Star Meeting

Some Guy Saw My Dick

2010-01-18T15:57:00.002-06:00

Just wanted to weigh in quickly and get something off of my chest.

Yesterday I was at a friend's house and as I was taking a piss his roommate opened the door and we made eye contact. While I was holding my cock.

So I guess I'm gay now. Anyone have any tips or tricks of the trade?

I wonder if he was impressed...

Cristmas Wishes From My Friends

2009-12-19T11:06:00.008-06:00

You probably wouldn't know it if you have read anything I have written, but I am on a first name basis with many of America's conservative pundits and talking heads. In fact, we even exchange Christmas cards. This year I asked a few of my friends to send pictures and write a few words of encouragement. I was very pleased with what they sent me, and I would like to share with you a few of them.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!! No spin zone! No spin zone! Stop bloviating! Be pithy! Pithy you prick!! AHHHHHHHHHHH!"
-Bill O'Reilly

Thanks for the encouragement Bill!

"Do you like my pink shirt? It's beautiful isn't it? I know. Hold on a minute while I equate healthcare reform with the rise of Nazi Germany. It will only take a second."
-Laura Ingraham

Thanks Laura! You're the best!

"Derpa derp. Derp da derp. Hurr durr. Derp derp da derpa derp. Hurr."
-Glenn Beck

Inspiring! Thanks Glenn!

"For $8.50 you can touch my hair. It smells like lavender."
-Sean Hannity

Oh Sean! Such a prankster!

"The bodies are hidden in the crawlspace."
-Ann Coulter

Merry Christmas to you too Ann!

And Merry Christmas to all of you!

I Hate This Guy

2009-10-17T20:48:00.004-05:00

Hey dickhead. There is something I am dying to know. Be honest with me.

What is so fucking hard to understand about rollover minutes? Are you a special kind of retarded? You must be, since even Downs Syndrome kids have a rudimentary grasp of the concept of cellular phone time that never fucking expires. The world is a worse place because you are alive.

I hope your mom slaps the shit out of you. Asshole.

Does Anyone Know CPR?

2009-09-14T22:38:00.004-05:00

Awwwwwwww. Shiiiiiiit. I fucked myself good and hard this time. I left the motel room for 10 minutes to go get condoms and Yoohoo and the hooker choked on the ball gag. Fuck. Me.

Give me a minute, I'll be right back. I need to get a full length carpet and a trash compactor.

No, I'm Not Dead Yet

2009-04-26T20:47:00.001-05:00

I used to update this bitch with some regularity. Fuck me. I'll start again soon.

As if anyone gives a shit.

Give Them Back

2008-11-24T13:11:00.003-06:00

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

2008-11-22T12:10:00.005-06:00

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

2008-11-20T17:44:00.005-06:00

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?

2008-11-05T19:36:00.002-06:00

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?

2008-11-01T17:05:00.004-05:00

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

2008-10-23T23:06:00.004-05:00

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

2008-09-17T18:47:00.003-05:00

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

2008-09-05T16:14:00.003-05:00

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

2008-09-03T14:39:00.002-05:00

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

2008-08-25T14:49:00.002-05:00

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!

2008-07-06T16:47:00.005-05:00

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

2008-06-10T20:40:00.003-05:00

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

2008-06-04T20:23:00.003-05:00

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

2008-03-06T16:24:00.005-06:00

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!

2008-03-04T16:20:00.004-06:00

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

2008-03-03T14:44:00.003-06:00

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

2008-02-09T08:45:00.001-06:00

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

2008-02-09T07:55:00.000-06:00

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")

2008-02-07T23:41:00.000-06:00

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

2008-01-26T12:52:00.000-06:00

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

2008-01-23T16:42:00.000-06:00

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

2008-01-11T19:22:00.000-06:00

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.

Happy Birthday to Me

2007-12-17T16:31:00.000-06:00

Happy birthday to me. Hell yeah. On this day 22 years ago I was born. With a full head of hair, a beard, and I was holding a trident. Shortly thereafter I impaled the male nurse who tried to slap me.

My point is this: Everyone should take a moment today to reflect upon the good I bring to the world. I make fun of crackheads. I speak almost exclusively in vulgarities. And I say inappropriate but amusing things. Yes, I am a modern Jesus Christ.

Praise be to me!

Not Quite Dead

2007-12-11T13:13:00.000-06:00

I'm still alive. For now. It is possible, however, that with all the snow we have been getting in southeastern WI that I may very well be buried alive in a drift. Let's hope not.

In closing, I would simply like to say: I hope this cold snap kills all of the crackheads in the area. They are really starting to piss me off again. I'm serious. The next time one of you assholes asks me for money while I'm pumping my gas I will remove the nozzle, douse you with 88 octane, and light you on fucking fire.

Stupid crack bums.

Maybe You Should Go On A Diet

2007-08-23T16:07:00.000-05:00

If I die today, I will have died a happy man. An hour ago I saw the greatest and funniest spectacle I have ever witnessed.

There is a lady who works across the hall from me. She is large. Rotund, even. 300+ lbs. Shaped very much like Homer Simpson.

Today, she sat down in at her desk and her chair basically exploded beneath the weight of her enormous ass. It didn't kind of break. It didn't crack a little bit. It fucking exploded. And I was five feet away. I couldn't help myself. I laughed my ass off and didn't even try to contain it.

That made my week. Fuck, that made my entire year. I am laughing as I write this. I wish I had video.

Fucking wonderful.

Observations, Commentary, and Gunshots Pt. II

2007-08-21T15:14:00.000-05:00

I'm bringing back my friends Guy 1 and Guy 2 for some more observations and commentary. Enjoy.

Guy 1. "Holy fucking balls! Is he sucking that guy off mid-dive?"

Guy 2: "I thought the dude was facing the other way."

Guy 1: "Is that something coming out of his ass?"

Guy 2: "Please tell me...."

Guy 1: "Awww shit, man. He's giving birth to a chocolate submarine in the middle of free-fall."

Guy 2: "Shit. I'm gonna be sick."

Guy 1: "At least he's not... Fuck. Nevermind, he just did."

Guy 2: "That can't be healthy. Oh. Fuck. Me. Is he really going to lick his finger now?"

Guy 1: "Why are we still watching this shit?"

Guy 2: "Hahahaha. Check out his parachute. It's all twisted. How are they going to...?

*THUD*

Guy1: "I don't think they are."

Guy 2: "Fuck it. Let's go buy new man-purses. I need something made out of leather to ease my stomach."

Me: "Hey douche bags. Time for me to kill you. I thought I did this last week."

*BANG BANG*

Me: *Laughing uncontrollably* "Hahahaha, I really am a sick bastard. Oh, sweet, a parachuting accident. Maybe they were carrying their wallets with them."

God help me.

I Did What? Hell No. Are You Serious? No Way. Really? Aww Fuck

2007-08-16T13:03:00.000-05:00

I woke up this morning on the couch in my living room.

No big deal, except I have no clue how I got there. I don't remember leaving Water St. I don't remember getting in a cab. I don't remember anything after midnight.

Here are some highlights of what I do remember:

- First drinks I ordered at Scooters, the bar featuring dollar shots: 10 shots of Jack and 4 whiskey and cokes. Cost: $25. Hell. Yeah. I love drinking top shelf booze for next to nothing.

- Second drinks: I pointed to my drink and then put my other finger on the bar about two feet away. I instructed the (very friendly) bartender to line up shots of Jack from my drink to my finger. Apparently that was 21 shots. Cost: $21. At this point I was beginning to think that I might be doing severe bodily harm by imbibing an unholy amount of booze. Whatever.

- Friend Tom's lovely girlfriend is a bartender. I had always thought that bartenders were endowed with the gift of drink. Apparently I was wrong. Why? Because Friend Tom's lovely girlfriend tossed it. In the bar. Not "she discretely went to the bathroom and heaved." It was more like "she leaned over and yakked while ponied up to the bar." All over Friend Tom, no less. High comedy.

- I have a huge gash in the lower part of my right hand. Obviously, I took a spill last night. I have no recollection of falling.

- My chest is bruised. I'm beginning to think I got punched last night. I wouldn't know, though. As far as I know I could have cured cancer last night.

Tonight will be more of the same. Hopefully I don't wake up wondering how I got where I am.

The best part about all of this: No. Hangover.

Hell yeah.

Tonight I Will Die Or Light A Building On Fire

2007-08-15T15:14:00.000-05:00

Tonight is Friend Tom's 24th birthday. We shall be making a visit to Water St. There is a good possibility that one or both of us will be dead by morning. If that is the case, please do not mourn my passing. Instead, help yourself to any of my shit. Except my bread. 'Cause even when I'm dead I'll still be making sandwiches.

Friend Tom probably couldn't have timed his birthday any better. Wednesday night is easily the best night to go to Water. Especially if you are a financially strapped young lad like myself. Why is this?

Dollar. Shots.

This isn't "dollar shots of rail whiskey or warm piss." This is "I'll have 8 Third Reich's, 10 shots of Jack, and 10 SoCo and limes for 28 dollars" dollar shots. And, of course, tonight is dollar High Life night at Brothers. Somebody kick me in the nuts. No one should be this excited about fucking booze.

One more completely unrelated thing: A few days ago I ate a Baconator from Wendy's. It was orgasmic. Seriously, I ate the sandwich and shot a wad in my pants. I am no longer an atheist. The Baconator is now my god. I'm not kidding. I even pray to it.

I fucking love the Baconator.

I haven't written anything thing dodgy and rambling for a while, so I think I should just wrap this shit up here before I hurt myself. I'll end with some sage advice I was recently given:

Don't stick your hand down the sink when the disposal is on.

Wiser words were never spoken.

Praise to thee, Baconator.

Observations, Commentary, and Gunshots

2007-08-14T10:38:00.000-05:00

Guy 1: "Yeah, he's definitely about to drop a deuce."

Guy 2: "Fuck me running. That's pretty fucked up."

Guy 1: "You think he smuggled crack across the border?"

Guy 2: "What, like in his ass?"

Guy 1: "Just a thought."

Guy 2: "Actually, you are probably right."

Guy 1: "Holy fucking donkey dick! He just pinched one off on that other guy's shoe!"

Guy 2: "What do you think that third guy is looking at? I'll bet it's a bird."

Guy 1: "Nah, I think a beer truck just drove by."

Guy 2: "What do you think it smells like over there?"

Guy 1: "I would think it's something along the lines of an old diaper mixed with rotting flesh and a coyote turd."

Guy 2: "I think I just died a little bit inside."

Guy 1: "I can't watch this shit anymore. Let's go to the tailor and get new suits."

Guy 2: "I love being a wealthy prick!"

Guy 1: "And later we can play polo at our estates in the Hamptons! Cheers to that."

Me: *Gunshot*

Guys 1 and 2: *Dying* "Oh....fuck..."

Me: *Skips away cheerfully to go shoot the crackheads*

This Is The Greatest Thing Ever

2007-08-03T12:12:00.000-05:00

Anyone that has read through this site can discern that I rely heavily upon a few topics for whatever comedic value I may provide. Quite obviously, I make fun of crackheads and homeless people a great deal. Ann Coulter has been a target of mine several times. I often make jokes about beating hookers, and occasionally I rip born-again Christians and Jesus. Reading through this little weblog, one might also discern a perticularly strange interest I have - Sandwiches. Hell yes. I fucking love sandwiches. I love the name. I love the bread. I love the shit that goes between the bread. And for this reason I was fucking ecstatic to learn that August Is National Sandwich Month!

Fuck. Me. Running. I always knew that there should be an entire month dedicated to the greatest of culinary delights. Now I know that there is. God bless the genius that created and organized this most holy of months. Ramadan doesn't have shit on N.S.M.

Oh shit. This is making me fucking hungry. I'm going to go make a sandwich right now. God I fucking love sandwiches!

Rock on sandwich.

I Feel A Hate Crime Coming On

2007-08-02T14:21:00.000-05:00

A while back I was reading through some of the things I have written about here and I came upon my Racists and Assorted Dumbasses post. I have always liked that, and rereading it I felt even better than I did when I told that stupid little racist to cram it. Because of this, I was slightly confused after a series of events occurred at the Milwaukee County Courthouse. I wasn't even going to write about this because it is fucking stupid, but whatever, I get to choose what I write about.

This week I was sent to the Milwaukee County Courthouse to make copies of various permits and other documents that some of the attornies in my office needed. I happily obliged because it means I get to leave the office and I get to pretend I'm important for an hour. So I went to the courthouse and copied the documents. As I was leaving, however, I was stopped by a fat black lady who was standing in front of the courthouse. (Note: The front of the courthouse is prime crackhead real estate. Panhandling in the area is insane and it is always crawling with people looking for lawyers to get their kids out of jail or shit like that). This lady explained to me that she was there because she had several outstanding fines and tickets in her name and was in need of legal representation. She asked if I would be her lawyer. This wasn't the first time someone has asked me to act as their legal representative and usually when I explain that I am not a lawyer they realize that this means I cannot represent them. Not this lady. After I told her that I am not a lawyer and could not represent her she continued to ask for legal advice. I explained that in addition to being unable to legally represent her I could not dispense legal advice, and that it is, in fact, illegal to do so if one is not a licensed attorney.

Her response to all of this: "Man, fuck you. You a racist muthafucka."

Excuse me? Look, I am pretty crude, I swear a lot, I drink far too much, I generally harbor contempt for most people, hell, I even scratch my nuts in public if I feel the need, but I cannot remember ever doing or saying anything that would make anyone think that I am truly a racist. This woman, though, apparently thought that my inability to help her was indicative of an incredible level racism. I wondered: Is she an angry cunt or simply retarded?

My response: "Yeah, I can see what you mean. But you are a fat lowlife and I don't spend my time in front of the courthouse begging for a lawyer."

Maybe I should have just called her a nigger. (Side note: I'm kidding. Or am I? No, I am)

I don't even know what to make of this. That porked-out oyster ditch really thought I was a racist. Functionally retarded does not even begin to describe that tubby fuck.

So I guess I'm a racist now. Jesus Christ, I wonder what it makes me if I decide not switch phone providers. Am I a serial killer then?

I should have just ran her over with my car. I'm glad I didn't, though. I can only imagine the size of the dent she would have put in the hood.

I guess I'm moving to the South and waving a Confederate flag.

Praise the Lord and pass the ammo!

Stupid bitch.

If You Have a Mowhawk I'm Going To Set You On Fire

2007-07-31T15:27:00.000-05:00

The Vans Warped Tour is in Milwaukee this week. How do I know this? And why do I care? Certainly I wouldn't if I didn't come into direct contact with one of the wastes of human life that frequent the music festival. Allow me to explain... The Vans Warped Tour showcases various punk and alternative rock bands on a nationwide tour every summer. Some of the bands are actually worth listening to. Hell, when I was 15 I actually attended the festival at its stop in Chicago. You may be asking yourself: What do you have against the Warped Tour if you attended it yourself at one point in your life? Obviously, it is the fucking douchebags that go to the shows. Look, these bands may put out some good music but the people who follow them around the country are about useful as a dick that's been plunged into a blender set on puree. Marilyn Manson has actually made music that I enjoy (side note: I know, I know. I swear I never thought I would say that. Honestly, but I've never been one to lie and some of the shit he has produced is pretty good. He just looks like a fucking nightmare.) That, however, doesn't mean that the pale faced little goth shitheads that worship him shouldn't all be caged and gassed Auschwitz style.

But back to my original idea. I have to trek across Milwaukee to pay rent on my house because apparently Carnihan Enterprises does not believe in convenience or customer satisfaction. As I was driving through downtown Milwaukee during the middle of the fucking lunch hour I had the pleasure of sitting in traffic for almost a goddamn hour. Why was this? Naturally, one of the cock mongers attending the show decided it was a good idea for his fucking car to break down in the middle of one of Milwaukee's construction clogged streets. Just off the offramp I took to exit the freeway. So I sat. And waited. And watched. And, of course, I laughed my ass off at the mowhawked dildo screaming at his smoking car. The whole time I prayed for his car to explode and take with it the three dipshits sitting inside of it. Alas, it did not.

What came of this, though, is a thought that I know is not original, and one that I've had before, but it was again brought to my attention. I've done my research (note: my research involved scratching my balls and drinking bourbon straight from the bottle) and I have concluded that reason these little douches dress the way they do is to be nonconformist. Which seems really fucking funny to me because in refusing to conform they ALL LOOK THE FUCKING SAME! Fuck you, asshole, you are not Sid Vicious. And stop trying to channel Joey Ramone. He would fucking weep if he saw you wearing your Blitzkrieg Bop t-shirt that you bought for $30 at Hot Topic. And why is it necessary to spend $50 on fucking hair products? If it takes more than $200 to dress as a nonconformist you are getting raped in the ass AND you are a fucking moron.

In response to the influx of punk rock kids spreading their wanton filth in my formerly pristine city, I propose the building of the world's largest fire pit. After construction of the pit we will light a fire inside of it and simply throw those little cum rags into it. Simple. Effective. Fun. Shit, we can even sell raffle tickets and auction off a chance to be the first to throw someone in the fire. Imagine how much of the city's budget problems we could solve. People would be lining up by the thousands to have a chance to torch a retard in a Misfits shirt.

Look, all of you. Go away. You are approaching territory formerly reserved only for Cubs fans and the fucking dipshit who works at the 24 hour McDonalds that fucked up my order and put the fries in the bag upside down. Needless to say, you are treading dangerous water. Leave peacefully, or I will do to you what prisoners in maximum security jails do to each other. No, you sick fuck. Not the rape. I was talking about the shanks and beatings with tube socks filled with bars of soap.

God you are fucking sick. Get your mind out of the gutter.

Jesus Christ.

Back On Track

2007-07-30T11:02:00.000-05:00

After enduring a week of pure misery I often find that it is cathartic to cut loose and send myself into an alcohol-induced coma that lasts the duration of the weekend. So what did I do this weekend? Yep - Absolutely nothing. And it was great. I sat on my ass in my living room and watched DVD's and television for an entire sloth-y weekend of laziness. Granted, I did have my good friends bourbon and vodka with me, but I never left the house for anything except to kick the wigger next door in the face. God that felt good. I think I will do it more often.

Anyway, about halfway through watching Cast Away, starring the greatest actor of all time - Mr. Tom Hanks - I realized that I don't ever want to be stranded on a fucking island. I know, I know. Quite the revelation. Just bear with me. I love that movie because it doesn't romanticize the idea of being completely secluded from the rest of the world, but it also serves to show how isolation provides a vastly different perspective of the world. I don't really know what else it should or does mean to me, but I found the movie in my collection at a seemingly very appropriate time. Seriously, Tom Hanks, is there anything you can't do? I would fellate you on command...

Now, just to show that I am back to usual, jovial self, I am going to set up my dream scenario which involves former US Senator and current Democratic Presidential candidate Mike Gravel and my favorite black hole of rationality, Ann Coulter.

Ann: "SENATOR GRAVEL, YOU ARE A LIBERAL!!! LIBERALS ARE BAD!!!"

Sen. Gravel: "Shut the fuck up Ann, I've eaten people more important than you."

Ann: "LIBERALS ARE RUINING THE COUNTRY!!! AHHH!!!"

Sen. Gravel: *Punches Ann Coulter in the mouth* "And my fist ruined your face. Your next completely pointless assertation, please?"

Ann: *Mumbling words as blood drips from her mouth* (But, obviously, it's really loud)

Sen. Gravel: "What's that Ann? Did I punch you too hard? Maybe this will help" *Pulls a baseball bat out of his overcoat and hits Ann Coulter in the face*

Ann: *Slowly dies in front of newly crowned American Hero Senator Mike Gravel*

Sen. Gravel: "Damn, that was fun. I think I'll make a sandwich."

Problem solved.

Please do this Senator Gravel, and I will vote for you in the primary. Fuck it, I will vote twice. Fraud's never been a deterent for me.

*Cue Ann Coulter twitching violently in a bloody heap on the ground.*

Stupid bitch.

Seven Days I Can Never Get Back

2007-07-25T14:24:00.000-05:00

Have you ever had on of those weeks where everything and anything that could go wrong did? Of course you have, because the world sucks and everyone has weeks like that. I just had one of those weeks that makes me want to go and kick a puppy. No matter what good things were happening there were always five fucked up circumstances to offset the good shit. Not that anyone cares or should because I'm venting on a goddamn weblog that no one reads. That's cool, though. I'm writing this thing so I can choose what I write about.

So, here's the deal. If you piss me off in the next 72 hours, I'm going to punch you in the mouth. Nothing major. I'm just going to knock several teeth down your throat. I'm serious. I'm not going to get into the specifics about why I'm so pissed, but they are compelling enough for me to punch someone in the mouth. Suffice it to say, I am angry.

I usually try to be funny with my threats when I write here, but I am so far beyond humorous that when I read other things I have written here I feel like punching the screen of my laptop. I am going to fucking twist off and ruin someone's face.

I am going to go club a crackhead with a baseball bat.

Shit

2007-07-23T12:14:00.001-05:00

Jesus Christ on a stick. I was really hoping that I would never have to write this post. Unbelievable. Unlike some people, I am somewhat fond of both of my parents. You could go so far as to say that I like them and that they have grown on me. For this reason I was slightly more than horrified when I received a phone call this past weekend and my mother informed me that she had "read my website" and that she had "never seen so many F-words in all [her] life."

Oh. Fuck.

Obviously I make up lots and lots of stuff that I write about here. But how do you explain to the woman that bore and raised you that you were just kidding around when you write about chaining a fat hooker to a pole or say that you would rather watch a kitten being raped than go to work?

Shit. Shit. Shit. Goddamn. Shit.

There was a reason that I made sure they didn't read this site. Mostly because it's depraved and disgusting. Now they know what I have written. Not that I'm going to stop or anything because I still think this shit is funny. But goddamn.

Here is the rundown of the phone call I received:
*Phone rings*
Me: "Hello"
Mother: "Hello, Michael, are you an angry man?"
Me: "No, not really."
Mother: "Oh, because I read your website and it seems like you are."
Me: *Raising a gun to my temple*
Me: Silence
Mother: "Are you still there?"
Me: "Oh shit..."

This is worse than getting caught rubbing one out to a snuff film. I could club a harp seal and not feel nearly as bad as I do now. I don't think I'm ever going to be invited to Thanksgiving dinner again. Son of a bitch.

*Still raising the gun to my temple*

Fuck me.

Better Than The Rest

2007-07-17T15:30:00.001-05:00

This is called mailing it in. Well, it would be if anyone actually read or gave a shit about this little weblog. But I've been reading through my previous posts and I decided to make a compilation of what I think are the funniest things I've written, as well as make a short list of my favorite posts. Why do I get to decide? Because I do. Read and enjoy. Or don't. Whatever.

My favorite lines, in order from the oldest to newest posts:

About crackheads: 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.

About giraffes: 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.

Regarding the Jesus freaks at Marquette University: 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.

About my good friend Rush Limbaugh: Rush Limbaugh - that dirty scrote-sniffing, puppy-raping, hillbilly-heroin eating, cock monger Rush Limbaugh

What I would do if I bought a fat hooker on National Ave: 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.

My entire conversation with a pedophile and a born again Christian

As well as my disertation on Ann Coulter

A clip from the Maury Povich show: 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.

An angry message to 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. . .

My calculation of how many eight-year-olds I could kill

The winner of my "Who Can I Hate For No Reason Contest": 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.

Why I want to blow up Planned Parenthood. It's funny because I'm pro-choice: 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!!

The time I caught my boss taking the nastiest shit in the long history of shits

The time a real website linked to mine

My new dilemma since I moved into my new house: I'm not really sure what is worse - walking down the street each day knowing that I might have to fight off and kill Dipshit McCrackpipe or driving down WestGrand Lane knowing that I might have to soon remove an eight year old from the space between my license plate holder and the front bumper. I have long advocated the construction of a fence surrounding one of the Hawaiian islands so that children between the ages of 10 and 16 can be sent there away from people like me who have sense enough not to chase a fucking soccer ball into oncoming traffic. I'm going to make that a reality one day. I'm starting with all of the kids on my block....

Cubs fans: Cubs fans. I don't believe in any god, but every night I hit my knees and pray that a higher being redirects a meteor and sends it headlong into Wrigley Field. This season my beloved Brewers are somehow managing to stay in first place convincingly. I realize that, like every year, they will break my heart, but until then I am riding the wave. So here's the deal. Cubs fans, all of you, any of you, each of you - shut the fuck up now. Don't talk to me about baseball. Or the Cubs. Or the Brewers. You haven't won dick shit for 99 years. I don't want all of your bad fucking karma rubbing off on my great city. We need this. Don't fuck it up.

Regarding the douche bag that stares at me through my office window: I don't get it, but at least four times today I have turned around and Cockbite McOveralls is standing there on his scaffolding laughing like a retard on an ether binge.

My list of better things to do than work

Here are my favorite posts:
Crackhead Fever
Dear Crackhead That Always Asks Me For Money, I Got A Job Today, Did You?
A Beautiful Conversation (with a Born-Again-Christian and a Pedophile)
I Am Going To Beat Ann Coulter With A Large Sausage
A Day In The Life
Shut The Fuck Up
The Day of Reckoning
How To Make Vehicular Manslaughter Even More Fun

and, of course, my favorite: Ode To A Crackhead, which I have reprinted below.

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

I hope in the future I write more posts that I think contain things that are worthy of being posted here. In the meantime, I'm going to get fuckin' loaded and maybe beat a hooker or two.

Lookout whores, I'm on the warpath!

Do You Really Have To Do That?

2007-07-16T15:44:00.000-05:00

I am at the end of my fucking rope. Every weekend there is some douchebag who rides his miniature crotch rocket up and down the alley behind my house. As if there isn't a street or parking lot or perhaps a fucking freeway he could ride on. This stupid piece of fuck has to ride a tiny motorcycle up and down the alley at 8am while I am trying to sleep off the unholy amounts of alcohol I consumed the previous night. During the week I wouldn't give a shit because I am awake and leaving for work at this hour. Obviously this dildo doesn't realize this, so I have written a letter to him detailing my grievances and what I expect of him. I hope he heeds my advice.

Dear Asshole,

Get fucked you panda-raping ass-ranger. I hope you run your pygmy motorcycle into a telephone pole and die. Is there a reason that you cannot postpone your insanely stupid recreation until at least 11am? I cannot understand why you have to be a fucking cock monger and interrupt me while I am taking advantage of the only true free time I have during the week. I fucking hate you with the fire of a thousand suns. Hitler was not as hated by the Polish Jews as much as I loathe you. If I had my choice between killing you and saving a village of refugees in Darfur, those skinny shits in Africa would be long gone. Please know that if it were legal I would have already detonated the bomb I made specially for you. Please also know that I work for a law firm and am currently drafting legislation to make the aforementioned action legal and even encouraged at the state level. I'm fucking serious. You are hereby ordered to stop. If you do not stop I will start planting nails face-up in the alley. If that does not deter you I will start sitting on my roof with a rifle and take shots at you as you pass by. Please know that I am a crack shot. I don't miss. I hope you understand how seriously I take my drunken slumber. Do not fuck with it. Or I will eat your soul.

Fuck you cockslap.

Love, Michael

For his sake I hope he takes me seriously. I am a man of my word and I really would hate to have to go to the hardware store and buy thousands of nails to plant in the alley. But I am willing to go that far.

That fucking cumstain better listen to me.

Fuck.

I've Got Better Shit To Do

2007-07-12T14:37:00.000-05:00

I've been sitting in my office for almost two hours now, and already it feels like my temporal lobe is going to pop. I can feel a vein in my temple trying to force its way out of my head. Hopefully that will be good enough to kill me because I cannot sit at this desk for the rest of the day. Maybe I'll go on a little homicide spree. Anyway, to pass the time I wrote a list of things I would rather do than be at work. Enjoy.

If I had my choice, instead of working I would rather:

Have sex with a morbidly obese woman with a mustache
Watch a puppy die
Masturbate to images of Rosie O'Donnell
Walk through the middle of Red Square in 1961 holding a sign that says Capitalists are Sexy
Listen to Ann Coulter pleasuring herself and then scream at her dildo for being "a fucking pussy liberal"
Fondle Ron Jeremy's hairy Jewish balls
Piss myself during the prom
Be the most recent guy to bone Paris Hilton
Contract syphillis
Piss off OJ
Circumcise myself with a fork
Take a shovel to the nuts
Eat mayonnaise
Snort lines of broken glass
Finger-bang Babwa Wawters
Attempt a rational conversation with our numb nuts president
Repeatedly hit myself in the head with a tack hammer
Get raped by a manatee
Take a job as a fluffer for a porn movie
Be cellmates with a 7 ft. tall black man nicknamed Rapey
Stare blankly at a white wall for 8 hours. Strike that, I already spend my entire day doing this.
Fellate a hot curling iron
Set fire to my nuts
Spend a weekend in Buffalo Bill's torture pit
Shit myself in a bar
Drink Steel Reserve
Anything involving beastiality
Huff gasoline
Watch a Chicago Bears game
Live on Milwaukee's North Side
Go hamster shopping with Richard Gere
Watch reruns of American Idol
Go down on my fat shit neighbor
Skin myself alive
Listen to that fucking Avril Lavigne "Girlfriend" song
Stab myelf repeatedly with a ballpoint pen
Fuck with an already pissed off gorilla
Listen to elevator music
Sit in traffic
Get hit by a car
Get beaten up by my friend's gay uncle
Take a crackhead to dinner
Drag my dick across a bed of nails
Kick a stripper
Brush my teeth with paint thinner
Ride the It's a Small World ride at Disney World
Anything involving nudity and scorpions
Drink Mountain Dew
Bite Mike Tyson's ear off
Rub one out with sandpaper
Get pegged
Step on a kitten
Make a long list
Wrap dental floss around my finger until it turns black and falls off
Punch my sister
Break my television
Eat a piece of tree bark
Fuck Anna Nicole Smith. In her current state.
Create a ridiculously long list of shit I'd rather do than work.
Write for this weblog.
Get fired.

As you can see, I'm not a big fan of work. I hope I conveyed my general dislike of all things work-related. If you can't tell, then I hate to say this, but scientists would describe you, in all their sciency terms, as a "fucking retard." It's true. I read it in a book.

Fuck work.

Can I Help You Dickhead?

2007-07-11T15:53:00.000-05:00

The office building I work in is having repairs and remodeling work done on the exterior. As such, there are several men working at any given time. I have nothing mean to say about manual laborers, as I was one for a few years. Having said that, there is one guy working here who is really creeping the fuck out of me. My desk faces away from the window in my office, so I am not always looking outside, but on several occasions I have turned around to see this lazy-eyed bastard staring in at me with a shit-eating grin on his face. What in the entire motherfucking world could be so goddamn funny? Am I growing a dick out of the back of my head that I am not aware of? Did he just remember a funny joke? I don't get it, but at least four times today I have turned around and Cockbite McOveralls is standing there on his scaffolding laughing like a retard on an ether binge. He must be inhaling fumes from the paint he is applying to the side of the building. There is no other explanation. There is nothing remotely amusing about my office. There are four white walls, a desk, and my laptop. Oh, and my framed picture of Milwaukee County Stadium. That must be it. This floppy cock must be laughing at a black and white picture of a now-defunct stadium. Ah the laughter!

I've got to do something about this cock-gobbling peeping tom. And since I can't just turn around and shoot him (I would break the window and I'm not paying for a new one) I will have to devise an alternative method for ridding myself of this fucking pervert. I have made a list of what I can do to prevent this pickle-licker from watching me while I work:

1. Punch him in the face. Simple. Effective. Gets the job done. And it's fun!

2. Run my car into the base of the scaffolding. He'll fall to his death. I'll have a good laugh. In the end, we'll both come out on top. Except for him. He won't.

3. Gasoline, fire, a lot of kindling. I'm going to roast him like a motherfucking marshmallow.

4. Build a cage around the base of the scaffolding. Fill the cage with hungry lions and rapid squirrels. Wait for him to die. Rinse. Repeat.

5. Go back to my old neighborhood. Bring back several of my old crackhead acquaintances. In a cage, of course, they're not real people. Let them loose in the parking lot. Tell them that Googly-Eye O'Dickslap has a pocketful of quarters and a bag of crack in his shoe. He's as good as dead.

6. Train a falcon to fly up and attack him. Also train him to steal that asshole's wallet. He owes
me that.

7. Failing all else, take sledge hammer to the window. Step out onto scaffolding. Inquire about his motives for watching me in my place of business. Ask him how he would prefer to die. Ignore his request and bludgeon him with a flashlight.

I have many options, but whatever I choose, this guy needs to go. Fast. He's creeping me the hell out and I can't concentrate on not working. It's been about an hour now since he last looked at me and...... HEY! QUIT LOOKING AT ME YOU KITTEN-RAPING CACTUS FELLATOR! I'M GOING TEAR YOUR EYES OUT! GO THE FUCK AWAY!

Asshole.

How to Make Vehicular Manslaughter Even More Interesting

2007-07-06T14:25:00.000-05:00

About a month ago I moved out of the ghetto and into a new house in West Milwaukee. When I left my old apartment at 24th and Wisconsin I left behind all of my crackhead friends, as well. But moving into my new place presented an entirely new challenge. Now instead of blowing off bums asking me for money I have to dodge shit eating little children as I drive down Westgrand Lane to my house. Needless to say, there have been a few casualties. My experiences mowing down kids with my car have, obviously, been enjoyable. Who doesn't like to pretend the eight year old next door is a speed bump? But I thought of something that can make the experience even better. I have assigned a points-system to my vehicular manslaughter activities. Here it is:

5 Points for hitting any kid. Period.

+1 if the kid is on a bike.

+2 if the kid is on a skateboard.

+5 if you have to swerve to kit the kid. Effort should be rewarded.

+1 if the kid is wearing a baseball hat and you knock it off.

+5 if the kid rolls up the hood of the car and onto the roof.

+10 if the kidd rolls up the hood of the car and all the way over the roof.

-10 if you swerve and miss.

+5 if the kid is a fucking wigger. Like my neighbor.

+5 if you make eye-contact before car contact.

+.1 points for every broken bone. Fingers and toes do not count, and you can only count up to 10 vertebrae.

+4 if you break both femurs.

+10 if the kids parents are present.

+5 if the kid starts running and you chase him/her down.

+2 if you are eating any kind of sandwich while performing your child-crushing duty.

+15 if you kit two or more kids at once.

+20 if you avoid serving any jail time.

This is still a work in progress and I will come up with more ways to score point in the future. In the meantime get in your car and go hunting. First one to 100 points wins.

Eat my bumper you snotty little shitbags.

So You Want to Piss Me Off

2007-07-02T16:09:00.000-05:00

I'm trying hard to write new things for this little weblog, but I always seem to be preoccupied with other shit. Mostly booze and running kids over with my car. However I do have two subjects I would like to tackle.

First, I present the (nearly) comprehensive list of action you could take should you desire to piss me the fuck off. Read it and be warned:

1. Be a FIB. And bring thousands of your FIB friends to Milwaukee when the Cubs play the Brewers. I live one mile from the fucking stadium. When the Cubs are in town traffic on I94 is akin to the congestion one would expect from a mass evacuation due to an impending alien invasion. Just stay the fuck out. It's not my fault you can't get tickets at Wrigley. But it is your fault that it takes me a fucking hour to drive the ten miles from my office to my house. Fuck you FIBS.

2. Leave me a voicemail. Unless you're telling me how much you hate me before you eat a gun, I don't need you to leave a fucking message. There is a reason that my phone shows missed calls. And who they are from. And the fucking number. And the number of missed calls. Need I go on? If you call me and I don't answer the phone, I will call you back. Seriously, even if I took the time to listen to your fucking message when I call you back you are still going to have to explain whatever it is that you want. Save you and me some time and just don't leave a goddamn voicemail, or else I will kick you in the dick. Think I'm kidding? Try it.

3. Be Rod Stewart. This only applies to one of you, but I hate you so much that I thought it warranted a mention. Do I like your body? No, you're a fucking wrinkly old fuckstick with stupid hair and a voice that makes me want to throw myself into traffic. Do I think you're sexy? How dare you ask me that you decrepit piece of dog shit. If I ever hear you say that again I will find you and feed your eyeballs to you. Please die Rod Stewart. It's for the good of all mankind. And if you don't do it for them, then at least bite it for me. I really hate you.

4. Be the fat girl in the office who pawns her work off on me. No, I don't want to drop off legal documents on the east side. Why ask such a stupid question? Oh, because you're a lazy fuck and the thought of moving your fat ass more than the twenty feet from your desk to the break room causes you to perspire? Stupid bitch.

5. Eat Nacho Cheese Doritos. Jesus. Fucking. Christ. Watching someone eat chips that I can actually smell is about as disgusting as walking in on a circle jerk in the basement of the library. Those things taste like shit. Does the Frito-Lay corporation think its funny producing such a fucking horrific product? Shoot me.

6. Be Johnny Estrada, Rickie Weeks, or Derrick Turnbow. These three are, respectively, the starting catcher, the starting second baseman, and the former (mindfucked) closer and now setupman for my beloved Milwaukee Brewers. Estrada is easily the worst .280 hitter I've ever seen. How the fuck is it possible to hit almost .300 and have exactly one clutch hit (which was basically negated because after it happened Damien Mueller, our 90 year old backup catcher who should be playing more often, went yard to pad the lead)? At least he doesn't strike out as much as Weeks, though. Barely, but its still not as much. Rickie Weeks is a goddamn creative genius when it comes to striking out. A fucking artist. If that worthless fuck was to strikeout and somehow end up with the fat end of the bat lodged firmly in his asshole I wouldn't be surprised. As for Derrick Turnbow...his nickname is Turnblow. He couldn't face the bottom of the order for the Little Douchebags of the Wilson Park Little League without issuing six walks. Need I say more?

7. Write me an email/message/anything with text using poor grammar. I cannot overstate how much of a grammar nazi I am, and I am very proud of this. So when I receive a written message filled with "LOL" and the number "2" in place of "to" I die a little bit inside. And then I feel the urge to kill.

8. Replace the Diet Coke in the break room with Diet Pepsi. If you do this I will hire a Haitian witch doctor to cast a voodoo curse on your soul. Michael's Law states that you must replace what you take with an equal or better product. If you can't replace the Diet Coke with more Diet Coke then you have to replace it with packages of ephedrine or real coke. I need to stay the fuck awake at work and this Diet Pepsi shit isn't doing the goddamn job.

9. Tell me that I am tall. I'm 6'5" for Christ's sake, I'm well fucking aware of this fact. This, however, doesn't deter the legions of douchebags who find it necessary to point it out. How about you just shut the fuck up and assume that I know, is that cool? Good. Otherwise I'm going to break the wooden handle off of a rake and impale you with it.

10. Eat at your desk/work-station while I am talking to you. Mother of fucking Christ this pisses me off. Is it really necessary for you to fit in those mouthfuls of whatever nasty shit you are shoveling down your throat while I'm trying to talk to you? Is it really? People at the Milwaukee County Courthouse are the worst when it comes to this shit. I don't even go down there between the hours of 11am and 1pm anymore just because I can't deal with some dipshit who has to eat fried chicken while feably attempting to look up whatever records or documents I need. How hard is it to take a goddamn lunch break? Obviously very hard. Fucking cretins.

Contrary to what I said at the beginning of this post this list is not nearly comprehensive. If you have read any of this blog at all you will realize that pretty much everything pisses me off. Yet I am still a very happy person. I have no clue how I pull it off. I am a walking conundrum. And too lazy to finish the list.

I want to address one more thing before I end this - Cubs fans. I don't believe in any god, but every night I hit my knees and pray that a higher being redirects a meteor and sends it headlong into Wrigley Field. This season my beloved Brewers are somehow managing to stay in first place convincingly. I realize that, like every year, they will break my heart, but until then I am riding the wave. So here's the deal. Cubs fans, all of you, any of you, each of you - shut the fuck up now. Don't talk to me about baseball. Or the Cubs. Or the Brewers. You haven't won dick shit for 99 years. I don't want all of your bad fucking karma rubbing off on my great city. We need this. Don't fuck it up.

Well, I'm off to run down small children with my car. Next time I write I will introduce all three of you to the children-killing-points-system that I have devised. It makes vehicular manslaughter a game! Hooray!

Fucking kids.

Newsflash: I'm Not Dead Yet

2007-06-11T15:20:00.001-05:00

It's been awhile....... I know, goddamn. Almost 3 months since I wrote anything in this little slice of internet heaven. Since it's been so long I'll update the three of you who read this and fill you in on the happenings in my life. If you give a shit. Which you almost certainly don't. If that's the case then get fucked. Anyway.....

On the first of June I moved into a new house. It is, to say the very least, much better than my previous residence. Why is this? There are no fucking crackheads, of course. Nope, now instead of wading through a sea of toothless rock-smokers who smell like something my dog might try to eat I get to drive through a sea of shit-eating little children who like to run around the fucking street and ride their bikes in front of my car as I'm coming back from work. I'm not really sure what is worse - walking down the street each day knowing that I might have to fight off and kill Dipshit McCrackpipe or driving down WestGrand Lane knowing that I might have to soon remove an eight year old from the space between my license plate holder and the front bumper. I have long advocated the construction of a fence surrounding one of the Hawaiian islands so that children between the ages of 10 and 16 can be sent there away from people like me who have sense enough not to chase a fucking soccer ball into oncoming traffic. I'm going to make that a reality one day. I'm starting with all of the kids on my block....

Also, as if it matters to anyone, I still work for a local law firm. The best part about all of it? No one has found out about the shit that I write here and fired because of it. Also, the free coffee is nice. Actually, the best part is the coffee, fuck that other thing.

One more note about my new house, and then I'll finish this shit off with a letter I wrote to all of my former friends on 24th St. The ones without any teeth. Or deodorant. Anyway, one of my neighbors is a 36 year old weed smoking former metalhead who almost certainly forgot his brain in the 80's. Fortunately for me, since he provides the kind of unintentional comedy that I love so very much, he does not have access to a time machine to go back and get his brain. This guy is high 8 days a week and works for a telemarketing company that his roommate runs out of their house. I wish I could describe him better. Just imagine what a washed-up burned-out metalhead looks and acts like and I guarantee you will be spot on.

Finally, I'll wrap this up by sharing with you a letter I have written to all of my crackhead brethren...

Dear Pipe Smokers,

Before I go any farther I would first like you all to know that I enjoyed my time living amongst you. Sure, I was inside of a building while you were sleeping next to the carwash or in dumpsters, but that did nothing to diminish the closeness I came to feel to all of you. I am going to miss the toothless grins and the many times you berated me for only giving you a quarter, and I will never forget the looks on your faces when I would fish around my pockets for change, knowing full well I had none, before telling you to get fucked. So full of hope. Such anticipation before I crushed your dreams of procuring white rocks. How can I thank you enough for offering to pump my gas for me after I had given you a dollar? The handles on those things are difficult to operate, and the automatic pump mechanism is very tricky. I'm just glad I had experts on hand to help me through such a trying ordeal. Thank you all from the bottom of my heart. I cannot believe our time together has come to an end. I will miss each and every one of you.

If there is only one thing I can say to you it is this: If any of you come near me again I will fucking run you over with my car. I'm serious. Fuck all of you filthy, mangy pieces of shit. If you follow me to my new house I will douse you with gasoline and set you on fire using a magnifying glass and sunlight. If it is cloudy, I will use a Bic lighter. I'm not fucking around anymore. I hate all of you. Please die.

Love,
Michael

I don't feel so angry anymore......

This Is Stupid

2007-03-23T15:26:00.000-05:00

I am sitting at work right now, thinking of ways to leave early without being noticed. In the meantime I have been dicking around with Google and searching whatever comes to mind. I was curious so I entered the word (I think it's a word) "starmeeting151" and was, naturally, met with entries for my own site. I found something else, though. Some Identity Theft Protection Website that sells fucking mailboxes linked to my site because in a previous post about nearly being robbed I used the words "identity" and "thief." I was perplexed, but I also thought it was really funny since I managed to get the word "fucking" posted twice on their site and "shit" is on there once. Is it childish to be happy that your website was unknowingly linked to and in the process several curse words showed up on a (possibly, I have no idea, though) reputable commercial website? Yes, it is, but fuck that. Who cares? I am almost giddy because I got ripped off but still managed to swear. The best part, though: My post had NOTHING to do with identity theft. In fact, I state explicitely This guy was not trying to steal my identity. I wish I had found out about this sooner......damn.

Fucking fucking shit. Hahahahaha, never gets old.....

Sure I'll Give You My Banking Information

2007-03-14T13:02:00.000-05:00

I got one of those Nigerian Oil Heir emails the other day. I took a minute to compose a response:

This offer sounds wonderful. I would be more than happy to help you with this transaction, however, I would first like to ask how you found me of all people?!? I could not believe my good fortune when I read your email! It is my hope that we can begin as soon as possible.

Here is my information:
Name: Nathan W. Churchill
Company: Campbell's Soup - Tomato Bisque and Clam Chowder Division, Assistant to the Regional Soup Manager and Secretary of Tastiness
Bank Info: I am able to open an acount at any financial institution within a 40 mile radius. Anything outside of that, unfortunately, is not possible as I ride a bicycle for transportation and I am afraid I simply cannot peddle any farther. Please respond with your directions for opening such an account and I will be most happy to move forward with our transaction.
Telephone No.: (507) 867-5309

If there is any other information you require please do not hesitate to ask. I am very excited about this. I cannot tell you how much those millions of dollars are going to help with my Save the Retarded Pandas foundation, and I can now afford to buy the malaria medication for my illegitimate daughter! How Fortuna has smiled upon me! Please respond soon. Thank you.

Nathan W. Churchill
(507) 867-5309

Nothing outrageous, but I would love to get a response about this. If there is any way at all that I could fuck with whoever sent this email I would shit myself......

You've Got to be Kidding Me

2007-03-02T15:35:00.000-06:00

Let me tell you about the most harrowing and terrifying moment of my day......

I'm telling anyway.

I took a break from pretending to be busy so that I could wander aimlessly around the office in hopes of finding something to occupy my time. In doing so I musta drank me 15 Dr. Peppers (I sincerely hope someone got the Forrest Gump reference) and realized that a stop at the restroom was in short order. I made my way down the hallway and into the men's room and upon opening the door I was nearly physically knocked down by the most powerful, nose-exploding stench I had ever experienced. Naturally, this was fucking hilarious to me, but what made it all better was that the guy who took the rhinocerous dump that managed to leave a tinted cloud throughout the bathroom was still in the shitter. Of course, I laughed. Somewhat loudly. Loud enough that he heard me.

And then, before I could exit the bathroom and continue my procrastination......

Yep.

My boss.
Walks.
Out.
Of.
The.
Stall.

My fucking boss, the man at whom I had just laughed, was the gastronomic wizard that produced a turd that could have gassed half of Auschwitz.

So now what do I do? He definitely saw me as he exited the stall. He knows I was the one who let out the laugh as I walked in. He knows that I know that he took a shit that could have been used to bomb Hiroshima. This is what I'm dealing with.....

That fucking guy better have washed his hands...............

What Happened to the Crackheads?

2007-01-11T15:26:00.000-06:00

Is the world coming to a fucking end? Am I losing my shit? Is that a Pringle on the floor? Hmmmmm, maybe the last question doesn't apply, but seriously, where the hell have all the crack bums gone? I realize that we are in the middle of January, but it has been unseasonably warm here in Milwaukee so they haven't frozen, and even if they did I'm sure I would have seen a few bodies laying around the street. I don't think they hibernate. Crack has a tendency to make them all jittery and keep them awake forever, so there is no way that they have been sleeping since November. So what the fuck?

You are probably wondering why, Michael, do you give a flying fuck about the toothless vagrants that wander your neighborhood and ask you for money? Wait, you're not? Are you sure? Really? Oh, no, that's cool. Not a problem. I'm going to tell you anyway, though.

Crackheads are nature's way of saying "it could be so much worse." I mean, everytime I am asked for "bus money" I smile a little bit inside before telling the bum to get fucked. I'm actually starting to get crackhead withdrawals, which leads me to the next logical conclusion: Crackheads function as a form of crack for me. I need to see these walking piles of worthless to reaffirm my validity. Or something like that. Well not really, because crackheads don't validate my life, but goddamnit I miss seeing the toothless grins and smelling the diseased bastards from blocks away. I miss them, and to show how much I want them back I have written a letter to all of the crackheads in the neighborhood or 24th and Wisconsin in Milwaukee.

Dear Crackheads,

First of all, I would just like to let you all know that your presence has been greatly missed over the last 2 months. Where have you all gone? I know for a fact that the homeless shelter has not taken on more degenerates like yourselves, and even if it did you have to leave during the day. Where oh where have you all run off to? Is there a shortage of crack in Milwaukee that has forced you to seek your fix elsewhere? If that is the case, please, let me help you to procure your white rocks. I'm sure we can work something out. You guys have become like brothers to me. Brothers that I would never admit to having. And who I would disown. And probably beat with a stick. But brothers, nonetheless. So, my cracked out brothers, please come back. I'll give you all of the change in the ashtray of my car. I'll even give you a dollar. A whole fucking dollar! Can't you see what you are all fucking doing to me?!?! I am so torn up inside, I cry myself to sleep at night thinking about the times we had when you would stagger up to me and demand money and I would reach around in my pockets telling you to wait before smiling and saying "nope, now get lost asshole." Can't we return to the days when you would sit outside my apartment and wait for me to leave for work? How I long for the times when I would be walking home from class and I would see eight of you within a ten block stretch. Please, crackheads, come home to me. I need you. You complete me.

-Michael

If that letter doesn't bring them back then I don't know what will. I'm all out of ideas here. I've tried nothing and I can't think of anything else to do. What a truly tragic life I lead. All of my crackhead friends have deserted me.

Come back crackheads. Please?

Life Sentence

2007-01-03T15:09:00.000-06:00

Note: This was written right after the recent elections and I had forgotten about it until now. I think it's fairly decent and pretty different than most of the other stuff I write. So, enjoy. Or don't. See if I give a shit.

The election is over and there are a lot of things I want to say but cannot verbalize without this post devolving into another of my swear-laden tirades, but having said that I feel I need get a few things off of my chest like how I swear-to-fucking-Christ my state is populated with idiots who claim to desire change and come oh-so-fucking-close but still manage to come up short on the truly progressive issues, but hey, what does it matter if we only discriminate against a small percentage of our state's population, they will never matter anyway, or how it is that we re-elected a crooked governor and never batted an eye when he picked up right where he was and continued to make Wisconsin a larger welfare state in the hope of projecting an image of equality and the irony of this is that voters who put that chode in office to create this fucking utopia of free money and rampant discrimination forgot to vote no on a small little amendment to the fucking state constitution which now paves the way for our truly progressive and open-minded state to legally prevent homosexuals from ever marrying here, which is fine because fags should die in a fire and God and country and Don't Tread on Me and these colors don't run and Jee-sus won't this state be a fucking great place to live five years from now when nobody can fucking afford to stay here because of our shit-eating fuckstick government charging property taxes on everything I own up to and including my nutsack, but I'm not bitter because being bitter would imply that I am resigned to the fact that this shit will continue when in reality I'm still fucking pissed and not resigned to a single fucking thing and now I need to know one fucking thing that would make my fucking day: What the hell is going on here?

Damn.

A Small Part of Me

2006-12-28T17:57:00.000-06:00

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

2006-12-26T15:01:00.001-06:00

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

2006-12-20T15:09:00.000-06:00

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

2006-12-06T12:34:00.000-06:00

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

2006-11-16T01:10:00.000-06:00

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:

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.
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.
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?
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!
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

2006-10-09T10:51:00.000-05:00

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

2006-10-04T13:16:00.000-05:00

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

2006-08-08T14:33:00.000-05:00

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

2006-08-04T13:36:00.000-05:00

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

2006-08-03T23:37:00.000-05:00

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

2006-07-28T15:16:00.000-05:00

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

2006-07-27T09:41:00.000-05:00

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

2006-07-25T10:06:00.000-05:00

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

2006-07-20T11:09:00.000-05:00

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

2006-07-13T17:24:00.000-05:00

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?

2006-06-30T11:37:00.000-05:00

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

2006-06-26T20:44:00.000-05:00

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

2006-06-24T13:01:00.000-05:00

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)

2006-06-12T21:38:00.000-05:00

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

2006-06-09T11:10:00.000-05:00

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

2006-06-04T13:03:00.000-05:00

Just completely housed. That's all.

Why?

2006-05-30T02:53:00.000-05:00

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)

2006-05-27T22:55:00.000-05:00

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.

2006-05-24T12:05:00.000-05:00

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?

2006-05-23T12:06:00.000-05:00

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

2006-05-22T21:18:00.000-05:00

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

2006-05-22T14:16:00.000-05:00

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

2006-05-21T14:06:00.000-05:00

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

2006-05-20T13:11:00.000-05:00

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

2006-05-18T14:32:00.000-05:00

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

2006-05-18T13:07:00.000-05:00

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.