and finally sitting down to watch The Phantom Menace in the theater all of those golden afternoons ago.

The buildup was so strong that it just did nothing to live up to the hope, nor the hype.

In a nutshell, I don’t think that we will use this as our first official trolling comment, because it was just plain bad.

On a scale of 1 to designer underwear, I give this a very enthusiastic…

-Jeff 

Anonymous asked: I would like for you guys to review PB and J sandwiches, and the merits/detriments of putting peanut butter on both slices of bread versus just one side.

The peanut butter and jelly sandwich is among the highlights of human civilization. It is deceptively simple—two slices of bread and two opposing but equal spreads—and yet together it creates a complex flavor sensation that has the unique ability to evoke memories of simpler days, stretches of extreme poverty, or both.

The peanut butter and jelly sandwich has other merits; its simple sweetness provokes an illicit glee—dessert for lunch! And a case can be made for its healthfulness, with whole grains, good fat and protein, and a healthy heaping handful of real fruit. Cutting the assembled peanut butter and jelly sandwich into two perfect triangles engenders a sense of geometric satisfaction that is not found in many other foods.

The difficulty of the peanut sandwich is that the plethora of decisions involved in the making of it can be dizzying. Which bread—healthy wheat? Smooth and squishy white? Tangy, contrasting sourdough? Wacky English muffin uniqueness? And then, which brand of peanut butter? Chunky or smooth? Natural, or preservative-licious? Finally, terrifyingly, you are confronted with a wall full of jelly, jam and fruit preserves that will make you cry confusedly, lost and alone awash in a sea of vital choices that can change the entire tenor of your sandwich in ways you had never anticipated.

Yes, the peanut butter and jelly sandwich is a microcosm of life itself.

Which is why it’s so important to go full-bore, rock and roll in your assemblage. Seize the day! Put peanut butter everywhere! Both pieces of bread—both sides of the bread. All over your hands and on the cat! Revel in the sticky sweetness that we have been given, one of the great blessings of this beautiful world full of wonders, happy babies, sunshine, and the great, humble, magnificent peanut butter and jelly sandwich, king of sandwiches and herald of life.

In conclusion: I’ll show you the world in a handful of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

On a scale of one to a unicorn, I give the peanut butter sandwich seven open-mouth kisses.

—Jen

Have you ever had someone disappointed in you?

In all of my years, I have come to the easy conclusion that this is the only word in the English language that no matter HOW it is said, it is always extremely negative sounding. It is also, in my humble opinion (and keep in mind I know what is good), the most hurtful word as well.

I used to dread coming home late at night. I knew I was in trouble when the front door would be locked, if I was coming home late. I would have to wait for the door to be opened, to see my father in his bathrobe, staring a hole right through me. He could have yelled his head off at me, told me how much he hated me for a son, stabbed me in the fucking eye, but instead he decided to just, very quietly, say “I am very disappointed in you.”

BAM!!!!!

I felt like shit for days. I even tried saying it in an incredibly happy tone of voice as well. It sounds even more lethargic, and evil that way. You cannot under any circumstance, be disappointed in someone, or something in a positive manner.

This word is amazing. It inspires fear like nothing else. 

In a nutshell, use this word to hurt, to cut deep and forever.

On a scale of 1 to a Rubber-Band Gun, I give this a 20 oz. Sprite.

-Jeff

I have a space. Sometimes, I want that space to be slightly warmer than it currently is. And that’s where space heaters come in. They are small machines designed to heat the space inside which they are placed. They are accurately named and provide life-giving warmth, over which you can toast marshmallows and think cheerily about the floromonosodiumcarbons that you are releasing into the atmosphere in your single-minded quest to raise your body temperature far beyond its natural resting state.

Sometimes space heaters fall over and cause great raging bonfires, but that’s just carelessness.

In conclusion: tiny little suns that you control with the power of an on-off switch.

On a scale of zero to pancreatic cancer, I give space heaters all my love.

—Jen