Give Them Back

When I travel out of state I sometimes come in contact with people who will ask me stupid questions about Wisconsin, the state in which I was born and still reside. The one I get most often is this: "Do you live on a dairy farm?" No, I don't. Fuck you. I don't know a single person who has ever lived on a dairy farm. I've milked a cow once in my life and I think I was about 7 at the time. I've only been to a dairy farm 2 or 3 times ever. Needless to say, I'm pretty citified.

Having said all that, I'm here to reinforce a stereotype. Wisconsin produces the milk that this country consumes. And the cheese. And all of the other dairy shit that we all love. Do you know who doesn't? California. Fuck California. Happy cows do not come from California. They come from Wisconsin.


Real California Cheese Is Made With Sadness And Dead Babies

Fuck you California. Give our cows back. You have Hollywood, the Golden Gate Bridge, the ocean, and lots and lots of gay people. Let us have our cows.

You know what else? Cows hate earthquakes. And Schwarzenegger. And LA.

Fuck California.

My Ultimate Threesome

If you are a heterosexual male possessing all the necessary tools then I can almost guarantee that you have two women in mind that would comprise your ultimate threesome. Unfortunately only three or four men in history have ever achieved their goal, but that should not and does not keep us from holding out hope for the future.

I'm no different than anyone else. I have my perfect threesome, and is it ever perfect. I'm getting a chub just thinking about it. My perfect threeway slam-fest consists of the following:


+



+

Me

=



That's right. My perfect threesome consists of the sexy blonde chick from Scrubs, Sarah Chalke, and Natalie Portman. Everytime I think about this scenario I hear a choir of angels singing in my head. I am not joking in the slightest when I say that I would commit genocide to make this a reality. I would burn down a fucking orphanage to get these two naked with me at the same time.

Now, if you'll excuse me I have to go make love to my hand. I've got impure thoughts running through my mind.

In The Town Of Bedrock

I figured I should write something since it's been a while. I was searching my mind for topics when it dawned on me that I have been watching The Flintstones for more than two hours straight. I fucking love that cartoon. Fred Flintstone is a man amongst boys and Wilma is a sexy little Bedrock minx. I'd love to throw down with her and Betty Rubble while Fred and Barney are off at the quarry busting their asses for Mr. Slate. Anyway, here's a list of reasons why Fred Flintstone is better than you and me:

He has a pet dinosaur.

His car has to weigh like eight tons. And he drives with his feet. Badass.

Sabertooth tiger can opener. Only a real man can provide these kinds of household conveniences for his woman.

His best friend Barney has no fucking eyeballs. That would scare the shit out of me. Not Fred Flintstone. Dude just keeps on keepin' on.

His work apparatus is another dinosaur. The guy fucking owns dinosaurs. Remember in Jurassic Park when Robert Muldoon gets mauled by the velociraptor? Fred Flintstone would have kicked that fucker in the balls and made him play fetch with his own dinosaur dick.

He wears an orange shirt with a blue tie. The man is a fucking trendsetter.

During one episode he fucking promoted Winston cigarettes. Don't believe me? Look at this:


I think I make my point. Fred Flintstone is the shit.

Dinosaur Killing Motherfucker

Whaju Want?

Bishhh....I sees you starin'. Whaju want eh? You not geddin' ma hat. Dis id ma hat. Dis shid blue, brudda. Blue hats id mah shid.

Whaju tink bout mah muztash? I bin growin id fo' lawng time now. In mah homeland muztash like dis worf seven goat and tree chikin.

No look at mah tent. Das mah tent. I keep mah wife an' seeks chilren in der. Mah wife ugly but dat bish can cook good.

Don' be look at mah hat.

I keel you fo look at mah blue hat.

Bish.

What's For Dinner?

It's early evening here in Milwaukee and I am hungry as fucking hell. I just looked in the refrigerator and couldn't find anything that looked appetizing. Nothing. I'm kind of tired of eating the same food over and again. I just don't want to eat chicken anymore.

I want to eat an endangered animal. I want to chomp down on a fucking Siberian tiger. I want to whet my appetite with filet of cheetah. If I could get my hands on an emperor penguin, I'd make that motherfucker my dinner.

My point here is, I'm getting bored eating cows, chickens and pigs. I need some variety in my diet. I need something different. I need some endangered California condor.



















I'm gonna eat the shit out of you, tiger.

Somebody turn the oven on.

This Is Getting Ridiculous

If you have read anything I've written you can probably figure out that I have a great deal of irrational hatred for a great number of people and things. That's not always the case, though. Some of my anger is completely justified and reasonable, and many of my assertions are the pure, unadulterated truth. For example, it is a universally accepted fact that Ann Coulter is the devil incarnate. Whiskey is good for your health. Sandwiches are fucking awesome. Crackheads smell. And, most importantly, fundamental Christians rank somewhere between aggravated sexual assault and condoms with holes punched in them on the Usefulness to Society Scale.

It is election season. Perhaps you have noticed. In two weeks America will elect a new president and, regardless of the outcome, the course of this nation's history will be forever altered. (Side note: If Barack Obama does not win this election I'll cut off my left nut. I'm dead serious. I'm not moving to Canadia or anything like that. I'm just gonna hack of half of my giblets.) But the presidency is not the only thing at stake. Many states will have various propositions and referendums on which to vote. One of those is Proposition 8 and is being voted on in California. If you are not familiar, Proposition 8 is basically a question posed to California voters asking whether or not gay marriage, which is currently legal in California, should be made illegal. A "Yes" vote on Proposition 8 means that a voter is in favor of repealing the law and making gay marriage illegal.

It also means that voter is a fucking moron. A fucking dipshit.

I have not heard one rational argument against allowing homosexuals to marry. Not one. Every argument I've ever heard is based on religious belief, archaic and antiquated ideas of "how things should be," and/or outright bigotry.

I decided to do some digging to figure out why those who oppose gay marriage do so. (Note: My "digging" consisted of me googling "Arguments Against Gay Marriage") The first return I got on my search was mind-blowing in its idiocy...

NoGayMarriage.com has conveniently provided 10 arguments against gay marriage in the United States. Click the link if you feel compelled. Here are the arguments, followed by my explanation of why the writer is a donkey-raping cock-monger:


1. Gay marriage will destroy the sanctity of the American family.
This is fucking ridiculous. By any conservative estimate homosexuals comprise between 3 and 8% of the American population. That means that there are anywhere from 9 - 20 million homosexuals in America. America has a population of 300 million. Is it possible that the sanctity of the American family is being destroyed by the ever-rising divorce rate and number of children born out of wedlock and to teenage mothers? Or that the "sanctity" of marriage is not in danger but that societal norms are simply changing? Holy shit, that would be downright sensible...fucking idiot.

2. The introduction of gay marriage will lead inexorably to polygamy and other alteratives to one-man, one-woman marriages.
No. No it won't. You know who else used this argument? People who opposed interracial marriage before it was legalized. This idea of "crossing the Rubicon" and the slippery slope are asinine. Do you know what leads to spousal abuse, divorce and broken families? Yeah, marriage between a man and a woman. By this logic all marriage should be abolished because it can lead to these terrible ends. And as for the person who claims that soon after gay marriage a man will be able to marry his donkey.....You. Are. Fucking. Stupid. An animal has no legal standing and cannot enter into a marriage contract. Argument shot down. Fuck you.

3. The homosexual movement's greater objective is to devalue marriage in the eyes of the government thus leading to more easily obtained divorces and an end to the government's compelling interest in marital relationships altogether.
...because marriage, as it stands, is the most revered of all American institutions. It has nothing at all to do with equal rights. Fags can't get married because all they want to do is fuck each other in the ass, but Britney Spears' 55 hour marriage was a blessing from god.

4. With the legalization of homosexual marriage, every public school in the nation will be required to teach that this perversion is the moral equivalent of traditional marriage between a man and a woman.
Wrong again. It is not the public schools' place to teach any form of moral curriculum. And there is that word "traditional." You know what was traditional for a long time? Stoning to death women who were raped. You know what else was a tradition? Fucking slavery. Anything else? Yes, too many to list. Just because something is a tradition doesn't make it necessarily right. For fuck's sake doctors used to use leaches to cure headaches. Why don't they do that anymore? Because WE HAVE ADVANCED AS HUMANS!!! Traditions and societal norms change, and clinging to "tradition" in the face of overwhelming logic is just ridiculous.

5. From this point forward, courts will not be able to favor a traditional family consisting of one man and one woman over a homosexual couple in matters of adoption.
No they will not. And they should not. There is not a shred of credible evidence that shows that homosexuals who adopt a child are any better or worse than a married man and woman when it comes to raising a child. "But Michael, the prospect of motherless or fatherless children will not ever be considered!" To that, I say, "fuck you, you are retarded." If you think that's a credible argument then you must believe that single parents should give their children up, too, because it's not possible for a normal, productive human being to be raised without a father or mother. You would also be wrong, in addition to being fucking stupid. Congratulations.

6. Foster-care parents will be required to undergo "sensitivity training" to rid themselves of bias in favor of traditional marriage, and will have to affirm homosexuality in children and teens.
Oh No! Dear Christ No! They will have to teach tolerance of homosexuals! We can't allow that. No one is saying that foster parents will have to undergo any type of sensitivity training. In fact, the inclusion of this argument is moronic. My head hurts...

7. How about the impact on Social Security if there are millions of new dependents that will be entitled to survivor benefits? It will amount to billions of dollars on an already overburdened system. And how about the cost to American businesses? Unproductive costs mean fewer jobs for those who need them. Are state and municipal governments to be required to raise taxes substantially to provide health insurance and other benefits to millions of new "spouses and other dependents"?
How about the impact of an inherently discriminatory system that denies these benefits to a minority group simply because their lifestyles do not conform to an antiquated idea? And what the hell does this asshole mean by "cost to American business" and "fewer jobs?" Is he really implying that allowing homosexuals to marry will somehow cause the economy and job markets to collapse? And how does he think homosexuals obtain health insurance now? There will be no new costs. Providing benefits to dependents...you mean, of course, all the children homosexuals are miraculously producing, right? Or was it the children in desperate need of adoption that you don't want homosexuals taking in? This whole arguments has been pulled forcefully out of the writer's ass...

8. Marriage among homosexuals will spread throughout the world, just as pornography did after the Nixon Commission declared obscene material "beneficial" to mankind. Almost instantly, the English-speaking countries liberalized their laws against smut. America continues to be the fountainhead of filth and immorality, and its influence is global.
Hopefully the day will come soon when gays can marry and the rest of the world will follow. Filth and immorality are subjective ideas and, in this case, must be interpreted in the light cast by the previous arguments made by the author. Clearly, he is a mongoloid and incapable of rational thought so these terms must be taken with a grain of salt. And really, is America the fountainhead of filth and immorality? Have you ever been to Tijuana? Or seen a German fetish movie? Letting two dudes get married doesn't seem so filthy when compared to the donkey show you see just south of the border. Perhaps you should take your moral indignation down there, asshole.

9. Perhaps most important, the spread of the Gospel of Jesus Christ will be severely curtailed. The family has been God's primary vehicle for evangelism since the beginning.
If you are asking the government to ban gay marriage then you must provide a convincing argument that does not rely on religious beliefs as a crutch. As much as you may want it to be, America is not a fucking theocracy...you cannot legislate morality or religious beliefs. Furthermore, if the family is god's primary vehicle for evangelism then I feel as though that vehicle may have blown a tire and dropped its transmission.

10. The culture war will be over, and I fear, the world may soon become "as it was in the days of Noah" (Matthew 24:37, NIV). This is the climactic moment in the battle to preserve the family, and future generations hang in the balance.
For once we agree. The culture war will be over, and you and your delusional religious zealots will have lost. But who am I kidding? You and millions of others like you will continue to live in fear of the invisible man in the clouds and take orders from a book written thousands of years ago.

So there you go...Ten utterly ridiculous reasons to ban gay marriage. I wish I was surprised by this level of ignorance. Fuck.

I think I'm going to buy of their "Marriage: One Man, One Woman" bumper stickers.

And then I'm going to take a piss on it.

The Greatest Singer Ever

Fact: Eddie Money is a fucking badass.

Fact #2: Eddie Money can rock so hard that your balls will literally fall off.

Fact #3: Neither your nor I will ever be as cool as Eddie Money. Don't even waste your time thinking about the possibility. It's just not happening.

Why is Eddie Money so fucking awesome? Check this out:



Can you rock that hard? Fuck no. Nobody can. Did you see the fucking hair? Simply put, Eddie Money is the tits. And the balls. And the asshole. And every other body part used to describe someone so impossibly awesome that it boggles the fucking mind.

Since we cannot aspire to be so cool, what can we learn from Eddie? For starters, we can learn that only Eddie Money is able to save prostitutes from their wretched existence. Second, we learn that singing alone in an enormous arena is fucking sweet. And finally, we again learn that no matter what we do in life, nothing will ever be as important as Eddie singing "Take Me Home Tonight."

Eddie, I would fellate you on command.

Just say the fucking word, and it's slob city.

My hero....

There Is Another

Two days ago I penned a thoughtful and heartfelt letter to my beloved Pam Beasley. At the time I was mesmerized by my dearest Pam's siren call. I was hers.

My most cherished Pam, I am sorry, but there is another. One who speaks to my heart as no other can. One who gives my life meaning.






















Erin Esurance, I would tear yo' ass up! Girl, I would do things to you that are illegal in 48 states. Erin, in short, I would blow your motherfucking cartoon mind all over the table I want to bend your slamming hot cartoon ass over. Girl, I'ma get up in those guts. I'm gonna give you a hysterectomy with ma' pork sword. You ain't even gonna need fucking insurance 'cause, baby, I'm gonna do that shit for free. I'm gonna bang the purple out of your hair girl. You know all those crazy flips and shit you do on your commercials? You ain't doing that for at least a week after I get done splitting you like a sexy little cartoon log.

Erin, clear your schedule. I'm going to drill you like a Texas oil well.

Pam, you're invited, too.

My Everything

My beloved Pam Beasley, I cannot continue to live this lie for a moment longer. No longer can I deny my love for you. Some things in this world are simply too precious to keep bottled up inside, hidden from the world like a proverbial lamp 'neath a basket.

Pam, my delicate flower, come to me. Embrace my love and allow yourself to be consumed by my passion. Let yourself free and I will show you a world where anything is possible.

My beloved, my muse, my everything...please do not deny me the only thing for which my heart longs.

There are no words I can use to do justice to the sheer beauty which you exude.

You are my everything.

Please...

And fuck Jim Halpert. That cockbite can lick a chocolate starfish. What the fuck is the deal with that pickle-licker?

Also, you have a fucking kick-ass rack and your backyard ain't nothing to scoff at, either.

Let me show you...

Let me show you...

Let me show you...

...my penis.

Brief Coverage Of Boxer Shortage

At some point in every man's life he is faced with a predicament that requires a great deal of mental strength and willpower to overcome. I am talking, of course, about that heart-stabbing moment when he realizes that he is completely void of boxer shorts and is forced to go "commando."

Fuck.

What is one to do in this situation? In the beginning, there are two choices: Stay home, do laundry, and hope that nothing of the such happens again. Or, nut it up, and take it like a man.

Should you choose the latter, here is what can be expected if you are man and find yourself in the unenviable position of having to wear your favorite jeans a little closer to the skin than desired:

1. Your junk is going to rub/bounce against your zipper. There is no getting around this. It will hurt. You may even cry. All I can say is bite your lip and try and walk with your ass sticking out, thus maximizing the distance between your pork sword and the razor-sharp metal teeth waiting to take a bite out of your manhood.

2. If it is hot, and you are fat, or sweaty, or fat and sweaty, you will probably develop some terrible swamp ass. Should this happen, please stay the hell away from me. I don't need that shit in my life.

3. You will almost certainly feel the need to tell people that you are going commando. That's cool. Just don't tell me. I don't want to know.

4. I have a pair of shorts that I love. I've had them for years and I would go almost as far as saying that they are more important to me than friends or love. They are perfect, with one exception - the zipper is faulty and constantly comes unzipped. This, of course, opens the door for all kinds of embarrassing "dick flopping out of the shorts" moments that can ruin the family 4th of July picnic. Jesus Christ Mom, I told you that I'm sorry. Grandma will just have to get over the fact that I exposed myself to her and that troop of boy scouts. Damn.

5. You may need to throw the pants away after wearing them. A little known fact about boxer shorts is that they act as an impenetrable force field between your jeans and your filthy ass. Take this into consideration.

6. You are going to tear your pants straight down the ass. It is inevitable. There will also be a police officer in the vicinity. You will be arrested and for the next ten years everytime you move or leave the state you will be required to register as a sex offender. Pervert.

When faced with these consequences it is easy to see going commando is just not a sound decision. Stay home, do your laundry, and avoid all the trouble.

Also, if anyone has seen every pair of boxers I own or has any information on their whereabouts, please let me know. I haven't left the house in weeks and I'm pretty sure I've been fired from my job. Better that, though, than leaving with no ass barrier and subjecting myself to the plethora of evils that would certainly ensue.

Or could someone send me some new ones?

Please.

Aww shit.

USA! USA! USA!

Independence Day has come and gone again, and I'll be perfectly honest, I had a blast blowing shit up with M80's and other awesome explosives. Apparently, though, the holiday has something to do with a country generally referred to as "America." I know, I know. I was unaware, as well. In any case, I have been following this man's travels across the country he gave his right arm defending, and as I've said previously, I don't give a shit about your political affiliation or leanings, people like him should be honored and given all the respect they deserve. So when he wrote the following, I got a pretty solid chill shot down my spine:

One of the things to remember is that this independence didn't come for naught. The price paid was heavy, and even today the debt is still being settled. Tonight while you enjoy your steak and beer, remember that somewhere in the world, an American is suffering so that you won't have to. This is a person who did this of their own accord, be it for school, a sense of patriotism, or just a way out. No letter arrived in the mail directing them to report for duty. No truck full of armed men came and whisked them away to a new life of danger. This citizen willfully stepped forward and said "I will go" when so many others sat back and criticized or listed the reasons why it just wasn't convenient for them to go. Tonight while you watch the beautiful displays of fireworks bursting overhead, know that somewhere else in the world an American is seeing the same bursts, hearing the same booms, and wishing they weren't there. This person will see no beauty in the rockets red glare, only danger unknown to those who've not been there. When the embers fall on you as you try to dance out of the way, remember that for a neighbor of yours these embers are shrapnel, embers that injure far more gravely. Lastly, remember that in the morning when you awaken, head pounding from the nights festivities, a friend you've never met will never reawaken from their last nights journey.

If I had a thousand years I could not have said it better. I may hate our president and government for sending American men and women to die for something I personally do not believe in, but I have more respect for people like Daniel than most anyone in the world.

Safe travels Daniel. You are a true hero.

Check This Out. Seriously. If You Don't I'll Be Pissed

I don't think I've ever plugged another site other than K-Fingerett's lovely page but I found this somewhere and have become strangely captivated.

This guy is an Army vet who lost his right arm in a helicopter crash in Afghanistan, and he is currently taking a trip around America to see and meet the people for whom he gave his arm.

I'm a pretty liberal guy. I do not agree with our country's presence in Iraq. I detest our idiot president. I think America needs a drastic makeover in terms of international relations. But I am behind America's military men and women one hundred percent, and whether or not I agree with any war or military conflict involving America is irrelevant. This man gave his arm in the service of his country, and no matter what I think, that is deserving of every ounce of respect I can give.

If any of you who read this - and thanks to all six of you - have a chance, check out his site. His updates are frequent and really entertaining. And, if possible, make a donation. Gas ain't free you know...

How 'bout that? An entire post without using the word "fuck." Aww fuck I fucked it up.

Whatever, check out Daniel's site. You won't be disappointed.

Please Tell Me This Was A Bad Dream

About a week ago I was out with Friend Victor on Water St. and North Ave. in Milwaukee. Going out with Victor virtually guarantees that something ridiculous will happen because, very much like me, Victor loves to get absolutely hammered and make his own fun. He is, to put it simply, a very forward and blunt person. Basically, our goal for the night was to "drank some dranks" and see if we couldn't get ourselves arrested.

I will never be the same again.

One of the bars we went to, a place called Cans, is considered one of Milwaukee's premiere "singles" bar, mainly for the derth of slutty women and horny, douche bags guys that populate it. I had been there once or twice before and did not like it at all, but somehow we ended up inside. It was a Thursday night, and for some reason the bar was not nearly as crowded or douche-ey as I remembered it being. Perhaps I hadn't been drinking enough. As I was about to find out, there was no amount of alcohol that could prepare me for what happened next.

I was standing near one of the two bars inside talking with Victor when a girl of Latina descent approached us and started talking. She said she was from San Juan and mentioned something about just graduating from a tech school in Milwaukee with a degree in "clothing design." Victor and I both give her shit about her fake degree and she keeps talking. All the while I'm looking at her and thinking to myself that something is just not right. She continues to talk and says "See I made this dress myself," and then she twirls around to show off her dress. And then, as if god himself was mocking me, she kind of lifts her dress to show that she is wearing lycra bike shorts. "Why is she wearing bike shorts?" I ask myself. At this point I walk about fifteen feet to the other bar with Victor to get away from this girl who won't leave us alone. Not seconds later she comes up behind me and grabs my ass causing me to turn around violently. She proceeds to put her hands on my face and say "You are so hot. So hot. You wanna dance?" All this happens while Victor quietly slinks away to go talk to another group of girls. Asshole. It was then that I realized something that will never, ever in my life leave me:

Oh sweet motherfucking Christ. This girl is a fucking MAN! I AM BEING HIT ON AND FELT UP AND HAVING MY FACE CARESSED BY A FUCKING TRANNY!

I grabbed her hands from my face and turned to the bar in a split second, ordering four shots of whiskey as fast as I possibly can. I was fucking traumatized. A few seconds later a real female walks up to the bar next to me and orders a drink. I look at her for a second, and then ask: "You didn't used to have a penis, right? I mean, you weren't born a man were you?" This, as expected, did not go over well. I grabbed Victor from the other bar and we left. I couldn't handle it.

For the rest of the night, any girl that would come up to talk to me was greeted with a very simple question: "You were born a woman, right?"

I don't think I'll ever recover from this.

Fucking tranny.

I Might Be Taking This Badly

It has now been three days since my Lord and Savior Brett Favre announced his retirement.

This blows.

Fuck. I need to talk to someone...


Me: Oh shit. Hello Map Of The Upper Midwest With A Red Dot Indicating The Location Of Green Bay, WI.

Map: Yeah, what the fuck? Why are you bitching about Brett Favre? You see how Tennessee kinda looks like my cock? Yeah? It is. And Brett Favre can fucking eat it.

Me: Holy fuck. I had no idea that a jpg. image of a fucking map could talk. How come you're such a dick? Brett Favre has influenced my life more than Jesus. If I saw him in public and his shoe was untied, I would gladly volunteer to bend down and tie it, lest he injure himself and miss his first game ever. Now I have nothing!

(Quiet sobbing)

Map: Eat my Western Illinois asshole! Shut the fuck up. Brett Favre is more synonymous with Green Bay than the actual fucking city is with itself. If you search Green Bay on GIS I'm the first return followed by 9 million photos of Brett fucking Favre. That guy was everywhere. I can't take him anymore.

Me: I'm going to light you on fucking fire.

Map: How do you plan on doing that you sheep humping dumbshit? I'm a fucking picture. On your fucking computer. Does any of this register with you?

(Looking up through red, tear filled eyes)

Me: I don't know. I just...




Me: Don't fuck with me. I won't stand for anyone speaking ill of Brett Favre.

Me: Damn. That was cool.

Me: How did I just do that?




Please come back Brett.

Please.

Dear Christ No!

Dear God No!!! Please, please, please come back for one more season! Fucking Christ come back! I know I have always joked about how I would fellate you on command but I'm not fucking around this time! I will do it! I'll slob little Brett for one more season!

(Muffled sobs)

Oh Fuck! I can't live without you, Brett!

(More sobbing)

Please reconsider....

And if you do...leave your fucking wife back in Mississippi. I don't want to see another shot of her in the luxury box at Lambeau.

Please come back Brett. One more year.

Please.

Holy Shit People May Actually Be Reading This Thing

Every once in a while when I come on this little thing I like to call a "weblog" I glance down at the site counter thing. I don't really pay much attention to it, but when I looked at it a few seconds ago something struck me - there are easily 150+ more "hits" (fuck I hate internet jargon) than there were the last time I looked at the counter, and as far as I remember that was only a week ago. Obviously, people are looking at my "weblog" which is pretty fucking sweet. I don't even know what to make of it. Is it a good thing that my warped sense of humor is now being disseminated to a larger audience? Probably not if you care about the future of America. Is it cool for me? Fuck and yes it is. So here's the deal...if you read this, please, leave some feedback. If you think I suck, tell me. That's cool, I'm definitely not above writing a childish and immature response to any hateful or derogatory comments I get. In fact, that would make my job easier as I would not have to think of new things to write. If you like what I write here....then let me know.

Or you can just say "fuck it" and not respond. In any case, I'm mildly excited that people may possibly be reading this inane drivel. I have a feeling it may be due, in part, to K-Fingerett's nifty little link thingy to my site that she dropped in one of her posts. My guess is that since she does not write about subjects that may cause the downfall of humanity, but instead about relevant things that are pertinent to her world she has more readers, which is, at the very least, a positive indication of the direction in which the human race is moving. I, however, write about crackheads, hookers, and booze. I can only imagine the reaction that may have been elicited when one of her readers accidentally clicked on the link to my page and was lucky enough to read my comparison of Blowjobs and Scorpions.

So, please, if you visit, let me know. Obviosuly, I can't and am not trying to make money from this, and I really only write here because I think it is funny for me and my friends who read this. Most importantly, though, I am an attention whore and I need everyone to tell me how awesome I am. I already know how much ass I kick, but I want to you all to tell me.

Get on it.

Finally, I'll end with this little note.

Dear Winter,

Fucking die already. It is fucking March. Your time is over. No more snow. No more cold. No more -10 wind chill. Eat a dick, Winter.
Asshole.

Love,
Michael

Fucking Winter

Back Off Or The Monkey Gets It

No amount of grandmotherly persuasion is going to keep me from slicing this primate's jugular.

(Yes, that is Abu from Aladdin)

I just felt like posting a picture of myself on this little "weblog."

Whatever, I can be an attention whore.

New Feature

Today I am going to introduce a new feature on my little "weblog" thingy here. I call it "Michael Compares Two Things That Have Nothing To Do With Each Other Whatsoever," or maybe to make it shorter I'll call it "The Faceoff." Give me some feedback if you prefer one or the other. (Seriously, please do so, it validates my existence). This little gimmick will consist, basically, of me thinking of two random ideas or objects and comparing them. And then I'll probably make fun of someone. And swear. A lot. Enjoy!

The inaugural MCTTTHNTDWEO showdown will pit BLOWJOBS against SCORPIONS!

Who will win? (I don't fucking know yet, why don't you keep reading and find out?)

What it is:

Blowjob - An enjoyable pastime involving a pair of lips (female, in my case) wrapped firmly around my cock with the mouth and tongue sucking my engorged member until I fire off several wads of baby batter into the hair and face of the blowjob-giver.
Personal Enjoyability Rating: A-

Scorpion - An exoskeleton-possessing little minstrel of pain and death. It possesses a sharp, poisonous stinger on the end of its tail and will not hesitate to fuck your world up. It's like a tiny, asshole-ish land lobster. With deadly poison. And it likes crawling in people's shoes when not being worn.
Personal Enjoyability Rating: C+

Why It Is Cool:

Blowjob - If I need to explain why getting my pole licked is enjoyable then I would also like to interest you in these magic beans I have in my pocket.

Scorpion - If you live in the desert your brain is probably already fried. Thus, you more than likely deserve to get stung by one of these petite death messengers. Also, I think its funny when people have to shake out their boots to make sure they don't have any of these critters lodged inside.

Why It's Not Cool:

Blowjob - There are teeth in (most) human mouths. Teeth are hard. And some are sharp. My penis is not a fan of sharp objects. I don't beat off with a hand full of thumbtacks.

Scorpion - Nothing much. Except that they can fucking kill you.


Any Correlation Between The Two?:

Not really. Except that a toothy beej probably hurts worse than a scorpion's sting.

Any Other Uses/Purposes For It's Existence?:

None. Blowjays are what they are. And they are awesome. Scorpions exist solely to haunt my dreams and give me the creeps when I watch nature shows.

Final Notes:

Blowjobs - Overall, very enjoyable. Wet, warm, most of the time pleasurable. Perfect way to make your lover/skeeze you brought back from the bar shut up for ten minutes.

Scorpions - Evil, vile creatures. Look kind of cool. Kill New Mexicans - which is almost as good as killing regular Mexicans. Succeed in keeping me the fuck away from the desert southwest.


Winner:

Blowjobs.

Come on, was it ever really a question? I rest my case.

Watch the fucking teeth, will ya?

A Chronological Chronicle of My Chronically Chrappy Christmas Char Charavan (aka "The Trip Through The Hell That Is Iowa During a Blinding Snowstorm")

A little late, but I figured one of you three that read this might chuckle......probably not.

Since I am a writing major, and because I write terrible things in my free time I have decided to chronicle my adventure with my family into America’s Heartland. This place, of course, is known as “Nebraska,” a land which is unfamiliar to most, but far better than the shithole known as “Iowa.” Nebraska is a flat, yet strangely inviting place….and Iowa fucking sucks. Seriously, that whole state could fucking burn and I wouldn’t so much as say “too bad.” Also, I’m pretty sure everyone there is either inbred or rides donkeys to work. I don’t really know how those two things correlate, but it is almost certainly true.

In any case, here is what I have observed on my Christmas trip to the Cornhusker State:

Saturday December 22

2:33pm – Begin travel log. It is snowy. And rainy. I’m not sure how. I hate this state. I’m not even sure which one we are in. My sister is watching the only movie that even remotely interests me. Somehow I will exact my revenge.

2:36pm – Write next entry because I am bored out of my mind. What would happen if scientists were to mate a duck with a sheep? Is it even possible? I would guess not, but in my desperate boredom these are the thoughts that cross my mind. It is still snowy and rainy. And, of course, foggy. What would the other two desolate conditions be without the goddamn fog?

2:44pm – We are driving on the bumpiest road in America. There should be a commemorative plaque or something along the side of the road alerting everyone to this fact. I think the dog just ripped his ass. He has a shit-eating grin on his face that indicates he has done something of the such.

2:48pm – I played one game of solitaire on this computer. I won. Am I a great solitaire player? Or the greatest solitaire player? I would opt for the latter. Dog definitely farted again. That little bastard.

2:51pm – Realize we are in Illinois, the black spot on America’s soul. How do I know this? Because you have to pay to drive on the fucking roads here and I looked up to see a toll booth. Also, someone decided it would be funny to play The Little Drummer Boy on the radio. Choke on a quarter Mr. Disc Jockey.

3:00pm – Fog is getting ridiculous. It feels like we are driving around in a Stephen King novel. I half expect to be attacked by pterodactyls and minotaurs emerging from the mist. Or at least one of the 28% of Illinois residents that practice cannibalism.

3:11pm - My insulin pump stops delivering insulin, the only goddamn thing it is built to do. If this happens again I am going to demonstrate a fury that is yet unmatched in the annals of human history.

3:20pm – Feel obligated to write something. I do not know why, as I am accountable to no one for the thoroughness of this log that nobody will ever read. How about I end this entry with a funny word? Sound good? Ok. Balls.

3:32pm – This is getting old. I no longer harbor any desire to see either a farmfield or a foggy farmfield, nor an overpass. I don’t even want to see snow or sleet anymore. Hard to believe, isn’t it?

3:38pm – I would kill for a wireless signal. Honestly. I would precipitate the ending of the life of another human being should that result in my ability to get online in a moving vehicle. Slightly maladjusted? Yes. But reasonable considering the circumstances? Absolutely.

4:00pm – Music from A Charlie Brown Christmas is playing. I can’t really listen to it without watching the movie. Thus, I feel an urge to break something. Or take a drink from my Diet Coke. I’ll keep you posted and alert you when a decision is made. Still foggy. Still raining. Still bored.

Did you know about the cliff in Helen Keller’s backyard? Neither did she.

Why didn’t she scream when she was falling down the cliff? Because she was wearing mittens.

5:11pm – Am currently watching a chick flick. I will be returning my balls to god anytime now. We just stopped at a Flying J and I took the longest and most wonderful piss in the history of long and satisfying pisses. I feel like a new man. I will be back with more to say after I finish my feminization process. Uggghhhh…

5:55pm – I am a little more than halfway through the movie. I hate myself. There is no internet anywhere in Iowa. Jack Black is not singing for Tenacious D, but rather playing a faggy piece of douche in the movie I’m watching, and the worst part of all of this is that I am actually mildly enjoying the flick. It is snowing like crazy in this god-forsaken state and apparently the windshield wipers on the vehicle in which I am riding have ceased to function. Please, whoever is reading this, shoot off a prayer to whichever deity you deem fit to watch over me and my family. Balls. Hahahaha.

7:05pm – I just died a little bit inside. Jack Black, as far as I can tell, is now almost as queer as RuPaul. I absolutely wasted the last 2 hours of my life watching The Holiday. If I could take them back they would be better spend punching myself in the face with brass knuckles. As it stands, it is currently snowing like crazy in this desolate wasteland known as the Iowa Territory. I am still unsure if it is colonized, or even habitable. I cannot see how anyone could survive here. I don’t think they have electricity, and running water is certainly not available. The heathens in Illinois are not even as uncivilized as the nomads that surely inhabit this “state.”

7:16pm – I just heard the beginning of the Rod Stewart abomination “Do You Think I’m Sexy” and I now have an even greater desire to shoot myself. The snow in Iowa is coming in fucking sideways. What the hell? Balls.

7:52pm – Just ate at Subway. Happy Gilmore would be proud. He probably didn’t have to deal with the blinding snowstorm that nearly killed me on the 20 foot walk from the car to the fucking restaurant, though. If that former fatass Jarod says anything I will punch him in one of his floppy jowels.

9:01pm – Holy shit it has stopped snowing. Unfortunately we are still in Iowa, so everything is relative. This is like contracting AIDS in America. You still have AIDS but its not in Africa. Being in Iowa without snow is like contracting AIDS outside of Africa. I hate this place. Hahaha, balls.

9:37pm – I’m watching the 3^rd Pirates of the Caribbean movie. I’m well aware of how mind-numbing this drive is. This movie sucks. It sucks hard. Also, my ass has fallen asleep. Both sides. I never thought I would say this, but I really hope we get to fucking Nebraska really soon.

10:10pm – I just ate a chicken sandwich with the dog. You read that correctly, I just ate a chicken sandwich from Burger King with the dog. I ate it while he stared daggers through my soul and begged me without words to give him some. Needless to say, I caved. I fed him pieces of the sandwich as I ate. I hate him.

12:30am – There is wireless internet service in the motel. I think I might have to take a pass on killing someone tonight.

1:34am – Fuck it. I’m going to bed. More tomorrow.

3:35am – Woke up. Can’t fall asleep. Nebraska is still infinitely better than Iowa.

Sunday December 23, 2007

3:54pm – Hanging out with cousins Connor, Cade, and Grant. All of whom are under the age of 9. I have heard the word “fart” at least 50 times in the last 20 minutes. The wireless internet which was previously available for theft is no longer available at my grandparents’ house. At least the kids are cool. Fart.

more to come....possibly

Hey Crackheads, I'm Back

Dear Crackheads on Marquette University's Campus,

I'm back for more motherfuckers! Hahahahaha. School started again for the spring semester and I am coming back for more of your toothless mumbling and demands for money. And guess what...I'm going to bring quarters one day a week. That's right, once a week (though you will not be told which day, as I refuse to actually talk with you without making fun of you) I will be walking around campus with a pocket full of change. And, should you manage to salvage your pride I may give you a shiny nickel. However, if you catch me on a day when I do not carry change, I will, as always, tell you to fuck yourself with a rake handle.

Why am I being so nice? Have I had a change of heart, turned a 180 and decided to embrace the more seedy element of the streets of Milwaukee? Fuck. And. No. Honestly, I just have a bunch of change, mostly pennies, that doesn't add up to enough for me to take to a bank. It's not worth my time, so instead I will just give it away to crack bums and then make fun of them in the process. It's entertainment for me, and the bum to whom I am giving a shiny copper penny is one cent closer to that sweet hit off of the crack pipe.

In any case, crackheads, beware. You are now playing Russian Roulette. If you catch me on the one day a week when I have change, congratulations. If you ask me for "money for a sandwich" on any of the other four days of the week, I will simply fucking kill you. I refuse to be compassionate anymore.

You are warned.

Fucking crackheads.

Dear Delicate, Beautiful Snowflake On My Window, Fuck You

Go away. You are not welcome here anymore. You were never welcome here. Do you know why this is? Because you are motherfucking cold! Do you know why that's a problem? Because cold weather blows ostrich cock.


Last night you brought along 30 trillion of your little friends and blanketed my formerly pristine ground with ten inches of cold, shitty terror. Why? There was 48 goddamn inches of snow in December alone.....but the wonderful 60 degree melt that happened 2 weeks ago was phenomenal. So what do you do? Naturally, you go and fuck it up. Eat my cock snowflake!

I am going to fucking blowtorch your icy ass. I'm going to hire fat chicks to blow hot farts all over you. I'm going to have my dog turn you into a yellow snowcone.

Go. The. Fuck. Away. Now.

Motherfucking snowflake.

You Don't Think I Will Find You, But I Will And I'm Going To Fucking Kill You

You. I know who you are. I know where you live. I am going to fucking burn your house down. I am going to stab you in the face with an ice pick. I am going to shoot you in the heart with a motherfucking crossbow. I am going to feed you your own fucking liver after I cut it out of your fucking torso.

You are the motherfucker who robbed my house. You stole nearly $10k worth of my property. Maybe you didn't think I would notice the missing 47 inch TV. Or the computers. Or the 400 DVDs. Or the hundreds of CDs. Or the cash you stole. Or the fact that you left your fucking stench in my house. And drank my beer. Asshole.

I know you live down the street from me. I've seen my television in your fucking window. How bragadocious of you. You motherfucking cocksucking piece of fuck. I am going to slice your nutsack off and feed it to the squirrels living in the pine tree next to my house. You think I'm kidding? We'll see who's kidding when wake up with a fucking steak knife in your back and me standing over you laughing like a retard.

I am going to fucking do you like Big Pussy in The Sopranos. Except in your case, begging not to get shot in the face will do nothing. I am going to make you wish you had never even thought about robbing me.

You are fucking dead, motherfucker.

Fuck.