Appellate Sky

An Up-Close Look at the Vagueness of Certain Things

2012-02-06T20:11:00.000-08:00

You know what's really fascinating to me is how little we actually know about things related to certain stuff. Or it could be that we really know a lot about those things. In either case, I think it's safe to say that we could always learn more. Well, that's precisely why I decided to sit down and write this particular thing. It's going to require a certain amount of effort on my part, and will take up a number of units of my time, so I certainly hope you have an opinion about it.

See, this is a perfect example of what I am talking about. There is something about it that is just really, really hard to define. Maybe it has to do with the fact that at the moment I am a certain degree of drunk.

Man, I don't even know what to say about this one. There are just so many thoughts going through my head. My reaction when I saw this was that I was pretty much dumbstruck. I just sort of looked at it and was all like

It would have been better if he had just said "chillin."

This one makes me feel a whole melange of emotions.

I'm afraid I'm going to have to take a stance on this.

This one raises a lot of questions for me. I am wondering whether they are good surprises or bad, whether or not I will know about them beforehand, whether they may actually be things about me that the road will find surprising, and whether I should just say screw it and choose an alternate route. I don't suppose there's a book out there that could help me decide.

Well, I'll be damned.

This is one of those things that really inspire you to just go for it.

Didn't read this particular one, but I bet it was really something.

There are two kinds of people in this world: one kind, and then another. But no matter what kind you are, you can find something here.

poem.

Same-Sex Marriage and its Inherent Gayness

2011-11-17T22:59:00.001-08:00

A few of you may recall that a while back I posted the elegant and rather understated opinion piece "You Would Know I Wasn't Gay If I Was Balls Deep In Your Ass." Well I mention that only because I have this massive complex where I am terrified of repeating myself and don't want to do it ever, and do not want so much as one person to even perceive that I have done that. So if anyone reading this starts to feel like they might be on the verge of perceiving that I am repeating myself, please do me a huge favor and shoot yourself in the head.

So now that it has been established that I am definitely not repeating myself, I would like to extend my warmest gratitude to you all, and to anyone who has ever taken the time out of their precious day to view this high quality free material that I have slaved for untold hours over. Thank you all so fucking much for doing me that monumental favor; your largesse is almost embarrassing and I am entirely unworthy. I love you all very much and would hereby like to ask for your figurative hands in marriage, because if gay people are allowed to get married then all bets are off, right? So why don't we all just get married electronically, even though we live in various countries and have never met in person, and for all you know I eat nothing but baloney and don't even go to church? I mean why don't I just marry a dead person or a chair, or Vaudeville or a sponge, or General Motors or Monticello, New York? Or better yet, why don't I marry an abstract idea? Like say I'm in love with the sanctity of marriage. Who's to say we can't just run off to Vegas and get hitched, and proceed to have hideously nebulous children together?

Pee Wee Herman gets it. Why don't you?

Because everyone knows that aside from this whole homo fiasco, marriage is exactly the same as it has always been. Just ask my twelve-year-old impregnated wife whom I acquired for a dowry of three and half goats. It's exactly the same as it was in the Bible.

"A marriage shall be considered valid only if the wife is a virgin.

If the wife is not a virgin, she shall be executed."

Deuteronomy: 22:13-21

Oh snap, wait. That wasn't the right quote. But why don't all you sanctity haterz try this one on for size?

"And if a man shall lie with a woman having her sickness, and shall uncover

her nakedness; he hath discovered her fountain, and she hath uncovered the fountain

of her blood: and both of them shall be cut off from among their people."

Leviticus 20:18

Woaahhh, what the FUCK DUDE?!?! That definitely wasn't the one I was looking for. It's the one about how if a man lies with another man it's an abomination, and it's definitely valid seeing as it came from the Bible.

Though I suppose it's worth mentioning that the Bible does not actually say it's an abomination. The King James translation of the Bible says that. The original Hebrew word is toevah, which actually means something more along the lines of "taboo," as in "this is something that other tribes may do but we the tribe of Levi do not do," and it's important to remember that we are talking about fucking tribes here. This was thousands of motherfucking years ago people. But apparently "taboo" wasn't enough of a bitchin' invective to go in the book named after the guy who supervised the torture of suspected witches.

So clearly the problem is that they are trying to change marriage, and not that some people are unwilling to adapt. And really, why should people let go of their centuries-old Byzantine system of beliefs because these characters who have been gay for at the most 60 or 70 years all of a sudden want rights? I don't even understand why they chose to be gay in the first place. As a man myself I find the idea of sucking a penis to be disgusting, so I don't really get why they would want to go and do that.

Oh yeah, I remember now, it's because of Original Sin. It's sort of like how when I'm feeling sinful I eat a chicken salad sandwich. You may not know this about me, but I really don't care for chicken salad. It's not appealing to me and it never has been, but when I get to living in sin I just can't fucking help myself.

I have noticed that opposition to same-sex marriage, aside from being not at all related to homophobia and rather related to family values and such, also seems to be strongest in countries where more of these traditional types of values are present. Countries like Malawi. It was there that two gay men were sentenced to 14 years in prison after they proclaimed their love for each other in a public engagement ceremony. Later they were pardoned due to international pressure, but it is worth noting that a country that would bust out colonial-era sodomy laws to put two people who dared to be openly in love to more than a decade of hard labor, is also the kind of country that still has female circumcision; a country where, as of 2004, an estimated 37 percent of girls between the ages of 15 and 19 were married, divorced or widowed; a country where domestic violence is largely permitted, and there is no legislation against spousal rape. You know, traditional family values type shit.

And on the flip side of the coin, in havens for sexually deviant Marxists and anti-liberty gun-hating abortion doctors such as Canada, Britain, Germany, France, Belgium, Denmark, Finland, Iceland, Ireland, Luxembourg, Netherlands, New Zealand, Norway, Spain, Sweden, Switzerland and Portugal, same-sex marriage is legal.

And since I'm just so crazy and backwards that I don't want to see my children grow up in a gay-run totalitarian police state, I should like to now formally protest this nonsense. I will do it the best way I know how, by posting some pictures of same-sex couples and putting devastatingly damning captions beneath.

"Hi, we want to be treated as equals, even if it means that the very sanctity of marriage as we know it will shatter, letting in harmful UV rays to give everyone cancer and destroy mankind. So let us marry all your cats please. Kthxbai."

"Hi, we are dykes watching dykes riding bikes that we like. Ask us if we give a good goddam about your candyass civilization unraveling."

"Never mind us, we're just creeping into the psyches of your children and hastening the extinction of your species."

"Oh hi, we just recruited twelve new people into our militant lesbian book club. Our selection for this week is Mein Kampf and we'll be discussing themes of self-discovery. Feel free to drop in!"

Oh shit, wrong picture.

poem.

The Really Hard Art of Articulating Good

2011-11-06T00:48:00.000-07:00

I have spent quite a bit of time throughout the course of my life reading fiction and dictionaries and periodicals and such in a humble effort to better comprehend our magnificent English language, and that is why I find it so dreadfully offensive when people are too retarded to use it properly. It fills me with an almost godlike rage when I reflect on all my beneficent and philanthropic efforts to educate these heathens, through my own superior writings and oratory endeavors, and their outright refusal to accept and genuflect to me as their linguistic master, so that they may have some small chance of growing a brain. It is without a doubt the greatest curse of my righteous yet humble existence.

But at least I can find some solace in the fact that they will be doomed to living a nightmare of split infinitives, dangling participles, and a total inability to appreciate NPR. Moreover, I am convinced that when they die they will all go straight to Hell, where they will be forced to conjugate Latin verbs on an extremely squeaky chalkboard for the rest of eternity. And all they will be able to say at that point is that they would of learned proper English if they had known they were suppose to. And they will probably think to themselves now isn't this ironic, because they will still have no fucking clue what that word actually means.

But what I really find to be an ironic coincidence is that a lot of you grammatically incorrect motherfuckers will be too lazy to even bother clicking on some of these images, even though it will be obvious that you are supposed to. I mean God forbid you are forced to burn one millionth of a calorie, and wait three whole seconds to be taken to my Photobucket account, which ironically is just like my grammatical prowess in that it has unlimited bandwidth and has been upgraded to Pro.

You know what's really a thorn in my shit list is when the yearbook editor throw's a random apostrophe into my catchphrase and makes me seem even dumber than I am.

Maybe the young lady wasn't interested in letting you "holla" because you yell too much. I mean every fourth word seems to be an orgasm with you. And your understanding of capitalization is dubious to say the least. What's especially troubling is that 14 out of 14 people found this garbled piece of misguided gobbledygook to be helpful.

This is an example of writing that is practically flawless. Don't even bother trying to question the greatness of this thing, for the words will slip right through your hands like a bar of peeny-scented soap. I guess that's what you get for trying to hold words in your hands, stupid.

There's a big difference between representing cultural diversity and pandering to a specific community, CNN. You seem to be doing the second one and I think you best step the fuck off.

The infamous facebook grammar Nazi is a figure often reviled but seldom praised. I wouldn't recommend this career path to any of you youngsters, as your work will almost certainly be underappreciated, and the pay is abysmal. But the satisfaction derived from letting someone from the canaille know just how stupid they are, and wiping that imbecilic grin off their face even if only for a second, is to some of us worth all of the blood, sweat, and tears.

I can tell our friend Roanald is a gentleman and a scholar because your average dumbass would look at the word "toupe" and think that it rhymes with "poop." These are the same fucktards that go around pronouncing "meme" as "maymay."

Sometimes it's best to take the Hemingway approach and get straight to the point. If it works for you, you may wish to prolong the endeavor, in which case I recommend you think of Gertrude Stein.

My neurons are suicide bombing each other.

R.I.P. My Heterosexuality

Miracles everywhere in this bitch.

poem.

Occupying Time Down On Obfuscation Street

2011-10-06T19:28:00.000-07:00

If you don't get the reference in the title of this post, then you may just not be a fan of The Cure, which is totally cool with me. But you may also be one of these sniffling hipster halfwits who is standing around Zuccotti Park right now in desperate need of a bath and waiting for Radiohead to come and play, which they definitely aren't, and anyway their latest effort was appallingly weak. But you wouldn't know that because you have a head full of Chomsky and gas station weed, and you wouldn't know good music if it fucked you in the ass.

I mean if Coldplay had put out that album I would have been mildly impressed, but then again I wouldn't want to live in a world like that. But I must say it's a pretty fucked up world we're living in already, what with these dastardly terrorist cleric derelicts getting killed by drones, and the fed warning of the possibility of revenge missions in the making.

And then you have all of these angry musical dilettantes getting arrested by the hundreds because they can't afford the new Imogen Heap, and bragging about how 99% of Americans haven't heard of their favorite band. Well just because we haven't heard of them doesn't mean they're any good you self-righteous pieces of shit.

It could be that I'm missing the point here, but I doubt it. I know there's got to be something more to it all than simply opposing "corporate greed," because that would be fucking retarded. I mean please tell me they have something more specific than that. Because God knows they could find it with even the most cursory of Google searches.

But no, I guess not. Apparently they are not big fans of the Google and were a little too stoned during Inside Job to remember much more than the basic gist. And indeed their website states that they are doing all of this because of "financial greed and corruption." Well why not take the whole vague thing one step further and have a protest against bad vibes or the man keeping you down? I'm sorry but I can't get behind you on this one, though I agree that both greed and corruption are decidedly not good. I'm afraid this needs to materialize into something a little more articulate before I can give it my highly coveted rubber stamp of approval, but I doubt that's going to happen before the police really step up their non-lethal force game and suppress this shit.

So instead of spending my free time getting arrested with you all I have decided to combat your confounding ambiguity by opposing some things that are very specific. I'm hoping this well help you to see the error of your ways.

I am strongly opposed to infant suicide, and have even gone so far as to join Women Against Infant Suicide Standing Together, or WAISST, despite being male.

Reverse drinking is not a practice that I have ever endorsed, nor will I ever endorse. It's extremely dangerous and actually makes you thirstier.

I am against the use Jokewood font in the context of instant messaging, but I am strongly in support of finally finding an excuse to post this.

Interspecies swim meets are totally unfair and can have a profoundly deleterious effect on your child's self-esteem, as they come to grips with the reality of being owned by a swan.

It has been said that freedom is a double-edged sword, and I definitely think that the freedom to race the handicapped would be an example of the shittier edge of that sword, but this being America there is nothing I can do to stop you people. Just know that I oppose you in all kinds of ways, unless of course you are a representative of the Special Olympics.

I think it's very childish and manipulative for train cars to hold their breath until they get what they want. The best thing to do in this situation is ignore them.

Just because your youngest daughter is an obvious dyke, that does not mean you have to excommunicate her to the top of the denim pile. I hereby oppose thee.

I am actually not the least bit opposed to this.

But you can definitely color me a deep shade of opposed to any scientist who has the unmitigated gall to try and explain to me how magnets really work.

Toddlers who worship Satan can consider themselves opposed, mostly because of the role they play in infant suicides.

And lastly I am deeply opposed to people who show only a halfhearted opposition to things that they really deep down inside oppose very strongly. I think it shows a compromise in one's testicular fortitude, and maybe it's something I should take a look at myself. And one thing I will say is that it doesn't really seem to be a problem for these kids down on Wall Street. So in that respect they can consider themselves unopposed by me. I'm sure they will all be massively relieved.

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So this is the longest that I've ever gone without posting, and it occurred to me that some of you may draw a correlation between that and the poetry. But I assure it has practically nothing to do with that, and practically everything to do with making money hand over fist (huge economic success: perhaps another reason why I choose to make fun of the occupying forces rather than join them in battle). Well if anyone wants to pay me $15.38 an hour plus overtime for this and give me the option to have health insurance for once in my life (it wouldn't be the only time in my adult life, but almost) then they can be my guest. So I've now let the cat out of the bag about what a fucking baller I am. My bad. But I promise I'm not going to stop doing Appellate Sky. I enjoy it too much. Here is a link to a poem that will make your head explode into candy.

Wiping Out the Obesity Problem Like it was So Much Cake

2011-09-12T19:08:00.000-07:00

I don't think I'm alone when I say that I have some serious concerns for the well-being of the millions of people my fellow Americans seem to have eaten. No one, not even Nancy Grace, deserves to die horribly at the hands of the Hutt-like creatures who have mercilessly chomped their bones to bits and devoured them like so many Kowakian monkey-lizards who have failed to make them laugh. What I am essentially trying to say here is that Americans are fat.

I have sat here just now for the better part of twenty minutes and put a good deal of thought into what exactly are the root causes of America's obesity problem, and what are the realistic, workable solutions that can be put into place today, and how I can make everyone do them, and I can honestly say that I now have this thing as licked as the leftover brownie batter on your favorite spatula or whisk, and that means that pretty soon we are all going to be as skinny as Kate Moss after years of living in the Sahara and having just been run over by a steamroller, and of course it is beyond obvious that this is exactly what we all want.

It occurred to me that the single biggest lardass of a cause for this whole nightmare is a little thing called rationalization. For example, Rick Ross. No wait, let me expound upon that. We may know of over 9000 celebrities who do not have a beard that can be best measured in acres, but we will latch on to the one celebrity we know of who does and say that that person is redefining sexy, when in reality they may very well be redefining the orbital eccentricity of the Earth, which is to say in effect that they are fat. I don't want to be perceived as sexist, so ladies please substitute Adele or whatever other crappy artists you listen to.

Another large and in charge factor is plain and simple laziness. Day in and day out we rationalize that we have worked our blubbery butts of so we don't need to bother preparing a healthy meal or going to the gym. We will instead eat a bucket of Crisco and watch The Biggest Loser.

Which leads me to the next flabby culprit, television. It's possible to watch television while on a treadmill or elliptical machine, but it is much more plausible that as an American you will watch it while tending to your gout, or, as this picture depicts, after a dozen Krispy Kreme donuts and a bottle of Robitussin.

Internet, on the other hand, is not really a factor.

While I'm thinking of it, I'm going to propose there be a weight limit on public transportation. It always bums me out when I see an obese person waiting at a bus stop.

The same goes for flying. So you say you need to get from Atlanta to Houston by Tuesday? Well I recommend you get a rickshaw for your luggage and start hoofing it, Tubby McShowershits.

And finally the corpulence is held firmly in place by several helpings of self-pity. And by now the rationalization has set in to the point that you consider getting winded while tying your shoes to be your exercise for the day. Well that doesn't count you pathetic tub of Juggalo jizz. Now here is the solution.

First of all, I think we should all be more like Bruce Lee. We should get our hair cut like him and tape the sides of our eyes if necessary. And after that I think we should just generally be more like the dude, because he was pretty damn awesome.

Next, I think we should stop having children. It's a horrible idea and I really don't see how it benefits anyone, except for the part it plays in perpetuating our species or whatever, which if you ask me is pretty marginal. Anyway don't worry about that just stop having children.

And finally I think we should lock all of our food up in a room we don't use and throw away the key. On second thought let's not throw it away. Instead let's give the key to Susan Powter of 90's "Stop the Insanity!" fame. What ever happened to that broad? I really think she was onto something.

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Wow, that was an interesting post, wasn't it? I particularly enjoyed the jaded newborn. Hi, I'm Elliot MacLeod-Michael, and I'm the author of this blog. I can't take credit for that image macro, nor can I take credit for most of the pictures and .gifs you see here, but I can take credit for arranging them within a narrative of my own creation which I believe makes them even more amusing. I also use Face in Hole. I've been doing this for over a year now and have really come to enjoy it, but I was not without an ulterior motive. You see, the thing about me is I have pretensions of being a "writer." I'm not exactly sure what the fuck that even is, but I'm pretty sure it involves growing a beard and molesting a lion or two. If you're a woman I think it mainly consists of neglecting dental hygiene and spending some time on a farm. But anyway that's what I've always wanted to be. The primary reason I started this blog was to eventually introduce its readers to my poetry. I'm not planning on stopping this blog anytime soon. I have many completed or pretty much completed poems and starting now I will be posting a link to one of them at the end of each post here. This will continue until I achieve total world domination.

I didn't plan on making new friends when I started this blog, but I'm glad that I have. Thanks to all the folks I am in regular contact with, and to all of my readers. Here is the link. By no means do I expect you to read and comment on my poems, but they'll be here if you're interested.

My Beautiful Dark Twisted Camping Trip

2011-08-27T14:00:00.000-07:00

So a lot of you may not know this about me, but I totally love camping. I can't even tell you all how sick I sometimes get of being cooped up in my apartment, with my so-called "air conditioning" and all my other modern "conveniences." I find that in my apartment there is a serious dearth of venomous spiders and other things that could kill me such as bears and what not, and there is way too much of an availability for me to properly wash my balls. And just how am I supposed to dig a hole for me to shit in and wipe my ass with some bark from the so-called "comfort" of my cold, repressive apartment? Suffice it to say I think camping is the tits. I'm always trying to bring along people I know who have never been camping before, and who doubt the inherent awesomeness of it, so they can realize how fucking stupid they are. So this time I decided to bring my good friend Muammar Gaddafi, because let's face it, the dude needs some cheering up right about now.

When I first approached him with the idea for this thing, he was as resistant to it as he was to the idea of giving up Libya, and all his power and what have you, but then I reminded him that for the entirety of his childhood he lived in a tent in the fucking desert. Or at least that's what the official reports say. So I told him to man the fuck and stop throwing his little pity party, and he said but what if I don't wanna, and I said fine then I'll just call for a wambulance, and then he called me an American swine, and we had a good laugh, because he knows I know full well that the wily old son of a bitch grew up in the suburbs of Cleveland.

A good rule of thumb when going camping with Gaddafi is make sure to bring a shitload of Jheri curl grease, because God forbid he runs out of it and is forced to walk around with a Jewfro for the rest of the time, because you are guaranteed to have one whiny little poopy pants of a fervently anti-Semitic manchild on your hands, and I think we all know how much that can suck.

Now some of my more pathetically out of touch readers will remember that for much of the 1980's, Gaddafi did in fact rock something that looked an awful lot like a Jewfro. Well that was before someone told him what that hairstyle was called.


Ignorance is bliss.

Not cool, Idi Amin. I'm sure you don't give a shit though. You're not the one who had to listen to him sobbing on the phone for hours, and you are also dead.

And the other thing I would suggest is to be respectful of his abstinence from pork. We're living in the 21st century here people and it isn't that hard to purchase turkey bacon. But I wouldn't recommend letting Gaddafi come into Walmart with you. He fucking loves those musical greeting cards and Walmart has like a thousand of them. He is also the consummate impulse buyer and wouldn't you know that Walmart does not accept payment in Libyan dinars, even if you are the person whose face is on the front of them, so guess who will get stuck footing the bill for over sixty decorative magnets.

That's right, you will.

On the way out to the campsite we started to get bored, so we decided to sing some road trip songs. I decided to start it off with "99 bottles of beer on the wall," but he just sat there glowering at me all sinister-like and I could tell he really wanted to suppress my shit, so we ended up singing "The song that never ends" instead. But anyone who has ever sung that song knows that after about 30 minutes it really starts to get old, so luckily I remembered a game I learned from those epic road trips with my family back in the day. It's a little game I like to call "passive aggression." I was able to defeat him handily in that since he is much more accustomed to plain old aggression. Then he wanted to play a game called "Nevs have I evs." It basically consists of telling things you have never done before and then giggling like school children. Kind of immature I know, but it was actually a lot of fun. I told him that nevs had I evs worn a muumuu, and it was funny because he couldn't say the same. Now I know some of you will probably want to point out that the game is actually called "Never have I ever" and is a little more complicated than what I described, and involves a lot of drinking, and I think it's really smart and not at all egocentric of you to think that your particular version should be the same as Muammar Gaddafi's, you insufferable infidel twuntfucks.

Now you would think that someone with a reputation for being this Bedouin badass would have no problem setting up your basic tent, or at least helping me out with it, but apparently his job in the tribe or whatever was more along the lines of jerking off the camels because he just sat there on his indolent tuchus and ate one of the twenty bags of Cheetos he made me buy for him while I sweated my nuts off. By the way, he is probably the only person I know who prefers the big puffy kind. Then after he polished off that bag he went for the chili cheese flavored Cheetos Fantastix!, and I didn't bother telling him that that kind contains porcine enzymes and is therefore definitely haraam.

Well having that secret revenge on my hapless despot amigo helped me to get over my resentment a little, and the rest of the day went better than expected. We went for a walk through this lovely vibrant meadow and I could see my friend's mood start to lighten a little. At one point a monarch butterfly landed right on his shoulder and for just a glimmering moment I could see all the hate fall away from him and it was replaced by love, a love so exciting and new, the kind that if you just let it flow, it will always float back to you. But then all of sudden, like a boat of love, or "love boat" if you will, it was gone.

Later we sat around the fire and roasted marshmallows and told ghost stories, and then I was feeling sort of sentimental since it was already our last night and we had had such an amazing time, so I busted out the guitar and started singing some songs.

But Gaddafi all of a sudden became massively butthurt during my heartfelt rendition of Joni Mitchell's classic "The Circle Game," because he thought it was talking about reincarnation, so rather than have him launch a full-scale jihad on my ass, I decided to stop playing that song.

But all in all it was a pretty amazing trip, and most importantly I believe it worked. Gaddafi is happier than I have seen him years. He is taking up new hobbies such as urban dance and rock-skipping, and he just got a NOOK and is reading Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood and the complete works of the Dalai Lama. So who says people can't change. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed my thirtieth consecutive vulgar display of comedic power, and I bid you adieu now.

Musings on My Vast Superiority to Animals and Children

2011-08-13T23:29:00.000-07:00

Let's face it, being a person these days is not too shabby, and by "person" I mean a human aged 23 or older, which is not to say that a 23-year-old is not still a total fuckwit, because they definitely are. But they barely make the cut-off to be considered a real person. Why? Because I fucking said so.

And if you happen to be even slightly younger than that, then I'm afraid you are no more than a primitive beast, on the order of a water buffalo or an amphibian of some sort, and I am vastly superior to you in every way imaginable, just like I am vastly superior to the insufferably self-aggrandizing cunts that comprise the so-called "Animal Kingdom." Like we really believe you have a royal court and shit.

Like it isn't totally obvious that you are a bunch of stinking anarchists, no better than the chavs when you come right down to it. And even if they did have a legitimate form of government, it would be so fucking easy to overthrow that shit.

And don't even get me started on children. Most of them are so stupid they couldn't even tell you what the word "supercilious" means. It's the word that best describes the smile on my face when I realize I'm here sitting pretty at the top of the food chain and pretty much nothing can fuck with me, while the average child has night terrors over shit that doesn't even exist, and could probably get their ass handed to them by five or six squirrels. I'm just postin' up here in my own apartment with my bachelor's degree and my driver's license and all my other adult shit, and most of you little shit-wits can barely say your A-B-C's.

So like I said, being a person is pretty damn sweet. So I think this time I'll just spend a little while reflecting on that. I'm definitely not going to space again because that shit was exhausting.

For thousands of years, people, such as myself, have made animals their bitch. We have shrunk them and made them bigger as we have seen fit, and we have pretty much trained them to do whatever the fuck we want. If I say you are going to wear a ridiculous lizard on your back, Mr. Whiskers, then you had better believe you are going to do exactly fucking that.

Children don't have any idea who the fuck they even are. But I for one have a pretty good idea of who this little doucher isn't. He is not Robert Smith and he is definitely not Ian Curtis, but he probably doesn't know who either of them are. That would be because he has the musical taste of a day-old baloney sandwich, and speaking of which, about the only thing I can picture him singing is the Oscar Mayer wiener song.

I guarantee you animals would believe this shit if you told them. I on the other hand can drive to my local grocery store and get as many apples as I damn well please.

I'm starting to notice a pattern here.

Animals have often been used in the creation of memes, but I doubt highly that they have ever been creatively involved in shit. Do me a favor, animals. Get yourself a cerebral cortex and then get back me. Animals: O, Me: Infinity

Exactly, you are a fucking frog. You don't even have internal fertilization. You reproduce through the process of amplexus, which doesn't even count as fucking. Your frogwench is probably like 3 times the size of you, with an ass as big as a lily pad, so I wouldn't be thinking about tapping that either if I were you. And no, I am not impressed by your ability to breathe underwater. It's called fucking SCUBA, bitch, and yes, I am certified.

Thumbs down, you little shithead. Your whole life is a gimmick. I'm sure this will go really well with your slap bracelet and Heelys.

Once you grow up a little and grow a fucking brain you will probably get over the whole anti-establishment thing. Hopefully your stint in a nice juvenile detention center will facilitate this process, and maybe while you're there you can also learn a thing or two about capitalization you e.e. cummings wannabe douchefuck.

Okay, I'll admit it. I'm mildly impressed. Now kindly explain to me what a double black diamond is. Oh wait that's right, you can't explain shit. Come see me when your species has an actual language, or any culture for that matter you pencil-necked dickface.

I'm pretty sure I would fall out of my voting booth in a fit of laughter if any animals or children thought they could keep a volley going even half this long.

For some reason I don't think Jorge's mother is the only thing standing between him and being hardcore.

Well these are fucking hard so you get an A for effort. I'm actually kind of proud of you, you brave little bastard.

Okay, fine. I admit you have some skills.

But I don't think they would translate well into any kind of career.

Driving to Outerspace in My '02 Chevy Malibu

2011-07-23T17:07:00.000-07:00

By now most of you probably know about the end of the NASA space shuttle program. Basically what has happened is that Obama, like a total dipshit, has put forth a new space exploration proposal that does not include the glorious winged symbols of freedom we natural-born Americans have lovingly called "shuttles," and NASA, like a bunch of pussies, has just sat back and let him.

When I called the White House and demanded and explanation for this blatant socialism, they told me that Obama was not available for comment. I'm sure he was busy doing something really important, like purchasing guano for his organic garden or some other stately presidential type shit.

But they took the time to explain to me some of the details of his awesome policies and the super-sound logic behind them. What I basically got from the conversation is that he does it all for the nookie, but I wasn't paying very close attention because I was doing my Wii Fit and wondering what was going to happen on Housewives later. That's The Real Housewives of Orange County for anyone who happens to be a fucking idiot.
But I do remember seeing on Fox News--and being completely outraged--that he was also doing away with the Constellation program, which was going to put Americans back on the moon. I mean we're trying to feel superior to other countries, here, Nobama. Our people need that. And don't forget it's we the people, or have you ever even read that document?

But get this shit: NASA is instead going to use their funding to do things like put astronauts on an asteroid by 2025. I mean what the fuck is the point of putting people on some cold dead rock roughly the size of Mount Everest that is hurtling through the Solar System at thousands of miles an hour on a trajectory that could intersect with Earth's orbit at some point? Just what are they hoping to achieve and/or avoid?

likethatwouldeverhappen.jpg

Well the whole thing just sounded kinda pointless to me and it was around that time that I just decided fuck it, I'm going to space. I didn't have a spacecraft per se so I would have to get creative. What I did have was my trusty dusty 2002 Chevy Malibu. Clearly it was time for some Back to the Future shit.

My shit looks just like this, except it's missing a hubcap.

So what I did was I strapped a fucking rocket to that bitch. NASA had a bunch of them left over from their now-defunct space shuttle program.

If my calculations were correct, this, along with my Malibu's powerful V6, would make it possible for me to escape the earth's atmosphere and gravitational pull, and from there it would be a smooth and also cost effective trip. Because there is no air or whatever in space, there is barely any wind resistance, so a gallon of gas would last me for roughly 50 blagillion miles.

My final destination would of course be the moon, but I had a few stops to make along the way. Call it some "unfinished business" if you will. As I loaded up the trunk of my space vehicle with Spam and tomato juice and a few other provisions, I reflected on my mission and the challenges I would face. Those of you who have been to space before know what a cruel mistress she can be. But I vowed to overcome that vile bitch and slap the shit out of her with a little bit of modern ingenuity, and then I would backhand that malevolent whore with some good old fashioned determination. Come to think of it, this shit was going to be fun.

The first place I stopped was the International Space Station. This is where our good decent American astronauts are made to live together and cooperate with shifty malodorous foreigners from Russia, Europe, and Japan, and they are made to follow their unsavory foreign customs such as not taking showers and shitting into a tube. As a patriotic American I was upset about this, so what I did was I drove my Malibu right into the side of that fucker. I hope that panel wasn't important you Marxist sons of bitches, because now it's space junk. Then as I was pulling away I put my ass out the window and took a shit on their antenna thingy.

It didn't occur to me until later that Space Ghost was probably in there, too, and if he happens to be reading this, I do apologize for getting a little carried away.

Zorak, you can eat a dick.

The next logical stop on my journey was probably the most overhyped and arrogant planet in the entire Solar System, Saturn. This obnoxious and untalented Kim Kardashian of a planet thinks it's so fucking special because it got fucked in the ass by some semi-famous asteroid and it was featured in The Sun. Big fucking deal, you're a gaudy slut, Saturn. So I pulled out my space balls and teabagged that skank.

As I was driving by the Hubble I just had to laugh. My five-year-old nephew's iPhone 4 has like ten times more pixels than that dinosauric piece of shit.

To me, Jupiter is sort of like the homely, moon-faced sister of Saturn, who gains a moderate amount of attention from the sleazier of the press by virtue of her repugnant arriviste of a sister who granted is considerably easier on the eyes making a name for herself by being a shameless comet-dumpster. Your parents should really be proud of you guys. Oh wait, they're just as big of whores as you are.

As I ventured further out into the recesses of space, I came across an Earth-like planet in the habitable zone of a star system I named "Awesome 420." I decided to take a pit stop and just chill for a minute, have a Slim Jim in remembrance of Macho Man Randy Savage and get out and have a stretch and maybe do a few jumping jacks, because I had been in the car for several hours at that point. I found this kick ass beach with a clear view of several planets and celestial bodies, just like you would think there would be, and decided to go for a swim. It turned out not to be water but liquid methane, and when I got out I smelled like the worst fart imaginable. I still had a lot of pent up energy from all of those energy drinks, so I said fuck it I might as well dig for some unobtainium.

However, I soon became bored with that pursuit. So I went for a drive through the countryside, past crystal mountains and gaseous forests, past metallic glaciers and a lake that looked exactly like Spike Lee, no shit, and through a field of hundred-foot-high translucent flowers that sang in castrato when you brushed against them. It was there that I encountered the Sages of the Brown Eye, an ancient but somewhat silly people who considered their own sphincters to be sacrosanct.

It was clear after a short time that I had worn out my welcome when they unceremoniously commanded me to get off their rhombus of rainbow ferns. I wasn't terribly upset about that, so I drove down to a valley of silken pinwheels where I encountered a much cooler people I dubbed the Murder Junkies.

But unfortunately I couldn't stay with them long, because of this weird storm that developed, the kind that you would only see when visiting an alien world. My space peeps will know exactly what I'm talking about.

So sadly I was forced to get the fuck out of that planet. It was time for me to push on toward my final destination. After all, the point of this whole trip was to land on the moon, and that was still several kabillion light years away, and to make matters worse I only had two-thirds of a tank left. But luckily I remembered this shortcut through a wormhole that my niggas the Murder Junkies had told me about.

When I came out the other side of the wormhole, I found myself on the outskirts of the universe. And to make matters worse it was the middle of the night. But there in the hazy distance I could make out the moon, shining brightly through the stardust and nebulae and what not. It ought to have been bright; it was the size of several galaxies. In my excitement I put the pedal to the metal and within three shakes of Orion's tail I was approaching the lunar surface.

I had always thought of the moon as an almost eerily peaceful sort of place, which is why I was so surprised at the absolute shit show of bloody intergalactic war going on there. There was total pandemonium and lawlessness wherever I turned. Roving gangs were out in the streets, drinking Moloko Plus and smoking moon rocks and committing acts of ultraviolence such as flicking people in the ear and arbitrarily giving out purple nurples. It was horrific. I knew something had to be done, but I was going to need back up.

No sooner did I think that than did I see a glorious gallant bald eagle flying down out of the sky. Then I squinted my eyes and saw that it was not a bald eagle but was in fact the biggest, baddest, most phallic and aggressive space shuttle I had ever seen in my life. And I saw that it was not so much flying as it was tearing the fucking sky in half. It swooped down at roughly double the speed of light and landed, the latch opened up and out popped a familiar face. It was my homeboy Rafa.

And I was all like "Awww shit what da bizness is fool." And he was all "Awww you know just gettin Buck Rogers in this bitch. I heard you was like in some trouble n shit. You know you my blood and all so I gotcha back." And I was all like "mah nigga." But then he was all like "But that's not all fool. You know I gotcha girl Lemons ridin shotgun in this bitch."

       To which I was all like "Oooohhh, snap." And homegirl was like "I ain't come to this triflin ass muthufucka to be runnin my muthufuckin mouth with you fools. I came to do some 187's in this bitch." Then she pulled out her space gat and started shooting muthufuckas. And then out of nowhere someone started whispering "let the bodies hit the floor" and then I realized it was that song by Drowning Pool. Usually that song isn't really my cup of tea, but in this instance it was strangely appropriate.
      Well between the three of us we had soon piled the bodies ten deep for as far as the eye could see, and the war they were having was officially over since we had killed almost every motherfucker in that bitch. But the two evil masterminds behind the whole thing were wounded and cowering before us begging for their lives. They were Yuri Gagarin and Franklin Delano Roosevelt. FDR was all like "In the name of socialism, I beg of you to spare me," and Gagarin was blubbering away in some bullshit language that I couldn't understand.

But I was like "Nah, fuck all that son, this is the land of the free." Then I popped like infinity capitalistic caps in their asses.

But we still weren't quite sure that the conflict was over and a peaceful resolution had been reached, so as we were flying away we found the deepest lunar cave in the world and dropped a nuclear warhead in that motherfucker. Then we soared off into the sunset as the moon cracked open and exploded.

THE END

Coming to Terms With the Rape of My Childhood

2011-07-08T00:48:00.000-07:00

I think at some point everyone comes to the realization that most of the things from their childhood that they hold to be sacred have been largely forgotten and/or molested or shit on. Except for the people who lack the cognitive function to formulate such thoughts, such as people who believe in 9/11 conspiracies.

But for the rest of us, the experience can be disillusioning. And cultural amnesia is worse now than ever. If it happened more than five minutes ago you are an asshole for even mentioning it. They already have a dubstep remix for that shit, and it's so much better that it will make you shit yourself.


Motherfucking Dubstep.

And so naturally, if it happened more than a decade ago it's fucking ancient, and you are an absolute turd of a human for so much as thinking about it, unless it happens to be some random shitty band or fashion statement, such as EMF or girls pulling their shorts up above their navels, making their asses appear to be three feet long. If anyone reading this does that, you look fucking ridiculous. That went out of vogue 25 years ago for a reason. And they never remember the good bands, such as Bell Biv DeVoe, or the good fashion statements, such as Z. Cavarricis.

The one exception to my "not above the navel" rule.

Nowadays it seems like practically all of culture is born and pronounced dead on the internet in such rapid succession that we hardly have the chance to process what the fuck it is. For example, the troubled young man below has become considerably famous in recent months, and no one really knows what the fuck is the deal with him, except that he is a member of the Official Fanclub of Wayne Gretzky and Kings Team Aficionados. Being that he is from L.A., I assume this is legitimate.

And culture isn't slowing down anytime soon. The internet is the great equalizer and everyone who uses it now has an equal opportunity to become famous, even someone as ugly as yourself, and more and more people are using the internet every day. They are running out of IP addresses for fuck's sake. Well I for one plan on becoming famous, and that is the primary reason for this blog. Don't get it twisted by thinking that I just genuinely enjoy entertaining you fuckers. But that is why net neutrality is so important, and I absolutely think it's a very good thing, for all of us to have the same shot at the big time, but I still long for the simpler times when things were more slowed down and in neater compartments, and for those old familiar cultural symbols I cherish, but the problem is that the internet has thoroughly defiled them all.

The youth of today are so thoroughly desensitized and full of hipster ennui that they have even resorted to soiling the good names of the characters from Sesame Street. They have painted the Count as a whoremonger and deviant, have transformed the cookie monster from a mere cookie enthusiast into a terminal phase food addict, have implied an incongruous sexual relationship between Bert and Ernie, and, perhaps worst of all, have projected their annoying insouciance onto all of them. How dare you do that to my defenseless childhood friends?

Suffice it to say they have taken the characters of Sesame Street and they have savagely raped them in their fuzzy shit pipes. And I am none too pleased about it. Go fuck yourself, Tumblr.

Shameful how you donkey punch the good name of Donatello and just shove it up his turtle tailpipe like that.

No he fucking didn't. He loved physical fitness and Jeet Kune Do, and you are raping his corpse.

How dare you sit there and pinch out a steamy loaf on the good name of Jazzercise?

This isn't from my childhood but it's still fucked up.

No, it's not related, and yes, I still mad.

For fuck's sake, take your dick out of Marty. He's got enough bullshit as it is. I'm going to leave you all with this tale of disillusionment. I have no idea which anonymous user of the internet wrote it, and I am using it without his or her permission. Sort of like you didn't ask for permission to go balls deep into my childhood's virgin asshole.

Well it might be a little longer than usual before I post again, because I need to find a job. No, I don't get paid millions of dollars for this. I agree, it's fucking bullshit. But my absence doesn't mean that I love you any less. Your kiss is still on my list of the best things in life. And so are nachos.

Appreciating Some of the Shittiest Cultures

2011-06-26T00:38:00.000-07:00

A long, long time ago I went to a place called college. In college, I was supposed to learn some invaluable things about myself and the world that would propel me into a successful career, where, thanks to the shimmering treasure chest of information I had obtained, I could fly on wings made of $200 textbooks and the pearls of wisdom they offer over a glorious Reading Rainbow and into the sunset that was the fulfillment of my most extravagant dreams, which included but were not limited to having a money bin that I could go swimming in like Scrooge McDuck, and owning a hovercraft.

Well if I were given the chance to do it all again, I would probably travel to England or Australia and go to uni instead, because the shit they taught me in college turned out to be worthless, and I've always been curious to find out what this whole uni business is about. But when I really sit down with a cold cup of raspberry lemonade and some cheese toast on Armistice Day and am honest with myself, I have to admit that only about 90% of the blame for my underachievement should go to the idea of college, while the other 10% falls squarely upon yours truly, and a few other things.

For example, this.

But let me come to my own defense and say that some of the shit they taught there really was as retarded as Sarah Palin with a brain injury as a contestant on Press Your Luck.

I remember having to take all these classes in humanities, and simply being in awe of the fact that these people did not understand that there was only one humanity and not several. I mean you work at a freaking university, people. And even if it were changed to the correct singular form, it would still be a pretty vague discipline if you ask me. I can't think of anything that could not by some stretch of the imagination be considered a humanity, and if you're trying to tell me that anatomy isn't a humanity, well that's just stupid. So why don't you just go and read a book by some boring-ass dead guy, because I have nothing to say to you. Talk to the hand.

Or if you really wanted to do something masochistic you could sign up for a course in cultural diversity. If your experience is anything like mine was, you will find it to be a steaming pile of humanity. It would probably be best if I just tell you what I learned.

The Japanese are a fucked-up people. This is well documented throughout history and is very evident today. If you think it's normal to censor the pubic hairs of a lady who is shitting into a man's mouth, then there is a 100% chance of you being Japanese. If you just bought a human head from a vending machine, then I have bad news for you, you are a Japanese person. However, they have the strongest teeth of any country in the world. The average Japanese tooth is strong enough to break diamonds.

Americans have been called every name you can imagine, such as the stupidest fucking fatty fucks and entitled dunce-cunts on the planet, and I am not going to add to that by saying that they are the tackiest trashiest most wasteful pieces of arrogant crud-fuck this world had ever spawned. That would be gratuitous as this has all been said already. But what I will say is that they have an exoskeleton made of resilient chitin that makes them almost invincible.

Germans are incapable of sneezing. A German person may feel the urge to sneeze for months and even years at a time, which is maddening. Sausages are a welcome distraction.

Midgets can spray a foul liquid from special glands in their anus as a defense against predators.

British people are virtually immortal. Currently the youngest person in Britain is three centuries old.

Every African is given a magic marble at birth. They have to carry it around with them at all times.

The often painful process of cultural assimilation.

Italians have a genetic disposition to be exceptionally good at tether ball.

But the one thing I actually liked about the class was that they didn't teach us that everyone was the same. That's why they called it cultural diversity. They taught us that everyone was vastly different, so much so that a person coming of age in one culture could never completely understand and identify with another no matter how long they lived in it, which was perfectly fine, that we were beautifully and impossibly different like that. And that was kind of gay, but I also enjoyed it. And speaking of gay I am damn proud of New York. And speaking of gay as in merriment, today is my birthday. So everyone take a day of rest and enjoy yourselves, not only because it's Sunday, but because it was on this day that I rather unceremoniously slid out of my mother's vagina. Like a boss. Peace to Dirt Dog.

Partying Down With Religious Fun Addicts

2011-06-08T23:49:00.000-07:00

Anyone who knows me knows what a party animal I am. I probably spend about 50% of my life up in the club, while another 25% is spent at house parties, tea parties, fun parties and the like, while another 25% is spent riding go-carts and playing mini-golf at Celebration Station here in lovely Baton Rouge, while a whopping 85% of my life is spent getting my fuck on. When you add that all up you can see that I really like to party. I'm not one of these people who needs an excuse to throw down, like when we finally managed to sink al-Qaeda's battleship a few weeks ago.

And by "we" I mean my family and close friends and everyone who works at the local Ruby Tuesday's, and several of the people I grew up with and all of my elementary school teachers, and of course myself. No, after we achieved that, I didn't need to use it as an excuse to go party, but you had better believe that I partied my freedom-loving balls off. I wound up at a donkey show in a basement in Tijuana, and I regret to inform you that I was not one of the spectators. You may not have thought I would be the type of guy to party that hard, but it just goes to show that things aren't always what they seem.

Hindsight being 20/20 and all, I probably would not have partied quite as hard as I did, but I was with trusted friends who I thought had my best interests in mind. I trusted they would step in if I was getting out of control. But apparently when it came to the matter of my savage equine rape these so-called friends were more amused than concerned.

Apparently they just sat back in that darkened Tijuana basement with their shit-eating grins and enjoyed the show. But they had the presence of mind to take a number of pictures, which I will not be posting here or anywhere else. And before you even say it, yes, I mad.

Well, like I just said, you didn't have to say it. But my anger really isn't the point. The point is these asshole supposed friends of mine. I don't even know why I was with them in the first place. I should have known they wouldn't give a shit about me, since all they really care about is their rigid dogma, which they cling to like they would cling to a dead Mexican prostitute. But I guess that's just the price I pay for Partying Down With Religious Fun Addicts.

When out rippin and tearin with doomsday preacher Harold Camping, make sure not to ask about how his prophecies are going. It's kind of a touchy subject right now and if you piss him off he is likely to curse you. He told me that God was going to dig up the bones of my dead pets and turn them to manure, including the ones that were cremated. I think he was just a little upset because my prediction that I would give him an atomic wedgie turned out to be devastatingly accurate.

If you happen to be out acting a fool with Westboro Baptist Church leader and lover of old school Oakleys, and just generally a fan of the retro cowboy look Fred Phelps, make sure not to take him to a production of The Laramie Project. He is likely to start a protest over them depicting him protesting, which is likely to create a rupture in the fabric of the universe, in much the same way as if you were ever to divide by zero, which you absolutely NEVER SHOULD. I have learned through confabulating with Phelps over Mai Tais that he truly does not care if everything in existence implodes into nothingness, as long as everyone is well aware that he doesn't care for the gays. I have also learned that the way he got disbarred is fucking hilarious.

While tearing the roof off the sucka with former pastor of New Life Church and lover of the sweet sweet scandalous homosex Ted Haggard, a.k.a "Pastor Ted," make sure you are not also gettin ratchet with Fred Phelps. They would probably be at each other's throats all night.

You probably shouldn't invite Richard Dawkins either. He may be a lot more intelligent and rational, but he is just as much of an egocentric ideologue. They would probably be at each other's throats all night.

On second thought, they seem to get along just fine.

But honestly I wouldn't recommend parlaying, nor would I recommend raging or blowing it out of the water with any of these clowns. And don't bother trying to have a real discourse with any of them because they won't actually listen to a word you have to say, because they'll be busy formulating all the deep shit that they have to say. Plus all Richard Dawkins really cares about is pussy. That's really why he wrote the book about why you shouldn't believe in the other book, so people would believe in his book and those people would include some fine ass hoes. He actually couldn't give a shit what you believe. But he has every right to his gratuitous self-indulgence, and the same even has to be said for someone like Fred Phelps. If not this would have to be Communist China, and if I'm not mistaken it isn't.

No, I am quite certain we don't have this here.

Sometimes I hope that the Buddhists are right and when you die you are reincarnated, so that this could happen and also so that Fred Phelps could be adopted by Ellen Degeneres.

But actually I really don't care about that crap. I'm just trying to make the most of the time I have now. That's why I'm going to see Fast Five while it's still in theaters.

My Unbridled Hatred for Intolerant People and Hippies

2011-05-26T23:52:00.000-07:00

In my younger and more vulnerable years my friend gave me some LSD that has been rainbowing around in my head ever since. "Listen to jam bands," said the LSD, "just remember never to pay to see Widespread Panic, because even if you take a bunch of me they're still only so-so." Well it was around that time that I realized I really liked jam bands. Throughout high school and freshman year of college my love for jam bands continued to blossom and flourish, like a trippy neon space flower exploding into a kagillion little phosphorescent pieces, and forming the rings around a trippy-ass version of Saturn and then exploding again, and also I continued taking LSD. And then I can remember at some point during my sophomore year of college I arrived at the conclusion that the jam bands I had once thought were so amazing were actually kind of terrible, and it occurred to me around that same time that it had been several months since I had taken you guessed it, LSD.
But I can say with some degree of pride that in the five or so years that I was tripping the light fantastic I never did become what you could reasonably call a hippie. I continued taking advantage of what modern hygiene had to offer, and I never shat in the woods or participated in a drum circle. I mean at Big Cypress I did actually shit in the woods, but had you seen the condition of some of those port-a-lets you would understand why--I mean it certainly was not that I wanted to shit in the woods--and you would agree that that isolated incident does not make me a hippie, even though I did participate in a drum circle or two.

I forgot to mention that I will also be posting some pictures of really, really despicable people. I assure you this is just a matter of happenstance. I promise it is not my intention to draw a correlation between Osama Bin Laden and hippies.

We all know that hippies fucking love the planet Earth. And while I see nothing inherently wrong with that, I think this is a little extreme.

Oh yes I did, Sassy Hitler. Oh yes I did.

This GIF will keep the hippies occupied for the next 4 to 20 hours, while the rest of you will finish reading this post in a matter of minutes, and go on to do something that contributes to society.

I think we can all agree that Jim Jones was not the best guy. And not to suggest that he was a hippie or anything, but he lived on a fucking commune in the forest and had what he referred to as his "rainbow family." He is also responsible for one of the largest mass murders/mass suicides in history. There's a book about it for anyone who's interested, The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test.

Mother of God, these space hippies are terrifying.

This is Wavy Gravy, and he wants nobody for president. You will notice that his website, like the man himself, is stuck in a bygone decade. But the great irony now is that with Jerry Garcia, Timothy Leary, and Ken Kesey gone, the likeliest de facto president of the hippies is Wavy-fucking-Gravy. I predict he will squander their federal budget on rainbows and clown parades.

Alarmingly, studies indicate that hippies are becoming even groovier and further out than they were in the 60's. It is believed that the Common Tour Rat, a.k.a. phatti microbus, is the most revoltingly far out species the world has ever seen. Indeed they are so far out that they have their own unique language, and consume special drugs that your average louse-free employed square has never even heard of, such as headies, pressies, and firemost shards. Regrettably they are not shards of glass that are on fire, but instead are crystalline MDMA, which actually seems to nourish phatti microbus, and provides him with the energy necessary to sell the shittiest grilled cheese sandwiches known to man, the bread for which he most likely stole from the dumpster behind Wal-Mart. Forgive me if I'm not being "good family" by telling them your secrets, Common Tour Rat. In 1998 one of your womenfolk charged me $60 for a skimpy bag of mediocre kind bud, and I've never forgotten that. I'm sure in her little rodential mind I was just another "custie," but guess what, I wasn't, and I am now raining down vengeance upon you and your entire people with the power of my clever words and comical images. Schwilly, brah. Schwilly, indeed.

I'm not trying to imply that Ted Kaczynski is a hippie, but one thing he definitely has in common with some of the early radical political hippies is that he didn't like certain abstract ideas and decided to try bombing them. Amazingly, it didn't have the desired effect. I know that many of those aforementioned flower children were angry about actual things, such as the Vietnam War, but I think that the actual things were really just symbols for some abstract and juvenile resentments made blurrier by bong smoke. I mean I get that it was atrocious. Henry Kissinger was, is, one of the worst war criminals of the latter half of the 20th century, and they gave him a fucking Peace Prize. I get that that's a travesty and I would have been angry too. But the solution is not to bomb your local police and/or their commemorative statues. That's just dumb. I mean grow up already. Some of you are old enough to be my parents and still haven't.

Some of the Dopest Hip-Hop That I Can Totally Relate With

2011-05-15T00:50:00.000-07:00

Judging by my name, which, if you cannot be bothered to simply look to your right, because you are a lazy indifferent fatass with terrible furniture and very unattractive earlobes, is Elliot MacLeod-Michael, you might be surprised to learn that I am in fact white. But I assure you that does not mean I don't know how to pull stunts for all the people I know and get hyphey in this motherfuck. And I know the very fact that I am street enough to be able to use such authentic vernacular will come as a shock to many of you, but what can I really say to that except whoops, there it is. So I would like to introduce you all now to my crunk-ass dope boy alter ego, MC Cooliot.

Yo yo, what's good family? It's ya boy Coolee in this motherfucking shit, and speaking of shit it's about to pop off, ya heard? 225 represent, Jigga City wuzzz gooodd y'all? Baton Rouge is my motherfucking city and that is the city which I am motherfucking representing y'aalll!!! Just a trill as motherfucker from the dirty dirty keepin it real and shit you know errything copastetic in this wait no I can't do this. This is not who I am. What was I thinking, I'm whiter than fuck. I do however have some limited knowledge of hip hop culture, and valid opinions about that genre of music, even though I am very much what's known as a "Clampett."

One thing I know is that in hip hop culture there are numerous slang terms for "car." You might want to roll out to the club in your whip, or perhaps you'd prefer to push your slab instead. Or perhaps if it was cool out you would opt to take the vert (see above).

A common misconception about hip hop culture is that it was heavily influenced by writer and reformed pimp Iceberg Slim, when in fact the real founding father was none other than Benjamin Franklin. It has been said that while the pimp game of Iceberg Slim was legendary, President Franklin's was nothing short of electrifying.

A big part of hip hop culture is the recognition of a top dog or alpha male. As you can see these bitches are popping it for pimp.

Another important part of the culture is the consumption of "lean," which refers to a number of different narcotic cough syrups, some fairly mild and some extremely potent. But if anyone asks you what kind you happen to be sipping on just say "fuck you, it's my cup." Then fight them if necessary.

B-boying is just as much a part of hip-hop culture as rapping is, but if you call it breakdancing you is pie as fuck, because that's a name that was given to it by the media.

Here are some more b-boys.

Getting your swerve on can either mean getting drunk or dancing, and often means both. But sometimes getting your swerve on goes horribly wrong.

In no way, shape or form is this related to hip hop.

A "fuck nigga" is a basically a clown ass motherfucker. It's probably not the best idea to be saying this if you're white, which is why I put it in quotations to show that I didn't say it. If you're white and you happen to encounter one of these individuals, you're better off calling them a cake boy or a fuck boy.

You is definitely duck as fuck if you think the baddest bitch in the game is Nicki Minaj. The first thing I have to say is that her lyrics are retarded, not in the hip hop sense which would mean they are awesome, but in the sense that would mean they are the opposite of smart. And though her delivery is unique it is ultimately a gimmick, sort of like everything else she does. In other words she is a Pillow Pet. All the kids love her right now but in a little while she will be dingy and forgotten.

I hope you didn't think I wasn't going to tell you who is the baddest bitch. It's motherfucking Remy Ma. Right now Remy Ma is in jail for straight-up shooting a bitch. Unfortunately her victim had to find out the hard way that stealing from Remy Ma is a terrible idea. Now she will probably never shit right again. But prison isn't hurting Remy's creativity. Here she is freestyling without any beat, and you will notice she is still over 9000 times better than Nicki Minaj. Check it the fuck out.

One hip hop album that I have in my iPod but have not had a chance to listen to yet is J Dilla's Donuts. If it's as good as everyone says it is I have a feeling I'm going to enjoy it, because I'm one of these people who usually enjoys things that are good.

Well hey there little fella, you're looking kinda down. What da bizness is? Could it be because when all those people say you are the best rapper alive...that deep down you know that is patently false? It's okay, Weezy, no one here is trying to say you aren't talented. It's just that there are rappers out there who are a hell of a lot more talented.

Take Big Boi for example. His severed head is being held by some mysterious white bitch in a leotard of some sort. Therefore everything you do is invalid, I'm afraid.

And what about this guy, Ghostface Killah? Do you think you are better at rapping than he is? If so I'm going to have to respectfully disagree. Also I wouldn't recommend saying shit like that to his face. Ask Mase about that. Also, if you haven't heard Fishscale, it is much better than anything you have ever done or will do. I would highly recommend you go and cop that jawn.

Rebellious Teens and Other Repellent Things

2011-05-06T00:31:00.000-07:00

In a recent study conducted by NASA it was revealed that approximately 9 out of 9 teens are fucking douchebags. When I heard about this study I was surprised to say the least. My reaction was probably about like this.

But it wasn't because that statistic was higher than I expected. In fact, I think I expected that teens would somehow do the impossible and be even douchier than that. No, what surprised me was that the same people who can claim such landmark achievements as the invention of astronaut ice cream could be so obtuse as to think that would be a good study to conduct. How dare they waste our tax dollars on such bunkum, I thought. Then I went for a drive to get some ice cream because I was going to attempt to freeze-dry it like the astronauts do, because it's ten times better that way, when all of a sudden I saw this kickass meteor streak across the sky, and I was suddenly reminded of how little we all are. I come from a tribe of Mbuti pygmies and we are all very small. Actually that thought wasn't really related to the meteor.

But I got to thinking about little people and that reminded me of dwarfs, which reminded me of this video, which reminded me of how sweet and innocent the children are, which reminded me of how tragic it is that they turn into the filthy fucking shitty ass degenerate dirtbags we commonly call "teens". But it has just now occurred to me that some of my readers may actually be teens, and if that happens to be the case just know I am talking about other teens and not you. You are super smart and mature and I would never wish for you to die.

You know what's a really non-conformist thing to do is to not ever wear your seatbelt, ever, but you get extra non-conformist points for jumping off a building (but not any of my dear teenage friends who are reading this).

You just had to be in a picture that's not related to anything, didn't you? You're not making this any easier you smarmy little fuck.

You're goddam right I am, this is serious. Also I'm not your bro.

Actually, goth is already for pussies. Emo is for people who make pussies seem like the Incredible Hulk throwing a bear the length of a football field.


notabigdeal.jpg

Hanging out with one Fran Drescher--let alone four of them--is not nearly as cool as you apparently think it is, Rebecca.

Sloths, on the other hand, are pretty fucking cool.

You may not be an actual teen, but you are definitely trying. And that is why you deserve every bit of this and worse.

If I had my way it would be your people who were the minorities, sir, and I'm not talking about Mormons I'm talking about teens.

Oh teens, why can't you be more like our friend Mr. Polar Bear? Eh plays with his tube all day and doesn't afraid of anything. Personally I think he's a pretty cool guy.

But no, you have to be like this instead.

Enough with the fucking melodrama already. Enough with saying "fuck you dad" in almost everything you do. Your views are retarded and you should keep them to yourself. There are more important issues than the legalization of pot. Most cops are not murdering thieving rapists, and do not do the drugs they confiscate, man. Stop acting like you know what the fuck you are talking about when it's a genetic fact that you have a head full of dogshit. So eat your fucking vegetables and shut the fuck up.

Except for my loyal readers. You guys are awesome.

Well, I'm afraid my Mbuti brethren require my assistance and I will have to be getting on. Gonna take out my anger at teens on a punk-ass elephant.

Unsung Heroes of the Criminal Underworld

2011-04-22T23:53:00.000-07:00

It has been said that unsung heroes never deserve the credit they think they should get, that they fail to realize they are just average people instead of something really special. I for one fully agree with this statement, and don't understand how they can be so deluded. But one thing I know for sure is that they are boring as shit. Every time I see one of those specials on CNN I want to yawn my face off.

Another thing I have noticed is that unsung heroes are almost always ugly--in that respect I suppose they are remarkable. They are some of the least camera-friendly people I have ever seen or heard of, and the fact that they have enriched lives or whatever does nothing to mitigate this. So I have decided to compile my own roster of unsung heroes who are not so objectionable to look at and who are not the living equivalent of a roofie. In fact if you ask me these guys are pretty awesome. They are The Unsung Heroes of the Criminal Underworld.

Little Richard the elf was a jolly old chap with a love for pointy hats and an honest day's work. He was dedicated to his career and loved every minute of crafting his fine snow for the children until they shot him in the fucking head, not the children but someone else. He is survived by his life partner David the Gnome.

Three-year-old Bobby Connors has never been big on complicating things. He operates on the simple belief that girls are doodie-heads, and he has made it his business to make them pay. I couldn't agree more and I applaud him for his efforts.

Jamiroquai the monkey never planned on being a killer--but then again he never planned on a lot of things. His life took a dramatic turn in the summer of 1980 when his monkey bride was abducted and sold into sex slavery. Don't ever honeymoon in Bangkok.

Rowena Rubberface has been dealt some devastating blows in her life, but she always bounces back.

Marty was told he would never amount to anything since he was merely a middle finger. Big mistake telling Marty that, Mr. Index. Now you get to watch your boy Ring get his throat slit.

Related in ways you couldn't possibly understand.

Well then I must say that's a pretty shitty fish you caught. Let her keep it.

By the way this is Benjamin Button.

What doesn't kill you makes you stronger. Just ask Liberace the rat.

Breanna the baby bookie isn't buying your sob story. She has never really been interested in your bullshit. You have two choices, staring contest or a knife in your ass (I would probably go with b.).

Bobby Connors is so awesome I'm acknowledging him twice.

Manny the Mannequin has pretensions of being hoodrich.

Baconlegs and Coach Pooter

Cannibalistic Fuckerface

and finally

Dr. Clamslammer's Guide to Being Romantic

2011-04-10T21:06:00.000-07:00

My girlfriend is always complaining I'm not romantic enough, and when I say that I am paraphrasing and probably understating a bit. She essentially feels that aside from Gollum and Jeffrey Dahmer I am the most appallingly unromantic creature who has ever walked this earth, and we all know that Gollum in fact walked Middle-Earth, so according to my calculations that would put me in second place. And as proud of that as I might be if it were true, I have to tell you that it is in fact a 100% falsified and fabricated fallacy based on spurious unempirical research that was peer-reviewed by retards and the cast of Laguna Beach. In other words I doubt the veracity of this assertion. So today I am going to talk about romance, and just for shits and giggles I am going to do it using an alter-ego. His name is Dr. Clamslammer, and he's probably one of the most romantic guys around.

Why hello there, I'm Dr. Clamslammer, and I'm here today to talk to you about romance. Much like proctology, my area of expertise, it is an ancient and very delicate art. I don't just go shoving my roto-rooter up someone's mud chute all crazy and impulsive-like, and you shouldn't go into romance that way, either. I have found that if one does they will most likely encounter the polyps of rejection. But if one can manage to ease in all lubed and gentle-like, then the patient is more likely to be receptive and submit. Though I admit there have been times when I crammed it in there all mean and rough-like in an expression of my rage.

Never underestimate the value of licking, but for God's sake make sure you're doing it right. You don't want to tease her by doling it out in too-small samples. I recommend you start at the bony part of her heel and go all the way up to her armpit in one long romantic lick. Trust me it will drive here crazy.

Impress the fuck out of her by blasting her with your best fart. Make sure to do it when she's not expecting it. Women love surprises and to be impressed by athleticism. It will also show that you feel relaxed around her.

Make numerous references to her sphincter and what it is capable of doing, how it can constrict and relax, etc., and offer to demonstrate. Explain to her what a "pink sock" is and politely ask if she would be interested in one. Women like for you to educate them and we all know they love clothes.

Brag about your sexual encounters with the vertically challenged. If you haven't had any I suggest you make some up. Women love open-mindedness and acceptance of differences.

Show her that you are "hungry like the wolf" by dominating some Whataburger while she looks on in awe of your keen sense of romance.

Communication is key to romance, and 90% of communication is nonverbal. Tell her about the five-alarm fire she has ignited in your crotch nonverbally by staring deeply into her soul with an ill-concealed erection. Then when you verbally tell her about it she will just nod understandingly.

Taking her out into nature will awaken the romantic beast within the both of you. Just make sure you and your partner are of the same species.

Suggest that she and a friend reenact a classic romantic scene from a movie for you. A personal favorite of mine is this scene from Lady and the Tramp.

Is there anything in this world more romantic than simply enjoying a beautiful sunset together? Well, yes, actually there is, and it's hot sweaty monkey sex.

Give your significant other one of those mushy romantic nicknames like "fuck muppet." Every time I call my girlfriend that I can almost hear her heart melting.

We already went over how women like surprises.

There is no law stating that you can't take your next little lover's quarrel and turn it into something beautiful and romantic as fuck.

I'm not sure what "connocting poopie" is, but it sounds hella romantic.

You haven't truly consummated your relationship with that special someone until you've had a good long soak in a heart-shaped jacuzzi tub that was last used by these people. That concludes today's lesson. Your homework is to talk to your lover about that interesting dotted line that connects your balls to your asshole. She might not know about it as women don't have them. Protip: it's called your Ass-Ball Connector.

Old People I Could Defeat In A Fight

2011-04-01T00:56:00.000-07:00

Your first impression of this GIF might be that it's not really related to much of anything, which just goes to show that your impressions are full of shit. It is very much related to my feelings toward old people, and shows how I would go to practically any length to kick and old person's ass, if I had a hankering to do that, which I always do. You see, the thing about me is that I grew up in South Florida, where the old people are thicker than mosquitos, and much like those detestable creatures, love nothing more than to suck the life out of your supple young skin. They pinch their precious pennies their whole fucking lives and omit close loved ones from their wills so that they can afford to come down there and live like termites in high-rise condominiums by the beach. Sounds pretty awesome, huh? Wrong, it sucks ass. Pretty much all they fucking do is drive horribly and vote, and if they're not doing one of those two things then they are probably driving horribly to a voting booth somewhere, or they are tipping a waiter seventy-five cents after getting refill after refill and asking for their brisket "very lean." They are the scum of the earth and I fucking hate them.
And if there be any doubt among you as to my ability to kick wholesale old person ass, I submit the following photograph as undeniable proof.

I am the fucking badass on the left. My homeboy Marshall is on the right. We bump beats loud in that bitch and do whatever the fuck we want. I can almost guarantee you that Cyndi Lauper or some other street shit was blaring at decibels that would make most people's ears bleed, and before you start to question our sexuality let me go ahead and assure you that we are gayer than shit. We are so gay we suffer from heterophobia.

Example:
I saunter into Marshall's bedroom semi-nude as I so often do and find that he is reading a Sports Illustrated while wrestling a grizzly bear and ripping electrical wires out of the wall with his bare hands.

Me: "Bro, if you're gonna do shit like that you need to call no hetero."

But just because we bugger each other in the ass does not mean we couldn't take out an entire Piccadilly full of old people if we had do, and believe me, we have to. But let's say Marshall came down with mono from making out with his girlfriend. Well, first of all, he would definitely have to call 'no hetero,' and secondly, I would have to do this shit on my own.

If this is what happens when you get on an escalator, I would hate to see what happens when the freight train known as my fist arrives right on schedule and it's time for you to ride it. All aboard you decrepit son of a bitch.

I would like to introduce you all to Dorothy Densmore. This stupid old hag called 911 twenty times in thirty minutes to complain about a pizza parlor. Imagine the surprise on the face of this dried-up fishwife when it backfired and the police arrived at her door, and she was cuffed and shoved rather roughly into the back of a squad car and taken for a ride downtown. She's lucky I didn't get to her first. I would have viciously attacked her with the business end of a pizza cutter, then held her down and shaken red pepper flakes into her eye.

It's always amusing when old people try to embrace our technology, that is until they get frustrated and start throwing a temper tantrum, using antiquated curse words and blaming various ethnic groups for all of their problems. Then it becomes appropriate to devastate their face with a flurry of punishing punches.

Come at me, bro.

Sorry John McCain, but your crazy old man eyes don't frighten me at all. If you thought that bamboo cage was constricting, let's see what you think of my figure-four choke hold.

I don't give a flying fuck how things were back in your day. Today you are going to meet your maker. Then we are going to turn your lawn into a blacktop so that all the kids in the neighborhood can play foursquare.

If I were him I would have used the PIT maneuver, causing that incontinent old dyke and her gas guzzler to slide harmlessly into someone's lawn. Then as I was driving past I would have fed her a molotov cocktail.

To be honest, I'm not entirely confident about this one.

It is common knowledge that old people like to horde all their money, as if they will somehow be able to buy their way into heaven. But if me and my brass knuckles have anything to say about it, they will first have to experience hell on earth.

I would not harm this gentle spirit.

If you want to walk around with that shit-eating grin on your flabby old face, then don't be surprised when I make you eat shit.

This is probably the old person who has pissed me off most as of late. I would put on my big boots and kick him in the pearlies, and when he bends over I would just sulk him in the ok computer with a bunch of spinning plates. Then he wouldn't feel so lucky. He would wish he was bulletproof and want to disappear completely, but I wouldn't tell him how.

Okay, all joking aside, it's time for you to get in the box, Andy Rooney. It's getting to the point where your "essays" are so boring they are making people impotent. You make the other people on 60 Minutes seem vivacious by comparison. I strongly suspect you have been legally dead for six or seven years now. Don't worry, you can be buried with all of your decorative books.

And tell your crazy-as-shit brother that having to wait until the ungodly hour of 6pm to eat dinner at Western Sizzlin' doesn't constitute abuse.

In the future, we will have robots to give old people their just comeuppance, while we sit on the couch and eat grilled cheese sandwiches made by other robots, but until then I have my work cut out for me.

Granting Wishes With My Magic Johnson

2011-03-25T01:30:00.000-07:00

I don't know if I've ever told you about my Magic Johnson, but it's pretty amazing. I can do all sorts of incredible things with it, such as flip through a newspaper without using my hands, or select your floor for you if we happen to be on an elevator together. With my Magic Johnson, I have literally cured hundreds of women of their stress and anxiety--sometimes merely waving it around causes them to have stress-relieving convulsions. Once I was a little too forceful with my Magic Johnson and I accidentally turned a woman to dust. But on the hole it's done a lot more good than harm. On the whole, I mean. It's starting to look like my Magic Johnson will defy all odds and live forever and ever.

The last time I used my Magic Johnson on a woman, she had a baby that turned out to be a super genius. This all happened yesterday.

A little while back, I let some college cheerleaders polish my Magic Johnson for good luck. They went on to win the Division 1A Hip Hop National Championships.

Even the mighty silverback gorilla gets scared when I whip out my Magic Johnson.

One time I busted out the old Magic Johnson for Oprah. That was the day she gave everyone a car.

Here is a classic photograph of the perennially awesome Betty White, with her arms wrapped confidently around you guessed it, my Magic Johnson.

No fucking way am I doing one for this. Next picture.

Dude, fuck you. Seriously.

Okay, now this I can work with. It is widely speculated that during the filming of the kung-fu masterpiece Kill Bill: Volume 1, Uma Thurman stayed at the peak of fitness by using a chin-up bar known as my Magic Johnson.

Hmmm. Looks like someone got a hold of my Magic Johnson.

On December 9, 2006, Joan Higginbotham became the third female African American astronaut when she was launched into space on my Magic Johnson.

pic unrelated

Boudicca was quite possibly the baddest bitch who ever walked the earth. As queen of the Iceni tribe, she led a revolt against occupying forces of the Roman Empire. Among other acts of extreme badassery, she burned London to the ground, and left 70 or 80,000 Roman fuckfaces in a state of total death. Then she sailed to Byzantium aboard the good ship my Magic Johnson.

The Epic of Gilgamesh is one of the oldest stories in the world, and apparently deals with bestiality on some level? Well I really don't know, but one thing it definitely deals with is this major flood they had which sucked a lot of ass. But what it doesn't explain is that this massive discharge of salty fluid had everything to do with 700 sacred prostitutes of the goddess Ishtar, the goddess herself, and a massive game of tug-o-war with none other than my Magic Johnson. You're welcome for this.

The Very Best #1 in the World Superlative List of ALL TIME!!!

2011-03-18T01:41:00.000-07:00

Most likely to pee on everything you love

When I was in high school, they gave out superlatives for really lame, generic things such as "Most Likely to Succeed," "Most Humorous," and "Most Athletic." With all due respect to the yearbook club at Suncoast High in Riviera Beach, Florida in the late 90's, I think you guys could have done a hell of a lot better. First of all, it was fucked up that you only gave out like seven of them, so everyone else was left feeling like a dried up piece of failshit because they weren't selected. And secondly, you could have been much more inventive. When you think about it, who really gives a flying furry fuck who is the most likely to become president out of 300 nobodies who are not going to become president? And also, everyone probably already knows who is the biggest "flirt" a.k.a. slut. And do we really need to know who is the student with the best sneeze? Bitch, please. I could have done way better. So I guess you can all just suck my balls through my draws, cuz I'm bout to show you how it's done.

Most likely to have a three-hour fuck sesh with your mother and sister

Most likely to enjoy hearing cool stories, bro

Most likely to get a job at Brool Story, Co.

Most likely to be a prison punk

Most likely to use little-known expletives

Most likely to destroy the planet Earth because it obstructs her view of Venus

Best Hair

Lord of the Flies

Most likely to be a goddam genius

Most Influential Anything Ever

Most likely to climb the beanstalk of ostracism and warp to eternal virginity

Most likely to become a one-man killing machine

Most likely to time-travel

The last person you want to fuck with

World's Strongest Human

Most likely to turn into a wolverine

Best blogger on the wonderwebs!

Alpha Males: Dominant Homozygotes With Extra Chromosomes

2011-03-11T19:45:00.000-08:00

This would not be considered a prime example of an alpha male. From my understanding they tend to be smoother than this. But how much do we know about alpha males really? What really defines them, and furthermore what the fuck does "alpha" even mean? It sounds made-up to me. Well having just taken precious time from my busy porn day to go on Wikipedia, I can tell you it's a term primarily applied to animals, as in creatures that may fling their shit at one another or be down to fuck in a tree, and yet, somewhat curiously, is also applied humans, as in creatures that have a cerebral cortex and are capable of performing more complex operations, such as typing a blog post while subscribing to furry porn, and are capable of formulating abstract concepts, such as the concept of an alpha male. I can also tell you that "alpha" is German for "anus."

Well worth the $6.95 a month

In the animal kingdom, an anus male is simply the male with highest rank. He gets to have sex with whoever he wants and he always gets to eat the yummiest piece of the carcass. But what constitutes an anus male among humans is a little less clear, and by a little I mean a lot. The most powerful, highest ranking man in the world is Barack Obama, and he is probably not what most would consider a prime example of an alpha male. I'm speculating here, but I am almost certain that more people would associate the term with someone like George Clooney, and he is nowhere near as powerful as Barack and has every STD, including LGV and chancroid. Again, I am speculating. But I would wager that still more people would associate the term "alpha male" with someone like Mike "The Situation" Douchanelli or whatever the fuck his name is, I am not about to waste twelve seconds of my life googling it--which just goes to show that we are clinically fucktarded as a society. And I'm sure that almost no one would consider Albert Einstein to be one, though his intellect was one of the most powerful forces of the 20th century, helping to usher in the nuclear age and doing all kinds of other shit I don't understand. Which is why I think most people's idea of an alpha male has more to do with rock hard abs and hair gel than anything else, which is why an alpha male is not something I particularly want to be. I could easily go on ranting for another 5,000 words or so, but you're probably just sitting there digitally stimulating your dog's asshole and wondering when I'm going to post some silly pictures already. Fine, I will, but don't sniff your finger. That's disgusting.

Ultra-masculine film actor Vin Diesel is seen here getting his alpha on. You go girl. You've inspired me to start walking around with a carrot in my pants, so thank you for that.

You don't necessarily need to have big muscles, or even be particularly handsome, to have a severe case of the alpha. Sometimes all you really need is a hat made from the fur of an alpha animal. And it doesn't hurt to have an alpha bitch and $300 million.

Sometimes you just have to be on top of your game. Bitches love that.

You might be two feet tall and weigh twenty-five pounds, but that doesn't mean you can't bench twice your own body weight. You know we on dat alpha shit.

Alfalfa male is not really relevant to this. I just think it's fucked up that we live in a world where one of the Little Rascals died from being shot in the dick. I'm not joking, look.

you'redoingitwrong.jpg

Sometimes an important part of being an alpha male is being an unfunny cuntface whose writing style has an obnoxious factor equal to one hundred Balkies.

This is Balki.

Become the best at something. It doesn't matter what. Maybe your destiny is to be Fart Champion of the World. You will have to dethrone this guy.

Use this skill for good and not evil. Fighting crime is a good place to start. The bad boy image will only take you where you want to go if it is tempered with a wholesome ethic.

If you don't have any skills, you can always buy an ATV. Works every time. My friend Mr. Squirrel bought one of these bad boys and just a few weeks later he had squirrel chlamydia. In other words he became a winner. And so can you. You're welcome and enjoy your unlimited pussy.

Rare and Exotic Animals I Would Eat if Given the Chance

2011-03-03T22:18:00.000-08:00

       First of all, I want everyone to know I think endangered specieses are great and that we should definitely preserve them. That being said, I know I am not the only one who has wondered what platypus tastes like. I'm not sure if they're endangered or not, but they seem like they would be. I do however know for a fact that they fall into the category of Rare and Exotic Animals I Would Eat if Given the Chance.
       Imagine if you will a world where you can go to your local grocery store and pick up a nice juicy lemon pepper rotisserie platypus, or how about a half dozen platypus eggs? Wouldn't that be the shit? And there would be so many more strange and amazing victuals to choose from. This is what I dream, and if you dream it, you can be it. Just do it, as they say. And I intend to do just that.
       Impossible is nothing. Yoda said that. I would never eat Yoda because he is far too intelligent and wise, and also I don't think he would taste very good. But enough of my prattling on. Let's get this delicious show on the road!

Ah, the manatee. So serene and majestic, amirite? Wrong. They're fucking douchebags. Don't tell me this fat Wilford Brimley-looking fuck doesn't taste like heaven. A manatee burger needs to get in my belly like yesterday. There's a reason they are also known as "sea cows." In the world of the future you will be able to go to the local butcher of your preference and say "I'll have a pound and a half of ground chuck, please--manatee, that is." As sure as this creature has the diabeetus it will be so.

Sorry, Sonic, but your people would make a delectable snack. I would love nothing more than to dunk these little guys in some beer batter and fry them until golden brown. I like mine with barbecue sauce. Some of you may prefer horseradish. Either way I think we can all agree that hedgehogs can go fuck themselves.

Let us not forget for even a moment that this asshole has been shilling his bullshit sugary cereal to our children since the 60's, and is to some degree responsible for the obesity epidemic. Well it turns out that toucan meat is remarkably lean, and at the same time has a delightfully sweet citric undertone to its flavor, because fruit is what this fruitcake primarily eats. So think of this as the toucan's way of making amends.

For some reason I just want to Gramatica this little bastard. I don't think I'm alone here. It just seems to be trying way too hard to be cute. How the fuck did it ever survive in the wild? Seems like practically anything could completely own it. Seriously, Wikipedia doesn't explain this, so if anyone knows please tell me. I'm thinking maybe it shoots laser beams out of its eyes or something. It's a chinchilla, by the way.

This is the proper way to take down a vintage grandmother. They are prized for their robust meat and for their lovely plaid evening wear. Inb4 this GIF is old.

Sugar glider. Place in a greased pan and bake at 350 degrees for 45 minutes. Enjoy your Meat Roll-Up.

You can't honestly tell me you wouldn't love to wipe that smug, shit-eating grin off this dickhead of an aquatic salamander's face. It's called and axolotl and it immigrated here illegally from Mexico. These freaky little fucks can regenerate limbs, and like to get their fuck on while they're still in the larval state. This makes for a lot of unwanted pregnancies, and they sometimes appear on Maury Povich to contest the paternity. I'll check y'all later I'm hungry as shit now.

Search for the Smartest Retard in the World

2011-02-26T01:04:00.000-08:00

       It would be pointless, I think, to write about who the smartest person in the world might be, since everyone already knows already--and believe me, I am well aware of the redundancy of that statement, but it had to be said. He's been wowing us with his mullet and mental ninjitsu since the 80's. I'm talking of course about MacGyver. But who do you suppose is the smartest retard? I find that to be a much more interesting question, as retards are traditionally not very smart. So a search of this nature is bound to require a lot of legwork, and a very good sense for the nuances of subtlety.
       But some of you may not know what constitutes a retard in the first place, and indeed a great many of you are retarded yourselves. You might be wondering if you are up to the challenge, and you might also be wondering why your pants are so warm. That's because you pooped them. That's why it smells like that. You're going to need to change. When you're done with that we can get started with this search.
       Ok, the first thing you should know about retards is that they are not limited to people with obvious mental handicaps. Indeed a great many of them look just like you and me, especially you. So don't judge a book by it's cover, you illiterate fuck. They're not like siamese twins or people who were born without a face or whatever. You can't always just spot them. Some of them can even articulate fairly well. But there are some subtle differences, as you will presently see. Here is an example of a smarter than average retard, though I doubt he will end up being the smartest, since our search has only just begun.

Hello, I'm Tom. I like turtles. I seem mentally deficient in all my films--not just the ones where I'm supposed to be. Here is a shot of me attempting to eat fire. Burned the roof of my mouth something awful. Did I mention I have like 11 Oscars?

Awright den. I'm Tum. Payple used to fink I was briwwiant, til roundabout 6 dayes ago.

This guy is not even in the running. He's pretty much just your average retard. But I've been wanting to use this GIF for awhile now.

I'm not the one who is the magnet, sir, you flatter me. Clearly one of us is made of pure ferromagnetic lard, and I'll give you a hint: he's wearing face paint. Anyone who has not seen the Insane Clown Posse "Miracles" video needs to watch it at this exact moment in time. I'm talking about now.

Now this is just completely irrelevant. Sorry.

Leftover from my post on Norwegian Black Metal. Again, I apologize. It's no more disturbing than a regular picture of Lady Gaga.

"Sometimes people write novels and they just be so wordy and so self-absorbed. I am not a fan of books. I would never want a book's autograph. I am a proud non-reader of books."

Hi, I'm Kanye, and I really said that. And that is so not even close to the dumbest thing I have said. The government gives AIDS to midgets while framing OJ. Damn I'm good at this shit.

What am I doing with my hands, you ask? Oh nothing, just being an idiot savant. One of the greatest there ever was. Yes, I am still wearing the ear ring and I will be until the day that I DIE, so stop playa hatin on my ass ahhhiight?

"Learning to fly was a work of art. I'm so passionate about flying I often fly up the coast for a cheeseburger."

Das right, I said it was a work of art, you punk bitches. Quit playa hatin my shit.

Two girls, one cup (of derp).

Fucking WinRAR. Thanks for playing you punk ass bitches. You've won an owl fort.

Who's Hot and Who's Not in 1897?

2011-02-13T20:10:00.000-08:00

As we gather our steam like a state of the art locomotive and push forward into the new year, it's curious to think who will be possessed of that ever so hard to define "Edison" factor this year. In modern day parlance we often call this The Fizz. So who is it who will fizz in our phosphates this year? And who do you suppose will fall off the proverbial penny farthing? I have my opinions, of course, but please do take them with a grain of salt as I just lost four of my children to typhoid.
I implore you now, dearest reader of my serialized whimsy-frolics: please, my good chap or madam, do not get it honey-fuggled. I'm not trying to wake snakes by presenting my own slantindicular views as huckleberries above persimmons. I learned that the hard way during my coverage of last year's quilting bee. That was some pumpkins. I almost got rowed up Salt River just for cutting a few shines. The whole thing was a sin to Crockett and I don't aim to repeat it.

John Martin Harvey - He has The Fizz this year. Though I find his three first names to be ever so distasteful. I do hope in a hundred years time this fad will have passed.

Luisa, Marquise Casati Stampa di Soncino - I declare this saucy foreign mistress to be a possessor of "Le Fizz."

These People - Whoever they are, they do not have The Fizz.

Strong Women - They may have been hot in the 1880's, but so was leeching.

Horses are out this year. If you just purchased one, sorry.

The Stanley Steamer - Compared to a horse-driven buggy it is so much cleaner. It's also in.

Racism is all the rage still, so if you're racist, then bully for you I suppose.

Dry Diving is one of the hottest things you can possibly do.

Flagchicks - These colors actually do run, or waddle at least, but they are also completely in.

Surprisingly, superhuman jumping ability is out.

Golfing from the top of a skyscraper under construction is the toast of the town in Gotham.

Coquettishness is on the way out, thank God.

As usual, tits are in.

Typhoid - For the sake of my family, I hope it's not hot this year.

Chick with a bigass whip is totally fucking in.

I am almost too lethargic and withdrawn to announce that melancholy is in.

Split ends are practically jizzing The Fizz at this point.

The Gigantic Tambourine has never been so in. Everyone and their midwife is going to want one of these. Hope everyone has a great, death-free year, though I do realize how unlikely that is.

You Would Know I Wasn't Gay If I Was Balls Deep In Your Ass

2011-02-08T00:13:00.000-08:00

Believe it or not, this is how I am perceived sometimes. I realize I'm not one these stereotypically masculine guys who can fix cars and shit, and I'm fine with that. I will never star in a Wrangler commercial, and Toby Keith will never respect me--but in no way do I behave like a flamboyant homosexual. Anyone who really knows me can attest to this. If you do know me and you are a regular reader of this blog you could finally for once in your life leave a goddam comment defending me on this. I'm looking at you, mom.

I don't want people to think I am against being gay, because that is absolutely not the case. That would be like opposing plate tectonics. It's okay if you disagree with that statement. I respect your opinion and your right to be a retard. It's just that I am not gay, ya dig? I wouldn't want people thinking I'm a woman, either. If people were going around saying I have two lactating breasts and a vagina that's a rumor I would want to nip in the bud.

I could be blowing this out of proportion. It may not be true that almost everyone I know thinks I have a poster of Dr. McDreamy in my rectum right now, that if I had one wish it would be to Slip n Slide down a giant dildo and into the lap of Manute Bol, that I cried during High School Musical 2 when Gabriella left Troy at the resort because he was being a jerk, that I knew what double dream hands were before this video blew up--all of which is patently false. But I am certain that several people have suspected me of liking the homo sex in the course of my life. It only stands to reason that dozens more have detected me with their faulty gaydar systems and I never even knew it. Of course I can only speculate as to why they may have made this preposterous error, but I would say it has to do with the following:

My Intelligence - I'm not sure how it is over in Limeyland, Transylvania and other parts of Europe, but here in the U.S. intelligence is often seen as an off-putting, undesirable trait, especially when it is the kind of intelligence that uses words most people don't understand, such as "vituperative." People tend to not like being made to feel stupid, but that is scarcely my intent when I abjure lucid palaver, in favor of more abstruse locutions. I can't help it if people feel that way because they actually are stupid. I know I don't need anyone else to make me feel smart. These yahoos feel threatened by me in much the same way they feel threatened by the homo sex they secretly yearn for on some level, in much the same way they secretly yearn to be smart. So I see where they would make the mistake.

My Overwhelming Sex Appeal - People used to think Jude Law was gay until he started fucking everything that moved and had a functioning vagina. Yeah, he was gay, alright. Gay like a fox. It was just wishful thinking on the part of more homely gents.

My Impeccable Fashion Sense - Just because I look like they brought Versace back to life and he had a butt-baby with Armani, that does not mean I am the homo gay. When I say I look like that I'm speaking strictly in terms of fashion.

My Abnormally Large Genitalia - Again, it's a fear thing. No matter how baggy my pants are you can totally tell.

What would probably surprise a lot of you is that I am not only straighter than the equator but I am a total bad boy, to boot. I rarely follow instructions when baking brownies and when I eat my PB&J I like to leave the crust on. I had enough of that crustless bullshit in grade school and I'm over it. But then again I don't really give a fuck what you cake asses think, and anyway I gots to go. I'm taking my bitch to see the monster trucks. PEACE.

Alopecia: A Fate Worse Than Death

2011-01-27T23:19:00.000-08:00

This is what I feel like doing to someone when they reference in any way the fact that I do not have a full head of hair. I'm all for being fucked with and usually enjoy it, but I don't understand why people think it's okay to joke about that. I feel like it would be the equivalent of laughing at a burn victim or someone with a hideous deformity, because when it comes right down to it I think of alopecia as just that, a hideous deformity, and there are times that I look at myself in the mirror and it's like I've been living a nightmare for the past ten years, and I mourn for the luscious luxuriant mane I used to have. And to anyone who may be laughing at me now: Would I laugh at you if you lost your genitals in a fire? Well, actually, I probably would now, asshole.

I also like to lament the fact that in the short time I had all that hair I used it like a shit for brains, managing to get some of the worst haircuts of all time. In pictures it looks like I was taken to the same groomer that did our bichons, but the truth is that I went to a perfectly competent stylist and actually asked for my hair to be cut that way. What the fuck was I thinking? The answer is I wasn't. I was a stupid little bastard with a head full of dogshit, and I wasn't thinking at all. Here is some pretty powerful evidence of that.

As you can see I used to have a really punchable face. I'm amazed that growing up it only got punched 3 or 4 times, and never hard enough to break the skin or even leave a mark really. But look at that hair. I can't believe how much of it I have on top, and I am just as incredulous about what's happening on the bottom, especially because I know for a fact that my stylist was more than capable of doing a fade. Apparently I decided to go the opposite route. It seems I was a little too cool for fades at that point in my life.

Now that I am thirty and not thirteen I am no longer too cool for a haircut that makes me look like a normal, fully-functioning human, but my choices are limited now, because if I let my hair grow more than about two inches it starts to get sad, like a cake and also in the sense of pathetic. I'd say in that picture it's pushing three, so I can never again have hair that long, unless I decide to take the combover route, in which case I would like you to please shoot me in the brain--unless I decide to take the beard combover route, in which case I'm still awesome.

The downside is that I would never have sex other than with Palmela Handerson, and believe it or not that would actually be different from the situation I have now. I actually have a girlfriend, believe it or not, and she doesn't even seem to mind the Elephant Man-like freakshow that is my tragically thinning hair. At least that's what she says. I'm sure she is just as disgusted by it as I am, and simply does not have the self-esteem to find a complete man, such as this one.

Or perhaps this one.

Or one of these two.

Let me make myself explicitly clear. I am not joking. I would gladly trade places with one of these clown cocks simply because they have full heads of hair. I am not even taking into account the fact that they have millions of dollars. Yes, I am that superficial and yes I am that bitter.

A lot of people think that hair loss is caused or made worse by stress. Well that would explain why Bill Clinton is balder than fuck. Oh, wait, he still has a full head of hair. It has nothing whatsoever to do with stress. I'm sorry but if you think that you have the IQ of a blowjob. You are dumb enough that I could probably trick you into electrocuting yourself, and if I ever get the chance I will do just that. Graying and other signs of aging can be stress related, but male pattern baldness is completely genetic. Plenty of men out there have experienced a lot more stress than I have, and God has yet to semi-literally take a shit on their heads, as he has on mine.

This is me and my friend Carson. He's the one who looks like the cool cellmate who doesn't want to rape you. I'm the one who looks like an upstanding member of society. Well looks can be deceiving because I used to be an IV drug user. I was more of a fuck-up than Carson was, and that's saying a lot. This picture was taken on the day I made two years sober. That's right, being sober for two years does not make your hair grow back. I was hoping for that and I was hoping to get super powers. But I guess I'll have to settle for being reasonably happy.

I have long held the magical belief, on some level, that all of my problems would be solved if I could just get back my hair. Of course this is insanity. I could have the hair of a Greek god and there could be golden fleece growing out of my crotch and it probably would not solve even one of my problems. In fact, one of my biggest problems is wishing I had shit, and one of the biggest solutions to that problem is to be grateful for what I've got. And as hard as it is to say this, I would take real friends over 24 carat pubes any day of the week.

In closing, I think that Dane Cook should commit hara-kiri.

Books: The Favorite Obsolete Pastime of Virgins and Homosexuals

2011-01-08T17:23:00.000-08:00

one of my favorite novels

If someone were to ask me what is my favorite novel, I would say it's a toss up between fake dog shit and the fart whistle, because I am damn sure not responding seriously to a question like that, and also because even if I cared, I'm not exactly sure what counts as a novel. I'm pretty sure it doesn't matter whether the book is fiction or nonfiction, as long as it's hundreds of pages long and nightmarishly boring.
Well I promise you the reader that today I will be fairly to the point. I'm not going to write an entire novel about how much I hate them, because that would be ironic, though I find that almost anything can be as long as you don't know what ironic means, and believe me, I have no fucking clue. Alls I know is that I never met a book I didn't completely despise. Maybe it's because the last time I read one I fell off my crucifix. Books are old news, people. They have been since the '50's. Why anyone would bother to read one since the advent of television is a mystery to me.

A typical book-reader. Give me your milk money bitch.

       I have found in the course of my research that there are essentially two kinds of books: the kind that sucks by virtue of the fact that it is a book and also because of its content, and the kind that just sucks by virtue of the fact that it is a book. My empirical research which has been thoroughly peer reviewed by your mother and her whore friends indicates strongly that the first kind constitutes 99.979% of books, and that the second kind will always be made into a movie, so you might as well just wait for it. Of course, this does not account for the possibility you like things that suck. In that case you might want to consider an audio book. That way you can just pop that suckiness into the CD player in your suck-a-mobile and listen to it on the drive to Suckington, Minnesucka. The bottom line here is that you don't have to read if you don't want to, my friend, and frankly, you shouldn't, and I think a little less of you just for reading these words. I would respect you more if you just browsed through the pictures and grunted your approval, or disapproval.
   I see you have chosen to continue reading. You disgust me. I bet you have beady little eyes and make a face like you're sucking on a Lemonhead all the time, and I am willing to bet you have a bat in the cave. Don't use your finger. Get a Kleenex for chrissakes.
       If I had my way I would put all your precious little books in a bonfire and burn them. That bonfire could be exactly the size of Massachusetts or some other booky little Northeastern state that thinks they're better than me. Most of the books in America are already in that general area so it wouldn't be hard to round them all up. And then you wouldn't have your precious little DaVinci Code or whatever other religious-themed detective novel masterpiece or other masterpiece you carry around to feel intellectually superior.

True, my name is remarkably ordinary, but my penchant for baby beauty pageants is anything but.

You would think there would be something vaguely unsucky about a book that has sold roughly 100 billion kilotons of copies, and you would actually be right. The cover is amazing. Let's have a look at the cover right now and see if we can't make some judgments about the book as a whole.

This cover is incredible. It is literally burning my retinas. The fancy handwriting goes all the way to her nose but doesn't dream of covering up those elusive eyes. I wonder if she has a bat in the cave? Perhaps we'll find out after the mystery is solved. It looks so glossy and sophisticated. Hey, like the narrative.

0/10. Go shit the bed, Dan Brown

Now let's look at something a little more high brow. Yes, I started at the bottom. I have determined from the cover that DaVinci Code is an absolute dick with no balls of a book, standing chiefly on its elements of intrigue and suspense, and some vague sexual titillation thrown in with stern religious enforcers to confuse and frustrate the audience and ultimately keep them reading. Yep, this book is a 100 percent cynical salacious cyborg prostitute designed to keep the idiotic understimulated masses turning her pages. Your mother and her floozy cohorts wholeheartedly agree that it has no merit whatsoever. So here now is something written by an Aspie instead of a genuine r-tard.

Ok, all sarcasm aside, this book looks pretty good, but I happen to know that there is also a website for this, and that the website actually preceded the book. So this book was created as a money grab, nothing more. I see right through you, "Robert Hamburger," and I'm so sure that's your real name, too. I'd love to buy this product that will degrade in 50 years time while the digital equivalent is free and will be there long after I'm dead. In spite of all this I give it a 9/10.
Wow, that might be a book I would actually read, but only if the internet was down and there was nothing on television. And before resorting to that I would see if anyone was willing to read it to me while I stared blankly at something.

0/10. Clearly this book is a piece of shit. They could have at least put a picture of the author on it. Like this one.

That would have made it a much better book. I swear I should be a goddam publisher. I could have helped this guy make some actual money so he could purchase some clothes.

"...an extraordinary success" my ass

Can't think of anything I'd rather do on a chilly winter night than snuggle up by the fire with some milk and cookies and a book about a slaughterhouse. Why don't we just bring a carcass in my home so I can enjoy the stench of death while I sip my cocoa? You're an idiot. 1/10.

More like A Clockwork Lazy. Where is the rest of his face? And why does he have a gear for an eye? Oh, I get it, you're trying to be symbolic. Well try harder, asshole. It doesn't make sense. I wouldn't give this a very good score. Plus, I've seen the movie, and it's basically about how rape is good, in which case I would have to give this a WTF?/10

I've never seen your face before, Dave, but I have an overwhelming desire to punch it. Oh, right, you were being tongue in cheek with the title, which is why you decided to place it over a majestic sunrise with a fucking frou-frou stage curtain draped over it. I don't know what astounds me more, your grandiosity or your disingenuousness. Fucking goose egg.

"I can't imagine any greater delight than coming to Independent People for the first time" -chick I've never heard of who apparently smiles a lot

       So this guy is supposedly one of these obscure "geniuses," as evidenced by the fact that he won the Nobel Prize a scant 97 years ago in 1955. So this other "genius" named Jane Smiley, whom we are all supposed to know about, is telling us to read this. No thanks, Jane. I can't imagine a greater delight than coming to Playstation instead, for the millionth time. And frankly I'm not sure you even exist. I have never seen you on television, not once.
   I hope this hasn't been too much of a bummer. I hope this didn't make you feel like you were back in school again, and everyone was calling you a retard because when the teacher asked you a question you would just move papers around on your desk and try to buy time, hoping that the know-it-all teacher's pet would chime in, but she never did, so you were just stuck in this sort of purgatory wanting to die, and vowing never to read anything ever again after you finished eighth grade. That same thing happened to a guy I know.

So You Think You Can Dance with the Stars of Norwegian Black Metal

2010-12-20T23:42:00.000-08:00

       If you're familiar with Norwegian Black Metal and some of its most lovable misfits then you knew it was only a matter of time before they all got together and starred in a screwball comedy or reality show of some sort, and if you're like me you were hoping against hope that they would somehow find a way of reanimating the dead ones so that they could truly all be united as one happy, incorrigible family again. Well I am proud to announce that that day has finally come.
   I understand that some of you may doubt my ability to raise the dead. I'm going to have to ask those individuals to a) try a little thing called suspension of belief and b) not be such insufferable little twats. Think you can manage? Good. Now if you are at all NBM savvy then you have heard of Euronymous. You've seen him on the cover of Tiger Beat and you've wanted to be just like him and wished you had his hair. But if you don't know about him and are too lazy to click on the link then you can just go and shit the bed because I'm not here to write a biography. In fact do me a favor and don't read the rest of this because you are completely unworthy and Euronymous would agree. So would Dead and Count Grishnackh, or anyone else from the seminal NBM band Mayhem. Euronymous started Mayhem in 1984, and had another dubious distinction of being the owner of Helvete (Norwegian for "Hell"), a record store that became the focal point of the scene. He also had a label called Deathlike Silence Productions which recorded mostly chillwave.

Euronymous was not a very nice guy. His mother has reported that even in his early teens he would deliberately pee in the tub while she was bathing him. He was also a practitioner of theistic Satanism and a proponent of communism, not in the idealistic, theoretical sense, but in the sense of Stalinist communism, state terrorism and totalitarian rule, you get the idea. It is thought that he believed in these things because he was clinically fucktarded. Dead, on the other hand, was a more complicated figure. He was not so much mad as he was sad--so much so, in fact, that on April 8, 1991 at the ripe old age of twenty-two he killed himself by both slitting his wrists and blowing his brains out for good measure. Unfortunately for Dead's corpse it was discovered by Euronymous, who proceeded to do fucked up shit with it and took pictures, one of which would later become the cover of a Mayhem record. Euronymous also made necklaces out of fragments from Dead's skull and sent them to people he thought were cool. Pol Pot never received his, though.

Interviewer: "What is so solid with evilness?"

Euronymous: "What is so solid about goodness then? It's just the way it is. I neither can nor will define it. It is basically a hate to humankind. I have no friends, just the guys I am allied with. If my girlfriend dies I won't cry, I will misuse the corpse."

- - - - - - - - - -

Dead: "I am not a human being. This is just a dream, and soon I will awake. It was too cold and the blood kept coagulating all the time."

But the most complicated of the three was probably Count Grishnackh. I would characterize Count Grishnackh as both mad and sad, and unlike the other two he was not so much into evil as he was into Germanic neopaganism and being racist. He was sad (and mad) because the Christians had beat his pagan ancestors in a game of tug of war several centuries ago, adding insult to injury by pulling them right into some mud, and they were all wearing white because it was after Easter. And also the Christians may have desecrated some of their graves, though let's keep in mind that this was hundreds of years ago, but the Count was still ripshit pissed about it so he decided to burn some churches, some very old churches that were considered national treasures, and then everyone thought he was hardcore like when Fonzie jumped the shark.

The problem was that he was now considered to be even more hardcore than Euronymous, who had previously been considered the most hardcore kid on the block. Now there was this new kid on the block who was stealing his thunder. It didn't sit very well. And what was more, this new kid didn't even love Satan, and he didn't even have the decency to espouse Stalinist communism. At the same time the Count and his friends were getting fed up with Euronymous, because every time they burned a church he would try to act like he was all in on it and stuff, even though he so completely wasn't. Then one day it got back to the Count that Euronymous was going to kill him. So the Count decided to pay Euronymous a visit and killed him instead.

"I waited to see if he would attack me again, but he just went past me and tried to kick me, and then I just stabbed him in the head."

Before meeting his end, Euronymous ran down the halls ringing his neighbors' doorbells, and the neighbors reported high-pitched screams which they believed to be a woman's. Not a very metal way to go. If you're going to go ahead and name yourself after a demon, you might want to go ahead and not die like a little titty-baby, especially when your opponent has decided to name himself after a goddamned orc. I think even the most casual Dungeons & Dragons player could tell you that a demon beats an orc. You have pretty much failed your whole species on this one, Euro.

Son, I am disappoint

Well it turned out that the orc was actually named Varg Vikernes, and Varg was put on trial for the murder of Oystein Aarseth, which was the actual name of the demon. It turned out they were just two misguided young men, as in earthlings of Earth with no Middle- in front of it. And Varg was sentenced to 21 years, for the murder and a few of the church burnings, but he was released after 15.
And Dead, despite his statement to the contrary, was an earthling as well. He was Per Yngve Ohlin, and he was just as human as any of us. He just didn't want to be, and on some level I understand. I'm not sure his explanation that the world was not evil enough for him was actually the truth, and I'm not suggesting that he was not evil enough for the world or something gay like that. I just think that in his twenty-two years he never got a chance to look at the world rightly, and I think that's a tragedy, because I believe that he could have.

Not so racist when it's Chad Ochocinco, are you, Varg?

I've never believed heavy metal was scourge, in the United States or elsewhere, and after learning about Norwegian Black Metal I am even more convinced that it isn't a scourge, because it is nothing more than an allergic reaction to societal norms which can seem pretty oppressive, and often times really are. And I also don't think it's a scourge because it provides a vital catharsis to a large number of people, and yes a few people have killed themselves and others while listening to it, but it has probably saved more lives than it has taken. I seriously might not have made it through middle school without Alice in Chains, and I know that's anecdotal evidence, but I know there are plenty of other people out there who had a band like that, a band which was considered to be unsavory at the time but may have literally saved their lives. Another was Guns N' Roses. Now these bands are almost considered classic rock. I have actually heard Guns N' Roses on the classic rock station here. That's fucking crazy. But it also makes sense.

Don't Poop December!

2010-12-08T00:12:00.000-08:00

As most of you probably know, it is Don't Poop December. This is gonna be way more challenging than No Shave November, people, so I hope everybody has their game faces on. Though it's only day seven now I already have had moments where I really, really wanted to quit, like bad, but I have managed to persevere by listening to motivational tapes and doing plenty of handstands. I am not about to let my selfish desire to shit get in the way of a good cause, and let's not forget why we're doing this thing. We're doing this for the midgets. We feel it should be illegal for a normal-sized person to fart in an elevator while a midget is present. This has been an ongoing and well-publicized problem for years. We are all aware of it, but too many of us are willing to turn a blind eye, and too many are unwilling to close the brown eye. So if they can still fart, we are not going to poop.

We are totally against the tossing of midgets as well.

Contrary to popular belief, not pooping for extended periods of time is quite healthy, and may even cause you to become an American icon. It is widely suspected that John Wayne participated in his own Don't Poop December throughout much of the 70's, which could be why he was able to function for so many years after having one of his lungs removed. He smoked cigars after that, too, and it didn't even faze him until he died.

Of course, a shit-free decade would be the stuff of legend, an almost superhuman feat, but then again, that's exactly what John Wayne was. He was the stuff of legend, an almost superhuman feat. So that's exactly what he did, though actually there was no autopsy done so we can never be sure, and regardless you shouldn't buy any colon cleansing product advertised on television, and if you do you shouldn't be surprised when the results you see include massive anal hemorrhaging. But I for one believe he really did it, and it may have been why he was always feeling the need to poop out of his mouth with shit such as this:

What I think the Duke was trying to say is "chalk it up to the game."

       That may have been exactly how it went down, because I wasn't actually there, but I have my doubts, mostly because the very concept of land possession was invented by white people, and by the way, when you think about it, it's a pretty retarded concept. The idea that a forest or a stream or a mountain or a field could be the property of some bipedal ape such as John Wayne or perhaps Rush Limbaugh seems pretty ridiculous when you think it through. It should actually be the other way around, because the truth is that we are more or less property of the land. We think we can dominate nature and section it off into neat compartments and bend it toward our own unnatural desires, but the truth is that nature ultimately dominates us and could straight own any or all of us at any given time. Has anyone seen a live dinosaur recently?
       Of course we do have the ability to shield ourselves from nature somewhat and to fuck with nature and ultimately kill things, including other humans, though we hope if that happens it's the ones we don't care about, like in the case of the Bhopal disaster. We hope it's the two-dimensional people who live far away in a country so impoverished we can't even imagine it so it doesn't seem real, the people who used to be made of paper and are now made of pixels, but were never flesh and bone. They are not our kin and they ultimately don't matter. And I imagine if John Wayne were still alive when the Bhopal disaster occurred he would probably have said something to the effect of "chalk it up to the game," or at least thought it.
       So maybe we shouldn't be like John Wayne after all. Maybe instead of trying to master our environment we should learn to coexist with it. I definitely don't think we should celebrate genocide. Columbus didn't fly over here on his fleet of imperial turkeys just to have us do that.
       But still, no pooping until January 1st. For the midgets.

Search Engine Sluts - One Man's Choice to Take the High Road and Lady Gaga UFC Knockouts

2010-11-22T23:52:00.000-08:00

Recently it has come to my attention that search engine sluts are on the loose, so it might be a good time to shelter thy kin, and anything else with genitals, for that matter, because from what I understand they are all over the wonderwebs, sort of like pr0n, and are slowly but surely turning them into webs of confusion and sadness. Let me explain.
I have spent the last one and a half nights trying to understand keyword research, only to find out that it is way too involved for me to bother understanding completely and would take months of dedication to effectively use, and also that every site related to the subject was created by some gimmicky marketing fuckwad who uses annoying little tricks to try and keep you reading and maybe purchase his bullshit product which is available elsewhere for free. I think they serve a valid purpose, but I don't have a business and I am not trying to corner some very specific market; I am merely trying to be funny in my spare time and that hardly justifies months of research, especially when I could be doing something I enjoy, like writing. But the thing is, I want a lot more out of this than amusing myself and a few of my friends. Currently about 10% of my readership is represented by me, and I am not okay with that. By no means am I satisfied with that, and that is why I was pondering becoming a search engine slut, so that my blog would be the first thing to come up if you google the word labradoodle or something, because what I truly want in life is to be immensely famous, like Kat Von D, and frankly, I am surprised it hasn't happened for me yet. And saddened.

        I think I have some insight into why I might want that so bad. It's because deep down I am really scared of dying, though I would like to think otherwise, and through fame I could further convince myself of the illusion that I am some sort of immortal and nothing could ever kill me, not even a train. I think I've suspected for awhile now that death fear was a huge part of what drove myself and others, but I recently saw a documentary on the subject and after 3 or 4 days of my mind literally being trapped in a bottle because of the profound mindfuckery said film presented, I feel I am finally starting to realize how deep the reaches of death fear really could be. I know I'm digressing but I think it's an important film and worth plugging. Watch it.
And of course another reason would be to have lots and lots of sex.
But I will not be getting there via shameless self-promotion. I was thinking that maybe I should take that route, but I have changed my mind. That's not who I am. Maybe I should try being super-diligent or something. Or maybe I should just become a serial killer.

LABRADOODLE LABRADOODLE    LABRADOODLE LABRADOODLE LABRADOODLE

      Does anyone out there know how you do this shit?

Election Day!

2010-11-12T08:30:00.000-08:00

       As you all know, Election Day is coming up soon, and I am super-psyched about voting. I am just going to waltz right in there, slap down my ID, and vote, and then I will promptly register to make my vote "official." That's one of the reasons I'm writing this, to remind you all to register on your way out of the voting place on Election Day. Otherwise, people, YOUR VOTE WILL NOT COUNT. Now, I don't know about you, but I will be voting across the board for the person who is favored to lose, because I believe in the enduring value of a good underdog story. This is something I will address in my next entry, "The Enduring Value of a Good Underdog Story."
   I'm not really going to do that, of course. There's no way I'm going to spend that much time researching to find out where every candidate stands in the polls, so more than likely I will just be wingin' it on a few. And I'm gonna skip the propositions entirely, unless there is some sort of proposition to do away with propositions. Let's face it, they tend to be pretty long-winded, and I believe that some of them even require a short answer. And I don't have time for that kind of malarkey. So with that said I would like to propose a toast, to reading less and to a more streamlined voting system.
      To be honest with you, I don't know shit from Shinola about anyone I am supposed to be voting about, or any of the candidates for anything in the entire America, for that matter, with the exception of one, of course, and I'm talking about the witch lady. I predict she will win her Senatorcy in a ginormous landslide with the help of her minions and Satan. In the meantime she will probably continue to say whatever insane shit pops into her witchy little head, and she will continue being highly doable in spite of all this.

"From there they may go on to attend the University of Buttfucking."

If I'm not mistaken there are also a number of issues that people are concerned with. I don't know what they actually are, but I certainly hope that education isn't one of them, because I turned out just fine and I never learned to count. To me that proves that education doesn't matter. What matters is money, and I think that will be key this election, and I want to say that on the issue of money I am for it. I'm just gonna need somebody to count mine for me.

The 10 Greatest YouTube Videos OF ALL TIME!!!!!!!!!!!!!

2010-10-24T11:06:00.000-07:00

I have noticed that when you put "OF ALL TIME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" at then end of something it tends to get people's attention, and if I haven't mentioned it yet I am an attention whore and that is the reason for this blog. And that is the reason I am going to post some of my favorite YouTube videos, and I certainly hope that you enjoy them OF ALL TIME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

10) Afro Ninja - This video has become the apotheosis of fail turned to win, apotheosis of course meaning the anus of a hippopotamus. Fail turned to win is also sometimes referred to as epic fail, but if you don't know that you are probably so old that you step on your scrotum. Suffice it to say the man has a fucking movie coming out because of this, and also because of his USI. After all, his success was unintentional and when you get right down to it he is still made up mostly of fail.

9) Insane Clown Posse - Miracles - Another shining example of epic failure. If you are under the impression that ICP is in any way shape or form intentional win then you, sir, are and idiot :) and it is unlikely that you can decipher these strange symbols I type. It's okay though because Waffle House has pictures on their menus.

8) Eat Da Poo Poo -The first time I saw this I laughed so hard I literally died. The obvious observation here is that he ought to worry less about those who partake of the forbidden fruit of homosex and more about his own obsession with all things scatological, and the fact that his whole routine is shamelessly derivative of Bill Cosby's material, particularly a bit he did back in the 80's on Bill Cosby: Himself, proof here.

7) Shoes - I like this video because it is a remarkably accurate portrayal of wimmins and their foolish ways, though some may call me a "stupid boy" for that. If you like The Kids in the Hall, first of all, congrats, you are not completely worthless like I thought, and secondly, you will probably like this, but also there is probably a very good chance you have already seen this.

6) Bed Intruder Song - It was somewhat painful for me to rate this above "Shoes" but the fact of the matter is that I have watched this more times in the past couple of months than I have watched "Shoes" in the last six or however many years. This video is like crack. But don't bother watching after the 1:15 mark.

5) Star Trek + Nine Inch Nails = Closer - This is the best fanvid of all time, period. The editing is masterful and tells a guided tour de force of a story. There is tension and drama and a spectacular climax. I am not kidding when I say that I consider this high art.

4) Double Rainbow - If Falkor the luckdragon were turned into a fat Pacific Islander who put too much LSD on his Spam sandwich, this is what would happen.

3) Charlie the Unicorn - I used to work at a school, and the middle school kids would quote this constantly. They were dismayed when one day I revealed that I had seen the video, too. It became a little less cool after that, I think, and I think I was glad about that. Some of the kids, particularly the ones who were most concerned with being "cool", I genuinely loathed. I wished I could take them all to a "pizza party" out in the woods and tell them that they would need tickets to play the video games. So I would give them all 10 tickets and when we got there I would make them get out, and I would say "sorry, you need 11 tickets to live." Then I would show them what the socks full of quarters were really for.

2) George Washington - You thought you knew...you have NO IDEA

1) Candy Pants - So you don't own a piano key scarf and you will probably never harpoon the kind of mammals that Lionel gets on the reg, because the practice is now against international law, but dammit, with a lot of practice, you may become qualified to polish his rings--someday.

Image Macros

2010-10-14T00:06:00.000-07:00

        Oh, hi there. Welcome to my happy hole. That's what I call my blog silly. Why, what did you think I meant? Oh my dear heavens no, you are such a silly goose. No. I call that my passion pit.
        Today we are going to talk about image macros, but knowing you you are far too lazy and unattractive to bother clicking on the link, so I'll just tell you it's a picture with superimposed text, i.e. what you are looking at, you disgusting, indolent swine.
Some things that are funny today will not be funny, say, a hundred years from now. I predict that in a hundred years the cast of Jersey Shore will be the subject of anthropological study, so Snooki and her gaper will have become academic and thus completely unfunny. I also predict that death will no longer be funny because they will be able to store people's souls on flash drives and we will all be effectively immortal. But image macros will never stop being funny, ever. And until they figure out this whole soul storage deal we will all be sent straight to Hell, where we will be forced to watch King of Queens.
As the article you didn't bother to read insinuated, image macros have been around for over 9000 years. Things like the Hindenburg disaster and Idi Amin happened at least 100 years ago, and would be lucky to still be funny a decade from now. On second thought Idi Amin will always be funny. Especially if they start making image macros of him.

Once when I was trapped in a Chilean mine for 69 days I had a lot of time to reflect on shit, and that was when it occurred to me that image macros are a form of narrative. They tell a story, and the possibilities are endless as to what kind of story they will tell. Often the story is completely different from what the picture alone says. For example, without the text this picture would probably say to you something to the effect of, "Hi, my name is Relapse-a-Trey. I just played the same few notes for 73 hours straight and I gotta tell ya I am bored as fucking tits up here!"


Relapse-a-Trey. If you get this I just lost a lot of respect for you

But when it is transmogrified into a macro we learn that the little ginger boy in the picture has just had a mind-bottling orgasm, probably brought on by the sheer virtuosity of his own sucking, and it turns out to be a happy story rather than a sad or at least frustrating one.
I would say that image macros are probably my favorite thing ever, other than sex, ninjas, and ninja pornography, and this one time at Great Woods when they played a sixty-minute "Runaway Jim" with "Twist" teases at the thirty-eight-minute mark. I'm not gonna lie and say I don't have some Phish shows on my iPod, but I also have DeBarge so so much for my credibility. Buenos dias putas. Merci beaucoup.