Ah, the hate mail. It's as much part of the Adam and Andrew lifestyle as is social awkwardness and an inability to carry a tune. Most of our fans are probably familiar with hate mail as fine examples are on our myspace homepage. For those who are not familiar, hate mail are very angry messages towards us that are usually ill-conceived (ex. "burn in a lake"), terribly funny, and show more faults in the writer than it does with us (ex. "I'm a slut whoop-de-do"). An example is shown below.

Hate Mail Type 1

"I hope you know that you guys are really stupid. You are haters. Burn in hell you mother fuckers. You all suck monkey balls."

The person who wrote the above statement said we are "haters" and then immediately followed it up with "burn in hell you mother fuckers," a statement full of hate towards us, thus also making him a "hater." Such double standards are all over these hate mails like lesbians at a Bjork concert. This is what we call a "you shouldn't make fun of people, you suck" hate mail. In this blog I'm going to show you various other types of hate mails we get.

Hate Mail Type 2

"These people are just expressing themselves and they have every right to. So you all need to shut the fuck up and let them do it. Don't you guys have anything better to do? You all suck monkey balls"

First of all, no, we obviously don't have anything better to do. Do YOU have anything better to do than write hate messages to non-famous comedians who piss you off? In any rate, this is one of my favorite types of hate mail: the person who wrote this hate mail says we are interfering with other people's right of freedom of expression and her answer to that is for us…to…stop expressing ourselves? Really? This is called a "the first amendment doesn't apply to you" hate mail.

Hate Mail Type 3

"You need to stop making fun of emo kids. I'm an emo kid and I don't do all that stuff. I'm not bi and I don't complain about every little thing, so STOP MAKING FUN OF US ASSHOLES. You all suck monkey balls."

Okay, you got me, I've been falsely adding "you suck monkey balls" to every hate mail thus far. It's a problem I have and I'm dealing with it. This message starts out with the statement "stop making fun of emo kids." Now we wrote "Emo Kid" over 2 years ago and have not made another song that makes fun of them since. So technically we HAVE stopped making fun of emo kids. Apparently to ACTUALLY do this we'd have to get rid of all copies of "Emo Kid" all over the internet. Ya, I'll get right on that, right after I lose my virginity. Sheesh. Also, this person is saying that emo kids don't complain, and then says he's an emo kid, and then STARTS COMPLAINING. All within two sentences! You can't make this stuff up because nobody could intentionally think of anything that sad. This is called an "I'm whining because you said I whine" hate mail.

Hate Mail Type 4

"ur music is gay! and wut gave you the right to make fun of emo people!?!?!? thats not cool!!! you guys are the biggest fags in HISTORY! someone should write a song making fun of you bastards"

Who needs capital letters after punctuation? Not this guy. But this hate mail makes an excellent suggestion. Someone SHOULD write a song about us, we'd post that up in a second. Sadly, no one has stepped up and made it. Is it because we aren't popular enough? Is it because we aren't worth it? A good argument can be made for both cases but I live in denial and think the reason is because nobody can write as good of an insult song as we could. So, for your listening pleasure, here is a new song we made as a result of hate mail like the one above. Click here the song "Adam and Andrew Suck" by Adam and Andrew

What are you, a sloth? Should I be enjoying the slowness at which you travel? Maybe when I’m done here I’ll go watch elderly people knit the world’s biggest waste of time. Maybe you’ll have moved when I get back. What are you, saving your energy? You got a marathon to run or something? Oh you’re probably gearing up for that part in your day where you wander half of an inch on your branch. At least you evolved the proper running gear. What are those, three toes? Didn’t want to spring for the full five? I’m sure that’s a much better solution. Now you can wear some gloves with room to spare. Hey, high five. Oh wait, you can't, I almost forgot. I'll just hold my hand up and it'll be a contest to see which will happen first: you getting two more fingers or you burning a month's worth of calories to slap my palm.

What are you, a peacock? Am I supposed to be impressed with your colorful plumage? Yeah, I’m sure that will attract a mate. If I waved around a rainbow flag in Central Park to get chicks, I’d either get my butt slapped by a Filipino dancer named Ramón or I’d get my ass beat by a lynch mob. Nice try, pally. How about you do what birds are supposed to do and fly around, or are you too good for that? Maybe you and the penguins know something I don’t. Hey let’s evolve some wings and not use them. That’s some great camouflage penguin’s have too, black and white. Except, oh wait, you don’t live in an Oreo factory. Half of you is the opposite color of everything around you. That’ll help you blend right in. Maybe you should just wear a neon sign that says “predators welcome” to help you hide in some snow. Go lay some eggs; that’s a safe way to keep an embryo, in an external shell. Good thinking there. I scrambled two of your cousin’s kids for breakfast. How’s that make you feel?

What are you, a shark? Terror of the sea? That’s pretty intimidating how ferocious you are. Wait I just remembered, you can’t leave water, ever. “Ouch, this oxygen is hurting my gills.” That was a great evolutionary choice. Did you just see the rest of the creatures wandering off to land and think, hey maybe I should ignore opportunity and get my nutrients from the same thing I poop in. Smart move right there. I’m sure you’ll make up for it by squishing your head into the tool I use to pound nails into my wall. Looks like you broke even on that one pal. Really got a leg up there. Oh wait, you don’t have those. Well at least you can voice your opinion about it.

What are you, a turtle? I already did the slow material on the sloth. Try to keep up.

What are you, a lion? Let me tell you something, you ain’t so tough. I told Donald Trump to screw himself; I ain’t afraid of an overgrown cat with bad hair. What, are you challenging me? My ex-wife had a roar worse than yours. Okay, tough guy, let’s see what you got. What are you, devouring me? Is this supposed to be shredding my limbs? I got the last Tickle Me Elmo eleven years ago; your fangs are nothing compared to a gang of desperate moms and dads. What are you, severing my jugular? Is that supposed to aghghhgufjflpsdlfsdf...

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What is this, an ambulance? To assist in my health? What are you, saving lives? Maybe you could pay for my kid’s college. That’d be a life-saver. What are you, sedating me? Are you trying to ghughghadfglfzzlfbn...

This weekend I was given the opportunity to watch my parents' new puppy while they went to Las Vegas. I use the term "opportunity" in the sense that John Wayne Bobbit had the "opportunity" of getting his penis cut off while he slept. Basically it's the kind of opportunity where you didn't want it to happen in the first place and it ends up hurting when you pee for the rest of your life. That kind of opportunity. So instead of paying money and being extremely content and entertained in a far-away, exotic city, I was extremely bitter and irritable at home for free. It all works out though, because rather than measuring the success of my life using a scale of how good I feel, like a normal person would, I measure my life using a scale of how extremely I experience any emotion at all while I spend as little money as possible. This method of evaluation works particularly well, especially if you're unemployed. Then you can justify feeling acute amounts of disappointment in yourself while you do nothing with your life. It works even better if you're cleaning dog urine off your wood floor while constantly swearing.

In a way puppies are exactly like babies, except they never grow up to be a person. Getting a canine companion instead of a child may have been a good route if you were the high school football legend who almost made it to play pro ball and your son disappointingly ended up being a gay dancer who had a supporting role in "Cats." Or the converse could be true. Maybe you were the vehemently gay high school dance prodigy who almost made it to stardom on Broadway and your son grew up to be a Republican congressman from Texas with a wife and two kids. Or maybe you just had a daughter. Any of these reasons are enough to make you wish you had a dog instead of a kid. I can only assume this logic is valid since I'm not a parent and also I tune people out when they start talking about their personal problems. But buying a puppy can be a good alternative to having a kid, especially if you're too awkward or unattractive to have sex with a human being. However, the steps of raising a puppy or a child are very similar, and in many cases worse for the dog owner.

First of all, puppies are committed to peeing and pooping on every square foot of your floor. This would be beneficial if we lived in the made-up fantasy land of Floorpeeia, where urine-soaked carpet is used as currency and the prospect of having an animal smart and skilled enough to defile anything below it bought you a mansion and the key to the city. Unfortunately, in the real world, cleaning up another animal's waste only appeals to perverts and zoologists. What's worse, puppies would rather die than see your carpet untarnished by bodily fluids. I once saw a puppy actually die TO tarnish a carpet with bodily fluids. Of course this happened in a crude drawing I made in paint, and the dog looked more like a yellow oval getting its ass kicked by an angry gang of uneven purple line segments. However, the argument stands. Puppy accidents are a perfectly acceptable consequence of rearing, whereas if a baby somehow urinates or defecates on your floor, you're doing something extremely wrong. Maybe you're one of those hippies who believes in your baby running free without the hindrance of cotton or synthetically absorbent paper. Or you read somewhere that safety-pin production contributes more to global warming than John Madden's digestive system. But if that's the case, you probably wouldn't read this article since I didn't once mention George W. Bush or the cooling effects of armpit-hair-woven clothing. Also your baby will end up useless and retarded. Sorry, that's just life. Get a job next time, hippie.

To be fair, I decided to give my dog the benefit of the doubt and made a list of pros and cons to decide how I felt about going to the bathroom on the floor.

Pros:
Relieving myself whenever I wanted
Turning the now-unnecessary bathroom into some kind of funhouse mirror puzzle or a shrine to Journey (while Steve Perry was the lead singer)
Making bodily fluid related puns such as "pee-fore and after," or "PooTube.com"

Cons:
Everything

Based upon my previous reasoning I did not rule in favor of the puppy, and disappointingly was unable to sway her judgment on the matter. In a desperate plea, she tried to convince me to see her view on the matter by forcing me to participate in a fun and challenging game she invented called "ripping the paper towel you're using to clean up my pee to shreds and then trying to bite you." For me, this brings urine maintenance to a whole new level of difficulty. Casually wiping up pee would have been too mundane and perfunctory for my glamorous and outlandish tastes. Now I'm competing head-to-head with a skilled opponent in a game of making my life a living hell. And it's cheaper than Xbox live. Thanks dog, you saved the day.

Mistakenly I assumed that at nine weeks a dog can respond to its own name or at least react when I scream, "NO! WHY GOD WHY!!!! WHY IS THIS HAPPENING!!! WHYYYYYYYY." Nope. Not even a flinch. They just think, "Wow, someone is really getting yelled at right now. I should just keep peeing on this rug and nonchalantly try to fit in." Once they pop they cannot stop, similar to Pringles consumers and heroin addicts. In an attempt to combat the semi-daily floor cleaning, I would take the puppy outside every hour or two so she could expel any waste she had accumulated over the day. However, I forgot that dogs are from a different culture than I, and do not interpret commands and body language in the same way. For example, when I take her to the same spot she's peed a million times before and say "You gotta go potty? Go potty. Who's gotta go potty? You gotta go potty. Go potty!" what I'm actually conveying is the command to walk away, attack some of our landscaping and fall over playfully. It's a lot like when you're dating a girl and you tell her you want to be with her forever, but she erroneously hears you giving her permission to get drunk at and have sex with the guy whose sole purpose at a party is to pump the keg and creepily stare at girls' cleavage. Screw you Stacy, you stupid bitch. I'm glad we broke up.

Puppies are also dedicated to putting anything and everything in their mouth and chewing it. I once saw a dog put the ideological concept of existentialism in its mouth, chew it, and then spit it out next to a slobbery pile of surrealism. You may have been apprehensively expecting a penis joke after the opening statement of this paragraph, but the readers of this site aren't satisfied with sophomoric, low-brow humor. Or are they? If you are, you may want to check out this next joke:

It's cool to listen to TLC now, because Left Eye is underground.

Get it? It's funny because she's dead. Also if you laughed at that joke, you don't have a soul and are going to hell. Sorry, I don't make the rules. All I know is that it's morally irreprehensible to laugh at a deceased person unless they're a tyrant, even if they did create the song "No Scrubs."

Puppies will chew any object they find. The only way I could see this as beneficial is if you were involved in some kind of gum-chewing contest and were way behind schedule. However if you have that issue to tackle you're probably the most screwed up human being on the planet. Otherwise, puppy chewing habits are disastrous to your décor. You begin to question your life when you correct your dog multiple times for chewing on a wall. That's right, a wall. Companies have spent millions of dollars to mass produce toys, ropes, balls, Frisbees, bones, treats, and squeaky animals -- all of which are on my floor -- so that dogs have something non-destructive to put in their mouths, but my puppy will ignore bright colors and market research to chew on something textured and load-bearing.

After sixteen puppy-filled hours, you might think, well at least now I can get some sleep, right? Wrong. Although puppies will go to the bathroom anytime and anywhere they feel like it, they will not pee where they sleep. So every two hours you will hear an alerting, ultrasonic shriek that is so powerful it briefly alters the space-time continuum. This intriguing and annoying phenomenon has been studied by NASA astrophysicists and unsuccessfully by Pauly Shore in a failed attempt to travel back to the mid 1990's when he had a career. After taking the dog outside and explaining using commands, gestures, semaphore, Morse code, Braille and interpretive dance that it is time for the dog to do its business, you've only completed half of the battle. The other half consists of the dog projecting the same deafening whines for a half hour to indicate it's not happy about being in its crate. If you manage to endure a torture that makes suicide seem like a fortuitous option and actually fall back asleep, prepare to repeat this ritual another three times. Dante once described a similar circle of Hell, or I imagine he did for I have since lost the ability to recall information, speak coherently, or open doors. Send help. Please.

Based upon my previous rhetoric, it would be easy to assume that I hate puppies. Nothing could be further from the truth. Puppies are fun and infectiously cute -- it's what allows them to get away with anything, no matter how bad. Some people suggest that O.J. Simpson was part puppy. However, raising puppies is downright exhausting. It's like cake. Do I like eating it? Yeah, it's delicious. Do I like making it? No, it's tedious and messy. Do I like having it and eating it too? I have no idea, because that phrase doesn't make any sense to me. I get cake, which is considered "having" it. Then I eat it. If I continue "having" it and not eating it, it gets gross and is no longer considered cake, infested by more unwanted bacteria than Paris Hilton. That joke is funny because she has lots of gross sex. Anyway buying a puppy can be one of the most rewarding experiences of your life. Just make sure you have someone else take care of it for you.