A Small Part of Me

Ladies and gentlemen, I have an announcement to make. It is with great pride and the sincerest feelings of honor and humility (I can do that, I swear) that I would like to share with you this piece of groundbreaking and life-altering information: I have a massive and truly impressive penis and a pair of tremendous testicles that would make Jesus Christ himself shiver with envy. Let me elaborate.....

I first realized that my man-stick was, in fact, a monument to humanity when I was a young boy. Living life in possession of a daunting piece of pants-meat, though, was not always easy. Many a time did I find myself turning around too swiftly in the small classrooms of those days and nearly putting out the eyes of classmates with my enormous cock, or forgetting to fully reel in my gigantic phallus after relieving myself and slamming it in the bathroom door as it dragged behind me.

Do not, however, allow me to lead you to the conclusion that my summer-sausage sized trouser snake has been anything but a blessing. Oh, quite on the contrary! How I cherish the sound of stupid whores gasping in both terror and delight as my rippling flesh rocket and softball sized nuts are revealed in their full glory. How could one put a price on the look on the face of some tight-snatched harlot as she catches her first glimspe of the splendor that is my pork steeple?

How large, however, is my meaty flesh stick and pair of perfectly circular and delectable balls? Allow me to explain... Should my junk be compared with your average space shuttle, one would notice that my hammer-headed butter slinger dwarfs even the most impressive of NASA's space vehicles. Ladies and gentlemen, it is that big. Oh yes, it is that big.

And where would I be without the industrial-strength sack that I have in which to carry my rotund and girthy meatballs? Nowhere, you can bet the kids' college fund on that. My pink nut satchel is the Robin to the Batman that is comprised collectively of my left and right testicular wonders. In conjunction with my jeans-tube, it creates the most impressive and truly awe-inspiring combo of meaty round delight and giant-cigar shaped wonderment anyone could reasonably expect from any person.

Am I, then, simply being pompous and arrogant? Well, one could lay the claim that when you have a sister-crippler like I do then there is nobody who can contest anything I say as a result of my thick stick. In fact, anyone who has the audacity to speak ill of my fabulously robust dick is more than welcome, as far as I am concerned, to suck on my aforementioned tube steak.

Initially, this post was meant to be a brilliant dissertation on the magnificence of my junk, but in explaining the true brilliance of my shit I believe I have stumbled across what is possibly the greatest discovery ever in the history of humanity - I am hung like the average orangutan.

And yes, I am very fucking proud.

Fucking proud, indeed.

Shit Falling Out of My Brain

I'm sitting at work right now hungover and trying to kill time until I get to escape. Naturally, the first thing that came to my pounding mind was to write about whatever came to me. Here are just a few of the things that are bouncing around in my head. Be warned.

1. I wonder how long it will be before an employer or prospective employer finds this little weblog I write and fires my ass. I mean, I really do not ever write about anything of any real value here. Every other word I use is "fuck" or some derivative of that word. I routinely make fun of homeless people, talk about wanting to blowing up more abortion clinics than Eric Rudolph, detail my debaucherous nights, and generally promote the downfall of humanity. I am pretty good at it, though. So, am I going to clean this shit up and produce more wholesome and educating articles and posts? No fucking way. I like to swear and make fun of crack heads. Few things give me greater pleasure. And if I can make my friends laugh because of what I write then that is only extra incentive to keep writing this disgusting and utterly worthless drivel.

2. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fucking fuckity fuck fuck. Fucker. Fuck. Fuck. Hahahahahahaha.

3. America Idol is starting again. Fucking fuck am I fucking excited!!! Oh fuck! Am I being sarcastic? You decide. Here is a list of things I would rather do than watch American Idol:
Watch a puppy die.
See Rosie O'Donnell naked.
Stand between a fat woman and the buffet table.
Parachute-less skydiving.
Anything having to do with centipedes and my genitalia.
American Idol!! Catch the fucking fever!!!

4. Boobs. Such a great word for such a great thing. Just wonderful. Absolutely wonderful. Boobs.

5. Ann Coulter is a loud-mouth, pickle-licking, baby-kicking, shit-eating, whorebag bitch who couldn't make a lucent argument that she is fucking Ann Coulter! I haven't cut loose about this bitch for too long and now I'm fucking angry. Angry and tired. But mostly angry. I can't even decide if she is good-looking or not. I've got a thousand dollars that says she is totally into bondage and loves to beat the shit out of whoever is unlucky enough to be captured by and forced to sleep with her. I'm certain that she has a dungeon in her home. And when you enter your soul is sucked into the fiery pits of hell. And she kicks puppies. Whore.

The Day of Reckoning

I turned 21 on December 17, 2006. Having done so, I contend that on that day I drank enough to kill an average-sized horse. Here is the transcript of my day:

1:03pm - Wake up still drunk from the night before. Today is the 16th of December. In 11 hours I will be of legal age to do what I have been doing since I was 15. Oh, and I can drink, too.

1:04 - First beer of the day. It will be a long and memory-less day. God save me.

1:06 - Second beer of the day. Friends assure me that I can drink slower and that there is, in fact, more beer. I tell them that they are crazy and that beer tends to drink itself if left alone. I drink faster.

1:32 - First insults hurled at all friends who are not turning 21. As it turns out, there are only 2 present. Insult 2 people mercilessly.

1:33 - Am reminded that I am also not 21 yet. Assholes.

2:01 - Beer.

3:06 - Hard alcohol. Lots of it.

4:23 - I am fucking wasted. Slurred speech? Yep. Glassy eyes? You know it. Fat chick in my bed? Not yet, but probably later.

5:00 - I am becoming witty and charming to everyone around me. People love to hear me yell at them and sing mumbled, drunken Phil Collins songs. That's right. I listened to Phil Collins on my birthday. Jesus ain't got shit on me.

5:07 - Point out to nobody in particular that I am the best looking man in the room. Point out to the homely looking girl my friends brought by that I might not even be the ugliest girl in the room.

5:08 - Ugly girl slaps me.

6:42 - Notice Sharpy marks on my arm. Turns out friends have been keeping track of how many shot I take. Why did I not notice this until now?

7:18 - Friend Tom brings the Newcastle. My fate is sealed. (Side note: Only two kinds of alcohol signal the point of no return for me - Steel Reserve (extra side note: only to be consumed when you are fresh out of gasoline or sweat squeezed out of Rosie O'Donnell socks) and Newcastle. God knows why such a delectable beer would consistently and without fail ruin me.)

8:00 - I am jumping on couches and beating my chest like Tarzan. Tarzan is probably more clothed than I am, though.

9:24 - Memory gone. I'm certain I did something fun at this time, but alcohol has the tendency to steal things from you. Like dignity, money, and brain cells.

10:00 - Walk (read: basically fall) into Murphy's, a Marquette campus bar.

10:01 - Am surprised to learn that Marquette's bars consider me to be of legal age. I do as well. Take first legal shot.

10:02 - Second legal shot

10:03 - 3rd and 4th legal shots. I am going to die. Of this, I am certain.

10:08 - Cement Mixer. I take it like a man. Inside, however, I feel like a six year old girl who just got hit with a golf club.

10:37 - Man up and shoot pool. I am on fire. How is this possible? I am bobbing and weaving and cannot differentiate between stripes and solids. Whatever, I still win 20 bucks. Christ I'm good.

11:48 - Leave Murphy's. Head for Water St. I might as well be headed to Baghdad. My friends have a look about them that makes me think they are trying to kill me.

11:49 - Am alerted to the fact that my friends are trying to kill me. By my friends.

12:00am - Officially 21. Officially toasted. Officially black out. All memories from here on out are made up or provided second hand.

12:23 - My friends send as many girls as possible to dance with me. I am told the next day that I "danced like a champion."

1:04 - More shots, of course. I can't even work the automatic doors at the grocery store anymore. Which makes opening my zipper to piss just that much harder.

1:05 - Manage to not piss all over myself. I am victorious. I congratulate myself with more shots.

1:06 - 2:05 - Life as I know does not exist. I may very well have traveled to a different planet, but I would not know.

8:03am - Wake up in friends' apartment. Fully clothed with huge cuts and scratched on left bicep and right elbow. I took a massive spill, obviously.

8:09 - Walk the 8 blocks to my apartment. No coat. No hat. No dignity. I am still drunk. Very very drunk.

9:07 - Screwdrivers, Bloody Mary's, Miller Lite. Today should be a good day.

9:34 - Pass out, drink in hand.

1:23pm - Wake up, balls hanging out of the front of my boxers . Walk into living room, with balls unknowingly still hanging out, and find several friends passed out on my couches.

1:24 - Tuck nuts back into boxers. Fall asleep again. No fat chicks. No serious injuries. I am alive. And I am 21.

My friends stopped marking down how many shots I took after 27. So, unofficially, I took approximately 40 shots in addition to the untold number of beers and mixed drinks I consumed. How am I alive? My momma don't raise no losers.

Anyone want to go out drinking with me?

Boom Goes the Propane Tank

Holy fucking shit, Batman!!! An asplosion!!! Wednesday morning at about 8:10am I was sitting on the edge of my bed tying my shoes before leaving for work when my fucking apartment started shaking. My first thought, of course, was "who the fuck drove a car into my building?" I soon found out, though, that a propane tank had exploded in a factory building about 20 blocks from where I live, leveling the 1.5 million sq. ft. warehouse, injuring over 40 people and killing 3. Obviously this propane tank was just slightly bigger than the one suburban yuppies use to grill their tofu burgers. This is pretty sad so I'm not going to make a joke about it, but it also was pretty intense. Walking out of my apartment and seeing the smoke rising above the Menominee Valley and the flames shooting out of the gutted building made me start thinking about things I would like to blow up. I've provided this handy list for you in case you have been wondering. If you haven't, well, read it anyway. It can't hurt to practice your reading skills, ignoramus.

Here ya go:

1. The Scrub-A-Dub car wash next to my house.
I swear to everything holy that I am on the edge of twisting off and nuking the fucking car wash. The next time I am woken up on Saturday morning at 7:30am by gangsta rap blasting from a purple Impala with fake rims I am going to start shooting. . . Remember when I wrote about how I need someone to hate for no reason? Bear that in mind when reading what I write next. . . Every fucking weekend I am woken up by screaming black people who can't decide if 50 Cent is better than Nelly (that's a stupid argument, too, as they both suck fat donkey cock). I don't give a shit if your car costs more than your house - and I'm certain that it does - you don't need to be fucking clean it at such a ridiculous hour. How the fuck is it that you can't wake up and go get a fucking job but you make it a sacred ritual to vacuum your car directly below my fucking window every Saturday? Hey Hey, Ho Ho, the Scrub-A-Dub is gonna blow!!!!! I hate you, carwash. Next.

2. The Mall
Children running around knocking shit over. Retarded parents screaming at those children in vain. High school douche bags wandering around aimlessly. Cell phone salesmen every twelve goddamn feet. The morbidly obese cows stuffing themselves in the food court. Nearly everything about the fucking mall pisses me off. Sure it's cool for picking up aging women with three kids or buying the coolest and newest piece of shit at Hot Topic, but with few other exceptions the mall is pretty much the commercial and social equivalent of having your gay uncle beat the shit out of you and then show the pictures of it to your friends. After he rapes you with a stick. And the thing with the stuffed panda bear that somehow got on the internet. You know what I'm talking about. Do you know how often I have to wade through the sea of cock-smoking delinquents doing nothing in a store just to find whatever it is I'm looking for? Never, because I don't go to the mall. But if I did you can bet your kids' lives that I would have to. I know these things. I didn't even have to go there to find out. Clairvoyance. That's what I'm all about. Next soon-to-be crater.

3. Planned Parenthood
After I get my free condoms. And STD test. And some RU486. Then that fucking place is gone. I live quite literally 400 feet from a Planned Parenthood building. And I've seen the crackheads and other people that seem to be drawn to it like moths to bright light. I'm not saying that I have to blow up every Planned Parenthood in the country, just the one by my apartment. Eric Rudolph already tried that. He only got 2. I've done my research and found that there are 117 Planned Parenthood clinics in America. That means that he only got 1.7% of the clinics in the country. Pathetic. Obviously, there is a reason for this. My friend told me it was the police or something like that, but, you know.... I mean, my friend is kind of a dipshit, but it probably was the cops, you know. Whatever. Anyway, if that fucking place isn't sterilizing their patients then it is doing no good. It's inefficient and losing money, and if Planned Parenthood is about anything, it's the bottom line! So in fact, I'm doing Planned Parenthood a favor by blowing up this one little building on Wisconsin Ave. in Milwaukee. Nobody will even notice. If nothing else panhandling in the area will almost cease. Why is this? You guessed it. I'm putting all of the crackheads in the building before I blow it up. How am I going to do this? Yep, that's right. Magic. I do it all the time. I stand in front of the mirror in my bedroom and chant the magic words I'd fuck me while pretending to be Buffalo Bill from Silence of the Lambs. And then I have a tea party with my stuffed animals. Girls think I'm sexy!!

More to come.....

Late Night Thoughts

It's been a while, it's late as hell, and I just received some inspiration in the form of a terrible, terrible, foul piece of writing a friend of mine presented to me. To be honest, it made me question any type of faith in or hope I may have for humanity. Not really. But it's pretty biased and vulgar so I figured it was worthy of putting up here. But first, I need to complain about little kids. Why little kids, you ask? Because lots of people like to bitch about kids, and it makes me seem badass, you know, like, I just don't care and shit, and, man...... I got off track. Anyway, I saw some kids in the mall today in the store while waiting for the return of my guest writing friend's computer and one thought came to mind. Shouldn't these kids be on leashes? That was quite seriously the very first thing that came to me as I saw three rich suburban tweeners nearly convulsing with joy while playing the Blue's Clues computer game. It made me think of how much of a douche I was when I was 9 or 10 years old. I know for a fact I was a prick, but watching these kids, I was actually filled with anger that they were let loose into the world that I nearly kicked the one with braces only on the top teeth (as compared to Dipshit McOverbite sporting rims on both sides of the grill) squarely in the face. I declined, however, as the security at the Apple store looked menacing with their badges in iPod holders and cool walkie talkies. Also, I try to make it a policy not to hit kids. Unless I can get money from their parents. You have no idea how many parents don't beat their kids but will pay someone to do it. That someone is me, friends. That someone is me.

Anyway, on to G-Spot's unedited, absolutely uneducating, angry rant about academia. Good luck.

While being new at college I tend to notice that the world is really fucked up. The people who inhabit this piece of shit rock called earth really have no fucking clue what’s going on. The people who go to college are the worst of the incompetent, and worthless bunch. These, actually, we people pay money to take classes full of information we drink or smoke or blow away within hours. And even if we do remember it for the future, what the fuck does half the shit we learn even matter? Take a look:

1. History- Great, let us soak up and memorize instead of learn every little fact of manipulated, falsified, and unessential shit that we read or are told about. The people who write these book write with a bias, even if you’re told they don’t. Plus, if you have time to fucking write a book full of unoriginal ideas and manipulated facts…. fuck you and kill your self because you are worthless, too.
2. English- umm that’s funny but I believe the English I learned in 2^nd 3^rd 4^th 5^th 6^th 7^th 8^th 9^th 10^th 11^th and 12^th grades is the same as in fucking college. I’ll answer that for you inept salad tossers- it hasn’t changed, so stop trying to tell me my writing needs to conform to some strict guideline that some pole smoker came up with.
3. Philosophy- Great so now I know how to sound like a fuckbag asshole and tell someone they employ weak deductive reasoning or they are too ambiguous with their word choice. Fuck that. How 'bout I just tell them they are worthless and need to contemplate jumping off a bridge?
4. Foreign language- Fuck you, AMERICAN and AMERICAN is what yall should speak… my president and history book told me so. Damn foreigners. All I need is a gun. And Jesus. These colors don’t run!
5. Political science- And, finally… Why should we study fucking politics when we vote on one issue and are so far out of touch with our politicians that we are not even represented. We have no voice because the fucking polygamists, robbers and murders in Washington are part of a pre-established fraternity that we are not allowed to join. Elections are bought, always with our hard earned money that could be spent on more important things like hookers and pot. Politics are a joke, and a wonderful way to shade our worthless eyes from how fucked up we really are.

So, we pay 100,000 dollar to forget everything and pay even more money for booze. We get out of college and either pay more money to learn more dumb shit or go out into the real world which will ultimately lead to conformity and mindlessness. We are fucked, and every one of us helps to lube the ass of society.

Having said that, I would like to note that I share same cheery outlook on life as the real author of this fine weblog. Peace be with you, and Jesus saves, and, you know, shit like that.

G-Spot

Wow. I don't know how to respond. Should I make a joke about fat people? I think so. The funniest thing I have seen in a very long time happened to me a short while ago at a local grocery store. I was walking in to the store in time to see a woman who was holding at least four hundred lb. on her probably skinny frame (probably) crash her Rascal scooter into a Coke display knocking the boxes of soda all over the place and onto her well detailed, maroon fat-ass carrying machine, hitting her in the process. As I laughed my ass off because I'm a douchebag, this monument to enormity actually managed to pry herself from the seat of her scooter and pulled the fucking thing out of the mess - she stood up and pulled it, why the fuck did she need it if she could pull it? Shit I'll never know - and scoot off from the scene. For all I know that fat bitch is still on the loose terrorizing the candy and steak aisles.

Enough already. Fuck me.

Shut The Fuck Up

Have you ever been out on a weekend night, perhaps admiring the fine drinking-type establishments on Marquette's campus from a distance, and overheard any of the following phrases?

Dude I'm soooo wasted. I musta drank like forty shots of grain alcohol.

or
That bitch was such a slut! She sucked for twenty minutes and never took her mouth off.

or
I gotta get laid tonight. I brought my "A" game.

or
So I was railing this chick in the bathroom back at Caffree's and....


I'm sure that you have. Now allow me to systematically and efficiently rip new assholes for the cock-mongers that spew these wholly untrue (shocking, I know) statements.

Dear Guy Who Says This Shit,

Please know that before I go any further I want you to die a slow and painful death, preferably from cholera, dysentary, or any other disease made popular by the Oregon Trail computer game. Also know that I am trying to help you discontinue your journey down the path to douchebag-dom. Down to business.

You need to stop saying anything that you think makes you sound like a badass. Why? Easy, you're a pole-smoking dipshit who couldn't get laid with a fistful of twenties in a whorehouse. You are an inept piece of shit and you have to realize this before I can help you.

You need to stop making audible predictions to everyone regarding the possibility of you getting laid. Here is the rule: If you talk about it more than once you are trying too hard and you are going to end up tugging it while watching The Smurfs and crying.

You need to stop making shit up about "laying the pipe in the alley behind the bar." First, that's fucking gross. I'm being completely honest when I say that if you can't wait ten minutes for a cab to take you and you're cumdumpster home but you can successfully take said jizz-receptacle to the back alley for a parting of the beef curtain then you are an impatient asshole and you penetrate common street trash. Second, you are a liar. There is no alley behind Caffree's. Tell the truth, cocksucker!!

You need to stop talking about your "A" game. You have no game. You don't even have a "D" game. You are a loser. Shut up.

Fuck it, you need to shoot yourself. In the stomach. You can survive a stomach wound like that for over a day. After that shoot yourself in the head. You won't survive that, asshole.

Bastard.

Love,

Michael

I've Been In Jail

I have returned. Jail was an eye-opening experience. Especially when you've been convicted of possessing child/midget porn and an entire hard-drive full of child on midget on horse porn. I guess my tastes are slightly different than the rest. Whatever, I'll never give up my tiny person-tiny person-huge animal fetish. Never. As an apology to my 7 readers I will write the most offensive and foul-mouthed post ever. As Samuel L. Jackson said in Jurassic Park, "Hold onto your butts..."

I need a racial prejudice. Or a non-racial prejudice. I don't give a flying fuck. Some people hate black people simply because they are black. I don't, and can't, really. It seems like a stupid reason to hate anyone. But I need one. I want to be a bigoted piece of shit and I want to be one for no particular reason. So, here is the list of people I could potentially hate for no reason at all:

Asians - Unfortunately there are just too many of them to hate. And they're so cute with their little slanty eyes and broken Engrish. Plus, I mean, come on . . . Me so horny!! Me ruv you rong time!! Hahahahaha. Ohh, who am I kidding? I just can't hate them. It's like hating a puppy. Impossible.

The Elderly - "Old people die. . . it's what they do. . ." Old School summed up the purpose of the elderly in one line. Beautiful. Distressing, though, as I may very well live long enough to become elderly. Fuck. I can't hate someone I might become.

Christians/Muslims/Jews/Religious People/Pagans/Satanists - They may be morons. They may be misguided. They may slaughter goats in ritual sacrifice to Satan. But they've been doing so for thousands of years and still nobody seems to notice the absolute lunacy of organized religion. I guess maybe these organizations are smarter than I give them credit for. Or the followers are even dumber than I thought. Either way I'm both scared and impressed. Can't hate something or someone that impresses me with and incredible amount of stupidity. Fuck they are dumb.

College Students - Hey! That's me!! (I'm giving myself the finger for even thinking about grouping myself with the rest of these dipshits) Can't hate myself.

People Who Do Volunteer Work - Do you feel warm and fuzzy inside when you get scammed?I'll bet you do. I try to be helpful here, so please, listen to my advice when I tell you that you are getting screwed. Or helping out a whole lot, I don't really know or care. All I'm saying is that if someone wants me to work, he had better fucking pay me. 'Cause the only important thing in the world is money. And owning a flying car. Which can be bought with money. Money you idiots won't be making doing labor for nothing. Dumbasses. Flying cars rule!!

Gay People - Hahahaha. Fags!!! You are all, like, so queeeeeeeerrr!!! Ugghhhhhh, look those two guys are holding hands!! That's not what God intended!! It's Adam and Eve not Adam and Steve. Fags!! God, I'm so much better than those people because they are gay and don't have anyone inferior to hate. Praise the Lord and pass the ammo!!! I'ma go shoot me a rump ranger!! Yeehaaa!!!

Goths - Bingo. I had to go to the mall this weekend. (I hate the mall. And the people who frequent the mall.) Goths, everywhere. Goths to the left. Goths to the right. Downtrodden, forlorn teenagers who write angsty poetry and pretend to be serious when talking about slitting their wrists and ending it all. Well, I'm waiting.... You are from suburban Milwaukee, a city located in, last time I checked, fucking AMERICA!! What the fuck do you have to be so sad about. Your fucking parents are required to care and provide for you and you live in the most comfortable and safe nation in the entire fucking world!!! Fuck you!! BUT THE BIRDS ARE DYING AND LIFE IS SO SAD!!! Yeah? Fuck you. Get a job. Stop wasting your parents' money buying black nail polish and $75 jeans from Hot Topic in an attempt to separate yourself from the "harsh, cruel, callous world." (That's a direct quote from a goth, by the way) Just. Die. Now.

We have a winner. From this point forward I will harbor and intense hatred of all people of the "goth"persuasion. They suck. I don't need a reason to hate them. I think it's obvious why I do. Black nail polish? You're a dude. Get fucked.

....and no, I haven't been in jail. I've been lazy and busy. And drunk.....

Don't EVER Steal From Me

I caught someone stealing from me on Friday night. He wasn't trying to steal my wallet or my identity or my girlfriend, this wretched piece of shit actually went into my apartment and tried to steal my shit. And I caught him. Red-handed. He took off. I caught him. I beat the living shit out of him. I extracted a promise from him to never steal again. He will break that promise, no doubt. Asshole. This is what will happen to you if you ever steal from me. This is what else will happen:

1. I'ma kill yo ass.

2. I'm going to force feed your testicle to you and then kick you in your empty sack just so that you know you are no longer in possession of a working pair of nuts.

3. Ever been sodomized by an angry lion? You will be if you steal from me.

4. Do you know why small children and animals eat rat poison? Because it tastes sweet. You are going to find this out first-hand. Because I'm going to force about 8 lbs of it down your fucking throat.

5. Pirannhas will be employed to eat your face.

6. Am I going to repeatedly hit you in the spine with a baseball bat? You bet I am.

7. There are numerous tall buildings in the Milwaukee area. I'm throwing you off one of them.

The moral of this all - don't fucking steal from me. I don't go into your house and take shit from you while you are gone, please extend the same courtesy to me. Or I'll kill you. And if you think I'm kidding, then fucking try me.

Fucking thief.

Entertaining? Eh. Insightful? No. Beyond Fucked Up? Certainly

I wrote the following poem during work today. Ummmmm, I can't even describe or explain it - and I wrote the fucking thing. I just don't know. Whatever.

How does one define or quantify the values he holds?
Impossible . . . or at the very least difficult.
Kill all the infidels!!
Introspection is a gift one gives to himself.
Self understanding is what he receives in return.
I don't bone fat chicks.
Day after day, I struggle to learn what it is that gives me value and defines me.
Day after day I learn that the more I know the more I want to know.
So I'm balls deep in this nine-year-old and my clown nose falls off . . .
The search for self-knowledge is endless
The knowledge of oneself is priceless
The best way to get rid of the dead-hooker smell is Lysol
Undoubtedly, there is more to know than any person could learn in ten lifetimes
Though seemingly daunting, this can also be a driving force in the quest for self-knowledge
Having sex with your boss's wife is the best way to earn a promotion
Look inside, see yourself, know what it is that makes you work
And you will see far beyond what meets the ordinary eye
The University of Wisconsin promotes the rape of defenseless animals

I don't even know what to say about this. It's different, so, whatever. God help my twisted mind.

A Bit Chilly

New Years Day. It is 8 degrees Fahrenheit. You have just consumed an entire bottle of jager. Before 11am. What do you do next?

Well, if you are me you wear a toga and a santa hat and jump into Lake Michigan with the Polar Bear Club.

Ode to a Crackhead

I've been reading through some of my previous posts and I realized that I haven't written anything recently about crackheads. This is slightly worse than alarming to me since I relied heavily on the unintentional comedy provided by these monuments to human achievement to carry my first few posts on this little thing I like to call a weblog. Well, no longer will I neglect the three-toothed bum that lives next to the Scrub-A-Dub or the woman with no eyebrows who calls 23rd St. her home. I am not responsible for the stupid shit that follows. May god have mercy on my soul.

I present:

Ode to a Crackhead

Crackheads abound, with them streets are filled
Minus a couple, for crack they were killed
Pleasant and friendly, they're always polite
Except when they're cracked out and roaming at night
Looking for quarters, or small animals to be eaten
Only some white rocks their deal could sweeten
But Lou's not around, that worthless crack slinger
He's banging his third wife, a low-rent lounge singer
And the only dealer around at this ridiculous hour
Cuts his shit with Drano, Ajax and flour
What must a man do to find him some rocks
Must he resort to slobbing on cocks
On the gay side of town to feed his desire
To put crack in a pipe and to touch it with fire
To fry up his brain as smoke curls in his mouth
Oh Shit! Muthafucka! He knows some dude on South
Where the street intersects at an awkward degree
Bitch, he gettin' his rocks, but shit they ain't free
Looks like another bag paid for on his knees
Don't look for a moral because there ain't one
Just another dumb crackhead whose mission is done

Worthy of the Pulitzer? I think yes.

How to be a Bigot

Ever wonder how you, too, can be a bigoted asshole? Well, wonder no longer. Here is the answer:

In order to be a bigot, or at least prove to the world that you are a bigot, you must first live next door to a certain ruggedly handsome guy with a seldom read weblog.

After you accomplish this task you have to buy beer. Lots of beer.

Sit down on your balcony with the aforementioned soon-to-be-famous writer and proceed to drink lots of the beer.

Talk casually about anything that comes to mind.

Realize that your ruggedly handsome neighbor is vastly smarter than you can ever hope to be.

Become jealous, but remember that you are too stupid to recognize this jealousy.

Try to impress your benevolent and intellectually superior neighbor by using big words incorrectly and out of context. Smile nervously as he laughs at you for being an idiot.

Continue talking.

Realize that your neighbor is so well-versed in the ways of the world that he can talk at will about nearly any subject.

Begin talking about sports.

Claim that the runner on 3rd should have tagged up with 2 outs.

Get laughed at. Again.

Suddenly realize that you are all drunk.

Start yelling things from the balcony to the people passing by below.

Watch as ruggedly handsome neighbor leaves to go to the bar.

Continue to watch as he and his friends (some of whom happen to be women, which undoubtedly makes you jealous) get into a cab.

Scream at the top of your lungs to the cab driver (who is Indian) "Yeah! Get the fuck out of here you fuckin' foreigner! Fuck you!"

How to cure yourself of your bigotry:

Get raped by a donkey.


Fucking bigots.

A Day in the Life

7:15 - Wake up. Hit snooze. Fall back asleep.

7:37 - Wake up again because alarm has been going off for 7 minutes. Smash alarm clock with fist. Fucking clock.

7:46 - Shower. Marvel at the size of my penis. Almost slip in the shower. Perform miraculous and acrobatic aerial maneuver to save my ass.

8:01 - Drink first of nineteen cups of coffee.

8:03 - Drink second of nineteen cups of coffee.

8:07 - Put on pants.

8:09 - Put on shirt.

8:10 - Rebutton shirt because first attempt was a failure.

8:20 - Start wishing I didn't have to go to work. Begin thinking of excuses for being four hours late.

8:35 - Leave for work.

8:39 - Get cut off for the first time. Give finger. Yell obscenities.

8:55 - Arrive at work. Stare at hot intern from my office.

9:35 - Still haven't done anything productive.

10:19 - Look at first case file. Auto claim. Boring. Nap time.

11:37 - Wake up from nap. Time for lunch.

12:01 - Return to my apartment. Have first of six beers. Proceed to drink the other five.

12:58 - Decide to return to work. I got shit to do.

1:27 - Return to work. Sit in my office. Decide not to do anything.

2:00 - Boss walks in the office. Asks about the service of a subpoena - the one thing I've actually done this week. Yes!! Tell him it's all taken care of and that the other intern is a lazy piece of shit. Receive hearty congratulations.

2:31 - Decide that my time here is done. I've put in a good day's work. Time to start drinking.

2:49 - Return to apartment. Start on the tequila.

3:31 - Passed out drunk.

5:43 - Friends stop by. It's time to go to the bar.

6:12 - Finish my fourth Vodka and Tonic. Alcohol is my friend.

6:28 - Hit on hot girl at the bar. She doesn't slap me or turn the other way. I'm in.

6:31 - Tell her fellatio is a precursor to receiving shiny things from me. Get slapped.

6:32 - Jager bombs. Lots of them.

7:00 - Leave the bar. After being asked. By the owner. Who is holding a gun. And pointing it at me.

7:20 - Arrive at the next bar. Immediately order tequila shots.

7:32 - I am a fucking wasteland. Time to pull my shit together.

7:34 - Order Vodka and Red Bull. I immediately perk up. My fate is sealed.

8:00 - Start telling girls that I am rich.

8:03 - I am surrounded by girls who think I'm rich.

8:05 - Call them all gold-digging whores.

8:06 - I am no longer surrounded by hot girls.

9:02 - Go to new bar.

9:07 - Consume half of what would have been my 17th drink of the day. Other half migrates down the front of my shirt.

9:35 - The fat chick saddled up to the bar is looking really good right now.

9:37 - Ask friends if the fat girl is really as fat as she seems.

9:38 - Friends tell me to go for it.

9:39 - Tell friends to fuck themselves for trying to make me hit on fat girl.

11:00 - 2:12 - (Scene missing)

2:17 - Wake up at apartment with no pants, half eaten Taco Bell on the table, and a girl passed out in my bed.

2:18 - Smile.

2:20 - Wake her up and make her night better.

3:12 - Fall asleep exhausted and drunk.

7:15 - Wake up and kick girl out. Start day anew.

A Very Important Question

Introspective interrogation, in the vast majority of cases, can only result in better self understanding which often leads to personal betterment. I often sit down and think about where I stand in respect to certain issues and questions pertaining to me, and in doing so I was led to a very natural question that is pertinent to many people. How many 8 year olds could I fight at one time?

There are a few stipulations that must be addressed. The 8 year olds are all about the same in terms of strength and stamina and each will continue fighting me until dead or incapacitated. No pansy-ass 2nd graders allowed, each kid keeps on coming. There are no weapons involved and each side, the 8 year olds and myself, has one day to train. Here is an objective analysis of what would result if (god-willing) this ever happens:

I am a pretty big guy (6'5", 195lbs), but I am by no means anyone who could double as a NYC bouncer or a UFC fighter. Having said that, after all is said and done I believe I could take 54 eight year olds. Here is the breakdown:

The first line of 8 year olds would surely charge at me. They would jump on me and immediately try to overwhelm me. This, of course, will not work. I will simply single each out and deliver quick and calculated jabs to each individual face I see. You see, these stupid fucking 8 year olds will concern themselves with taking me out in one shot whereas I will incapacitate as many as possible, leaving them on the floor writhing in pain and unable to return immediately to the fight. Doing this will allow me to return later to the ones that I don't immediately kill and take them out as well.
Initial death toll - 12

Soon, though, the second wave of these little bastards will be upon me. I will undoubtedly be tired from the first wave that I valiantly fought off, but, like the superhero I am, I will never ignore my duty to destroy the lives of young children. In response to this next wave I will immediately grab the first kid that comes at me and use him as a battering ram to break the line of little devils coming at me. By separating them I will be able to quickly pick out single targets and deliver jabs to the face, knocking those kids unconscious and allowing me to come back to them later. After eliminating enough single targets I will undoubtedly be able to take out the rest of the group that hasn't been turned into cream-of-child soup.
Secondary death toll - 14 +12 = 26

Don't let anyone tell you differently, 8 year olds are not nearly as dumb as they seem (they can't possibly be). After seeing their counterparts dismantled by my iron fist they will formulate a plan to take me out on all sides. Of course, 8 year olds are not as smart as they are given credit for, either, and again I will fight off the attack. These little shitheads keep coming. At about this time I will summon, from deep within the depths of my soul, a second (or possibly third, I can't remember) source of energy to take down the evil empire of 8 year olds. I will unleash a primal scream the likes of which will cause each child to start crying for his or her mother. Then I will start beating indiscriminately. I will deliver blow upon blow until the little geniuses figure out what is happening. By this time, though, there will not be enough of them left to mount a significant offensive and I soon will have vanquished the oncoming horde.
Tertiary death toll - 16 + 26 = 42

After the third wave of snot nosed hole-in-the-condom-mistakes is dispatched by the likes of your truly I will surely be in the twilight of my defense. Valiantly I will prop myself up against a wall and wait for the next wave of kids to come at me. I will surely take out the first group of kids but, as even the greatest fighters understand, I will soon have nothing left to give and will be taken down. Worry not, though, for I will live on in the memories of all the people I have saved by unselfishly taking out these dangerous children. In the distant future, I will surely be remembered as a great liberator and people will recount the tale of my final battle while women weep as my final breath is described.
Final death toll - 12 + 42 + 1 = 55

After my objective and unbiased analysis I have determined that I could take out 54 eight year olds before succumbing to their grabby little hands and ultimately sacrificing myself for the good of humanity. In fact, I'm a whole lot like Jesus. You know, if Jesus killed kids. Which he certainly did.

This all leads to another question, though. Where do I get 54 eight year old kids to beat down? The orphanage? The dog pound? Can I buy them on the black market? Fuck it, I'll just steal them from their parents while they sleep. Damn, I am such a good problem solver. Hahaha, and I'm better than Jesus. He'd only take out 40. Loser.

4th Grade Throwdown

This will probably be the most childish thing I ever write. This post will be very simple. I'm going to target certain newsworthy people and make fun of them mercilessly. Everything I write here is the truth. I'm going to cut loose like I'm in the 4th grade again.

Terry Schiavo - Hi Terry! How's it going? What did you say? Ohhh, right. Sorry. How's the feeding tube working out? It's not? How come? Ohhh, right, the whole dead thing. I forgot. Well hey, if it makes you feel any better, my friends and I now refer to comatose drunkeness as being "Schiavo'd," so your name will always live on, kind of like you did for a decade before, you know, dying and shit.

That was bad.

Gay Marriage Opponents - You are all scared little cum rags who cling to "tradition" even in the face of overwhelming logic. I guess we can't all be intelligent, reasonable people, though huh? I'm not gay. I'm never going to be gay. Fuck, I haven't even seen Brokeback Mountain, but I can see through all of the "reasons" against gay marriage. Slippery slope you say? I say I'm going to hit you with my 9 iron. And then I'm going to get a huge male stripper to sodomize you. You think I'm kidding? Hahaha, we'll see.

The Homeless Guy Outside of My Apartment - You smell like something that was deep fried at George Webb's. There are lots of homeless people in the world, but for some reason you have been pissing me off more than the others. Why is that? Is it because you begin every morning by saying "Hey man, you . . . you . . . you don't know me and I've never met you before but my car ran out of gas. . ."? Yes. It most certainly and unequivically is. You have met me and I hate you. You don't have a car. You don't even own a bar of soap. Go away from me you piece of shit. And if you ever again comment on the girl I take home, I will simply end your life. No joke.

Sigfried or Roy, whichever was nearly eaten by a tiger - Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha. (Deep breath) Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha. Oh shit. Wow. I'm sorry. Goddamn, that must have hurt. I mean, a tiger tried to eat your head. There is no way anyone who has never almost been devoured by a tiger can't find this funny. Also, that last sentence did make perfect grammatical sense. Hilarious. I'll bet he tasted like shit, though. That's probably why the tiger didn't just swallow him whole. Stupid Roy. Or Sigfried. Fuck them, they're both stupid. Who plays with tigers? I'll tell you who. Dumbass magicians who deserve to be eaten.

President Bush - Hang in there buddy. Only two more years of fucking up the nation before it's all over and you can go back to Texas and rope goats, er, steers. I'm behind you all the way. You Can Do It!

The Husband of the Runaway Bride - GODDAMNIT WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM MAN?!?!?! SHE GAVE YOU THE PERFECT OPPORTUNITY TO NOT GET MARRIED!!! CAN YOU NOT SEE HOW BADLY YOU FUCKED UP? HER EYES ARE TOO BIG AND YOUR COGNITIVE ABILITY IS TOO NONEXISTENT. ON BEHALF OF MEN EVERYWHERE I DEMAND YOU RETURN YOUR TESTICLES IMMEDIATELY AND BEGIN ESTROGEN TREATMENT. GODDAMNIT, SOMETHING THAT GREAT HAPPENS TO A MAN ONCE OR TWICE IN A LIFETIME. . .

The Guy in the Office that is Wearing Pink Pants - I swear to Christ he is wearing pink pants. How insanely stupid. Pink. Why?

The Crack Head that Broke into my Apartment Building - You were one door away from being in my apartment. Should you ever breach that door I will buy more crack than you have ever seen from the drug dealer on the corner and make you smoke it until you OD and die.

OPEC - Assholes. It cost me my third-born child to buy gas yesterday. Do you know why that is? Because I've already sold my other kids for beer and hooker money. Jesus Christ!! I shouldn't have to go throught the fucking hassle of producing more offspring just so I can sell them to fill up the tank. Enough is enough, and I'm looking right at you Bahrain. Yeah, you. Don't stare at your shoes, look at me like a man. Look at me!!

China - 1 billion Asians in the same place kind of scares me. Maybe it's just me.

America - 200 millions white people in the same place scares me just as much. But not as much as. . .

The South - Oh dear Christ. Why does your gun rack have a gun rack? I like to kill people indiscriminantly, too, but I usually just capture my victims and perform, solo, various pieces of Shakespearean drama until they are rendered unconscious. Then I feed them to Rosie O'Donnell. What can I say, she's not a picky eater. Unlike my second child, who is probably giving a shit fit to the Mexican couple I sold her to. I said she was a hard worker and was showing a keen interest in coal mining. I lied, though. She hates coal mining. The little piss ant wouldn't even fix my car. Worthless infants. What are they good for if they can't fix the transmission? I'll tell you. Nothing. Nothing at all.

Jesus - Oh la de da, "I'm the son of god. I do wonderful things and walk on water." Yeah, well I can drive stick and make really good sandwiches, so, in the grand scheme of things, I'm much more important.

There you go. I have covered a broad range of people and geographic regions of the world. Now, there is only one thing left to do. Get beer. I'd better start working on that fourth kid. I don't want to have to sell one of the neighbor's kids again. The last time I was arrested for kidnap I had to spend the entire weekend in jail and now I can't go within one hundred feet of them. Assholes, what do they expect me to do when I know a guy who can get $50k per kid? Not sell them? Highly unlikely.

Who Da Daddy Is?

Last night I watched the Maury Povich show. In my defense it was 4am and I was wasted, but I am always one to admit to my shortcomings (however few there may be) and I was sucked into the warming glow of the television's warm glow. The episode was one of those Are You the Daddy? episodes and the people on this show were particularly disgusting. The one that really caught my attention, though, was a certain fat cow and her "boyfriend." Gather 'round, it's time for a story.

This woman, we'll call her Boner Graveyard, as her face, like John Stewart so eloquently put it, was the place where hard-ons go to die, was a fucking mess. Boner Graveyard had seven children by at least five different men. Not too shabby. She had come on the M.P. show because she was convinced that the man she was currently riding was the father of her seventh child. Obviously, and very intelligently, her alleged baby-daddy denied the entire thing. This is where Maury steps in, god bless his philanthropic soul. Maury decides out of the goodness of his heart to bring both on the show and give the alleged father a paternity test. He agreed and came on. The show started with some bullshit off-stage interviews where both act like they are infallible and talk in pseudo-rhyme trying to "diss" the other wretched piece of fuck. "You know you a slut. You know that shit whack, 'cause the baby ain't mine, he ain't even black!" Or some shit like that. It goes on like that.

Of course, when the she-beast cumdumpster comes on first she is met with raucous applause and support from the crowd, whose collective education level is somewhere below special-ed. She tells Maury about how she is sure that he is the father because she only slept with eight men in the past two months and she used protection with three, two others pulled out, yet two more banged her in the ass, and the alleged father, we'll call him Sticks His Dick in Common Street Trash (StickDick for short), was the only one who could have slipped one past the goalie. Maury appears very sympathetic, but the crowd wants blood. They want StickDick's head on a pike. The drama!

Now it's time for StickDick to come out. He is met with harsh criticism from the crowd and the boos rain down upon him. Hell hath no fury like an angered Maury audience. To his credit he remains calm. He doesn't throw his arms up in the air as if he enjoys the hatred of the crowd. He doesn't fire off a profanity laced tirade at Boner Graveyard. He simply sits down and waits for Maury to talk to him.

Maury: "Are you the father?"

StickDick: "No."

Maury: "Are you sure?"

StickDick: "Ummm, yes. I'm not the father."

Maury: "Ok, well Boner Graveyard says that there is no way that you are not the father."

StickDick: "Well, she is wrong."

I liked how StickDick was handling this. He was very calm and wasn't getting worked up, setting himself up for disappointment.

Now comes the moment I had been waiting for. Maury is going to read the results.

Maury: "StickDick, you are . . . . . . . . . . . . NOT the father!"

Justice.


Predictably the fat jizz receptacle ran off the stage crying. But better than that, StickDick just said "I knew it," and then got up and walked off of the stage.

Goddamnit I love it when stupid attention-whores like that fat piece of shit get exactly what they deserve. This bitch was embarrassed in front of lots of people, and the best part was that it was all her fault. She was the one who couldn't keep her legs shut or use birth control. Look, sexually liberated women are great. I hope that all women can enjoy sex and I wish the double standard was gone, but then there are fat sloots like this wildebeast who sleep with men simply for attention or to snare them with a child. What a reprehensible cunt. I hope she fell down the stairs as she was running out of the studio after being served a healthy load of creamy hot justice to her face.

But she's probably riding some other hobby horse right now and has another demon-seed growing inside of her. (I'll bet someone as fat and nasty as she is doesn't show until about the eighth month). I feel for that guy, too. Not because he has to put his dick in common street trash, but because he can't recognize it when he sees it.

So, here's to you Ms. Boner Graveyard. May the wind be always at your back, and may a car hit you when you are struggling to cross the street.

Justice.

I Am Going to Beat Ann Coulter with a Large Sausage

If I ever have the misfortune of meeting Ann Coulter I think I am just going to twist off and violently end her. It is not very often that I condone the use of violence, but if someone were to "accidentally" shoot her in the face thirty or forty times I would be A-OK with it. That sandy-vagina'd whorebeast-bitch-bomb shouldn't even be allowed to leave her home without supervision let alone interject her narrow-minded and manufactured opinion into the the American airwaves via that bastion of fairness, FOX news. Here is an example of the shit that Ann Coulter spews during her visits with another one of America's open-minded heroes, Sean Hannity:

Ann: I HATE LIBERALS.

Sean: That's right Ann, liberals are destroying this country, you are always right.

Token Liberal: But, the question dealt with the current situation in Iraq.

Ann: YOU ARE AGAINST AMERICA!!! LIBERALS ARE DESTROYING THIS COUNTRY!!! I HATE LIBERALS!!! GEORGE BUSH IS RIGHT!!!

Token Liberal: But Ann, I think . . .

Ann: YOU TERRORIST!!! YOU ARE WITH THE TERRORISTS!!! I HATE LIBERALS!!!

. . . and so on.

Goddamnit, if she even had something worthwhile to say, I would listen just out of the sheer fucking novelty of it, but all she ever says is how much she hates liberals. That's fine Ann, you smelly oyster ditch, but please tell us how to fix the problem that the liberals are causing. What's that? Huh? I couldn't hear you because you were mumbling. Ohhhh. I see, you've built an entire career out of being a loud mouth bitch and you have no real answers. Is that right? Haha, I knew it.

The thing is, I truly wonder if she even believes what she is saying. It just seems as though she sees the most extreme right-wing douche bag out there and realizes that in order to keep her career floating she needs to go just a little further to the right and be a little bit louder and more obnoxious. I wish that, just for one day, I could take the current state of affairs and flip everything around. For one day the Democrats and liberals would be fucking up the war in Iraq and they would control the government during this period of economic instability and high gas prices. And then, for good measure, I would like to take Ann Coulter, Bill O'Reilly, Rush Limbaugh, and Sean Hannity with me to watch it all and to watch themselves as they opined on the situation. Would they be as supportive if the Democrats were in power? If they were to say "No, I only do this to draw a check, you really have no idea what I believe," I could at least understand that. I wouldn't respect it by any means, but I could understand.

So, here's the deal. I hate Ann Coulter, and I'm sure you don't much care for her either. This is what needs to be done:

1. Her vagina needs to be sewn up with industrial strength nylon so that she may never reproduce. If there are more Ann Coulters running around the world screaming about liberals violent crime is going to explode in response and the murders of these Coulter-spawns are going to bring even more attention to this already-accomplished attention whore.

2. Let us never again refer to people as "conservative" or "liberal." Labeling people is bullshit because no two people believe the same things in the same way.

3. Forget it, I'm hitting her in the spine with a baseball bat. I'll bet that studio that Sean Hannity broadcasts from isn't wheelchair friendly. That's Sean Hannity for you, a handicapped-hating donkey-raper.

Please, Ann, do us all a favor and either shut the fuck up or die. Either would work. And it's easy, too. All you have to do is shut your mouth. Or fall off of a tall building. I'll even push you. Just call me and we'll set up an appointment. How about Thursday? Does Thursday work? Cool, we'll get together Thursday. Fucking whore.

Dear Irish Car Bomb

Dear Irish Car Bomb,

You and I go way back. Sometimes all the way back to the alley behind the bar to break shit or fight people, but the fact remains that we have an unspoken connection that I feel needs to be put into words. You know you are a generous lover, and you are even cool enough to let me stray from your loving touch into the arms of other drinks. But last night was between you and me. I can't even begin to explain how you made me feel. It was a cross between euphoric and violent rampage. The first time your liquid contents touched my lips last night I felt as though I had experienced heaven. The ninth time your liquid contents touched my lips I was certain that I was going to see heaven that very moment after I died in the bar. Alas, I did not die. I know you would never harm me in any way. When I get hurt after you and I spend a night on the town it is always my fault. Please know that in no way do I blame you.

Also, I slept with your sister, vodka tonic. She's such a bitch. I could never love her like I love you.

Love,
Michael

A Beautiful Conversation (with a Born-Again Christian and a Pedophile)

Have you ever wondered what would happen if I locked myself in a room with a born-again Christian and a pedophile? I have, and you should have, too. If you did and want an idea of the conversation that might arise, then you are in luck. Here is what might transpire:

Born Again Christian: Michael, Pedophile, welcome to this wonderful room, which was built by the grace of god. Should we begin by praying to our Lord?

Me: No

Pedophile: Only if I can be the priest.

Me: You can be the priest, you're already halfway there.

BAC: Please don't slight my faith with your remarks about the recent rash of pedophelia in the Catholic Church. There is no evidence of a higher percentage of pedophiles within the priesthood than the secular world.

Me: I'll try, but only if you don't say another word about god, deal?

BAC: But. . . I have no other real ideas or opinions of my own! God does all of my thinking for me!

Pedo: I think with my dick.

Me: Me, too. With one exception, my dick doesn't go anywhere near seven year old boys.

Pedo: Lord knows mine does.

BAC: The Lord does know!! And he shall judge you!!

Me: Please, BAC, shut the hell up.

BAC: Only our Lord Jesus Christ can help this man. And you, disparaging the One True God. . .

Me: Right. . . Anyway, Pedo, how is it that you came to fuck little children? I mean, it's pretty fucked up and I just want to know how someone starts out doing it. Did you start at 18 year olds and work your way down, or did you just go full steam ahead and poke a prepubescent boy?

Pedo: I started out with little boys. I didn't really feel like working my way down so I skipped a few steps.

Me: Wow. . . words cannot describe the hatred I feel for you. Please, Mr. BAC, interject god's opinion into this most disgusting of conversations.

BAC: Well, the Lord says that he shall suffer in hell for eternity for his homosexuality.

Me: . . . wait a minute. . . because of his homosexuality? I'm lost here. He will burn in hell because he likes to fuck little BOYS? Not because he fucks KIDS period? You are the single dumbest person I have ever met. And Pedo, you are the kind of person I will sterilize when I become dictator of America.

Pedo: Gimme a young boy. Gimme gimme gimme.

Me: Not now. If you're nice to the BAC maybe you can have his daughter. She's 9, and it would probably be cool with him. I mean, she's a she so I guess god would be cool with that.

BAC: No, premarital intercourse is a mortal sin.

Me: No, it's not. You're an idiot. Banging a little girl is a mortal sin . . . fuck, now you have me talking like you. It's not a mortal sin, it's just fucked up and wrong.

BAC: We need to pray!! I have to talk to God!!

Me: Be quiet when you pray, cool?

BAC: You sinners need to hear the prayer I offer to God.

Me: You need to hear me when I tell you to eat a dick.

BAC: Again, that's a homosexual act. In fact, that action between a man and a woman is a sin in the eyes of God, as well.

Me: You're wife has never. . . ohhh, wow, that's rough.

Pedo: I will. . .

Me: No, Pedo. He's too old for you.

Me: This is the most inane drivel I have ever heard. Pedo, you fuck little boys. BAC, you can't wrap your mind around the simplest of logic. I think the only real solution to this all is for me to chemically castrate you, Pedo, and BAC I'm taking away your Bible for a month.

Both: Awwww. . . .

Me: Christ, what a couple of fucking babies. Jesus fuck, I just said Christ. Two months, BAC. Now go to fucking bed!

Whatever Comes to Mind

I have a pretty vivid imagination. As such, I tend to daydream when I am supposed to be doing other things. Right now I'm sitting at my desk at work and I am supposed to be making billing summaries. Imagine, if you can, being hit in the temporal lobe with a small missile and then taking a quick punch to the nuts for good measure. Doing billing summaries sucks worse than that, and getting a nutshot sucks a mile of donkey dick. Anyway, instead of doing what I get paid to do I'm going to pretend to be doing what I get paid to do and write some of my fucked up and irrational thoughts. Here you go:

1. Wouldn't it be cool if, for just one day, it was legal to buy a hooker and then keep her chained to a pole outside of a good friend's house? I would get the fattest, most disgusting cum-dumpster I could find on 20th and National and then handcuff her fat ass to a stop sign outside of someone's home. How long do you think she would struggle to climb up and over the sign before she gave up and just sat down and moaned quietly like an injured animal? Rereading that entire thought, I can understand why many of my religious friends tell me I will end up in the third or fourth ring of hell.

2. I fucking hate Microsoft Excel. Not because I don't understand it, but rather because I do. I am the guy in the office who can do all the major tasks that everyone else can do but can also do the stuff like this so the lawyers pawn their fucking work off on me. Little do they know that I have very little vested interest in these matters and truthfully don't give two shits about the quality of work I produce.

3. I feel like hunting an endangered animal right now. I think I would like to shoot a cheetah more than anything at this very moment.

4. I bet I could punt a baby like a football over 30 yards. With 4.3 seconds of hangtime.

5. If you have ever worked in an office you know about the strange smells that result when people bring food into or make it in the office. I'm smelling that shit right now and I want to violently ruin the day of whoever put garlic flavored shit in the microwave.

6. If Jesus were alive today I bet he would get tons of ass.

7. Have you ever felt like breaking a computer just to see if you had the stones to do it? If I grow a pair and come up with $1000 in the next twenty seconds this post is going to be ended.

8. I didn't break the computer. I did, however, break the company record for number of hot interns and office girls bending over in front of me in the copy room. It may just be me, but I think every single one of the girls in here wants to do me. It's probably just me. It is? Are you sure? Oh. Fuck you, disembodied voice.

There you go. My thoughts run the gamut of angry to sociopathic and then crash back toward horny and juvenile. And for the record, Jesus would pull more tail than a guy with a ten inch dick at a nymphomaniac convention.

I got Hammered Last Night

Just completely housed. That's all.

Why?

I don't really have anything funny to say here; I figured I would just write what comes to mind. At about 7pm on Memorial Day five people were shot at Southshore Park in Milwaukee. Two of those people died. One was only 17 years old. At the time of the shooting I was at my best friend's house not even 500 feet away. Apparently an argument took place prior to the shooting. The gunman then left and got a gun, returned, and opened fire into a crowded park. Why?

Someone had to go and tell this kid's mother that her son was killed in a park where he was celebrating Memorial Day. Someone has to tell her that it all started with a fucking argument. Over what? I have no clue. It doesn't matter. It shouldn't fucking matter. Apparently, though, it did, and now Milwaukee is left with its most violent Memorial Day in recent memory and the lives of two people have vanished. Why? Because someone decided that an argument is best solved by ending the lives of two people and forever changing the lives of countless others?

What could possibly be so angering that this guy had to go and get a gun - physically remove himself from the park and return with the intent to kill - and pull the trigger? I don't understand.

I don't know any of the victims. I'll probably never know any of them, but what I saw today is with me now forever. I watched as one of the survivors, drenched in his own blood, was placed in an ambulance and taken away. I watched a woman sob as she was questioned by the police. I watched as the two bodies were taken away to be placed in a fucking freezer at the morgue. Someone had to go identify the bodies tonight. People's lives have been ruined, and it all took less than 2 minutes.

This is one of those moments that should make me stop and appreciate my life, but all I can think about is what must have been going through that kid's head as his life was ended by a piece of shit with a gun and the inability solve his problems without violence. All I can think about is that kid's mother and the wife and children of the other guy that was killed.

Someone will inevitably try to find a glimmer of hope in this massive and unnecessary shitstorm. I can't believe that there is one. Right now it is 3am, I can't sleep, and all I can think about is how unnecessary it all was. Why did this happen?

Why?

Politics Cooked Right (Or Left, or to the Middle, or Who Gives a Fuck? They're All Wrong Anyway)

I hate politics. I hate politics because I know enough about it to see through the bullshit for what it really is - professional ass-kissing. This will be the first and last time I ever post about politics or my political views. Let me start by clarifying my opinions on some of the major political figures in America. Here goes:

1. George W. Bush - Dumbest man to ever run this country. I'm fairly certain he can't operate an automatic garage door let alone the most powerful nation in history. He is a moron without a clue.

2. John Kerry - He is a moron with no ideas. I'm very sorry, but this inept piece of shit would have trouble operating that same garage door.

3. Hilary Clinton - Too easy, next.

4. Barack Obama - Everyone probably thinks I'm going to kiss this guy's ass. Wrong. I guarantee he has a dead hooker in his closet or snorted a mile of blow.

5. Al Gore - Yawn. Next.

6. Russ Feingold - Fuck this dirty little cum rag. Everyone with any liberal leanings is lining up to lick this guy's nutsack. I live in the state that this douche represents and I've yet to see anything substantive in return for Wisconsin. Do I think our government should be more transparent? Of course. Do I think think Russ Feingold is an attention-whoring bitch on a stick? You bet.

There you have it. In a nutshell, I hate all politicians. I have my political theory boiled down to a single sentence. If you have made it far enough in politics to run for any major office you have kissed so many asses and distanced yourself so far from the average American that you cannot possibly represent the interests of those people. Politicians are indebted only to those who contribute to their campaigns and special interests groups that carry enough sway to make said politicians worry about the future status of their positions as "elected" officials.

I can't lay the blame for the sad state of political affairs in our nation squarely on the shoulders of the politicians, though. In America today the majority of people want things taken care of by others. It is much easier to say "Senator Assbag McDouche from Wisconsin is looking out for my interests and he'll take care of me" than it is to think and act for oneself. People give up freedom and control of their lives and thoughts much too readily. Those who think that the government is looking out for the little guy are drinking the Kool Aid that Rush Limbaugh - that dirty scrote-sniffing, puppy-raping, hillbilly-heroin eating, cock monger Rush Limbaugh - likes to talk about on his wonderful and insightful talk show (even sarcastically calling his show insightful hurts to write). Mmmmm, that's some mighty tasty bullshit that everyone is being fed.

Does this mean that I have the solution to this problem? Of course not, because that would mean that I would have this narrowed down to a single amendable problem. The fact of the matter is that this place is severely fucked up and in need of many major changes. And I don't have the answers. Oh shit, wait. I found the answers. Here they are:

1. Burn down Congress. I know it seems drastic, but it has to be done. Of course all of the currently elected politicians will be required to attend an emergency meeting of Congress on the day we torch the place, but that's only natural.

2. People are required to take some type of reasoning and intelligence test before they comment on the state of affairs in the world. The next time someone says "Git 'er Done" when referring to the debacle in Iraq I will simply explode. Seriously, I will blow up with the force of fifty tons of dynamite. In fact, the next person to say that, period, will be on the receiving end of my fist.

3. George W. Bush is required to eat only pretzels for the rest of his term as president. You see what I'm insinuating here? Do ya? Do ya? No? Ahhh fuck it, nevermind.

4. Fuck it, let's just make George Carlin president. At least the State of the Union speech will be amusing.

So, the next time you think you have the right answer when it comes to politics, keep it to yourself. You are wrong. I am wrong. We are all wrong. Why? Easy. This country is fucked up beyond quick and simple repair. The people running it are just a step above functionally retarded. The people living in it are straddling that line, too. Let's all just agree to shut up and bite the pillow as we take it in the ass for another two years from our current president. Maybe after that we'll elect someone who knows what he or she is doing.

Who the fuck am I kidding, the next president will be a fuck up as well. Stupid fucking political arena. If I was old enough to run for president I would totally do . . . ahhhhh, almost fell into that one. What a country. Fuck.

An Open Letter to the Jesus Freaks on the Corner of 16th and Wisconsin Ave and in Front of the Marquette University Library.

Dear Religiously Oppressive Asshole,

I would first like to thank you for taking time out of your day, or rather everyday, to berate me for what you perceive to be my fatal flaw - the fact that I am an atheist. I cannot tell you how good it feels to have dumbasses like you pointing out my shortcomings. I'm starting to see it all clearly now. It's all coming to me. OH! SAVE ME JESUS! THE LUNATIC ON THE CORNER TOLD ME THAT YOU ARE GOD!! I'VE BEEN SO WRONG!!

Look, I don't care what you believe. In fact, if believing in a god makes you live a better, happier life then I am all for it. I don't believe in god. I'm not going to suddenly turn a 180 and dedicate my life to the church because some halfwit told me I'm going to hell if I don't submit my life to an invisible man in the sky.

But you, Mr. Psycho on the Corner of 16th and Wisconsin, have nothing on the complete waste of life that stands across the street from the library. This guy is a work of art. For simplicity's sake, I will just call you Mr. Ignorant Dipshit Super-Conservative Know-Nothing Cum Stain. You know as well as I do that the women of Marquette University love it when you call them whores and inject your narrow-minded commentary into their already hectic and stressed out lives. Where would we be without morally superior people like you. And the sign you hold - absolutely brilliant. "Jesus Hates Unsubmissive Wives" you say? "Jesus Hates Fags and Porno Freaks" huh? Well, I don't know about that. I've never met the guy, and I'm pretty sure you haven't either, but wasn't one of this guy's main teachings to LOVE EVERYONE, YOU STUPID PIECE OF SHIT?!?!? But I guess that guy has probably read the Bible four or five times, so he's the expert not me. I wonder if there is anything in there about hating people with more money than I have, because I would really like to burn one of those bastards at the stake and take his money. What? I'll just say he was a witch or something. That'll fly. It won't? Why? BECAUSE WE'VE MOVED PAST THAT IGNORANT PERIOD IN OUR HISTORY? That can't be.

Ultimately, I don't give a flying fuck what anyone chooses to believe. I am a big believer in people coming to conclusion on their own terms. That means thinking things through and making your OWN decision. If you believe in god, great. I don't. You are certainly not going to change my mind by threatening me with eternal damnation. I already live in Wisconsin, I guarantee I've seen worse. So please, both of you numbnuts, just leave me alone when I'm walking on campus. I don't want to deal with you. So far I've been pretty nice, but I am rapidly approaching the point where I either push you in front of a bus or impale you with a broken cross. Either way, god isn't going to help you when I kick your ass back to the Holy Land. Fuck. Now I'm pissed. And it was such a good day. Stupid Jesus.

Love,
Michael

Dear Crackhead that Always Asks Me for Money, I got a Job Today, did You?

Today is a monumental day in the history of this week of my life. Today I got a job. This is not a McDonald's job or one working at the Home Depot (nothing wrong with H.D.), I'm working for a fairly prestigious law firm in the area. Before I go any further, I think I should state this: I hate the idea of being a lawyer and I will never become one, but I love the idea of being paid like one this summer. Hypocritical? Well. . . only if you look at the facts, but fuck that.

Let me repeat: I. GOT. A. JOB. I think it's fair to say that if Jimi Hendrix miraculously rose from the grave and came to party with me he would be so impressed that he would buy the qualuudes and barbiturates for the night. Also, if a beautiful woman wants to provide me with sexual gratification as a token of her respect and admiration she is more than welcome to; however, there is a line so she'll probably have to take a number.

Today is a great day, but it almost certainly could be better. In fact, here is a list of things that could make this day even better:

1. The entire state of Illinois burns to the ground in a freak, statewide campfire accident.

2. The University of Wisconsin ceases to exist. Along with everyone attending the UW Moscow.

3. Chris Berman shuts the hell up on Baseball Tonight. (The next time he refers to the Detroit Tigers as "The Motor City Kitties" I will dispatch a hitman.)

4. Anna Kournikova contacts me in regards to starring alongside her in her upcoming porn shoot.

5. I find a quarter in the street.

6. That quarter is lodged in the windpipe of the crackhead that always hits me up for money on my way to class.

7. I eat a really good sandwich.

8. I find 800+ pages of the lost works of William Faulkner.

9. Guinness always makes the day better.

10. I hit the close elevator button as someone is running up to it with their arms full.

11. Marquette University decides to cap tuition instead of raising it another $14,000 AND we rightfully change our name back to Warriors.

12. I fall asleep tonight surrounded by 37 sexually satisfied young women, all of whom beg me for the opportunity to make me breakfast in the morning.

13. The sports guy from Channel 4 news dies in a freak teleprompter accident. God he fucking blows.

There you have it. Today is good, it probably could be better, but I'm not complaining. More likely than not I will be drinking enough to kill a small horse tonight. Watch out Milwaukee, I'm probably going to be breaking shit tonight. Most likely windows and the jaws of small orphan children.

Racists and Assorted Dumbasses

A few days ago I saw the Da Vinci Code. It's a decent flick (yes, I've read the book, too) and I love the fact that so many Christians are flipping their shit because of it. I can completely understand, though. I mean, it's not as if it's a work of fiction or anything. After leaving the movie I stopped at a gas station to pick up various things sold at gas stations. As I waited in line with five or six other people I overheard the cock-gobbling teenager at the front of the line mocking the clerk, who happened to be of Indian descent. He made fun of his accent, dropped a few stereotypical lines, and concluded his purchase with "thank you, come again" like Apu from the Simpsons. This made a few of the people in line laugh. Now, like everyone that doesn't have their nuts in a vice-grip I can appreciate the humor in some racial jokes that poke fun at commonly held stereotypes. This kid was different, though. He was trying to be cruel, so I called him out on it.

Me: "What's your problem? Do you know how ignorant you sound?"
Stupid fucking kid: "What?"
Me: "Why are you being such an ass? That guy didn't deserve that."
S.F.K: "Fuck you, man. You know you laughed."
Me: "No, I didn't, you racist little bastard."
S.F.K: "Fuck you."
Me: "Only if you give me a reach around. Fuck, I hate people like you. Get the fuck away from me."
S.F.K: "Fuck you."
Me: "Fuck you? Is that all you have to say. You are the reason abortion is legal in this country."
. . . and so on.

My biggest problem in all of this wasn't even the little bigot I called out. When I reached the front of the line and told the clerk what an ass that little bastard was being the woman behind me - one of the people who had laughed while this kid was making fun of the clerk - told me that she also thought he was acting inappropriately. SHE HAD JUST LAUGHED AT THIS KID'S ANTICS NOT EVEN THIRTY SECONDS PRIOR AND NOW SHE WANTS TO CLAIM MORAL SUPERIORITY. FUCK HER! I kindly asked her to shut the hell up because, as far as I was concerned, she was no better than that kid. The clerk agreed with me and then did one of the funniest and most appropriate things I have ever seen - he refused to let her make her purchase. She left her stash of Twinkies and licorice on the counter and stormed out of the gas station. Priceless. Absolutely brilliant.

This all raises an important question for me, though. Namely, why do people continue to be so overtly racist? Maybe I'm simplifying this too much, but as far as I'm concerned every person, black, white, purple, neon green, whatever, has an equal opportunity to piss me off. Or impress me. Or cause me to be indifferent. But the fact remains that I know enough to understand that I don't know jack shit about any single person until I've met and talked with them. Why is it so hard for people to reserve judgment about people until after getting to know said person? Look, I think black and Mexican jokes can be funny because, at the appropriate time, some stereotypes can be humorous. If someone tells me a joke highlighting a white stereotype and it's funny, you can bet your ass I will laugh. I swear to Christ this country is getting dumber with each passing day. Someday, though, people will wake up and begin to think things through. I'm sure of it. It will happen, I know it. . . Oh fuck it, who am I kidding? We'll always have dumbasses like the kid in the gas station. But then at least I'll always have idiots to call out in public. Damn.

Allow Myself to Describe Myself

I recently received my first comments regarding my species' extinction post. Let me be very clear about this: I absolutely love to hear feedback about my writing. I don't give two shits if it is the most inane drivel I have ever tried to decipher, the fact remains that if people take time to write comments they more often than not have at least skimmed through my writing. As an aspiring writer, as well as an English major, I cannot begin to describe how cool that is, and as a service to the three of you reading my weblog I'd like to take this opportunity to talk about my favorite subject: me.

I was born December 17, 1985 in Milwaukee, WI. The doctor who delivered me has gone on record as saying that I had "the largest penis [he] had ever seen" and that "within an hour [he] feared for [his] life" because I was quite the infant badass. Then I grew up. Now I attend Marquette University where I study English and Economics in hopes of finding a job for which I can regularly show up late and slack off.

I enjoy rock climbing, playing the guitar, beautiful women, and anything else that I have listed in my profile. One of my favorite things to do, though, is use large and obscure words when conversing with people. Is it because I'm a dick? Possibly. Is it because I'm smarter than most people? Of course. Is it because I want to make sure everyone knows how intelligent I am? You better believe it. Is this indicative of some sort of inferiority complex? Quit asking such intrusive fucking questions.

The real reason I wrote this post, though, is to address something that was said to me in those much-appreciated comments. "K" Fingerett (whose weblog "Another Fingerett" is actually quite well written and very diverse in content, check it out) told me that after reading my posts I seemed to her to be a very angry person. The fact of the matter is, however, that I have never been happier in my entire life. The reason I sound or seem so angry is that the ideas I had for my first few posts were angry rants about things I had observed or thought about, not because I am generally an angry person. Also, I think I possess a rather eloquent writing style, which does not seem to lend itself to angry, profanity-laced tirades. By merging an articulate style with childish humor and profanity I feel like I produce something different and funnier than the usual writing I, or anyone for that matter, encounter. Now, does this mean that from here on out its all puppy dogs and roses? No fucking way. The funniest stuff I produce is angry and full of swearing and jokes about fat women and stupid people, but that does not mean that I write only in that vein. I will post serious thoughts from time to time and I may even post something sad or (the horror!) emotionally gripping. However, if you think that I'm going to stop writing about animals I want to maim or taking a shit the size of a small hippo you are sorely mistaken.

Please, everyone, anyone, someone, continue with the comments. Tell me what you think is funny. More importantly, tell me how I can improve. Writing may be personal therapy, but it's better and more meaningful when it's read by someone else. And seriously, check out "K" Fingerett's weblog. I'm serious. Don't try me. It will end bad for you if you don't read it. Go now. Fuck.

The Eradication of Your Species

One of the things I would like to do more than anything else is be the responsible party for the extinction of some type of animal. If I was the man who heroically took out the last of the dangerous dodo birds I would certainly capitalize on it and you can bet your ass that I would end up with my own reality television show as a result. My show, however, would consist entirely of me kicking both the reality and living shit out of any other reality TV "star." I'm calling it Survivor - Star Meeting Ass Kick Edition. Think about it. I will be responsible for the extinction of reality television stars. Joe Rogan wouldn't be such a smart-ass piece of fuck after he is forcibly sodomized by the nearly extinct Orangutan that I stole from the zoo. Motherfucker. I'm getting off track, though. I've been thinking about this, and though it would be impracticle to think that I could cause the extinction of every species, I think I could take out the most worthless ones. Here are some other species I would like to personally wipe from memory.

1. The Dodo bird.
I know what you're thinking. I do. You're thinking "wow, he just used the correct form of 'you're' twice in a row." You would be right. But you would be wrong, as well, because the Dodo is already extinct. Well don't worry, I'm bringing that little bastard back for one more ass-kicking. That's right, my first candidate for eradication is already gone. Jesus fuck, my ideas are so far beyond genius they've reverted to stupid. Next stupid animal:

2. The Giraffe.
In all seriousness, this is the most worthless animal in existence. What does it do? Anyone? Anyone have an answer? Hmmmmm. What a complete waste of space. By default the world is a dumber and more inefficient place as a result of the existence of the giraffe. Does it even provide food for a more deserving animal? No. It probably tastes like shit to lions and bears and vampire bats anyway. Stupid fucking giraffe. I want them out of the species race. Gone. Next animal I want to personally extinguish:

3. The Badger.
Fuck the University of Wisconsin. Your animal can't fly. Suck it, badger. Your time is up. Next:

4. The Born Again Christian.
Just. Go. Away. Please. I promise not to stay angry if you just go away and stop telling me anything about god. Please, just leave me the fuck alone you senseless waste of grey matter. The next time one of these pickle-lickers tells me I don't believe in god because I haven't heard or learned enough about him I think I will quietly light myself on fire. Next worthless creature:

5. The Liger.
Bred for its magical powers, huh? How about extinct because too many stupid people are beside themselves with joy when they learn that it's a real animal? Hooray! Next soon-to-be-dead animal:

6. FIBs.
If you have ever seen anyone from Illinois drive you will understand why they need to go. Next:

7. People
Just end us all. I think our collective studipidity is really getting out of hand.

There you have it. The authoritative and comprehensive list of animals that need to be eradicated for the betterment of mankind and the preservation of the earth. Obviously, George Bush belongs on the list, but I decided that it went without saying because, I mean, come on, seriously. Oh fuck it, nevermind. God, he's stupid.

This I Promise You

As someone who is new to writing a weblog, I feel it is important to be transparent with my creative vision as it pertains to this page. Also, I will try to be as wordy and condescending as I possibly can in an effort to make the three people reading this feel even less intelligent than they already must feel. Anyway, I present to you my list of promises in regards to my future posts:

1. I will never use the word "blog." Ever. It's stupid. Next.

2. Since I've already stated that I will twist the English language in as many ways as I possibly can in order to confuse you it would be pointless to restate it. I have not told you, however, that I will also use as many long and obscure words as possible. Obviously, this is my way of punishing you for being less intelligent than I am and for wasting your time reading the incoherent babble I write here. If you made it to the end of this promise I applaude you. Next.

3. I will make lots of jokes about kicking babies and small children. Does this mean that I don't like babies or small children? No, quite the contrary. Does this mean that jokes about kicking babies and small children are funny? Of course it does. Next.

4. I will probably swear. A lot. But not in this promise. Next fucking promise.

5. I will write about nothing important to the state of world affairs. I will offer no reasonable solutions for the problems I bring to light in any particular rant on this page. Also, I will make fun of fat women as often as is needed. And that is often. Very often. Next.

6. Jokes about retarded people? You better fucking believe it. Next.

7. Weekly observations about the OC, Project Runway, and the Queer Guy show? Only if I wake up to find myself castrated. I'll put the odds at even right now. Get your bets in. Next.

8. There is no next promise. I find it impossible to make plans more than an hour in advance and the fact of the matter is that I will break each of these promises whenever it suits my purposes.

Next.

Crackhead Fever

If you don't know me, and god-willing you don't, but would like to know more about me, it is important to know that I have a certain fondness for the crack-bums that live in Milwaukee, especially on or around the Marquette University campus. Almost daily these beacons of hope for the homeless community take time out of their day to ask me for money. How blessed can one man be? Often, though, they are so cracked out or withdrawn from being cracked out that they make very little sense when trying to verbalize their desires for a "sandwich." Needless to say, these encounters often give me the opportunity to poke fun at the less fortunate and ridicule them for sucking the glass dick. The fact remains, though, that I really do love these guys (and occasionally women, though they often resemble men) and if they are honest about what they intend to do with the money they ask from me (i.e. buy crack, a hooker, booze, a colo-rectal screening) I will usually give them something. Even if I can only give a quarter I will do so because I feel a certain connection with the crackhead community. Except that I don't smoke crack. Or suck dicks for crack. Or kill other crackheads for crack. Or live on the street. Or ask strange people for money. Other than that, though, I am just like these noble, modern urban nomads. Such a proud and industrious people.

More Bang for Your Sister

Before starting this momumental task of providing my thoughts about the world, I feel it is important to take a rough estimate of some of the statistics and data I expect to be associated and generated from this "blog," which is, quite honestly, the stupidest pseudo-word/phrase in circulation. Worse than "ginormous" or even "green-beer." Regardless, on to the stats:

0-2 - Number of readers (total) that I expect to read this piece of shit.

4 - Times I will write on this page before I say "fuck it" because nobody wants to read anything I have to write here.

75-1000 - Number of angsty emo kids I will ridicule in a single, probably incoherent rant to be posted in the future.

5 - Number of times I've scratched my balls since I started writing.

6 - I just scratched them again after I wrote that last sentence because writing about scratching my balls made me want to scratch them again.

20 - My age.

0.00001% - Percentage of the world that gives a shit what a 20 year old has to say.

99.99999% - Percentage of the world that can fuck itself. Also, this doubles as the percentage of people I meet who lack the intelligence to work a ball-point pen or remember to breath.

18 - Holes on a golf course.

98, 2 - Degrees Fahrenheit and number of wet holes, respectively, on the ideal woman.

2 - Number of times I wrote the word "balls." It's always good to end on a high note.