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.