Blog Archives
Tip of the Cockblock: The DO’s and DON’Ts of Resolutions
January 10, 2016 · CATEGORY: Tip of the Cockblock · BY:

Om my! You interrupted my meditation you scoundrels! It is I, your favorite guru, Cockharishi, returned from my cave of enlightenment to avail you with my infinite wisdom and aid you on your journey of self-improvement, no toad-licking required!

The year is new and so are your goals; like a bright shiny penny, you want to pick up this new start and spend it wisely. Problem is every year so far you’ve reached for the stars and fell flat on your ass, but this time it’s going to be different, cuz your wise ol pay Mighty is here. Remember that saying about how doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result is the definition of insanity? Well now you can be certifiably* sane because I have some tips and tricks on how to make the most out of your 2016 New Year’s Resolutions.

*no certificates shall be issued at any time


Nobody likes cold turkey, so when diving into that tepid pool of false hope you call resolutions try and pace yourself with some self-control. Trying to cut back on the sauce? Switch from vodka to wine before you pull your jaundiced behind onto the wagon. Or, if you vow to go to the gym more, pick one with a jacuzzi, or at the very least cable TV. I mean come on, what are you, a martyr?


Nothing looks more unsexy then taking a sad failed turd of a resolution out back to be put down like a traumatic childhood memory, so pick a resolution that’s attainable. Keeping things light and simple will have you spending less time pulling your feathers out and more time savoring the sweet mustard of self delusional accomplishment. Take this for an example. If you play Elder Scrolls too often but just bought Fallout 4, resolve to play Elder Scrolls less often. Bam! Easy success and now you’re king of the world!

DO: Choose Wisely!

You are who you are, volunteering at the shelter once a month isn’t gonna transform you into Mother Theresa (the fairy tale one), so make sure a resolution will transform you into the glowing stud/stud-ette you always dreamed to be and, more importantly, how others picture you as. When Gandalf the Grey encountered the balrog he had a difficult choice to make. I mean yeah sure, He was gonna fight that buttmunch no matter what, (it was the only way through the mountain), but he CHOSE to do an extra kick ass job of it and in the end he got a sweet white hair upgrade. That’s sure to impress the lady wizards at the next enchanted ice cream social!

DON’T: Beat Yourself UP

Alright, so you slipped up, maybe that third bowl of ice cream NEEDED to be eaten, who’s to say? You’re not a pathetic worm, spineless and suitable only for the consumption of your avian overlords. Everybody falls sometimes. Try again tomorrow, but you might want to sleep in…. and possibly have a few muffins for breakfast to get your day started.


A resolution doesn’t have to be a lonely quest. Chances are the people you rub shoulders with are as degenerate as you are. Find a friend with similar flaws and then discuss cheap/easy fix ideas incessantly. This will give the illusion of progress whether you actually do anything or not.


Once February rolls around, you will either have completely forgotten about your resolution, fought with your buddy, or been trampled to death under the heels of your superiors. But who cares? Resolutions a stupid tradition, invented by greeting card corporations to sell gluten-free notebooks or something. You could be struck by lightning tomorrow, so the way I see it as long as you don’t cling to tall metal poles during thunderstorms you are basically winning at life . So keep doing you and don’t forget there is always next year!

Until next time, namustard, my young Padawans and Padawanas.

Mighty Cockblock

Tip of the Cockblock: The DO’s and DON’Ts of LOOKING AT ART
September 20, 2013 · CATEGORY: Tip of the Cockblock · BY:

Salutations, you slick, sly sons of so-and-sos. And daughters. Also daughters of so-and-sos. Don’t you dare say we aren’t about gender inclusivity at Cock & Block Enterprises LLC, whaaaaat!

Pop on your catcher’s mitt you mooks, ‘cause I’m about to pitch some real-life situations at y’all asses. Fastball style. Batter up!

So you somehow found yourself stranded at a high-society art gallery opening, where all the crème-de-la-creative-crèmes are rubbing their bony artist elbows together and saying stuff like “What’s your process?” and “I can’t afford food, can I eat a sponge?” all while trying not to make eye contact with one another. That’s weird! What do you do?! First off, don’t panic, ya hayseed chowderbrain! Wipe that drool from your slack-jawed chin and just follow ol’ Cockblock’s simple life advice.


Even if you can’t make heads or tails outta that eight-foot sculpture of Gary Busey’s teeth constructed completely from circus peanuts, that doesn’t mean you gotta stare at it with all the vacant-eyed dopiness of a Redditor at a women’s lib rally. Simply nodding and muttering syllables beneath your breath is a surefire way to spread the illusion that you’re deeply affected by this art, even if you’re actually just deep in thought about what kind of sinister hell we live in where Netflix would change “My Queue” to “My List.” QUEUE WAS SO MUCH BETTER YOU INSTANT STREAMING IDIOTS DANG.


Treat your art-gazing like a black ops operation: get in, appreciate that piece, then get the fuck out while you’ve still got legs to walk with. Lingering only means two things: either you’re so lost in thought about the artist’s process of recreating Inspector Gadget animation cels entirely from bodily fluid that you’ve just gotta wrap unlock their secrets by pure visual osmosis, or worse, that you’re interested. In. Buying. It. And you’re not! Trust me. Artists are dumb no-nothings that are too cool to sling lattes and too dumb to… I don’t know, invent time travel. If more artists would stop making My Little Pony fanart all the time and pick up a quantum mathematics textbook or two, I could be riding a dinosaur like a comically oversized rodeo bull right about now! Rass’n frass’n good-fer-nothings.


Hands-down, the best thing about going to an art opening is telling the artist you’re interested in their work, then saying “NOT!” while lowering sunglasses onto your face and skateboarding away onto a half-pipe. The second best thing is the FREE BOOZE, BOYEEEEE. Grab yourself a fistful of champagne flutes and drown those suckers faster than the asshole gallery owner can explain the difference between Manet and Monet. UM, if I cared about dead people I’d literally be in a graveyard right now! Ha ha, what a loser.


Uh, because they already have free booze there. Come on, that’s money saved, son. Acting like you ain’t got rent to pay, the hell’s the matter with you. One of these days we gonna have a serious conversation about your financial priorities, geez.


Oh yes, the finer sea of gangly, scruffy-faced suckers in skinny jeans and banged, bangled beauties with bangin’ bods you will never find. Find your target, sidle on up beside them and spit one of the following:

1: “I feel like nobody else gets it. You look like you get it. Let’s awkwardly make out like anxious middle-schoolers.”

2: “I’ve lived in Brooklyn, Portland, and Austin. Hello, I am also the worst.”

3: “Do you want to play Truth or Dare and if so I dare you to give me your number ;)”

Works like a charm. Call me Toronto-born actor-turned-rapper Aubrey “Drake” Graham, because you can Thank Me Later.


You know what lies deep beneath that Coffee Bean And Jesus beard? Disappointment. First you’re at an art gallery both pretending you know what the hell a fresco is, next thing you know you’re rolling your eyes because they won’t stop finding ways to work Jeff Mangum into every conversation. Yes, okay, we get it, he resurfaced after years in isolation following an ill-timed nervous breakdown and while he hasn’t produced a substantial amount of new content it’s wonderful that he’s touring with his recently reunited band but damn girl, it is 3AM and I have work tomorrow! You are the worst, girl, for real.

And bada-bing bada-blammo, that is how you properly act at an art gallery, ya dummies.

Until next time!

Mighty Cockblock

March 29, 2013 · CATEGORY: Tip of the Cockblock · BY:

Well, well, well, look what the metaphorical cat dragged in: another hot, heapin’ helpin’ of life advice from “ya boi” Cockblock, the hip rooster guy here to make your life super fly, one dope-ass rhyme at a time. Believe it.

Now dear reader(s??), you know what really grinds my figurative gears? (“No, we don’t know, but we’d love to be humbled by your luscious, throbbing frustrations, Cocky-B!” – You) When suckers are bumbling all over social media like they don’t know what a damn hashtag is. When a pea-brained buffoon tweets about brunch and doesn’t even include a TwitPic link to that delectable eggs benedict he’s ravin’ about, like it’s the end-all-be-all of eggs benedict and I’m a lesser man for not being there while he gently pricks the yolk as it drizzles down the sides of a perfectly toasted English muffin, lightly blackened like a Cockney chimneysweep’s soot-stained cheeks and crisp as a spring morning, but he still can’t be bothered to take a damn photo. Consider my gears ground the fuck down, also Cockblock may have skipped lunch today.

So with that in mind, I’d like to run over some of the…


What up, boo? You’re in line at the UPS Store and it’s taking unfathomably long for that old-ass Armenian woman to mail that box of “I could give a shits” to “Wherever The Fuck, USA”? Why are you tellin’ me about it and not everyone else on the Internet? Here’s the 411, hon: the Old Internet Gods awoke from their millennia-long slumber to bless us with Tweeters, FaceBorks, and so ons and so forths so that we, their humble servants, can fuel their apocalyptic powers by talking incessantly about our day-to-day lives on the Blogosphere. So every time you just think the phrase

“Could this line be any slower? #sigh”

instead of tweeting that shiz, that’s wasted energy that could be spent pleasing the online gods… ushering the many-tentacled return of T’weet D’ek, Consumer Of Souls And Implied Eye-Rolls, Also Herald To The End Of All-Times. Mwah…

Also, isn’t the UPS Store just the worst? #tellmeaboutit


A peacock doesn’t have that a-ma-zing plumage so they can be all hiding it, acting meek and self-conscious, so why aren’t you puckering your lips like the goddamn Ugly Duckling every time you snap a selfie in the bathroom mirror? Trill talk: there ain’t no modesty on the Internet – hell, it’s pretty much the modern day Sodom and Gomorrah, amirite fellas? This guy knows what I’m talkin’ about — so pout them luscious lips, squeeze them teats together, show off that six-pack, bend over like you lost a contact lens, and watch your FaceBarg friend count rise higher than the state of Colorado. #kindoftopicaljoke #weed420dankpotsmoke #rememberwhenthathappened


Hey. Hey pal. We, uh, we noticed that your Instantgram account is lookin’ pretty sparse. Lookin’ pretty bone dry. Like a bone stranded in the desert, parched from thirst, and without a canteen-full of life-giving liquid to slake its bony thirst. What we’re getting at is, your phone has way too many freaking cameras on it, and you can’t even be bothered to tweet a sepia-filtered photo of your feet standing over an empty Pabst can with a #citylife hashtag after it? It’s a damn universal fact that if you didn’t upload a snapshot of it to your social network, it never happened, so you’re literally living in an empty void of inactivity for every waking moment you’re not snapping pseudo-Polaroids with your smartphone. #truthbombs

Phew, all that advice-giving’s got me plum tuckered. Tuckered as a plum, I tell you what. But if you want to be the Crowned GodKing of Social Media – and #whodoesnt? — just remember Cockblock’s Top-O’-The-Line Twitter Tips and you will soon be the master of your own damn destiny…in 140 characters or less.

Until next time, Cockbros!

Mighty Cockblock

December 21, 2012 · CATEGORY: Tip of the Cockblock · BY:

Whaddaya say, my roosterific compadres and fine feathered friends. Guess who’s dropped down from heaven on high to slather some steaming, sensual Relationship Schmear ™ on that broke ass bagel you call your love life? Me! Cockblock. It’s me, Cockblock, I’m back. Hello!

So, hey, let’s spit some real-real on the real really quick, for real: human interaction is hellllla lame. Like, making eye contact? Shaking hands? Engaging in small talk about jobs and apartments and the economy and whatnot in hopes of eventually stumbling on a conversational subject that doesn’t remind you of the terrible lingering inevitability that awaits us all at the end of our LifeQuest?

To quote a terrible person circa 1995: puh-leeze!

Heartfelt emotional conversations are so over. Now we have smartphones, bee-yooootch!


OkCupid? Of course, stupid! J-Date? Why wait?! RedneckAndSingle? Quit ackin’ like you ain’t ready to mingle!

Look at it this way: if you were going fishing, would you have a better chance of catching a sexy-ass trout if you cast just one fishing line, or, like, eighty?! That’s a trick question, “playa” in ironic quotation marks – you ain’t gonna get you none if you don’t dangle yourself out there first and foremost. White and waspy? What’s stopping you from logging onto BlackPeopleMeet and tracking down the Nubian king of your dreams? Nothing. Nothing is stopping you except for your dated views on race relations. It’s 2012, sucka. We have a Samoan guy in the White House (I think??). Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson enjoys a multi-faceted and storied career in entertainment media. Racism has been done for, like, ever.

You racist.


Nobody likes a square, and there’s nothing more geometrically resembling a square than acting like you’re actually interested in building a relationship with someone you’ve met on the Internet. Some fine-ass shawty just digitally wink at you? Pshhhshhsh; play it cool, son. Wait a full month before responding and even then, who’s to say you’re gonna call her by the right name? Not this guy, who’s telling you to do the exact opposite are you even listening to me dogg for real.

Women love a bit of mysteriousness in their would-be-suitors (citation: the honeys in my bed right now aw hell naww) so be more Batman than Bruce Wayne and watch the chickadees pile up, ya dig, dogg?


Oh hey, nice angled MySpace selfie you took in your tiny ass bathroom mirror.

“NOT!” Haha, good one, Cockblock!

Think of it this way, friend-o: if Burger King ran realistic photos of their slimy-ass cowstacks on billboards, how many Whoppers do you think they’d sell? Probably a whole lot because Whoppers are effin’ DELICIOUS but that’s totes beside the point.

Everyone has the same dating profile pics – at a bar with friends, outdoors at some scenic landmark or other, bawling openly while questioning the meaning of it all, at a bar with friends – but how many purported pick-up artists have shots of them pile-driving a dinosaur? It’s a market just waiting to be filled.


Get your listening ears out, because ol’ Cocky-B is about to lay the truth out flat like a pancake or maybe a nice duvet. Or a rug? Yeah. A sick-ass oriental rug. Classy as hell in here.

Lads and ladies aren’t crazy about a turkey that tries too hard. OkCupid may be asking for “essays,” but that don’t mean you need to be scripting theses about your formative years growing up in some dumb- ass suburbia in South Dontmatternone. Give them the quick sell, like you walkin’-and-talkin’ in an Aaron Sorkin movie – razzle and dazzle them – then let them get really bored with the real you much later on. There’s a million fish in the sea, but trust me — none of them want to hear about your political views. Oh please, I’d love to hear about how you signed that medical marijuana petition back in ’09. TELL ME MORE, FREE-THINKER.


Get out there, get at them, and get gone the next day before it gets awkward and they’re asking you about “the future.” What does that even mean, “the future.” I don’t know, maybe we’ll be living in space colonies. Like I’m a damn psychic or something.

Anyway, until next time ‘round, muchachos!

Mighty Cockblock

Tip of the Cockblock: Should I Wear This Fedora?
September 28, 2012 · CATEGORY: Tip of the Cockblock · BY:

Close your eyes and open wide, my Cockbros and Cockettes—it’s time for a steaming stream of life-affirming love advice from your main man Cockblock, the feathered professor in the field of All Things Worth Knowing 101 at the University of Awwww Yeah. Now I don’t know about you, but I can’t saunter down the sidewalk without some sweaty wannabe stopping my strut with one of two frequently asked questions:

“Cockblock, o’ Cockblock, how do I get to be a tail-tappin’ love tycoon like you?”

To which I say “YEAH RIGHT!” …or:

“Cockblock, my Cockblock…does this fedora look good on me?”

Now, it’s a statistical fact proven by Science™ that one in five relationships suffers from Bad Fedora Syndrome. And by one in five relationships, I mean that one in five jive-ass neckbeards sacrifice their shot at ever getting a girlfriend by rocking a hat that only looks cool on A) hard-boiled private dicks, B) Carmen “Where She At?” Sandiego, or C) super-fly super-pimps lookin’ to get they private dicks a lil’ hard-boiled, nahmean?!! Ha ha, but seriously though, today I answer the question you should ask yourself every time you leave the house in that unsightly wide-brimmed eyesore:

Should I Wear This Fedora?

Now, let’s get down to bidness.

If You’re Going On A Date

As any barhopping ladies’ man can attest to, there’s a right way to peacock and a terribly wrong way. First, inspect your outfit: are you dressed to the nines, three-piece suit lookin’ all sharp like you just stepped out an episode of Mad Men and into a vat of Axe Body Spray? Then fedora it up, my main man – you earned it. You rockin’ them frayed denim cutoffs, silk Sam Goody button-up, oversized overcoat, and Nutella-smeared fingerless gloves, all “I literally eat so much Nutella that even when I’m wearing fingerless gloves the delightful chocolate/hazelnut spread makes it all the way up to my knuckles because I just go all in?” Here’s a better question: have you given up at life? Scratch that hat and start fresh, fool.

If You’re Going To The Mall

Ahhhh yes, the mall—a cultural melting pot of slackers, smoothies, and America. Next time you head down to your local shopping center to get yourself some mahfuckin Dippin’ Dots, you might want to leave your pin-striped clown cap on the hat rack. How you gonna impress those tubetop-wearin’ sixteen year olds if you look like some sappy ass mother that spends his time writin’ Naruto fan-fiction on that Internet box? And what’re you doin’ hittin on sixteen year old girls anyway, you pervert?!

If It Is Any Year Past 1965

Look, I hate to break it to you, but you probably shouldn’t wear that fedora anymore than you should throw on a pair of baggy-ass JNCOs and mosh out to “Three Dollar Bill, Y’all.” It’s like that Byrds song said:

For everything / turn, turn, turn

There is a season / turn, turn, turn

You never gonna get laid in that hat


Poetic, ain’t it? Now take that goofy-ass hat off and get out there, lovebirds. Until next time!

Mighty Cockblock

Tip of the Cockblock: Make Your Love Super-Fly
July 31, 2012 · CATEGORY: Tip of the Cockblock · BY:

What it do, you mother-lovin’ jive turkeys and turkettes? It’s me, the super-bad, super-rad Cockblock, and I’m ready to bawk, squawk, and rock your love lives around the block until they’re in tip-top shape. It’s a baaaaad world out there, brothers and sisters, but don’t you fret none; this square-shaped rooster is prepped and primed to give your romantic endeavors a booster. Aww yeah, here it goes!


Man what’chu doin, struttin’ around town in that XXXL “Big Dog” tee? Winkin’ at the ladies with those over-sized aviators? Steppin’ to dudes with them busted-ass flip-flops and knee-high Adidas socks? You’re breaking the Mighty Cockblocks’s A-Number-One rule for impressing the opposite sex: class your act up to get your mack up. Seriously, you ain’t gonna get none when you’re sporting them Crocs and capris, so put a little effort into your outfit, son. Folks appreciate a player who peacocks, so wear something snazzy that’ll make your mark remember you long after you’ve vanished back into the night, leaving a trail of broken hearts in your wake. For instance: suspenders; sequined fedoras; a dandy walking cane. The list goes on!


If you’re planning on becoming a primo pimp and undisputed lord of love, then you’re probably looking at spending a pretty penny in the process. Rollin up in rim-spinnin’ Rolls Royces and poppin’ bottles at the club doesn’t come cheap — and neither does maintaining that player-fied persona for the lucky lady or lad in your life — but look at it this way: did you really need to go to grad school? Pshh, like this world even needs another doctor, seriously man, stop thinking about yourself for like one second, even.


Man, how you even gonna let them girls pummel you with all the panties they be throwin’ at you — like 24/7, just an active torrent of panties, constantly falling, like a week’s worth of rain all at once, only the rain is panties — if you can’t even love yourself? Any successful relationship is rooted in self-worth, and you need to recognize and respect that special person you got deep down inside. Do what the Mighty Cockblock does, and start every day by lookin’ in the mirror and saying the following words:

“Hey. Hey you. In the mirror. You handsome motha you. You super-fly, you-the-guy, out-of-sight player you. Guess what. Hey, guess what. You got dis.”

Because you know what?

You do.

Mighty Cockblock

Tip of the CockBlock: Spring is here.
May 4, 2012 · CATEGORY: Tip of the Cockblock · BY:

Bust out those comically oversized sunhats and paper-thin parasols, young lovers—spring is finally upon us! Multicolored flowers have sprung into full bloom, droves of beautiful butterflies and short-tempered bees are abuzz, and the kernels of love are a-cracklin’ like a big pot of Jiffy Pop, purchased at the Convenience Store of Consummation and dangled gingerly over the Stovetop of Intimacy.

Yes, spring has long been my favorite season, and it warms the depths of my downy heart to see so many folks take those first tentative baby steps towards nurturing relationships, all with their tentative little baby feet. Too often does togetherness get the short-shrift in the seasonal grand scheme, so let’s embrace this opportunity before the doldrums of winter are back upon us! That’s right—it’s time to get out and meet some new people with the help of…

1. Ain’t No Party Like a Party With Several People in Attendance

Out of the countless parties and “par-tays” that I’ve crashed since I was a wee chicklet, I’ve found the get-togethers with more than one person to be the most successful. What’s that? You’re staying in on a perfectly good Friday night? Girl, what’chu talkin’ ‘bout, with your CSI, warm blanket, and bottle of decent red wine—close that Netflix tab and go get your mingle on! We’ve got three months of stunning spring weather to celebrate, and those semen-encrusted crime scene corpses will be waiting when you get back.

2. The Night is Young, and Youth is Fleeting

Despite what the cryogenically preserved starlets that haunt Hollywood’s boutiques and beauty parlors might lead you to believe, you’re only young once! And besides, who wants to do Jello shots and listen to Ludacris rap about asses of varying sizes when they’re all old and nasty, and, like, in a wheelchair whilst offering their grandkids raisins from the warm plastic baggie in their purse? What, you can afford all that heart medicine, but you can’t splurge on a pack of Gobstoppers?!

3. Bring a Wingman

Sure, anyone and everyone can “hook up” if they just lower their standards enough and abandon their moral compasses, but the Mighty Cockblock’s about much more than getting his beak wet, so to speak. Take it from me: The only commitment that a night-long fling will bring is committing your genitals to a hefty helping of crab medication. Because you’ll probably get crabs. Instead, howsabout we take this slow, invite that fine honey back to your pad, dim the lights real low, boot up The English Patient on Blu-ray, and all three of us share a jumbo-sized bowl of trail mix while we learn a little something about raw emotion.

Awww yeah, now that’s what I call a stellar spring. Until next time, Cockblock Comrades!

Mighty Cockblock