I climbed my neighbor's Christmas tree, and God poked my eye out with a thistle. We are no longer on speaking terms. I find this disturbing because I no longer have anyone to talk to when I am in the bathroom, and I hate being alone in there. My girlfriend won't do it, so now I just talk to myself. This wouldn't normally bother me that much because talking to yourself is excellent practice if one frequents NY city. Panhandlers are less inclined to do business with people crazier than them. However, they don't let me in NY anymore since last summer when I tried to exerminate all the hotdog cart people. Long story.
Regardless of all that, Christmas is just a week away, and if God and I do not make amends soon, I fear that PS3 I really want might come to me in the form of a Gameboy, or something worse like Atari. It happened twice to me before. When I was four, all I wanted was a BB gun - what I got was a pogo-ball. And when I was nine, all I wanted was a dirt bike, and the son of a bitch spit a chewed up cookie in my sock. Why go through all that when a simple 'no' would suffice? I'll tell you: It's because he is a malicious bastard who hates skinny, good-looking children. What an asshole!
As you can see, I make no distinction between God, and Santa. They are both the same person, just like Jesus and the singer of CCR. I know these things because God shares more in casual bathroom talk then he would ever share during a sniveling prayer session - that's just business. It's just like the cheary, full-o-life waitress at Ruby Tuesdays who hates your guts.
You may say that, there is no such thing as Santa/God. Well then, how do you explain the cookie incident? My mom did that once, but that was because I lost a pee-wee soccer game that she had a lot of money riding on - she wouldn't do that on Christmas. Trust me, God was behind it, and believe me when I also say that there are no coincidences: That flat tire, your bald spot, your gay drug addict son who gives blow jobs in the park for crack - they are all just little pieces of God's questionable taste of humor sent down from above to keep you guessing. He's such a joker. And that is why I need to figure out how best to situate myself within his good graces - Do you think I want to end up giving blow jobs to buy my own PS3?! I hate cock!!! But I love that PS3 so much, who knows what I might do.
Don't worry, mom, no cock will be sucked. It's just a figure of speech...that I just made up. Before that happens, I'll become a panhandler in NY city like the ones above. Those guys make a killing - more than dentists I hear. One time, I was walking down the street in NY when I guy in designer clothes comes up to me (I was in my best homeless costume to deter such advances) and asked me for a dollar fitty two! That guy was clearly a professional. The point I am trying to make here is that I have options. Making amends with God may not be my best option, and it's certainly not the most desirable. Personally, I think God owes ME an apology, but he would never admit fault. One time, in the bathroom, I beat him at a game of Stratego and we didn't talk for years because he says that I cheated. Now that I think about it, this occurred around the same time my foot was covered in oatmeal spit...
There is one flaw in the panhandler plan. New members to the union (known to the public as the Salvation Army) during this season usually need to dress up in a Santa costume and ring bells all day outside of department stores. It sounds nice, but all that money you collect needs to be shared with all the higher-ups. If that is the position they assign me I'm screwed. It would take months to earn enough money to buy that system. No matter what happens, tho, I will get what I want.
Friday, December 19, 2008
Thursday, November 20, 2008
PETA against the elderly?
I find old people about as appealing as a tooth ache. To sum it up more clearly: Some people look at serial killers and say, "shit, I hope I never grow up to be like that!" - I'm like that with old people.
I work for PETA's new sub-sect called People for the Ethical Treatment of Meat Products. Basically they say that, even after an animal is slaughtered, it should be shown some respect, i.e. - "standing whole turkeys and/or chickens upright and making them dance around and/or sing to a jaunty tune is highly unethical". I work for these people as a private detective in a restaurant on the weekends, and my job is to have people arrested for playing with their food. There was a time that I thought I shouldn't take the job because of my families Thanksgiving tradition which consists of one half of the family dressing up as pilgrims, and the other half dressing as indians to re-enact the turkey hunt by fastening the turkey to the cat and have the indians chase it around the house throwing forks at it. Once the turkey is 'dead', the pilgrims throw forks at the indians and take the turkey. I took the PETA post because I realized that we are just acting out history, and not creating history, so that makes it different. Also, it has been a dream of mine to take advantage of the freedom this country offers by taking a position in which I can force people to do what I think is right. Try doing that in Russia.... uh..
I told you that story to tell you this one:
This couple comes in whom I know because they are semi-regulars. I know they are both in their seventies because of their eyebrows which, as I am sure any scientist will tell you, are pretty close in function to rings on a tree stump. The three of us can only communicate two ways, Pictogram, and yelling. This can be especially annoying when I'm in a bad mood because I only yell when I'm in a good mood. Add to that the fact that I am always in a bad mood, and you can see my dilemma. Up to this point in my life I prided myself on being above average intelligence, now I'm not so sure. I could still run for vice president, but besides that, I don't even have the confidence to pump gas.... I fed these two not-so-able-bodies booze! After that, I felt like I was trying to teach a pair of crack monkeys how to build a motorcycle, and I find myself really appreciating hospital attendants and grand children. As the night progresses and the two are on their fourth doubles (or were they triples?), I realize that they are probably playing host to a plethora of drugs - regularity medication, gout medication, heart worm medication, and many more with equally tantalizing titles. In all honesty, it was this next situation which made me aware of just how bad I fucked up: I find dude in the kitchen with no pants, poop smears on his shirt, talking to the chef about what a delightful time him and is wife were having, and it was around this time that I noticed dude's chick was sleeping, or perhaps dead, at the table. Everybody I work with was so mad that I could be so careless as to fuck these geriatrics up so bad that they where calling upon me to resign my waitering post. In a fit of rage, I grabbed the hostesses taser (Hostesses are famously paranoid because they hang out with people who have money) and shot the old bag in the shoulder..... saving her life. Turns out she was dead and I pulled her back from the light with 10,000 volts. Now, I'm a god damn hero! - I might have even saved her soul as I am sure she would have fallen asleep or taken a wrong turn in that tunnel.
Granted, I am a little late when it comes to knowing when enough is enough, but I usually catch on shortly after. I planted a picture of a turkey dressed in a tuxedo on her, and I called PETA to report the situation. PETA came in, blacked bagged them both, and no one has seen them since.... They are presumed dead. They never tipped very well anyway.
I work for PETA's new sub-sect called People for the Ethical Treatment of Meat Products. Basically they say that, even after an animal is slaughtered, it should be shown some respect, i.e. - "standing whole turkeys and/or chickens upright and making them dance around and/or sing to a jaunty tune is highly unethical". I work for these people as a private detective in a restaurant on the weekends, and my job is to have people arrested for playing with their food. There was a time that I thought I shouldn't take the job because of my families Thanksgiving tradition which consists of one half of the family dressing up as pilgrims, and the other half dressing as indians to re-enact the turkey hunt by fastening the turkey to the cat and have the indians chase it around the house throwing forks at it. Once the turkey is 'dead', the pilgrims throw forks at the indians and take the turkey. I took the PETA post because I realized that we are just acting out history, and not creating history, so that makes it different. Also, it has been a dream of mine to take advantage of the freedom this country offers by taking a position in which I can force people to do what I think is right. Try doing that in Russia.... uh..
I told you that story to tell you this one:
This couple comes in whom I know because they are semi-regulars. I know they are both in their seventies because of their eyebrows which, as I am sure any scientist will tell you, are pretty close in function to rings on a tree stump. The three of us can only communicate two ways, Pictogram, and yelling. This can be especially annoying when I'm in a bad mood because I only yell when I'm in a good mood. Add to that the fact that I am always in a bad mood, and you can see my dilemma. Up to this point in my life I prided myself on being above average intelligence, now I'm not so sure. I could still run for vice president, but besides that, I don't even have the confidence to pump gas.... I fed these two not-so-able-bodies booze! After that, I felt like I was trying to teach a pair of crack monkeys how to build a motorcycle, and I find myself really appreciating hospital attendants and grand children. As the night progresses and the two are on their fourth doubles (or were they triples?), I realize that they are probably playing host to a plethora of drugs - regularity medication, gout medication, heart worm medication, and many more with equally tantalizing titles. In all honesty, it was this next situation which made me aware of just how bad I fucked up: I find dude in the kitchen with no pants, poop smears on his shirt, talking to the chef about what a delightful time him and is wife were having, and it was around this time that I noticed dude's chick was sleeping, or perhaps dead, at the table. Everybody I work with was so mad that I could be so careless as to fuck these geriatrics up so bad that they where calling upon me to resign my waitering post. In a fit of rage, I grabbed the hostesses taser (Hostesses are famously paranoid because they hang out with people who have money) and shot the old bag in the shoulder..... saving her life. Turns out she was dead and I pulled her back from the light with 10,000 volts. Now, I'm a god damn hero! - I might have even saved her soul as I am sure she would have fallen asleep or taken a wrong turn in that tunnel.
Granted, I am a little late when it comes to knowing when enough is enough, but I usually catch on shortly after. I planted a picture of a turkey dressed in a tuxedo on her, and I called PETA to report the situation. PETA came in, blacked bagged them both, and no one has seen them since.... They are presumed dead. They never tipped very well anyway.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
The race for race in the 'white' house!
That was a close call, but we did it! We finally have a half white president. We have suffered for centuries being the subject of derision, but we overcame. Most said it was impossible, the whole world over thought we where doomed to the abyss of racial subjugation, but no longer. We showed the world once and for all that not only will we elect a white guy, but we will also elect half white guys. Brothers and sisters, let us not forget that our struggle is far from won. Even now the media seeks to take away our victory by saying an "African American" won the election, but we know the truth, and the truth will prevail.
I know I personally didn't do shit.. nor did any other half white people I know, but one of us did and that is what matters. We will bask in his glory like it where our own, and walk through the next four years with an undeserved sense of satisfaction for having finally showed all the white and black elitists that we will overcome, and that you cannot destroy our will as a people. We are the future of this blah blah I am making all this shit up!
The truth is I voted for Obama's white side. I feel his white side ran a better campaign, while his black side just looked good in a suit. There it is. Am I racist...? Hell no. I mean, well, sometimes I might have a racist opinion when it comes to eating out at fancy restaurants and our fucking waitor happens to be Norwegian, but that is only because Norwegians are notorious for fucking with people's food. It's not that they're inherently bad people, just that they are born with poor self esteem and doing that kind of shit, they think, garners respect.
Anywho, Obama's white side was clearly a better choice than McCain. Through miscegenation, Obama inherited superior qualities from both races such as water proof hair and oratory skills, while McCain just represents that old boorish white guy thing which is just awful. And one final note regarding McCain: I am all for equal opportunity employment, except when it comes to employing retarded people to run the country. Palin is retarded - if McCain where to have employed her to sort thumbtacks for the white house he would have earned some more points across the board. But he didn't and he lost. Alright, seriously, one more thing about McCain: A lot of people regarded McCain's POW experience to be great for his campaign, but I saw the opposite. Anyone who undergoes torture on a regular schedule for five years is no longer fit to run for president. There are guys in Iraq right now that haven't even been shot at, much less left their tents, coming home with post traumatic stress blah blah blah, while McCain had electric ball shocking for breakfast every morning. Whatever, you do the math.
Because I am American and watch entirely too much TV I have no attention span. That means, in short, that I am already thinking about the next election. In the next election, I hope to see a half gay guy elected to office because I am already bored of this half black, half white thing. Plus, we need some more great anecdotes about our presidents private lives to be brought into the open by the friendly, and never biased media: "This president smoked pot!" Yawn! "This president got a blow job!" Yawn! "This president had a rubber fist shoved up his ass and ran all the way home!" ALRIGHT.. now where talking.
I know I personally didn't do shit.. nor did any other half white people I know, but one of us did and that is what matters. We will bask in his glory like it where our own, and walk through the next four years with an undeserved sense of satisfaction for having finally showed all the white and black elitists that we will overcome, and that you cannot destroy our will as a people. We are the future of this blah blah I am making all this shit up!
The truth is I voted for Obama's white side. I feel his white side ran a better campaign, while his black side just looked good in a suit. There it is. Am I racist...? Hell no. I mean, well, sometimes I might have a racist opinion when it comes to eating out at fancy restaurants and our fucking waitor happens to be Norwegian, but that is only because Norwegians are notorious for fucking with people's food. It's not that they're inherently bad people, just that they are born with poor self esteem and doing that kind of shit, they think, garners respect.
Anywho, Obama's white side was clearly a better choice than McCain. Through miscegenation, Obama inherited superior qualities from both races such as water proof hair and oratory skills, while McCain just represents that old boorish white guy thing which is just awful. And one final note regarding McCain: I am all for equal opportunity employment, except when it comes to employing retarded people to run the country. Palin is retarded - if McCain where to have employed her to sort thumbtacks for the white house he would have earned some more points across the board. But he didn't and he lost. Alright, seriously, one more thing about McCain: A lot of people regarded McCain's POW experience to be great for his campaign, but I saw the opposite. Anyone who undergoes torture on a regular schedule for five years is no longer fit to run for president. There are guys in Iraq right now that haven't even been shot at, much less left their tents, coming home with post traumatic stress blah blah blah, while McCain had electric ball shocking for breakfast every morning. Whatever, you do the math.
Because I am American and watch entirely too much TV I have no attention span. That means, in short, that I am already thinking about the next election. In the next election, I hope to see a half gay guy elected to office because I am already bored of this half black, half white thing. Plus, we need some more great anecdotes about our presidents private lives to be brought into the open by the friendly, and never biased media: "This president smoked pot!" Yawn! "This president got a blow job!" Yawn! "This president had a rubber fist shoved up his ass and ran all the way home!" ALRIGHT.. now where talking.
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Aliens are trying to destroy our country...
Politicians are as crooked as spina bifida, and you just can't trust them. They're like friggin' aliens or something. John McCain, for example, looks like he's hungry and wants to chew on our heads or suck on our toes when he gives a speech, and he probably would if his handlers weren't supervising him. AP reported this exact same thing in their financial section, saying "Seriously, dude, turn off the volume on your TV when he gives a speech and the guy looks like he is eyeing us up for his next meal." His handlers, also known as 'bodyguards', are actually there to protect us from John's blood lust. This is the part where I should make a "Night of the Living Dead" joke, although fitting, I think it is important to maintain at least some journalistic integrity and leave it alone. It is fitting because that guy looks like he's dead - to obvious? Yeah, I thought so. Either way, turn up the brightness on your TV all the way and he nearly disappears - a fucking ghost I tell you! BTW - all of you women voting for McCain because he is so old you think he will die and leave the office to Palin are sadly misled, for McCain can never die; shoot that guy in the head and he'll grow another.
I also know...
If Obama gets elected and begins rolling back much of what Bush has 'accomplished', we will see another massive terror attack. From there, all these crazies will come out of their dorm rooms only to claim it was a conspiracy. What's disturbing is that they will be right, but again, nobody will believe them because everyone trusts our government officials. Cheney, being the poster boy for all politics world wide has an alarmingly handsome face for an elderly man leading us right to those false conclusions. What people don't know is that his handlers no longer let him appear in public, much less out of his cage, after he bit three babies on the face. And if that isn't disturbing enough, one woman who lost an ear to Cheney claimed he was screaming afterward, "Who else wants a Cheney?!!!" That's right - he calls his bites 'Cheneys'. I wish I were making this stuff up, people.
In the end, I refuse to back myself into a political corner - dividing all the economic and social complexities between two management parties seems a stupid act. Neither one of them are to be trusted - as I am sure most of you already know considering the famous "I'm voting for the lesser of two evils" line many of us employ today to express our dissatisfaction. You would think at this point we would do something about it.. but alas, no action. Apparently America loves to take it up the ass just so long as we still have our TV dinners. I, on the other hand, am going to do something about it. I will recruit an army consisting of the most physically imposing characters the United States has to offer... Black girls with platinum blond hair (BGPBs)...
That's right, I said it. Black girls with platinum blond hair - They scare the shit out of me, and I am sure I am not alone here. I find them curiously intimidating. Most people have this same problem with extreme red heads (also referred to as ginger people), or people with giant birthmarks on their face, but not me. You could have toes for eyebrows and I wouldn't even flinch. But put me next to a BGPB in line at the bank and I'll sweat. I have also been known to give up my parking spaces to them because "I don't want any trouble." Besides the fact that they are the toughest looking people on the planet, I wouldn't have to buy uniforms! That means I will have that much more money for weapons. It's flawless!
Although the above plan has its flaws, I don't see any of you coming up with anything. You know what? - let's just forget the whole damn thing. I know we are probably fucked...Someone pass me the Salisbury Steak and turn on American Idol - I hear there's this Asian kid who sings and dances real badly, HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH - idiots.
WAIT!! You're all geniuses! I see your ruse now - If we all sit around and consume shit for food, and watch shit on TV, we can all successfully turn our brains into mush. That way, when McCain comes to our houses to feed on them, he'll need to use a straw, and we all know that the dead can't use straws!! Brilliantly flawless!!!
Flaws it may have, but you can just leave the rest to me. I'll just need each of you to send me 5.95 to get this thing going - I am going to solve the economic crises by moving to Mexico. Don't worry, this isn't what it sounds like - I will move to Mexico where the dollar is stronger, that way I can buy more things to keep me happy. Maybe a hotel on the beach or something.... now that's flawless.
Flawless....
You can make checks payable to the The Mayer of Blog Town. Have faith ye Americans, I will soon be a Mexican, and from there, we can straighten this whole thing out.
I also know...
If Obama gets elected and begins rolling back much of what Bush has 'accomplished', we will see another massive terror attack. From there, all these crazies will come out of their dorm rooms only to claim it was a conspiracy. What's disturbing is that they will be right, but again, nobody will believe them because everyone trusts our government officials. Cheney, being the poster boy for all politics world wide has an alarmingly handsome face for an elderly man leading us right to those false conclusions. What people don't know is that his handlers no longer let him appear in public, much less out of his cage, after he bit three babies on the face. And if that isn't disturbing enough, one woman who lost an ear to Cheney claimed he was screaming afterward, "Who else wants a Cheney?!!!" That's right - he calls his bites 'Cheneys'. I wish I were making this stuff up, people.
In the end, I refuse to back myself into a political corner - dividing all the economic and social complexities between two management parties seems a stupid act. Neither one of them are to be trusted - as I am sure most of you already know considering the famous "I'm voting for the lesser of two evils" line many of us employ today to express our dissatisfaction. You would think at this point we would do something about it.. but alas, no action. Apparently America loves to take it up the ass just so long as we still have our TV dinners. I, on the other hand, am going to do something about it. I will recruit an army consisting of the most physically imposing characters the United States has to offer... Black girls with platinum blond hair (BGPBs)...
That's right, I said it. Black girls with platinum blond hair - They scare the shit out of me, and I am sure I am not alone here. I find them curiously intimidating. Most people have this same problem with extreme red heads (also referred to as ginger people), or people with giant birthmarks on their face, but not me. You could have toes for eyebrows and I wouldn't even flinch. But put me next to a BGPB in line at the bank and I'll sweat. I have also been known to give up my parking spaces to them because "I don't want any trouble." Besides the fact that they are the toughest looking people on the planet, I wouldn't have to buy uniforms! That means I will have that much more money for weapons. It's flawless!
Although the above plan has its flaws, I don't see any of you coming up with anything. You know what? - let's just forget the whole damn thing. I know we are probably fucked...Someone pass me the Salisbury Steak and turn on American Idol - I hear there's this Asian kid who sings and dances real badly, HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH - idiots.
WAIT!! You're all geniuses! I see your ruse now - If we all sit around and consume shit for food, and watch shit on TV, we can all successfully turn our brains into mush. That way, when McCain comes to our houses to feed on them, he'll need to use a straw, and we all know that the dead can't use straws!! Brilliantly flawless!!!
Flaws it may have, but you can just leave the rest to me. I'll just need each of you to send me 5.95 to get this thing going - I am going to solve the economic crises by moving to Mexico. Don't worry, this isn't what it sounds like - I will move to Mexico where the dollar is stronger, that way I can buy more things to keep me happy. Maybe a hotel on the beach or something.... now that's flawless.
Flawless....
You can make checks payable to the The Mayer of Blog Town. Have faith ye Americans, I will soon be a Mexican, and from there, we can straighten this whole thing out.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Camping is fun...
Yes my friends, the grass is always greener on the other side... except when your neighbors are puking cheetos on it. My girlfriend and I introduced ourselves to our fellow campers with a shot of booze, and we hit it off from there. Naturally, they wanted to reciprocate, and naturally, we couldn't let them one-up us like that, so what followed was a vicious cycle of shots and beers that only one of us would recover from. Needless to say, I was the hero of this debacle, and I got a front row seat to the ensuing puke festival - which happened to coincide with lobster fest, but that's another story. Yes fans, I woke up triumphant, while the others languished in self pity, betrayed by the alcohol. At what cost? Well - I was naked when I awoke in our tent, and my clothes from the night before where strewn about the campsite... My shorts, but not my underwear stank like pee. Either someone pissed on me, or I took off my shorts and pissed on them myself. Either way, for an undetermined length of time, I was naked in a public place. That doesn't matter because I felt well enough the next day to go on, while my neighbors and my girlfriend spent most of the day decorating the campsite. Being the competitive type, I admit I was jealous of the volume and magnificent display of colors they where achieving, but I wasn't jealous enough to join in. It didn't help that I was yelling, "come on, pussy, you can do better than that!" What's strange about the whole thing is that I actually felt a bit guilty for ruining our neighbor's day. It's strange not only because it wasn't really my fault, but I seldom feel guilt. One time I knocked over three legless war vets, and a nun just to get the last 'tickle me Elmo', and I felt nothing but glory. I didn't even want the damn thing; I ripped its cute little head off while laughing my ass off walking out of the place.
I guess I felt bad because they where determined to have a good weekend, but we proverbially, and I can't stress that enough, helped them blow their whole load in one night. In conversation they stressed a strong desire to go tubing down the river at 9am the next day, along with partaking in the lobster fest, but we helped them to do none of that. The thing is, we all had a blast the night before, but the next day, I didn't seem to feel welcomed by them any longer. Their cordiality was replaced by an overall malaise, and was no longer receptive to my friendly advances. I reasoned with myself that it must be difficult to be hospitable when cheetos are coming out your nose. So for the time being, I let them be.
When I finally wrestled my girl out of her funk, her and I wished our neighbors well and went tubing down the river ourselves at around 1:00pm. When we returned... our neighbors had dramatically transformed: One had a beard and was taller, and the other was a little boy! WTF? I thought to myself, "these can't be the people we where with last night!" As it turned out, those weren't the people we where with that previous night. They had left when we where gone. Being the conspiracy theorist that I am, I immediately thought to myself that they left because of us. Because I have no proof of this, I have no choice but to continue believing that that is the case. How could they treat us like that? I thought we where pals! After I finished crying, I flew into a rage and trashed the imposter's tent then kicked their dog into the river. They where not happy campers, but neither was I, damn it!
This is why I hate making new friends. Every time I do, some poor dog suffers.
I had half a mind to go looking for them, but half a mind just isn't enough to do anything so I simply gave up. My girlfriend gave the 'everything is going to be alright' speech as we where being thrown into the back of the police car. I hate that speech - but for some reason it helps a bit, especially when you where just maced. When asked by the police why I kicked the dog, I said I thought it was a rabid beaver bent on stealing my neighbor's firewood. After being pistol whipped, I fessed up to the whole thing. The story was so sad that they felt bad enough to let us go home with a warning and a donut. The donut was a nasty cream filled donut, but at least they tried.
After this harrowing experience, I decided to give up on making friends on vacation. It just hurts too much... Being maced, and pistol whipped is no good time, but on the bright side I got some sweet loving, and not from the cops. Apparently that's all one needs to do in order to procure some sweet intercourse - lose some teeth, your eyesight, and you're in!
Even though I told a heart breaking story about our trip, I would like to clarify that the trip, besides the above mentioned happenings, was a great success. We had a very good time, and will be doing it again soon, hopefully. I would also like to say that no animals where harmed in the making of this blog... except for that one.... who sustained no life threatening injuries and will be walking again in a few months.
I guess I felt bad because they where determined to have a good weekend, but we proverbially, and I can't stress that enough, helped them blow their whole load in one night. In conversation they stressed a strong desire to go tubing down the river at 9am the next day, along with partaking in the lobster fest, but we helped them to do none of that. The thing is, we all had a blast the night before, but the next day, I didn't seem to feel welcomed by them any longer. Their cordiality was replaced by an overall malaise, and was no longer receptive to my friendly advances. I reasoned with myself that it must be difficult to be hospitable when cheetos are coming out your nose. So for the time being, I let them be.
When I finally wrestled my girl out of her funk, her and I wished our neighbors well and went tubing down the river ourselves at around 1:00pm. When we returned... our neighbors had dramatically transformed: One had a beard and was taller, and the other was a little boy! WTF? I thought to myself, "these can't be the people we where with last night!" As it turned out, those weren't the people we where with that previous night. They had left when we where gone. Being the conspiracy theorist that I am, I immediately thought to myself that they left because of us. Because I have no proof of this, I have no choice but to continue believing that that is the case. How could they treat us like that? I thought we where pals! After I finished crying, I flew into a rage and trashed the imposter's tent then kicked their dog into the river. They where not happy campers, but neither was I, damn it!
This is why I hate making new friends. Every time I do, some poor dog suffers.
I had half a mind to go looking for them, but half a mind just isn't enough to do anything so I simply gave up. My girlfriend gave the 'everything is going to be alright' speech as we where being thrown into the back of the police car. I hate that speech - but for some reason it helps a bit, especially when you where just maced. When asked by the police why I kicked the dog, I said I thought it was a rabid beaver bent on stealing my neighbor's firewood. After being pistol whipped, I fessed up to the whole thing. The story was so sad that they felt bad enough to let us go home with a warning and a donut. The donut was a nasty cream filled donut, but at least they tried.
After this harrowing experience, I decided to give up on making friends on vacation. It just hurts too much... Being maced, and pistol whipped is no good time, but on the bright side I got some sweet loving, and not from the cops. Apparently that's all one needs to do in order to procure some sweet intercourse - lose some teeth, your eyesight, and you're in!
Even though I told a heart breaking story about our trip, I would like to clarify that the trip, besides the above mentioned happenings, was a great success. We had a very good time, and will be doing it again soon, hopefully. I would also like to say that no animals where harmed in the making of this blog... except for that one.... who sustained no life threatening injuries and will be walking again in a few months.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Peace and Harmony is a fish sandwich away.
This world is so messed up and it is all because of me. No just kidding, I wish I had that much power. But seriously, our maleficent socio-entity can be summed up, only if we are able to determine the depth in which we are unable to understand each other. Understanding truly is the key to being able to live in peace and harmony. So - when I say I want a fish sandwich, give me a fish sandwich. Chicken is not fish unless you are eating at McDonald's. On a side note: It's a well known fact that everything on the McDonald's menu is made of grade D Mexican Turkitos (turkito is Mexican for chicken, and D is Mexican for digestable), they just use various flavorings (beef, fish, apple) developed by the Ronald McDonald house. And in case you where wondering, the answer is yes - that money you put in that little box on the counter is to pay for child flavor. Don't worry, that wasn't a Typo - McDonald's in no way condones child labor. Children actually serve as an excellent flavor enhancer - curiously, the lost ones taste better having something to do with over sized tear and snot ducts.
*Don't feel bad, some side notes are just bigger than others, just the way god intended.
Because TV told me so, I know, that over 6,000,000,000 people die each year because of such simple misunderstandings. Some will say that this is an exaggeration, others will say - "Shit - that has to be true. I can't count as high as the number of times I wanted to murder those bastards for fucking up my order!" Either way, this discussion will have to wait because my breakfast is ready...
Anyway, like I said, 6,000,000,002 people die each year as a result of simple misunderstandings. Whatever, it can't be helped. World peace may only be a fish sandwich away, but who wants world peace anyway? Want to know what world peace is? World Peace is a herpes commercial, or an episode of Lamb Chop, or worse yet - Mr. Roger's Neighborhood! A dicksgusting turkey meat sandwich is a small price to pay to not have to live next door to a talking lamb or a pederast, wouldn't you say?
*Don't feel bad, some side notes are just bigger than others, just the way god intended.
Because TV told me so, I know, that over 6,000,000,000 people die each year because of such simple misunderstandings. Some will say that this is an exaggeration, others will say - "Shit - that has to be true. I can't count as high as the number of times I wanted to murder those bastards for fucking up my order!" Either way, this discussion will have to wait because my breakfast is ready...
Anyway, like I said, 6,000,000,002 people die each year as a result of simple misunderstandings. Whatever, it can't be helped. World peace may only be a fish sandwich away, but who wants world peace anyway? Want to know what world peace is? World Peace is a herpes commercial, or an episode of Lamb Chop, or worse yet - Mr. Roger's Neighborhood! A dicksgusting turkey meat sandwich is a small price to pay to not have to live next door to a talking lamb or a pederast, wouldn't you say?
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
The fat girl infomercial.
I can't recall the name of this stupid little device, but it is supposed to remove up to six inches from a females waste line. Ostensibly, it is a tourniquet for your torso that squeezes the crap (Literally) out of your guts.... it may have been called the shaper... not sure. The question in my mind is, as a male, if confronted with such barbarity in the bedroom donned by a lying bitch, what do you do? While I would pull out my gun and force that fat lying whore off the premises, some of you will choose to persist in your goal for carnal pleasure because let's face it--the club is far away, you're drunk, and it was hard enough sneaking this chick into your parents house in the first place. You worked hard for the pussy, and you're not giving up - you are a trooper. Congratulations on being one of very few people in this world that can trigger my gag reflex with out sticking things down my throat (not dicks). So you made the decision to say fuck the gold, I'll take whomever was in the race. Fine. Here are some tips to get past the gut squeezing gadget:
Now unless you have one of the those nifty machines that separate tires from rims as they have in most mechanic shops, you will need a couple more beers to keep your buzz up through this amazingly difficult process. You might also want a pair of safety goggles to protect you from flack, and a lead vest to protect you from radiation exposure that I'm sure must accompany a release of energy of that magnitude. Finally you will need to download a set of instructions from the company's web site. I'm already on the FBI list, and because these instructions resemble those to disarm a nuke, I can't be bothered posting that shit here. We all know how hasty the FBI is. Plus, they're fucking gross, and I have a respectable reputation to uphold. I read up to step 38 before puking on my apple jacks (I like to challenge myself), and I can tell you that removing a tattoo with a spork would be easier.
If you have made it this far with success, you are one sick, horny dude. You are a locomotive and there is no stopping you.... but here's the thing: You have managed to get past the fact that she was the chick from the Wonka movie who got her rolly-polly-blue-berry loving ass kicked out by the oompa loompas, but there are other more disturbing things waiting to be rattled loose. You must take great care during coitus because it is a fact that when you reveal one physical lie there will be more waiting to fall off. I'm telling you, it's like an addiction for girls: they'd screw on a new head every week if they could. If you get to rough, it is likely you will pop out a glass eye, or pull off a wig which can completely ruin the mood. Of course, you are one horny dude, and I shouldn't put it past you that you like girls with glass eyes and bumpy scalps - 'to each is own' is what I say. But that's the least of what you might uncover--I heard about this guy in Houston who went through all the above mentioned hassle, screwed this chick with way too much enthusiasm bopping off her prosthetic arm to reveal a ghastly stump that was giving him the 'thumbs up'. He puked all over her back and ran off whimpering in the night. Poor guy can't even watch the Happy Days anymore.
In my opinion, it's much safer hiring a homeless guy to choke you while you masturbate. In this case, everybody wins; they need a job, and you have one for them. Now, you are one horny dude who is not endorsing the lying fat chick, who is helping the economy, and who is still getting there needs taken care of. But hey, besides being a fucking genius, who am I to tell you what to do - right?
Now unless you have one of the those nifty machines that separate tires from rims as they have in most mechanic shops, you will need a couple more beers to keep your buzz up through this amazingly difficult process. You might also want a pair of safety goggles to protect you from flack, and a lead vest to protect you from radiation exposure that I'm sure must accompany a release of energy of that magnitude. Finally you will need to download a set of instructions from the company's web site. I'm already on the FBI list, and because these instructions resemble those to disarm a nuke, I can't be bothered posting that shit here. We all know how hasty the FBI is. Plus, they're fucking gross, and I have a respectable reputation to uphold. I read up to step 38 before puking on my apple jacks (I like to challenge myself), and I can tell you that removing a tattoo with a spork would be easier.
If you have made it this far with success, you are one sick, horny dude. You are a locomotive and there is no stopping you.... but here's the thing: You have managed to get past the fact that she was the chick from the Wonka movie who got her rolly-polly-blue-berry loving ass kicked out by the oompa loompas, but there are other more disturbing things waiting to be rattled loose. You must take great care during coitus because it is a fact that when you reveal one physical lie there will be more waiting to fall off. I'm telling you, it's like an addiction for girls: they'd screw on a new head every week if they could. If you get to rough, it is likely you will pop out a glass eye, or pull off a wig which can completely ruin the mood. Of course, you are one horny dude, and I shouldn't put it past you that you like girls with glass eyes and bumpy scalps - 'to each is own' is what I say. But that's the least of what you might uncover--I heard about this guy in Houston who went through all the above mentioned hassle, screwed this chick with way too much enthusiasm bopping off her prosthetic arm to reveal a ghastly stump that was giving him the 'thumbs up'. He puked all over her back and ran off whimpering in the night. Poor guy can't even watch the Happy Days anymore.
In my opinion, it's much safer hiring a homeless guy to choke you while you masturbate. In this case, everybody wins; they need a job, and you have one for them. Now, you are one horny dude who is not endorsing the lying fat chick, who is helping the economy, and who is still getting there needs taken care of. But hey, besides being a fucking genius, who am I to tell you what to do - right?
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Fast Food War
There was a point in which I posted very serious blogs about social issues alongside crude, and sometimes humorous blogs. Some might say I was trying to enlighten the masses, while simultaneously corrupt their children. And of course, they would be correct. The only problem here is that I never received any hate mail from angry mothers telling me what I good job I was doing. I thought the problem might have been that the good I was doing was cancelling out the bad, but I was wrong. Only after extensive research, which entailed clicking on the view profile button, did I find out about my meager readership.... 1.5 people a week to be precise. And to my dismay, none of them seem to be baptist, soccer mom/ housewives with a computer. After flying into a rage punching my grandma in the face I decided to drop the 'enlightenment' side of my campaign in order to focus all of my attention on corrupting your children. Let's face it, kids are stupid. They're an easy target and highly impressionable. I know, I know; your child is an honor student. Unfortunately that is no accomplishment. It fits right up there with such lofty challenges like zipping up your pants without getting your dick caught. Try doing a back flip on a pogo stick through a ring of fire with no shoes on and I'll be impressed. Nobody can do that.
Popularity is key to everything, and I can't stress that enough. McDonalds could never have hoped to open so many heart disease factories in the center of hospitals if they weren't so popular. It seems people are willing to forget the audacity of such a move just so long as they can have a big mac waiting for them after their triple bypass. It was a bold move, on par with opening a sky diving school for people with no legs, or holding AA meetings at stag parties, or holding Olympic games for the handicap! I salute McDonalds - they've managed to attain an unchecked level of power to corrupt children (and their parents) unimaginable in our time - with a fucking clown that laughs in your face as their mascot...Such confidence is intimidating to an up and comer like myself.....
With this new goal of attaining popularity in mind, I hope to generate enough influence on the web to create an army of unruly children to overthrow the patriarchal authority in order to claim power for myself.... I can see it now, an army of well trained child assassins armed with cudgels and blow darts terrorizing the city in the name of mediocre material they found on blogger.com. Ha ha ha. We will raze cities to the ground unless city officials can meet our unmeetable demands. After a city or two, McDonalds will be begging to get in on the act, feeding my army while supplying me with new generals--Ronald, that arrogant, laughing clown, and Grimace, will lead my armies on while I retire to my fortress built entirely out of first graders and bubble gum to eat big macs and play in my ball pit. Ha ha ha!!
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
10 year HS reunion
I was just invited to my 10 year HS reunion - it's a chance to catch up with all those people who helped shape my life. A chance to look back on our lives together, and essentially judge each other on our current lot in life so that we can go home with a smug sense of self satisfaction in knowing how much better we are than most of our peers. Although it sounds like a lot of fun, I'm not sure I am going to attend. I still consider myself one of the cool kids, and that comes with certain responsibilities - mainly, forsaking ones responsibilities
Because I take seriously everything I read on the back of cars, I ask myself WWJD? Since Jesus stopped talking to me after my last blog, all I can do is speculate. If he would go I picture Jesus as the ultimate cock blocker. The kind of guy you do everything in your power to avoid but can't because he's omnipotent.
Me: Oh, hey, Jesus.
JC: What's going on?
Me: Not much.
JC: OMG - Is that your 4th beer already?
Me: Well, yeah it is - it's a party, man!
JC: I think you should slow down a bit.
Me: Dude, lighten up.
JC: Lighten up?!?
Me: Yeah, man - chill out.
JC: I died for your sins, man.
Me: Oh shit, Jesus, not this again.
I'm losing you, I know. Doesn't matter. Remember, it's not always about you. Anyway - Jesus isn't going, so maybe I should. Unlike Jesus, I make beer taste great. But like Jesus, I have lots of hair which should make everyone totally jealous, because that's what really matters at these functions - how much hair you have, and how fat you got.
I'm not going to lie to you, I'm sure I'll end up attending this thing. Even if only to hang out beyond the parking lot behind a tree with some Marlboro reds, and talk about how lame everyone is for going, I'm going. Most people are missed a lot better from a distance anyway.
Because I take seriously everything I read on the back of cars, I ask myself WWJD? Since Jesus stopped talking to me after my last blog, all I can do is speculate. If he would go I picture Jesus as the ultimate cock blocker. The kind of guy you do everything in your power to avoid but can't because he's omnipotent.
Me: Oh, hey, Jesus.
JC: What's going on?
Me: Not much.
JC: OMG - Is that your 4th beer already?
Me: Well, yeah it is - it's a party, man!
JC: I think you should slow down a bit.
Me: Dude, lighten up.
JC: Lighten up?!?
Me: Yeah, man - chill out.
JC: I died for your sins, man.
Me: Oh shit, Jesus, not this again.
I'm losing you, I know. Doesn't matter. Remember, it's not always about you. Anyway - Jesus isn't going, so maybe I should. Unlike Jesus, I make beer taste great. But like Jesus, I have lots of hair which should make everyone totally jealous, because that's what really matters at these functions - how much hair you have, and how fat you got.
I'm not going to lie to you, I'm sure I'll end up attending this thing. Even if only to hang out beyond the parking lot behind a tree with some Marlboro reds, and talk about how lame everyone is for going, I'm going. Most people are missed a lot better from a distance anyway.
Friday, July 18, 2008
Is it wrong to be turned on by a shaving cream can?
Every one knows that women all receive their period at the exact same time during the vernal equinox at the stroke of midnight. It's a creepy scientific fact, or maybe the 11th plague. Either way it's fucking gross. It's a damn good time to go camping. Anyway, during this time women don't like to have sex, nor do they feel particularly romantic because of bloating or something - this fact puts millions of romance authors out of their nominal positions as smut peddlers for soccer moms. The question is, where do they all go? Well I think I may have stumbled upon the answer while I was.... hanging out in the bathroom reading the back of a shaving cream can only to find the following enticements:
1) The restorative power of a deep treatment...
2)Soft and smooth and totally touchable all day...
3)Captured with ease...
4)Penetrates to the center...
5)Wraps the service...
6)Lubricates even the toughest beard...
7)Use gentle strokes to avoid irritation...
Needless to say, it was getting hot in there. When I was finally released from the hypnotic spell the can held on me by my dog scratching at the door to use the bathroom, I found I was naked. Who the hell took off my fucking clothes? How embarrassing! Of course it is of no help that my day to day actions are usually narrated by a sultry female voice - but still - standing there with my dog scratching at the door, naked, with a can of shaving cream in my hand was not a proud moment. I thought to myself - is this what sexual predators do? "No, they don't, they fuck little boys", I said to myself. This is something different.
Well, anyway, the work ethic of the above mentioned characters is daunting to say the least. Instead of collecting unemployment, they go out there and sexify our lavatory accoutrement.
I can't allow myself to be seduced by such base sexual enticements. Shaving, from now on, is totally out of the question. But for you sick X game types who enjoy such dangerous activities as base jumping, and jerking off while wielding a razor blade, I guess its ok, and because it's ok, it is my duty as a pioneer of sorts, to update the sacred hierarchical, super secret list of manly spank fodder.
1) XXX porn
2) xxx porn
3) Rated R soft core
4) HBO
5) MTV beach house/ spring break episodes
6) Victoria Secret
7) Frederick's of Hollywood
8) Sears underwear catalog
9) Descriptive labels on bathroom products
Sure its pathetic, but its good to have choices when you're in a jam. Personally, I would rather buy a hooker than let Barbasol 'the beard buster' turn me on, but to each is own ya sick fuck.
1) The restorative power of a deep treatment...
2)Soft and smooth and totally touchable all day...
3)Captured with ease...
4)Penetrates to the center...
5)Wraps the service...
6)Lubricates even the toughest beard...
7)Use gentle strokes to avoid irritation...
Needless to say, it was getting hot in there. When I was finally released from the hypnotic spell the can held on me by my dog scratching at the door to use the bathroom, I found I was naked. Who the hell took off my fucking clothes? How embarrassing! Of course it is of no help that my day to day actions are usually narrated by a sultry female voice - but still - standing there with my dog scratching at the door, naked, with a can of shaving cream in my hand was not a proud moment. I thought to myself - is this what sexual predators do? "No, they don't, they fuck little boys", I said to myself. This is something different.
Well, anyway, the work ethic of the above mentioned characters is daunting to say the least. Instead of collecting unemployment, they go out there and sexify our lavatory accoutrement.
I can't allow myself to be seduced by such base sexual enticements. Shaving, from now on, is totally out of the question. But for you sick X game types who enjoy such dangerous activities as base jumping, and jerking off while wielding a razor blade, I guess its ok, and because it's ok, it is my duty as a pioneer of sorts, to update the sacred hierarchical, super secret list of manly spank fodder.
1) XXX porn
2) xxx porn
3) Rated R soft core
4) HBO
5) MTV beach house/ spring break episodes
6) Victoria Secret
7) Frederick's of Hollywood
8) Sears underwear catalog
9) Descriptive labels on bathroom products
Sure its pathetic, but its good to have choices when you're in a jam. Personally, I would rather buy a hooker than let Barbasol 'the beard buster' turn me on, but to each is own ya sick fuck.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Penis Subterfuge
If you're like most Americans, at one or two points in your life you have had the displeasure of friends drawing huge penises on your face. You were way too drunk, and you were taken advantage of. If your friends had any respect they would draw a large squirting penis on your head with lipstick, or water soluble markers. If you had friends like me, you probably had to walk around with a dick on your face for a week because the fuckers used permanent marker or spray paint.
The idea to write a blog concerning facial phalluses came to me this morning when I awoke to find myself with a boner so huge it was hurting and decided it would be a good idea to wake my girlfriend... by measuring her face with it. All guys know their exact measurements, don't let them fool you. If asked the size, no man will leave off that .1 at the end no matter how big they are. The fucking thing could be a carpentry tool if we were not so afraid to spark an erection in front of a bunch of dudes or get our shit damaged. Until the day they make tiny hard hats and the world grows gay with itself we won't be seeing much penis carpentry, and that's fine by me. Anyway, seeing that giant penis on her face made me want to try and help all those youngsters coming of age.... only to find a dick on their face.
Removal: Unfortunately, there is nothing you can do that I know of that will erase your friends' wishful artwork, but there is a way to live more peacefully with it. When you wake up in the morning to find the one eyed monster nesting on your head, don't get angry, because this is an excellent time to practice some artwork of your own. Simply ask your friends politely for the weapon they used so the color matches, and turn that dick into a fucking submarine. If you can't draw worth shit, draw a fish on your cheek for reference. For further affect, on your chin you can write, 'WWII REMEMBERED', that way, people will think you just came from some sort of rally and your are conscious of your country's illustrious history. In the unlikely event you have balls on your face as well, you can, if you are a good enough artist, turn it into a snork. It's a bit far fetched, but balls are complicated.
The only other thing you can do is wear that thing with pride. Look people straight in the eye and say, "yeah, there's a dick on my face, and I yet... I am secure with myself". Confidence is key. I once drew a penis on my face for a job interview just so I can say that. The interviewer was impressed, to say the least. Oh yeah - I got the job.
The idea to write a blog concerning facial phalluses came to me this morning when I awoke to find myself with a boner so huge it was hurting and decided it would be a good idea to wake my girlfriend... by measuring her face with it. All guys know their exact measurements, don't let them fool you. If asked the size, no man will leave off that .1 at the end no matter how big they are. The fucking thing could be a carpentry tool if we were not so afraid to spark an erection in front of a bunch of dudes or get our shit damaged. Until the day they make tiny hard hats and the world grows gay with itself we won't be seeing much penis carpentry, and that's fine by me. Anyway, seeing that giant penis on her face made me want to try and help all those youngsters coming of age.... only to find a dick on their face.
Removal: Unfortunately, there is nothing you can do that I know of that will erase your friends' wishful artwork, but there is a way to live more peacefully with it. When you wake up in the morning to find the one eyed monster nesting on your head, don't get angry, because this is an excellent time to practice some artwork of your own. Simply ask your friends politely for the weapon they used so the color matches, and turn that dick into a fucking submarine. If you can't draw worth shit, draw a fish on your cheek for reference. For further affect, on your chin you can write, 'WWII REMEMBERED', that way, people will think you just came from some sort of rally and your are conscious of your country's illustrious history. In the unlikely event you have balls on your face as well, you can, if you are a good enough artist, turn it into a snork. It's a bit far fetched, but balls are complicated.
The only other thing you can do is wear that thing with pride. Look people straight in the eye and say, "yeah, there's a dick on my face, and I yet... I am secure with myself". Confidence is key. I once drew a penis on my face for a job interview just so I can say that. The interviewer was impressed, to say the least. Oh yeah - I got the job.
I might be better than you
I can't help but be very objective in all the things that I do. I use my reason to solve, as well as identify problems that some people feel are destine, as well as necessary, to languish in the realm of emotion. To some people, I come across as being emotionless--devoid of the feelings which people say make us human. I say that your priorities are fucked - intellect should always trump emotion. It is difficult, I know, I have been there. It takes an incredible amount of energy to resituate your train of thought, and it is never 100 percent.
I can picture all you women out there saying, "Oh my, he is so insensitive, he'll never get a girlfriend with that attitude!" Well you're an idiot - I have a hot girlfriend who makes me breakfast.
The world itself is in danger due to our in intellectual incapacity. Humans believe we are smart, but I believe we still have a long way to go. We are (hopefully) still climbing the evolutionary latter, and from the looks of things, about a rung away from throwing shit at each other, but yet we are so fucking arrogant - Ha! For the life of me I can't see why.
Religious fervor, racism, fear, hate, GREED, and a myriad of other 'feelings' we humans have consistently trump the intellect. We know deep down that we are polluting the environment, but we continue to do so. We know we contradict and reword sacred doctrines like the bible, and the constitution, but we manage to justify it, and we know our leaders lie, cheat, and steal, but we let them get away with it. Why?
In the past I showered my fellow man with invectives, and now I see (I imagine through the rest of the week) our many faults as what they truly are - learning experience for the next stage. The fact that there is one truly smart person who has their shit together out of one hundred is proof enough for me that we are climbing that latter... Unfortunately for us, it takes approximately 50,000 years for an evolutionary adaptation to take hold of an entire species, but I think we'll make it. Even if we are wearing lead suits, or living underground, we'll make it. We might even laugh about how fucking silly we all where - "Hey, Jack, come here and read this ancient document I found. It says bling bling, ppppfffflllllbbbbb hahahahahahah what a bunch of fucking idiots.... Do you think they threw poop at each other?"
I can picture all you women out there saying, "Oh my, he is so insensitive, he'll never get a girlfriend with that attitude!" Well you're an idiot - I have a hot girlfriend who makes me breakfast.
The world itself is in danger due to our in intellectual incapacity. Humans believe we are smart, but I believe we still have a long way to go. We are (hopefully) still climbing the evolutionary latter, and from the looks of things, about a rung away from throwing shit at each other, but yet we are so fucking arrogant - Ha! For the life of me I can't see why.
Religious fervor, racism, fear, hate, GREED, and a myriad of other 'feelings' we humans have consistently trump the intellect. We know deep down that we are polluting the environment, but we continue to do so. We know we contradict and reword sacred doctrines like the bible, and the constitution, but we manage to justify it, and we know our leaders lie, cheat, and steal, but we let them get away with it. Why?
In the past I showered my fellow man with invectives, and now I see (I imagine through the rest of the week) our many faults as what they truly are - learning experience for the next stage. The fact that there is one truly smart person who has their shit together out of one hundred is proof enough for me that we are climbing that latter... Unfortunately for us, it takes approximately 50,000 years for an evolutionary adaptation to take hold of an entire species, but I think we'll make it. Even if we are wearing lead suits, or living underground, we'll make it. We might even laugh about how fucking silly we all where - "Hey, Jack, come here and read this ancient document I found. It says bling bling, ppppfffflllllbbbbb hahahahahahah what a bunch of fucking idiots.... Do you think they threw poop at each other?"
Fun in the sun dial
As part of my surprise birthday gift my girlfriend brought me to this incredible private cottage in Warfordsburg, PA (if you are reading this from Warfardsburg, let me apologize about the atrocious spelling. It’s really not that I think you are unimportant; it’s just that I wasn’t really paying attention. I swear, if I was to just mail one letter from your fine town at your fine post office/bate shop I would remember the spelling forever. Be Strong Worfardsburg! You’ll be remembered!). We where situated on 53 acres, had a private lake stocked with fish, hot tub on the porch, and a fireplace in the living room. Those are just a few of the most memorable amenities this place had to offer. Lucky for you I am going to take the time out of my busy schedule to share the most surreal moments with you so that you can live vicariously through me. You’re welcome in advance.
Here we go - Day 1:
We arrived at our very secluded destination, and after unpacking the Grande Marnier we proceeded to get drunk in the hot tub which was outside on the porch. We where discussing how strange it is to actually be alone - nobody around - shoot-bears-outside-your-bedroom-window alone!! To get more acquainted with the idea of alone we stripped our clothes off and went for a walk in the woods completely naked. At this point I completely lost it. I have an affinity for the outdoors, and when I got naked in the woods with the animals the savage in me kicked into high gear.
Janetta got tired of me and went inside to watch me from the window. Although it was dark out, she said that I was so incredibly white that she could see me just fine. I probably looked like a ghost darting back and forth between trees, and I’m sure the banshee screams I was letting out - my war cries - weren’t helping. Only after chopping down a tree with a dull rock in order to build a shelter did she say, "HEY!! WHITEY!! - GET THE FUCK IN HERE!" So ends day one.
Day 2 was filled with so many learning experiences. For example: Did you know that it is, not only possible, but preferred, by many indigenous peoples to tell time with the penis (like a sun dial)? There are way too many reasons to sort out on why this method is by far the best in so many aspects; therefore, I will spare you the boring details. Just know that accuracy is not necessarily among them - Tiny Tim might be late for dinner while Beefy Bob is early - Average Al will have a hot meal. I also learned how to swim.
Day 3: Janetta discovers me down by the lake (still naked, thankfully, not as white) eating raw fish and salamanders mumbling something about my precious - whatever that means - and decides that enough is enough. It was about 12 on the penis clock (actually about 11am), and it was time for me to become ’civilized again’. I didn’t mind, I had enough - raw fish sucks, and I was filthy. Besides, Janetta is the most fun out of any wild animal I know.
We had a blast!!
Here we go - Day 1:
We arrived at our very secluded destination, and after unpacking the Grande Marnier we proceeded to get drunk in the hot tub which was outside on the porch. We where discussing how strange it is to actually be alone - nobody around - shoot-bears-outside-your-bedroom-window alone!! To get more acquainted with the idea of alone we stripped our clothes off and went for a walk in the woods completely naked. At this point I completely lost it. I have an affinity for the outdoors, and when I got naked in the woods with the animals the savage in me kicked into high gear.
Janetta got tired of me and went inside to watch me from the window. Although it was dark out, she said that I was so incredibly white that she could see me just fine. I probably looked like a ghost darting back and forth between trees, and I’m sure the banshee screams I was letting out - my war cries - weren’t helping. Only after chopping down a tree with a dull rock in order to build a shelter did she say, "HEY!! WHITEY!! - GET THE FUCK IN HERE!" So ends day one.
Day 2 was filled with so many learning experiences. For example: Did you know that it is, not only possible, but preferred, by many indigenous peoples to tell time with the penis (like a sun dial)? There are way too many reasons to sort out on why this method is by far the best in so many aspects; therefore, I will spare you the boring details. Just know that accuracy is not necessarily among them - Tiny Tim might be late for dinner while Beefy Bob is early - Average Al will have a hot meal. I also learned how to swim.
Day 3: Janetta discovers me down by the lake (still naked, thankfully, not as white) eating raw fish and salamanders mumbling something about my precious - whatever that means - and decides that enough is enough. It was about 12 on the penis clock (actually about 11am), and it was time for me to become ’civilized again’. I didn’t mind, I had enough - raw fish sucks, and I was filthy. Besides, Janetta is the most fun out of any wild animal I know.
We had a blast!!
The cutest dog.... but there's a catch
She is my daughter. She's smarter than your daughter (and probably better looking). She is a boxer - a gorgeous boxer. Kali is her name and this bitch could be a show dog. The only thing is she has a big problem with farting. She farts all the time at inopportune times; during movies, vigils, funerals, weddings, and when her ass is right in your face. I use to think it was hilarious until she farted at a funeral for my Uncle Fred and I busted out laughing during the Eulogy – I couldn’t frick’n help it. Now my family doesn’t talk to me. I’m starting to think this bitch does it on purpose. And the smell-oh god- the smell can bring a man at a sausage factory to tears. She has also been known to engage in such crude tricks like the Dutch oven, yet I can’t always get her to sit. I bet her whole family is like that. Kali can also hit a large range of notes. I checked on a pitch pipe and she adheres closely to the key of B flat being just a bit sharp on the F. I have yet to find that useful. One time at the pet store a bunch of old ladies and children ran over to us (she’s that cute) and all wanted to pet her and shower her with high pitch nonsensical baby talk when Kali, whether she meant to or not, let out a BURRRFFFFPPPPTTTTTSSSSSS! That’s when I learned that dogs can actually smile when they want to.
How would one utilize a farting dog? There are rescue dogs, police dogs, and fire dogs. But a farting dog..... Where does it tie in? Comedy? Perhaps I can harness this energy some how - maybe a small stove? Although it’s not very appetizing eating eggs powered by ass gas.... Maybe a small vehicle would be best... At any rate, we won't being winning any AKC awards unless they open a new category.
How would one utilize a farting dog? There are rescue dogs, police dogs, and fire dogs. But a farting dog..... Where does it tie in? Comedy? Perhaps I can harness this energy some how - maybe a small stove? Although it’s not very appetizing eating eggs powered by ass gas.... Maybe a small vehicle would be best... At any rate, we won't being winning any AKC awards unless they open a new category.
Getting old Sucks
I remember last year around this time I completely forgot how old I was... I couldn’t remember if I was 26 or 27. I decided to be 27 only after reviewing my license. So sad to be getting old so fast watching everyone around you ’grow up’ - as they often say. As if it where a positive thing. Succumbing to old age is no good time, and I wouldn’t recommend it. Unfortunately, for you mere mortals, you have no choice. Here is a list of things to help you feel young:
Pull a prank - Everyone likes a good prank, and the measure of cruelty often correlates to the level of ’youngness’ you will feel. For example, the old saran wrap on the toilet seat will earn you a modest 5 (scale of 1-10, 1 being a younger score), as where peeing in your neighbors shampoo bottle when you're invited over for a barbeque, the one still in the shower and being used, preferably the color safe one, will earn you a 2.
Break something and pass blame - This one works best if you have children for obvious reasons. There’s little that can surpass the joyous feeling one gets when they do something they know they shouldn’t and totally get away with it while someone else pays for it. Be extremely careful not to get greedy with this one - there is a very fine line between feeling young and complete negligence. You are, after all, an adult.
Skip Work - For the novelty of it, steal some whiskey from your parents and some pot from your kids and go get real fucking high in a precarious place. That place being outside your work complex behind a bush or a shed; something that will offer minuscule protection. If you don’t have parents, steal from someone else’s, perhaps the in-laws. When the day is over and your sorry ass co-workers get in their SUV’s and drive off, you will know you accomplished something. That little bit of feeling you have left tingling in your legs and arms is not a heart attack but ’youngness’. And if it is a heart attack, you should have known better than to take the advice from a random blog you found on the goddamn internet.
Hang out at the playground on your lunch break - ....Although this one will have you feeling young, there are many people who might object to this. Mostly parents and cops. Apparently they don’t want you to feel young. That is why this activity will earn you a 1.
S
o then, there it is. You have your options, and there are many more. Just use that shriveled up imagination of yours. And if at any time you believe yourself neglecting your kids for the sake of adding additional years to your childhood, just remember, kids are resilient. Just look at Michael Jackson - that guy is rich!
Pull a prank - Everyone likes a good prank, and the measure of cruelty often correlates to the level of ’youngness’ you will feel. For example, the old saran wrap on the toilet seat will earn you a modest 5 (scale of 1-10, 1 being a younger score), as where peeing in your neighbors shampoo bottle when you're invited over for a barbeque, the one still in the shower and being used, preferably the color safe one, will earn you a 2.
Break something and pass blame - This one works best if you have children for obvious reasons. There’s little that can surpass the joyous feeling one gets when they do something they know they shouldn’t and totally get away with it while someone else pays for it. Be extremely careful not to get greedy with this one - there is a very fine line between feeling young and complete negligence. You are, after all, an adult.
Skip Work - For the novelty of it, steal some whiskey from your parents and some pot from your kids and go get real fucking high in a precarious place. That place being outside your work complex behind a bush or a shed; something that will offer minuscule protection. If you don’t have parents, steal from someone else’s, perhaps the in-laws. When the day is over and your sorry ass co-workers get in their SUV’s and drive off, you will know you accomplished something. That little bit of feeling you have left tingling in your legs and arms is not a heart attack but ’youngness’. And if it is a heart attack, you should have known better than to take the advice from a random blog you found on the goddamn internet.
Hang out at the playground on your lunch break - ....Although this one will have you feeling young, there are many people who might object to this. Mostly parents and cops. Apparently they don’t want you to feel young. That is why this activity will earn you a 1.
S
o then, there it is. You have your options, and there are many more. Just use that shriveled up imagination of yours. And if at any time you believe yourself neglecting your kids for the sake of adding additional years to your childhood, just remember, kids are resilient. Just look at Michael Jackson - that guy is rich!
Media sex scandal
Is there anyone out there who actually cares what a politician does in his or her spare time? I don’t care. Let them fuck all the chicks they want, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. And then they could wipe the cum off with that new proposed school budget. And after it’s all said and done they can call the secretary in to do that nasty thing she does with her umbrella - WOO HOO!! A big political sex party! Nope, I don’t give one shit. What I care about is the time wasted in the media for their Jerry Springer-esque trash TV instead of reporting real news. Save the fucking sex scandals for the tabloids, and uphold your journalistic responsibility to the people instead of the corporations you serve. Or at the very least, come out and say it: "Our journalistic integrity is compromised!" That way you give people a chance to escape the false reality you sell.
Instead of the sex scandal, or the Reverend Wright (good job by Obama in that speech BTW), report on our consistent violations of international law. Report on the outrageous interpretations of the constitution by the Bush legal team. Report on the unequivocal secrecy in our current administration compared to others. And finally, interview the Union of Concerned Scientists about all the suppressed, muted, and distorted scientific findings under the Bush/Cheney administration! HOLY FUCK!!! It’s like that bumper sticker says, "If you’re not outraged, you’re not paying attention!" All of us should know by now that you cannot rely on your TV or your newspapers any longer for the truth. As a matter of fact, you can find more interesting news stories, the kind that don’t see the light of day due to unholy alliances, in other countries newspapers... How fucked up is that?
Instead of the sex scandal, or the Reverend Wright (good job by Obama in that speech BTW), report on our consistent violations of international law. Report on the outrageous interpretations of the constitution by the Bush legal team. Report on the unequivocal secrecy in our current administration compared to others. And finally, interview the Union of Concerned Scientists about all the suppressed, muted, and distorted scientific findings under the Bush/Cheney administration! HOLY FUCK!!! It’s like that bumper sticker says, "If you’re not outraged, you’re not paying attention!" All of us should know by now that you cannot rely on your TV or your newspapers any longer for the truth. As a matter of fact, you can find more interesting news stories, the kind that don’t see the light of day due to unholy alliances, in other countries newspapers... How fucked up is that?
I'm all for sluts. They serve a very important need, giving sex to the otherwise sex-less. But I am amazed that these bitches actually take themselves seriously - I mean, c'mon, they're fucking sluts for Christ' sake! Drone like bitches here to appease the masses of horny men (and women), and that's it. My least favorite slut is the truly worthless, noncommitting slut. The kind of girl that likes to wear the skankiest outfits, but gets mad when some "playa" (Christ, that terms is weak) says something like, "nice ass ho". Where do they get off?!? SERIOUSLY, if you're going to flaunt that shit you should expect a little harassment form time to time. And if you’re going to flaunt that shit, don't be shy to the idea of fucking. Nobody likes a poser!
So I go to this party yesterday at my sister's house. It is apparent as soon as I walk in that I am not at all in my element. Fine. This party takes place in NJ, and at the time I was living in Minneapolis. My natural element is one of absolute debauchery, and I don't use that word lightly. With my friends, it is a complete free for all - nobody gets mad over the crazy shit that might go down, and our objective is to get fucking crazy. All of this goes through my mind as I am being introduced to the natives of suburbia. I can only guess what was going through their mind. In light of all this information, I proceed to drink....a lot. I told myself to pace my drinking, wait until the children leave as I down my third shot of vodka. I sit and ponder dubious facts, through a thick haze forming on the brain; clarity begins to fade, and at this point, I am superimposing my reality upon the inocent. Beer pong ensues - and things get a little darker. The locals must have been observing my habits and wondering from what strange land I had come from. Somewhere along the line, the people who's party I crashed (I am sure that is what they were thinking for no one wanted to claim full responsibility for my presence) thought it would be a good idea to "get me outta there". I am tricked in to getting into a car with the promise of "going to another party". I, at this point, have no shirt, no wallet, no phone, and I am sitting in a convertible thinking I am going to a party. The girls, who owned the car I was in, say that we need to get me a shirt first, so we stop at my parents' house. I run in, put some clothes on, and run back outside only to find out THEY FUCKING LEFT ME!!! I was pissed. I grabbed a beer from the basement, walked out the door, and headed for the party I was promised. I walk about a hundred yards before I realize; I have not a clue where this party is taking place. Discouraged, drunk, and with no place to go, I walk back the house to get some sleep. SHITTY.
I wake up to my parent giving me a lecture: "Don't you think it's time to grow up? Don't you think it's a bad idea to throw beer bottles? Don't you think it's a bad idea to jump in the pool off the roof of the house? Do you get this way at home? I thought you were smarter than that!" ect. ect. ect. blah blah blah
The funny thing is, I wasn't that drunk compared to the norm. Not to say I am an alcoholic or anything, but my philosophy is, if your going to do something (anything, but drinking is the subject), do it right. No half-assing it. If you're going to drink, don't pussy foot around and get the job done. The whole time I thought I was doing an excellent job of maintaining composure, but the civilians thought otherwise. Who are these people and where do they come from, I think to myself. It astounds me, truly it does, that these people are so sensitive. I guess I should feel bad, but it's difficult. All the while I viewed this as an advantageous event: A chance to get fucking nuts with the family, but I suspect they are getting too old for my kind of fun. I did however, learn a valuable lesson: Much of the, as George Carlin would put it, pussification that occurs in this country, does so in suburbia. Suburbia is in between the extremes: country living, and city living, and the two breed some tough motherfuckers. It's like fire and ice. Suburbia is like piss-warm water.
I could also take the "blame my sister route". She did lead me to believe that the day would be a reckless one. That was not the case.All is said and done, and I will need to force an apology to someone - not sure who yet - regardless of the fact I am indifferent to the whole thing. Fine. I know the game, and I know how to play it. Tonight will be my last night in planet suburbia, and I don't think anybody will be dissapointed. They love me, and I love them, but they can't handle my nature. I think living half-way across the country strengthens our family ties, for they can only handle so much of me.
I wake up to my parent giving me a lecture: "Don't you think it's time to grow up? Don't you think it's a bad idea to throw beer bottles? Don't you think it's a bad idea to jump in the pool off the roof of the house? Do you get this way at home? I thought you were smarter than that!" ect. ect. ect. blah blah blah
The funny thing is, I wasn't that drunk compared to the norm. Not to say I am an alcoholic or anything, but my philosophy is, if your going to do something (anything, but drinking is the subject), do it right. No half-assing it. If you're going to drink, don't pussy foot around and get the job done. The whole time I thought I was doing an excellent job of maintaining composure, but the civilians thought otherwise. Who are these people and where do they come from, I think to myself. It astounds me, truly it does, that these people are so sensitive. I guess I should feel bad, but it's difficult. All the while I viewed this as an advantageous event: A chance to get fucking nuts with the family, but I suspect they are getting too old for my kind of fun. I did however, learn a valuable lesson: Much of the, as George Carlin would put it, pussification that occurs in this country, does so in suburbia. Suburbia is in between the extremes: country living, and city living, and the two breed some tough motherfuckers. It's like fire and ice. Suburbia is like piss-warm water.
I could also take the "blame my sister route". She did lead me to believe that the day would be a reckless one. That was not the case.All is said and done, and I will need to force an apology to someone - not sure who yet - regardless of the fact I am indifferent to the whole thing. Fine. I know the game, and I know how to play it. Tonight will be my last night in planet suburbia, and I don't think anybody will be dissapointed. They love me, and I love them, but they can't handle my nature. I think living half-way across the country strengthens our family ties, for they can only handle so much of me.
Quit Smoking
Today a friend of mine said he was quitting smoking cold turkey and was on his fourth day--wow, I thought. "That's fantastic, I am so proud of you!" Later that day I was so inspired by the quitter I decided to do something nice for him. What I did was make a little puppet out of a cigarette using a cigarette and some cut outs for arms, legs, and a cute smiley face head. I put the puppet on his desk when he wasn't around with a caption that read, "Way to go buddy!" He was so happy that I was thinking of him.
I know what you're thinking, and I agree; if I weren't me, I would want to be my friend, too. Damn I'm awesome.
I know what you're thinking, and I agree; if I weren't me, I would want to be my friend, too. Damn I'm awesome.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
