Friday, January 24, 2014

Shooting Craps... Done Right.

It occurred to me, an epiphany, that not only do I possess knowledge far superior to modern man, but I also have no idea how to use it. last night I coincidentally put together a combination of cheap wine and Food Lion Colby cheese as a late night snack, only to start pondering why cheese and wine is remotely even an ideal combination. Then, I remembered that the French are idiots and life started to make sense again. Nevertheless it got me thinking about it even more this morning when one of the kids wanted some of said cheese while I was enjoying a nice hot cup of stool softener.

Now, keep in mind I'm thirty-four years old. Massive amounts of cheese goes through me like a camel through the eye of a needle. Thousands of hours of painful cold sweats apparently teach me nothing. On the other hand, Mother Nature and our preferred local grocers combine forces to become Captain Planet!... No... no... That's a different show. They do, however, make for a nice regular (key word: regular) trip to the "tahlet".


With every item of sustenance we ingest, a parent's only relaxation time can transform from a broad range of a fourty-two hour birth-giving simulation to a demonstration of what happens when you put curdled milk in a Play-Doh spaghetti machine. Let's not even discuss trying to imagine wet sand being pushed out from a Super Soaker. We don't need those kinds of visuals. I don't know if anyone remembers those Wow Chips, but not as bad as that. In short, what we need to do is eat the foods we like by constantly evening everything out with other foods that counteract the effect.





Instead of drinking wine with cheese, depending on how much you eat (and in my case, it's about one wheel per sitting), you would drink large amounts of coffee. Now, the coffee would probably turn you into a Taco Bell hot sauce dispenser, so we would have to try evening that out with some chocolate-covered bananas. If that starts to make you feel sick, you're doing it right. Follow that up with some beans, like...... a lot of beans. If you throw up, by God shove it back in! We're almost at the perfect poop; you can't puss out now. Give it about fifteen minutes to let all that partially digested bean-fest to settle for the second time and begin shoveling in some bacon-wrapped steak followed by three cups of prune juice. I'm talking Solo cups people; You're not out of the woods yet. That reminds me, tree bark is high in fiber; you should find some of that and force it down with a cold glass of milk and some stale rye bread. If you're still conscious, take that trip a little farther into the forest and capture yourself at least two and three quarters Smurfs. Despite popular belief, they're really not that difficult to find. You just have to pee on yourself a little. that's their mating call... with human urine. Yeah... Now I know what you're thinking: How do you catch three quarters of a Smurf? The answer is simple: Find Cripple Smurf; he has no legs. If you can't catch that, then we seriously need to rethink your eating habits.









Eat the Smurfs raw and include the clothes. You're not a pussy, are you? Now, go to the fridge and mix together two oranges and some shark meat with a small pile of igneous rock and a few crushed cigarettes for flavor. Blend until it's got that gritty, rustic texture (kind of like Ray Liotta's face), and just down it like you lost a bet with Joe Pesci. If it's too rough going down, chase each bite with shavings from a tire and cardboard chips. (If that's not available, you can easily substitute that with basically anything from McDonald's.) Once digestion stops, you're ready for your fist fully functioning, perfectly regular brown baby boy, handed down from God Himself and passed on to you by... I guess your bowels...



If you've followed all of those basic steps, your next goal is to start doing heavy drugs because you just utterly destroyed your body, and this shit is thoroughly going to hurt a lot for the remainder of your life, which is probably about three days. You ever see that movie "From Beyond" where that guy's head is twisted off by a demon from hell? It's gonna feel a lot like that, but on the other side of your body. Enjoy!




Wednesday, June 19, 2013

Your Milkshake... Just Got Violated


Look at all these people nowadays that apparently can't wait to be sent to prison. Murders, thieves, child molesters, and reality television "stars" are of the many deserving of such a fate; but what we hope for as God-loving Americans is that they all get pounded like a sumo belly vigorously, via involuntary butt sex. While it's such a cruel world out there, I'm sure you can imagine a few people in your personal life that deserve this humiliating fate as well, but for the sake of argument, let's keep our attentions drawn towards all those people in the above statement so you and I both don't seem like horrible people. I mean..... you totally are, but don't try to drag me down with you. I'm here to make you laugh, not give you the gruesome visuals you just had about your ex.



Now, I can only imagine what's going through someone's mind when they're getting pole positioned by a "fellow" inmate by the name of Bull with a tattoo on his left butt cheek that says "Mom" in the dead silence of the D block (Ironically, everybody in the D block... gets the "D"), but wouldn't it be an even worse fate if you had music playing in the background that proverbial back door break-in nightmares are made of? Could you imagine trying to block out all the snuggle struggle moments of your life as a fresh fish, only to have all of those fond memories that you suppressed resurface when you hear some easy listening on the car stereo on your way to the DMV? (See what I did there? Going to the DMV is basically the same thing.) Some people are afraid of heights. You're now afraid of Cindy Lauper.


So what I did was compiled a list of the top ten worst songs you could possibly hear while being prison probed. Enjoy.


10.) Barry White - Can't Get Enough of Your Love



"I don't know, I don't know why..." On second thought, he knows exactly why. You're getting your black cherry picked by a professional fart hole farmer.


9.) Marvin Gaye - Let's Get it On



Giving yourself to me can never be wrong, if you got some lube. I mean come on. this one's a given. There's no way you can retain even a shred of self respect if this is being shoved in your ears while other things are being shoved..... you get the picture.


8.) Father Figure



I mean seriously... you'll be calling him daddy before the day is done, or he'll most likely trade you to his buddy "Horsecock" for five cigarettes and a magazine. You should be proud; most prison bitches only go for three.


7.) Ebony and Ivory - Stevie Wonder and Paul McCartney



Isn't this one just hilarious? Stevie didn't even see this one coming.


6.) Eurythmics - Sweet Dreams



Who am I to disagree? Some of them definitely want to abuse you... The melody to this song almost makes you want to outfit 'em with carnival attire. Although there's nothing astonishing about  this elephant stampeding in your center ring.


5.) Celine Dion - My Heart Will Go On



I don't care where you're from; you know the theme from Titanic and every time you
think of that damn movie, you picture that annoying scene with ol' girl's hand sliding down
the steamy car window. Now you have something new to imagine. Sweet dreams!... Wait,
we already covered that one. Jesus Christ, you'll never sleep again, my friend.


4.) Survivor - Eye of the Tiger



You can't say that this song isn't one of those classics that people still enjoy listening to. This is
workout music at its best. It makes you feel like you're on top of the world. You've got more
stamina, more energy, you get your own montage... Now put that in your scenario. Clubber
Lang isn't going to let up for a while; you might as well book your infirmary appointment well in
advance.


3.) John Mellencamp - Hurts so Good



White bikers straight out of the 70's. My thoughts exactly. Sometimes love don't feel like it should.
... It really doesn't..... It reeeaaaaally doesn't.


2.) Whitesnake - Is This Love



I can tell you this... That's not love you're feeling. That's jizz.



...and finally, and by God you best pray this isn't playing at your wake, per chance you die from
being impaled by the black stallion's bowling ball-sized anal bead.


1.) Johnny Cash - Ring of Fire



All I can say is... listen to the lyrics. Just listen to the lyrics. I don't need to explain it to you.



I hope you enjoyed this little adventure of ours, and I also hope you enjoyed being manipulated into
picturing prison rape the entire time. You're welcome for that. Even if you go to prison and get
raped in awkward silence, you're still going to think about one of these songs in your head mid-coitus
anyway. Did you really think you were getting away that easily?

Wednesday, March 7, 2012

The Reality of Super Mario


You'd think video games used to be simple. Back in the day, you had a joystick with one button. After that, you had a direction pad with two buttons. Now you've got two kids, a nagging wife, and no money left for the strip club, a direction pad, two sticks, a kick start, four plug outlets, a Dolby surround sound speaker system, and eighty-three buttons. Things get more complicated as the years go by. Run, jump, hit that block, kick that turtle, straddle that flagpole... The goal was easy; Get to from the left side to the right side before the clock runs out. (Isn't it odd the movie 'In Time' mimics perfectly what happens when the timer reaches zero?)


Nowadays, it seems like everything has to have a story. There needs to be character development, rich environmental eye candy, nonstop f-bombs, lies about cake, something about... hot coffee... No more up, up, down, down, left, right, left, right, B, A, start. We need achievements, unlockables, 3-dimensional concept art, and eighteen hundred difficulty settings (If you make it through sex nuts & retard strong nightmare mode, it unlocks FML mode). The mystery in all of this is... what if the older games really did have a story behind them? What if there's a deeper meaning behind the games we grew up with? What if Super Mario Bros. was more than just an innocent 8-bit run to the end?








 Mario has no life. He lives in Brooklyn as a plumber. Pretty simple concept, but that won't really make for an excellent and compelling game. Mario bunks with his brother Luigi, but Luigi has a severe crack addiction. He's as skinny as can be and fidgety; afraid of his own shadow. Mario wants to help somehow, but he has no idea where to begin to assist his brother in kicking the habit, so he does what any plumber in New York would do in his situation... He spends his power bill money on a bag of mushrooms. Mario loves these little chunks of cow patty fungus so much, he even puts them in his spaghetti just before he rides the go-karts down the street. His bills are piling up so fast, he feels like he's just flushing his life (and all of his green) down the tubes. He has to get away somehow, and these magic mushrooms always do the trick. They make him feel eight feet tall, like he can do anything.


Mario imagines himself in a magical kingdom with castles...and turtles. He calls it the mushroom kingdom. Every day is bright and sunny and there are gold coins everywhere! His financial problems are over! But what's this? The mushrooms are coming to life and walking around! He'll have to stomp on them all. No one's going to take his coins. He has to... What was it he had to do again?

Mario gets so mad at the little mushroom monsters, he begins to spit fire. The fire represents his pent up rage. The turtles attack from the right... well, of course they come in from the right... Mario's unsure of what will happen next, so he sees blocks with giant question marks on them. He feels like he can do anything with these mushrooms. He feels stronger; more lively. (In reality, Mario runs around, punching brick walls with limp and bloody hands.) More mushrooms come out of the blocks. He grows bigger, like Alice in Wonderland. He wants to keep on doing this forever, so now green mushrooms also come out of the blocks. Mario feels great, like nothing can stop him. He's invincible. he's a bright shining star that flickers like a strobe light as he goes for the flag pole. (In reality, Mario is making a fool of himself on the main stage at the strip club. He sees fireworks as he spappies on the Asian business men in front of him.)

He finally reaches the castle! A little talking mushroom tells him that the princess is in another castle... Princess?? Mario thinks back to all the times he's chased after women just to get a taste of some peach, but he's struggled all his life to find the woman of his dreams; a beautiful princess, just to find she's always out of reach.

Mario begins to call himself "Super" Mario. He's been on a diet of mushrooms and flowers out of people's front yards, trying to get to the "princess".
He calls them fire flowers. Traveling from castle to castle, collecting all the coins he finds laying around, stuffing into his pockets various items like mushrooms, feathers, frogs, dead raccoons, whistles, dry leaves, and not to mention poor defenseless turtles that he throws at people from his car, Mario needs more mushrooms... just another little boost of super strength...





The world he sees becomes everything from a land where everything is gigantic, to a land of chocolate and cookies; doughnuts and cupcakes. (in reality, Mario crawls along the floor of a candy shop with a dead bird in his hands, plucking the feathers and pretending like he's flying.) He keeps thinking about those turtles and how much he hates them. He becomes so paranoid about the turtles, he suspects there's a giant one guarding the princess, keeping him from his sweet, sweet piece of tail.


Wandering aimlessly around the mushroom kingdom, Mario gets so lonely. He takes a dead frog from his pocket and starts talking to it, calling it "Toad". He needs a little buddy, like a dinosaur that could reach out with his tongue and find him more mushrooms (In reality, Mario is licking the toad).





Day and night, he crawls around the sewer system, continuing his search for the princess. All of these magical pipes are so confusing, there's got to be a way to warp out of here... Mario blows his magic whistle (In reality, he's trying to start his car) and is somehow transported to a Kart race along a road made of beautiful rainbow. everyone is trying to get to the finish, throwing bob-ombs, banana peels, and red shells at his Kart (In reality, Mario is being chased by several cop cars). Mario finally makes it to the finish, and the mushroom Kingdom celebrates, setting off fireworks. (In reality, Mario jumps out of the car and is shot all to hell by the police as people stand around and stare at the wounded plumber's blood-stained, blue overalls.)




"What a crazy son-of-a-bitch." said officer Bird.

"You said it, Birdo." replied Lieutenant Bowser. "I'm just glad we took that bastard down before he crashed straight into the Yoshi Dragon Chinese restaurant."

Mario's fans adorned their hero with a medal for winning the race to save the Mushroom Kingdom from the Evil King Koopa. (in reality Officer Bowser slaps handcuffs on the lunatic plumber.)


Days later in the real world, Mario's brain had been so damaged by all kinds of narcotics and hallucinogens, that he now sits in a padded room wearing a straight jacket, laughing hysterically and shouting "It'sa me, Mario! Woo hoo! Woo hoo!"




Stay tuned next time for the Adventures of Luigi's "Mansion".

Tuesday, February 28, 2012

I'm Tired of tasting Your Rainbow

I was having a conversation with a friend on facebook the other day and their post was about gay rights. I think you can already see where this is going. Since I haven't pissed anyone off in a while, I feel it's an obligatory prerogative to keep the proverbial ball rolling. Keep in mind, this is one of those oh, so delicious topics that will unmistakeably piss someone off no matter what you say, so I've decided not to talk about  gay rights, even though I cum when I piss people off.

Throughout American history, blacks, women, gays, and animal lovers (and when I say lovers, I probably mean folks in Tijuana, but not necessarily. The best part about that is that I just made you imagine a woman blowing a donkey without saying it outright... and if that didn't work, I just said it outright, so you're welcome; and get that big veiny donkey penis out of your brain, you damn pervert.) .... where was I. Oh yes... blacks, women, gays, and animal lovers have been fighting for equal rights of some kind and I'm not any one of those. I'm a white male; the only person in America that loses rights on a daily basis because all anyone else has to do is claim that I discriminated against them about their sex, skin, beliefs, or lifestyle; which makes me the most discriminated against person on the planet by American standards, but that's a topic for another time.

The topic at hand is not about gay rights, but instead about gay "pride". I understand that if you're going to live a certain way, the last thing you need to be is ashamed of it. Go big or go home, I guess (this time I'm not talking about penises). Whatever your moral standing, or whichever standards of right or wrong you live by, you should at least live it with a sense of confidence. Not to say you shouldn't be humble at times and open to correction, but blatant pride in anything is stupid at best. Today's topic isn't even about the psychological effects of pride; imagine that. To be honest I'm thinking about instantly changing the subject to the economic development of donkey shows in America, now that you can't get that huge, hairy donkey scrotum out of your head. Seriously, you should forget about that and let me get back on topic.



I, personally, am not gay. There's no reason for me to hate gays. To me, being gay is like a smoker vs. a non-smoker, or someone who doesn't wear underwear. I absolutely hate mushrooms, but is there reason for me to hate people who love to eat them? ... maybe.... My point is, Having sex with the same sex is just something gays like to do. I have nothing to do with what they like to do, so why should I impose myself onto their personal habits. I bite my fingernails, but I don't see a coalition conspiring to convince America that God hates nail biters. God hates all sin, and yes I believe homosexuality is a sin, but I also believe smoking is a sin, which includes myself, so why, oh why would I completely ignore the fact I like to do something I believe is wrong, yet abhor people that do something that doesn't even involve me. To be honest, I know smokers who really piss me off, but every gay I've ever met has always been pleasant to be around. Still thinking about that donkey penis? Good. Today's topic isn't about homosexual religious convictions either. Jesus Christ why don't I get with it already?

What I want to talk about is how much it pisses me off that some gays shove their sexual preference in my face. what do I mean by that? I'm talking about things like gay pride parades and over-the-top flamboyancy; things that don't need to be out in public. Why? Let me explain. Sex is fun of course. I'll admit, I for one put it at the tippy-top of my list of things to do for the day; but like any respectful person should, I keep my sex life private, behind closed doors. I don't have parades honoring the fact that I like to put my junk in my wife's trunk. I mean.... I should... I totally should... but I don't. I don't because my sexual preference and/or lifestyle doesn't need to be out in the streets, and neither does anyone else's.

"heh, heh... Donkey show..."


The fact remains that if you either like to smoke pole or munch the sideways sloppy joe and you have the same parts, it's still a sexual preference. I'm not arguing whether or not it's a choice. It is a choice you make, but it's also not a choice whether or not you want to be that way. Like I said, I hate mushrooms, but I can't consciously make the choice to like them, because I don't. You can't just make yourself like something you don't like. Where's your free will now, fundamental christians?

My point is, sex, whether it be with a man or a woman, should be a private matter. Putting your gayness in a public setting, just because you're prideful of it, is imposing on me details about your sex life that I didn't ask for. That's the thing. What about kids? Do they need to know about total strangers' sex lives? "Oh, it's okay honey. They're just putting on this parade to show who they like to have sex with."

"Why?"

"Because they want everybody to know."

"Why?"

"Because it makes christians mad."

"Why?"

"Because they think God hates fags."

"What's a fag?"

"It's a cigarette; now shut the f*ck up and look at the floats."

"What's f*ck?"

"It's what these guys like to do to each other, hence the parade. God, what are you, stupid?"

"I'm 3."



Then people wonder why I'm having this conversation with a total stranger's child. Hey, she asked. What was I supposed to do? Ignore the kid and be rude?

I hope you've read all the way through this post and understand, like I'm telling you now, that I feel no need to debate nit-picky issues and that being said, I'm not going to. If your opinion is negative in any way, your comment will never see the light of day here, so good luck with that. This post had the intent of opening avenues of thought and to make you laugh a little; it will not in any way shape or form fuel your agenda, no matter your stance.......... DONKEY PENIS!!





Wednesday, October 12, 2011

That's Just... Special Needs?

When I was a kid, we used to call each other names, like butt-head, momma's boy, and dingle-berry (those little chunks of poop that hang to the hair on your sphincter). We said things like, "I know you are, but what am I" and the other kid would try to say something new, as to expand their vocabulary skills. Some people said those things to make others feel bad, some people like me used to say them just to get a laugh out of everyone else, but most of the other kids used those words primarily to hear the words themselves come out of their mouth, as if it was some sort of a rite of passage into becoming an adult. Nowadays, I don't really think it's all that different. We call each other fagot, retard, nigger, spic, cracker, fat-ass, bitch, and sometimes Chester the child molester. A lot of the time, friends will use these words to joke around with each other without any kind of hostility; it's just a way for them to express their comfort level with each other and maybe get a laugh in here and there. The only difference between this and when we were kids is that all over the country, not only do people make videos of two chicks licking their own poop out of a cup, those terms are used within a context of deep-seeded hatred towards the people they speak against. I can't help it if I likes 'em young... and retarded....and usually wearing food themed costumes... which in a sense leads me to my subject for the day.




I apologize in advance; this post is not about food themed costumes.

I don't usually go around calling people names (I have a much more colorful vocabulary to exercise), but I do appreciate being able to use words for their meaning without ignorant yuppies duct taping my mouth because they get offended in the name of other people, taking the blame to steal the credit in so many words. Ah, the college hippies and preppy schmucks in this world love to find things that'll make others notice them. They should find a cup and have at it.





What I'm talking about mainly is the word retarded. Now so far I only know of a few uses for the word; someone that's mentally handicapped, when you think an idea or situation is dumb in nature (i.e. the fact Obama is still in office is retarded), or possibly when something is slow and doesn't work right (i.e. my printer is retarded). First of all, I want to go to the core of the word itself and find it, not in a back alley doling out penguins for smack, but in a dictionary somewhere... possibly looking for meth. Let's take a look at what it says at dictionary.com:








re·tard·ed
 adjective
1.
characterized by retardation: a retarded child.


   
 noun
2. 
( used with a plural verb ) mentally retarded  persons collectively (usually preceded by the ): new schools for the retarded.
 

But now lookie what somebody snuck in at thefreedictionary.com:

re·tard·ed  (r-tärdd)
adj.
1. Often Offensive Affected with mental retardation.
2. Occurring or developing later than desired or expected; delayed.



Often offensive? Why does that definition have nothing to do with the second one? One of them is the actual definition, the other one sneaks in a little usage in there; but it's completely subjective as to what's offensive, isn't it? Here's my point. I have someone in my family that is mentally retarded. If I talk about him to anyone, that's what I say. I say he's retarded. I've been told that he's not retarded, he's a special needs child, or he's mentally handicapped. I don't see a difference other than the fact that people these days don't want to face the truth. If a child is mentally handicapped, they're retarded by definition. I know you feel bad for them; I do too, but you're acting retarded.... and stop licking that doorknob!




 Let's talk about the term special needs. I have an overwhelming urge to get off at least five times a day, so much in fact it impairs my better judgment (there's a little fun fact about me for you). That's a special need. You can call it a want, an addiction, or even a hobby; I call it a need. Smokers have the ability to choose to quit smoking... or do they? Most of them need to smoke, otherwise they wouldn't keep doing it for lack of better judgment. Some people smoke those godawful clove cigarettes. I'd consider those people in the special needs category. Circus clowns who have to wear custom-made, comically large, medically prescribed shoes because they have comically large flat feet. That's pretty special.  My point is, you can use the term for a wide diversity of things without ever touching on the mental aspect. Retarded means retarded when earnestly describing a person. There are those who call it "the R word". Seriously? I'm sorry you're not able to handle a group of letters made to create a sound that comes out of your mouth and is used in a derogatory or vulgar way, but you can't simply erase the words themselves and replace them with more flowery words in an attempt to mask your insecurities about what it means. If everyone did that, we could lose the words tease, cow, chicken, whale, toothpick, fairy, cupcake, princess, spade, eggplant, yellow, cracker, jerk, junior, and fruity just to name a few. If you really want to split hairs, the word special is used for people to make fun of each other by insinuating they're retarded. Let's get rid of that one too. We'll have to come up with yet another charmingly spoken, non-offensive sidestep term for a word we already have. Let's just call them not retarded. That's what you're going for isn't it? If they're not retarded, you should be able to call them, not retarded. Yet, you come up with a new term that means the same thing in order to push your agenda that the person in question isn't retarded, they're just underdeveloped mentally. Wait..... We HAVE a word for that! It's called, retarded. If they are retarded, you should be able to call them retarded. Sorry, but we don't have a word that means retarded but not retarded. I doubt we ever will. We might, however, have solar powered socks one day... I don't know the science behind it, but doesn't it sound expensive?


 

This is what retarded looks like with money.


I just thought this was funny. Enjoy.
Don't get me wrong, the word retard isn't really necessary, even though it has a hint of meaning the same thing; it's use is always derogatory and I can understand when someone takes offense, but that's still no reason to deny others' freedom of speech. I don't care what people call me, they're allowed to say anything they like, and in return I'm allowed to say anything I like. That's the way freedom works. Instead you have all of these stuck-up bigots with retarded kids and nothing better to do, trying to take freedoms away, knowing full well that there isn't one single retarded child taking offense.




So, the message for today is: Stop trying to pretend certain words shouldn't exist because of the way others use them. Not only that, stop getting offended about every little thing! The rest of us are running out of room to breathe. Besides, ff you really want to replace the word retarded with another word that has similar meaning........ how about, Juggalo?