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!!

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.

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.

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.

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?"

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!!

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.

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!

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?

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.

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.