Friday, December 25, 2009

All I Got For Saturnalia was Christmas

Today is one of  about 5 days a year where everyone deems it necessary to make me wake up and do things. Looks great on paper I'm assuming, but even though I didn't get that memo, somehow I'm still responsible. Everywhere I go people are telling me to have a merry Christmas. I don't always find it imperitive to let them know that I don't celebrate pagan holidays because, well, they have no idea why of all things I don't take part in their ignorance.  Just getting my comic books last week took everything out of me answering a question from one of the guys working there. The internet isn't well known in the world of the baby boomer generation, so no one older than 40 is all that equipped to research fact from fiction. There are exceptions of course, but I make generalizations on my own web page because no one reads it.... and because it makes christians mad.

The idea of Santa Claus just confounds me. Of course any sane adult knows how fictional it is to think that one man could drink that much milk in one night, but just the concept of christians that supposedly live by faith to believe the invisible and spiritual actually think that it's alright to convince their child that someone like Santa Claus is real, then when the kids find out their infallible parents lied to them, they're still supposed to believe by the same parents' word that God is also real just kind of sickens me....that and the urban definition of space docking. How do the christians of the world even begin to wonder why most countries think they're idiots? They teach their kids to believe in God, Santa, The Easter Bunny, The Tooth Fairy, The Boogey man, The Man on the Moon, Christopher Walken, the female orgasm, ghosts, aliens, and the myth that Halle Berry is actually black. How many of those things do you think are real?

I see 2.

Do you think for a minute your child will believe in something that you teach them when you lie to them about so much to begin with? If I was your kid I'd shoot you in the face with a bazooka that fires alligators, which is what I asked Santa Claus for, just to rub it in. 

If any of you old school christians that "learn" everything you think you know by what your uneducated pastor tells you, The facts about Christmas, Saturnalia, Brumalia, the Winter Solstice, and the simple fact that none of your pagan adopted holidays have anything at all to do with God, Jesus, or Bee Arthur are easily researched. Don't bother trying to argue with people that actually know how to check facts and do proper research just because your momma told you there were three wise men. You might as well start burning your children alive in Gehenna like a true pagan.

I just found a website you can begin with right here. I haven't read that much and it might not be completely accurate, but that's not really my responsibility is it? Maybe some people won't make me do all the work for them and spoon feed 'em like little baby birds this time.

Anyway, have yourself some nice pagan debauchery and christian drunk parties this year. I can't wait to hear your New Years resolutions. If anything they probably involve sending Christopher Walken a big apology letter.

 ...and Welcome Back Black Gandhi, it's been a while.

Tuesday, December 15, 2009

The Nothing Report on Dating Fails

Ever think about where your dream girl is hiding?

 Picture by: Me

Yeah.......and here I thought the internet was there so you could lie about your weight. Turns out you can be truthful about that, but lie about how much you eat. Two wrongs apparently make one hell of a catch in this case.

Do we even wonder why there's no photo?

Friday, December 11, 2009

A Chick Going Into Labor is Anything But Silent

I was at the local greasy spoon tonight pondering the existence of midi-chlorians as I usually do when an eerily familiar yet annoying sound wave crept into the holes in my head I like to call "head holes". What would you assume this little tidbit of musical enjoyment was?... None other than "Silent Night" by one of three thousand various singers that God himself naturally selected to perform in front of live patrons who just so happen to commonly consume "taters". I couldn't help but repeat to myself what could have possibly been running through the mind of this mystery shopper:

"You know, when I got out of bed today, I had the undying urge to take some of this hard earned money I got from working third shift at the gas station and just...throw it away. I thought long and hard about it for hours until a light bulb magically appeared above my head and suddenly, I had it! I think I'll go down to the most redneck establishment known to man and play Silent Night on the jukebox. What better way to please myself than to spend actual currency on a jukebox in a restaurant with a broken urinal and used food on the floor so other people can hear Silent Night just one more time."

Actually I was being generous. I did some rough math in my head and came to the conclusion that the complete thought probably went more like this:

"Hey y'all, check this sh*t out! I luuuuuv me some f*#%in' Jesus music!"

 True story.

Saturday, November 28, 2009

Cocaine is a Hell of a Drug...and Tile Cleaner!

I finally realized why I don't have a vote in the Senate....but I forgot. I also found a new use for tile cleaner.

Is it plausible that I still believe the best line in a movie hasn't been written yet? Would I even remotely know where to begin in creating this line? Is it in a comedy, a drama, a suspense mystery, scat porn, or documentary about the virgin Mary appearing in a chicken nugget? Would it be a run-on sentence or maybe even contain Olde English vernacular? Would it be originally written in braille by a blind trailer skank from South Africa? Would it even bother said writer if there actually are no trailers in South Africa and the word "skank" is constantly triggered by the spell checker? (Actually, I have no idea about the trailer thing, but I'll deny it up and down to your face, because I loves me some African eye patches. Of course they look like air filters for an Oldsmobile Delta 88, but who really cares, We're in Africa!)

Now, if you're wondering what the previous statements have to do with anything......good luck with that. I'm actually a little overdosed on coffee, which helps to amplify my mutant ability, and also makes me poop a tad loosely; but enough about my stool....unless you're into talking about people's private pile, in which case I would like to expound on that subject with more detail and substance (so to speak) at a later date when we have more time on our hands, because frankly it's gonna be a long conversation. So what if I like to talk about my poop? Does that make me less appropriate then say.....a proctologist? At least I talk about my own and not some guy's that I just stuck my fingers in to find his Broke Back Mountain decoder ring. Tell you the truth, if I had that job I'd probably, maybe nine times out of ten, choose typing over handwriting because I'd constantly be getting poop all over my yellow lined paper; you know, that stuff you had to write gigantic letters on in the second grade right after you figured out what boogers taste like. They taste pretty good, but not as good as paste.........and I just remembered why I don't have a vote in the Senate..........nope, I lost it.

Anyway, If there's anything I learned from watching Saturday morning cartoons, it's definitely that prostitutes don't usually like to watch Saturday morning cartoons with you. Ah, the memories... That's actually the first time I had to pay four women, a parking meter, and a pond full of koi fish to watch TV with me. One hell of a weekend. I wish I could remember what I did with that tile cleaner....well, the other half.

Still....that blind African just keeps mumbling on an endless loop about butterflies in the sky.....and....I can't get him to stop.

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

Meal or No Meal

The Holiday seasons always tries to catch me right as I'm trying to walk into the store....with a red apron and a bell. The Salvation Army (which is not an army, or even remotely interested in salvation, go figure) gives us on a yearly basis, the guilt trip of the century, which is almost as bad as maggots shooting up into your mouth from a nice fresh hunk of Casu Marzu. Here's my problem with the whole thing: If they're just standing outside taking handouts and then using the money for the homeless, then why the hell aren't they using their overhead to give the homeless an apron and a bell and drop them off right outside Wal-Mart? "Here we are! Best of luck to you." Would that not do the job? You could say, "If you give them the money, they'll just spend it on liquor or something." Are you kidding me? I spend it on liquor... and no one gives me handouts. I'd say that makes the score Bums = 1, Beau = 0. The problem is, The homeless are still homeless and the Salvation Army keeps expanding. So what if a 60-year-old veteran out on the off-ramp with a cardboard sign and twelve shirts on makes more money than I do? I say we just suit 'em up and see how it turns out. What's the worst that could happen? Now, people walking into Bed Bath & Beyond with the intention of purchasing a $450 waste basket (yes, they have those) get to meet the poor they're ignoring head on. I almost want to be homeless just so I can partake in the pandemonium.

I was just reading about how they call their peeps "clergy". Seriously? The Catholic church is the richest and most corrupt religion on the planet (oh yeah, and the sexy time with children thing) and the Salvation Army is using their terminology? So much for the church softball game. Believe me, I have no problem with a charitable organization, especially if there's no praying to statues or old, wrinkled penises in the niƱos, but it would be much easier to set up ways for the homeless to get their own hand-outs. I can't even count how many times I've been in my car with hardly any money on me, driving up the ramp to get to the house, with some lady pushing a shopping cart and staring me down like I'm a big meanie face for not emptying my wallet into the cart. Even better, get the homeless together on a giant truck and take them all to Deal or No Deal, let them each pick a case and they get to keep whatever they get......too bad every case will only have a $10 gift
card redeemable at Bed Bath & Beyond....... Howie, you're so sneaky..

Saturday, October 31, 2009

Halloween is Like Wal-Mart Cosplay

It's again one of those days that are supposedly there to either fatten wallets or entertain innocent children by doing things that don't normally make sense in any other context. Halloween is one of these "special days" among our all-time favorites like Saturnalia, Gluttony Day, Catholic Cherub Day, Abnormal Rabbit Reproduction Day, and the ever famous "It's Alright to Be a Drunk Today Day". We help that one out by "celebrating" Show Your Boobs for Beads Day and Mexican Alcoholic Day.

I'm known to be a dick for not celebrating holidays because it's my perogative to inform lonely people on Christmas that it has nothing to do with Jesus and they don't have to kill themselves because they don't have any family. Some people in my area will be upset tonight because it's raining. It's such a bitch to have to regret spending all that money for costumes for your greedy children and money on candy for greedy children you don't know, but that's what you get for thinking today is any more special than another.... plus there's that issue with candy being five times cheaper tomorrow and I'll be reaping the Reese's creamy goodness.

Of course my child was also subject to such nonsense because she lives in America, ergo she's subject to be dressed up like somebody's doll for entertainment, kind of like putting clothes on a dog. She'll be taught sooner or later to "say no to tradition", or in the words of christian America, be a dick like me. It's tough to have to explain to people that either I don't celebrate pagan holidays, their holidays just aren't that important to me, or I don't believe in Santa Claus. It's that last one that really puzzles the christians. Don't get me wrong I do believe in God, it's just the christians don't accept me into their little elitist group because I can prove that God doesn't torture people in literal fire forever. That's actually a pagan belief too, but that's a blog for another time. This one was supposed to be about Halloween, but for some reason I forgot math part way through.

Anyway, if you want to dress up and take your kid out to meet strangers and their candy, have at it. If you just need an excuse to be drunk with a bunch of other drunks, be my guest. If possibly you're really, really ugly and you're just trying to fit in...........I'll meet you there; But there's really no justification for trekkies today. You know you wear that outfit all the time.

Friday, October 23, 2009

The Nothing Report @ Wiki Answers For the Win

Behold, The Nothing Report is now on Wiki Answers, defeating the most simple of questions.....Well... I'm on there.

I'm going by the user name "BailNobra", just because it's my favorite Robot Chicken clip; so be my guest, ask a stupid question. Someone is probably waiting in the shadows to give you an even more stupid answer.

Sunday, October 11, 2009

The Pork Medallion Maneuver (Patent Pending)

I was originally going to write about something the rest of the world thinks is important, like the Obama Peace Prize thingy, or maybe something to do with Marge Simpson letting her "hair down" so to speak, posing nude in Playboy; which should give new meaning to who's "real" and who's not. Those things oddly enough don't interest me... of course neither does non-dwarf slapstick, but what I had in mind should inspire you to .....uh.....not be influenced by my idea?

Have you ever known there was something a little off about your license or vehicle as far as expiration, insurance lapse, etc. that if and when you get pulled over, you said to yourself or gay lover in the passenger side, "this guy is gonna screw me big time" (which for those of you that actually have a gay lover might not mind too much)? There's really no way to get even the smallest "jab" back in this guy's direction unless you'd like to get screwed even more 'frictiony'. I mean come on, you are in the wrong and the nice officer is just doing his job, right? So either way, you're going to pay out some mad money because you're lazy or poor, whichever makes the government moist. What can you do to say in a proverbial way, "you know what? Up yours little piggy!"? (remember, I said proverbial)

Well, since there's only three (maybe four now!!) people reading this anyway, I'll tell you what I do. All you need is something you should have on your person anyway, which is your drivers license (hopefully one NOT like the one featured, that's just creepy). Now, if you're wearing really tight pants... well then that'll explain why you have a gay lover sitting next to you, but it'll make this maneuver a little more difficult.
Basically, whenever you're driving, just always keep your license rubbin' right up against your "brotato" sack. If ever you get pulled over, reach down into your nugget snuggy and pull out whatever the nice policeman asks for. Whether he sees you doing it or not, it's still pretty funny; but just imagine the look on his face when he knows he might just have to touch it. I call this the Pork Medallion maneuver.

Look, you're probably going to go broke over a DMV fee delinquency or your unquenchable need for speed, so you might as well get a little chuckle out of it in the process. Remember, don't do this because it very rude to......Psh hahahahaha. I'm sorry, I couldn't keep a straight face.

Wednesday, October 7, 2009

O.J. Says: "It's Not a Tumor"...or Was That Someone Else?

With all the excitement involving my web show and the fact that somewhere in the world, right now, there is a two-toed sloth just pounding away on his fuzzy female, one couldn't possibly be able to contain themselves. Here we have the dilemma to live our lives without taking into consideration that there might have been things that we missed along the way. For example, The Cold War did not have any snowball fights.....none that we know of anyway. Someone probably stole $20 from your wallet/purse last week. By the way, thanks, guy from the elevator. Where the f#$% do ball-point pens go as soon as you lose them? Why can't women on myspace ever describe themselves in some way other than by how many tattoos and piercings they have? I have five magnets and two doodles on my fridge; it's pretty much the same thing.... but that's a post for another time.

...Which leads me to my thought for the day; the one I actually got a hold of. Do any of you remember the O.J. Simpson trial? God knows I do. The trial that went on for over a year? The one that sparked racism all over America, because people just wanted to believe he was innocent for some reason; people that had almost no idea who he was or how he lived his life. We all know he did it. In case you're wondering, I just peeled my eyelids open for about an hour reading it over again on Wikipedia. In 1994 I was 14, so at the time I really wasn't that interested in the whole thing. Believe it or not, I was being constructive with my time losing my virginity and perfecting my technique at Street Fighter, not to mention getting an earful about the death of Kurt Cobain from every teenage girl that thought she knew him personally somehow. Anyway, DNA evidence in murder trials was a fairly new concept and apparently, the jurors had no idea what DNA even was, let alone Street Fighter. Some of the jury afterward said he probably did do it (imagine that), but the prosecutors bungled their case and didn't give evidence beyond a reasonable doubt. Although now we know that the DNA unmistakably put O.J. at the scene and every other scene where he left his hair, blood, and bad acting skills, according to the law, he didn't do it.

Here's my point, IF according to the law he didn't murder his wife and pool house compadre, that means that someone did. Why hasn't California police opened up an investigation to find poor ol' Nichole's murderer? I'm sure someone did it. Has no one thought about this? We have a murder case to solve, people!!
There was actually a guy named William Dear, who wrote a book and conducted his own investigation pointing at O.J.'s son at the murders, but hey, at least he sold his book to a few people; probably also people that've never heard of Street Fighter.

Either way, people do notice how it all comes back around, whether or not they cared to notice at the time. Where's the Juice now? Oh, he's in prison for armed robbery and kidnapping. Johnny Cochran, the guy who famously got him off (and not in that "touch me there, yeah, that's right, that's the spot" kind of way)? Where he be? He's dead. Brain tumor. ( I think that boy from Kindergarten Cop called it.) What about the other defense lawyer? Where's that waskally wabbit hiding? I have no idea, but I do know he was disbarred in Florida and Massachusetts in 2001-2002 on 7 counts of attorney misconduct. Behold, the dream team!

That's a bad f#%&in' dream is what that is.

By the way, nice mustache, Black Gandhi.

Sunday, October 4, 2009

For the Love of Comedy

The reason why I haven't been posting lately is that I and a trusted colleague of mine have been working on coming up with a web show to make its debut as soon as possible. We've had the idea in our heads for a little while now, but now we have the means to get things done; so be patient with me, my three little readers. I would love to share everything that 's going to be included in this show, but it's a surprise and we all love surprises, don't we? However, what I can tell you is, we have openings for some cast members and I'm only going to be casting people in the local area (God help me).

Other things I can tell you is that this show is most definitely going to be a comedy show, our episodes are going to be 15 minutes long and it's going to be about people that work at a news station. Please, no hippies, and definitely no one that thinks they know how to direct. I've heard more criticism about directors than I'd ever care to hear from people with no real world knowledge about anything other than criticizing.

Since I'm poor, this is not a paying gig, hopefully some day it will be. We're using this web show as a hopeful television series, but only time will tell if people are ready for something that's not a reality show or an over-analyzing of anything of interest in the know-it-all hippie realm; but if you like to laugh, you most likely won't be disappointed.

The good news is, The Nothing Report WILL be a part of the show as a small editorial; but since my character is absolutely nuts, it'll make you feel right at home.

Monday, September 21, 2009

Why Are You Stabbing Yourself? Why Are You Stabbing Yourself?

To get this out of the way, I thought I should warn you and your family for future reference, considering my crazy, sporadic soldiers once again broke through the protective stone structure that is Castle Wifey-wife and fertilized the Egg in the Iron Mask down in the damp, humid dungeon. That's right folks, my seed be many and once they take over the world, I will allow them to eat you quickly so that your suffering will be minimal.......or at least less than Carrot Top's will be.

To change the subject ever so slightly, but still remaining in the land of suffering, imagine if you will, you have a friend that constantly stabs themselves with a really sharp hunting knife. Whenever you come running and say, "stop doing that! That'll kill you, you know." (hey, maybe some people talk like that.), they might reply with, "I know I need to stop, don't ever let me do that again, ok?" After a while, they just start stabbing themselves again. You repeat the "stop that....bad" method and they repeat the "yeah, I know" method. Eventually, as much as you see them suffer with the constant stabbing, it starts to get to you a little. You're seeing a friend suffer so much that it makes you suffer. It's like watching a terminal patient's plug being pulled over and over.

So let's say over a decade goes by and by this time, your friend still has this knife and is still stabbing themselves. Nothing's changed; it's not even a different knife. Now imagine that you spend days trying to convince this friend that stabbing yourself is not a good idea. They put the knife in the drawer and say, "don't ever let me do that again, ok?" and as you're standing there watching, they look you straight in the eye and pull out the same knife that they had been apparently hiding behind their back and begin stabbing themselves continuously, brushing off the look of not only surprise but also disgust for the lack of consideration in all that effort you invested in them on your face. The best part of this is that this knife is so important, that stabbing themselves and twisting it a little completely trumps your presence whatsoever. This slap in the face almost makes you want to say, "you know what, that thing you're doing there with the stabbing and all.......yeah, just keep doing that." and you move on with your life, while your friend there goes through the stabbing routine all by themselves and exes you out of their lives without breaking a sweat.......

Now imagine you did all that in a chicken suit.

OK, seriously, what would you do? I know, I'm not too fond of hypothetical situations. Would you seriously suffer through the same thing with the same person for that long? Would you not start to think......."I must be an idiot" even after as much as a month of all that? Would you seriously be fond of the idea of being saddened over the misfortune of another person close to you over the same thing for over a third of your life, then find out that they didn't need you there in the first place?
This is like Bruce Wayne having to watch his parents murder and while he's growing up, Alfred turns gay and invites Joe Chill to live with them and now Bruce can hear his only friend getting raped nightly by his parents killer, but with every attempt to stop the madness, Alfred begs him to just bare with him, eventually he'll realize by himself that he's getting raped. So really, no matter what Bruce went through on a nightly basis, Alfred really didn't care what it did to little Brucey, Bruce is just along for the ride to see self destruction at its finest.

I hope you enjoyed my little shpeel. Maybe we can do it again some time.....................or maybe not. Either way, leave your knives at home please.

Monday, August 3, 2009

Comedy Central: Cry Me a Rivers

Boredom is what it is; the state of being bored. This substantial phenomenon makes television what it is; repetitive, recycled crap that gets launched from the minds of idiots and drips from your tv/monitor onto your ever waiting tongue to be processed and spit back out by some, while at the same time is engulfed by the weak minded and their tasteless gullets.

Good shows from the past, like "V" are being remade, Older movies like Tron are being remade. Everything else that had or will have any texture to it most likely comes from Japan or was a book at some time. The difference with book-to-film movies is that fans love the idea until they see it on the big screen, then the fans hate it while everyone else likes it. The only exception to this rule that I've seen is the Twilight series, whereas I've never seen bloodsucking cannibals with as much glitter and eyeliner as Boy George, but maybe he'll be the head vampire in upcoming installments.
See, for me it's pretty easy to avoid such piece-of-crap films like Dragon Ball: Evolution (by the way, I'm most likely never going to bother watching that piece of box office gold), but television is a little different because you can get a whiff of these parasitic bowel movements for even a split second while you're channel surfing from previously described boredom; just hoping you'll get lucky enough to ogle at Topanga on the Style Network (hey, that's one woman every man should want crawling on top of them).

Comedy Central is not only reaching into the farthest depths of what they believe comedy to be, for some reason Joan Rivers found it in her depths to let virtually jobless comedians ( and whatever Kathy Griffin feels like calling herself ) collect all of the jokes people have been wanting to lash out with for the last 15 years. Of all the accomplished people to belittle, they picked Joan Rivers? I don't even know why people watch these shows anyway. Apparently, the first roast got good enough ratings that the producers decided, "Hey, people liked it, let's do it again (and again and again and again) !!" What does Joan Rivers have to do with comedy? Is she funny or is she like, freakishly altered facial structure funny? I really don't have a problem with the woman. Personally I doubt that she ever announced any single one of these "comedians" on the red carpet. I just think if someone deserves to be roasted and it has to be an old lady, it should be someone that actually made a big contribution to comedy, like Betty White. I would lick that woman's sternum she's so awesome.
By the way, Spaceballs is now an animated series. I haven't seen it or even heard of it until about 5 minutes ago, so maybe Joan Rivers has something in her life people need her for. Spaceballs wouldn't be the same without her; but then again the best character in the movie is dead and even HE should have been roasted before Ms. Rivers. Mel Brooks for that matter should have a damn roast before anyone else. Just stop what you're doing ,Comedy Central; Call up Mel Brooks, get together funny, tasteful, veteran comedians that aren't addicted to the words "f$#k" and "c%*t" and roast that son of a bitch right now!

Why is it the people being roasted just keep getting less and less famous? Is everyone else saying no? Who's next, Nick Lachey? That would be kind of reaching. I don't even see why people watch any of them for that matter. The only celebrity roasts I watched were Pamela Anderson (so I could see some boobies), Bob Sagat, and Dennis Leary. Comedy Central altogether is hit or miss these days, but who's complaining other than me? I'm just a nobody that writes about nothing. Even if I were famous one day, I would completely avoid such events unless I could sit way in the back next to Pauly Shore and Gallagher.

Gallagher actually asked to be roasted, but it turns out they'd rather roast the watermelon.

Sunday, August 2, 2009

Scattered Showers in the Star Wars "Urineverse"

We were sitting down at Waffle House last night and far be it by me to let the greasy spoon inhabitants get bored, but hey, you'd be amazed what your brain can come up with at 3 in the morning, without the benefit of cocaine and hallucinogenic mushrooms. What? I put them on my sandwiches.

For some reason the conversation turned over to Star Wars and we were already on the subject of going to the bathroom (Go figure), so I considered the largest object ever conceived in science fiction and whether or not it had any restrooms. Of course, when movies are set in a very serious and epic format, going to the toilet is never mentioned. Now, in order to make my case, I had to do actual research for something..... a little nerdy. I don't care what you say, I had to have some numbers to go by. Before I get comments about how it's not real, your mother is and so were her orgasms last night.

Ok, here we go. According to The Technical Book of Science Fiction Films, the population of the Death Star was approximately 31,622,963. I have no earthly idea how someone thinks of this, but those same people probably also have no idea how I get my ideas. I got this information here, so check it out yourself (yes, people do talk about these things). I'm fairly sure someone got beat up and urinated on to come up with this number, but we're going to use it for the sake of argument. Now let's say the average person squeezes the dragon at least three times per 24-hour period. The average output of urine daily could be somewhere around a healthy 2000ml, which is about 0.53 gallons. This means every day the Death Star is not only losing massive imaginary amounts of food and drink including stock from the Snapple machines, it's populous is producing around 16,696,925 gallons of pee pee; not to mention that's 94,868,889 trips to the potty. Here's the problem. Where does all of this fictional piss go? Do they have a Giant Death Star Pissy Puddle Recycling Plant, where Storm Troopers eventually end up drinking the last shift's green tea? Even if that were the case, you still have those pesky laws of science which makes sure matter never goes away; so basically, it has to go somewhere. Since outer space is immensely freezing, you would have to shoot the pee out at high velocities to keep it from freezing up on the outside shell and thus making the Death Star, the Big Pee Ball with Green Planet Blower-upper Thingy. No one wants their planet obliterated by a giant ball of frozen piss.

Firing streams of urine would result in giant yellow icicles moving at speeds only the Flash and William Hung's singing career can compete with. At 65,881 gallons per minute, you can be sure that eventually planets, spaceships, and the occasional droid will be impaled by an enormous pissicle the size of the Kraken's penis and utterly humiliated by anyone that narrowly escaped death at the hands of this golden shower javelin - A much more embarassing death than falling out of one of Bob Ross' happy little trees.

 The next time you're at Waffle House, I guarantee you're going to remember (and most likely fear) Star Wars and the deadly tinkle spears falling out of the sky. If the atmosphere's like ours, it might just splash down over you with a slight chance of Sith juice. Then the force will be with you like you wouldn't believe.

Saturday, August 1, 2009

Into the Mind of Nothingness - Part 2

There are several things that come to mind when faced with utter boredom. Many people claim to be "random". They have not even a clue as to what that means. Just to say "I am random" first of all, doesn't really mean anything. Here's the definition of the word random from :


  1. lacking aim or method; purposeless; haphazard
So basically, these same people have an agenda and very direct path in life to tell you plainly, "I am purposeless". Although I can very honestly communicate with you that my thought patterns aren't really patterns and are very random (without purpose or method), just like getting your rocks off, there's a sweet release to be gotten whenever I share my ideas with the general populous.

Last night I was talking to a friend on the phone and I suddenly thought that, for the sake of evolution, people should be bred with little pockets of deodorant that grow on your armpits like pimples, then all you have to do is simply pop it and rub it in. Sure, the scientific results could prove to be poisonous to humans in the beginning stages, but you know what they say about making omelets.
After that half-hour conversation, I then thought it should be mandatory by law that cereal be sold together with a serving of milk (at least until the milk goes bad; then you could separate 'em). Not only that, but also it would come with a spoon at a perfect size and every portion is calculated by top scientists to make the milk/cereal ratio come out completely even every time. Your very last bite would consist of an even amount of both milk and long as you're not a criminal and try to make it end up different. An attempt like that would make damn well sure according to the full extent of the law that you're stripped down naked and stapled to AstroTurf while senior citizens play miniature golf without their glasses around your body and you pray to God that they don't lose track of the ball. Old people get mad when roughage gets in the way of their shot.

Even though sometimes I think things would be easier if people would just do things because I just came up with them, not all of my ideas should be performed by children, pregnant woman, and midgets with heart conditions. For instance, I believe that the makers of Yo Gabba Gabba should send everyone who's forced to watch their program psychedelic mushrooms so that we can understand what the hell they tried to come up with.

All women should be required to join a gym and get breast augmentations at seventeen years of age (if they're naturally big, we could let it slide until they do). To be fair, all men should be required to have one wife and three mistresses.....yeah, that'll teach us. Greasy cheesburgers should come with a pair of prosthetic hands that will hold on to said burger as we hold on to them for the sole purpose of not having to wipe our greasy hands on our pants which results in our wives having to stop working out and wash our pants... That would be counter productive.

The hand could then be donated to local bands of gorillas to help scoop their poop and have cleaner, more efficiant launches at passers-by.

In the hopes to understand me better, remember that people aren't random. The phrase in general is about as annoying as the word "bromance". I'm sorry, but if you got romance going on with your brother, there's another word for that.

Monday, July 27, 2009

The Couch.......The Epitome of Man's Best Friend

With the toy show completely flopping and me having that really hot and itchy diarrhea, you would think I had a pretty bad weekend; but actually aside from sitting in the stall and for five second straight I thought I heard someone dumping three hundred pounds of potatoes into a tub of Jello, it wasn't all that bad. Someone recommended to me a site called ECrater which is like ebay, only free. Don't get me started on how much I hate ebay, though. I'd rather just skip the middle man and send my stuff out to random people, while at the same time sending ebay my firstborn and a gift certificate for one free middle finger.

Just in case one of my three readers are concerned, I'm not being evicted, I came up with the money... and I'm not a gigilo yet, but I haven't taken that off my list of possibilities.

Last night I checked my email for the second time this month and found I received one from the marketing coordinator at Apparently they've read my blog and want to feature it on their site. Well, obviously because I'm a man's man. I pee in the shower and I just found out what napkins are used for. I roll the windows up in the car just before I fart and I don't wash my hands after using the restroom. Whatever I'm supposed to do, I'll do it later. I love fake boobs, slutty women, any food with massive, rediculous amounts of meat and cheese, ultimate fighting, jobs that pay in Jack Daniel's, and teaching my daughter to love Batman. I think that at least qualifies my man card to be punched enough for a free sandwich or something. With all of this free stuff these sites are getting with featuring my writing, I seriously need to get a paying gig, like that guy that tells people to be quiet at the golf course. I'm sure he makes a buttload of cash. Maybe someone should pay me to point out that Sid the Science Kid doesn't have any teeth........crap, I just gave it away.