I Would Like To……

I would like to dip Paula Deen in butter, roll her in flour and then drop her into a huge deep-fat fryer.

Then, once cooked, slice her into little bite-sized pieces and feed all the hungry kids in the world.  I’m sure she would taste like a yummy, plump chicken.

I would like to make people understand that praying does absolutely nothing and waving your hands to the sky only makes birds and aliens very nervous.

Thanks a lot religious freaks, I’ve been waiting for years to be captured by aliens and taken away from this planet.

I would like to lock all the Kardashians in a rubber-walled room with three dictionaries and see who figures out how to open it first. Continue reading

The Best Dream Ever

It starts with me walking down a poorly lit hallway with several doors on each side, some cracked open and some closed.  I want to look in each door, but something is making me nervous to look.  But I look anyway.

The first door is numbered 666 and I open it.  There is a huge bed in the middle of the room and I see Rush Limbaugh dressed like a catholic school girl and he has black mascara dripping down his bulbous cheeks like he’s been crying.  He looks at me with his God-Fearing eyes and points to the corner.

In the corner there are two Filipino adult midgets tied together with ball-gags in their mouths, smiling and sitting on top of a very worn out Twister board.

Then out of the closet, Justin Beiber runs out dressed in a lederhosen t-back carrying a crystal magic wand.  He flips his hair, points the wand at Rush and says, “Lady-Boy Alive.”  Immediately Rush grows HHH titties and starts giggling like he’s on laughing gas.

He gets down on all fours on the edge of the bed and Justin mounts him and starts riding him like a donkey.  Rush squeals and Justin just keeps flipping his hair.  Then Usher appears with a video camera and starts taping the whole thing and tells me he’s going to put it on You Tube.

I’m starting to feel a little weird about everything so I try to help the Filipino midgets get untied.

They start blowing me kisses, so I run out of the room and slam the door shut.  At the end of the hallway I see my 5th grade teacher standing next to a urinal and she says, “I told you that you wouldn’t amount to anything.”  I wake up and realized I pissed myself, again.

RIP Paul Walker, (duh’merica rises again)

paul-walkerDuh’Merica never ceases to amaze me.  When Paul Walker died, I sadly laughed at all the people who were interviewed on television.

By all accounts, Walker seemed like a good guy.  When I say “by all accounts”, I mean whatever I’ve seen on television.  I mean for all I know Walker had a basement full of Filipino lady-boys playing naked Twister on a daily basis.  Hell, I don’t know.

Anyway.  His death, although not exactly tragic in my opinion, brought out the best in Duh’Merica.  People crying about what a great guy he was.  People crying, talking about what a great actor he was.  People crying about what a tragedy his death was.  People crying for a man they never met.

Let me repeat that last line for you: PEOPLE CRYING FOR A MAN THEY NEVER MET.

You see, this is a major problem with our country.  Continue reading

Dear Soccer Mom

 

(I’m posting this again because I have to pick my kids up today and this will surely happen again.)

Hi there, you don’t know me, but you cut me off today while speeding through a 20 MPH school zone in your extended Chevy Suburban with the stickers on the back window that shows how many children you have.

I’m sure there was a good reason for you endangering the lives of young, innocent school children by blatantly ignoring the speed limit.

Maybe you broke a nail and had a “salon-emergency.”

Maybe one of your fake, silicone tits popped and you had to race to your plastic surgeon’s office before the other 20 soulless insecure women beat you there.

Maybe you just found out that your husband was banging his much younger than you, much hotter than you, much tighter than you secretary and you were speeding to your lawyer’s office to draw up the divorce papers.

Silly me, that couldn’t be true because there is no way in hell you would divorce your meal ticket, the provider of your country club lifestyle.  Continue reading

My Strange Pirate Dream

(I’m re-posting this because I’m hoping someone who reads it may be able to help me decipher exactly what it means.)

I was strapped into a huge, throne-like, rotating chair in the middle of a massive pirate ship.

As the chair rotated I could see that Angelina Jolie was wearing a fruit basket hat and was steering the ship while Johnny Depp was licking her balls.

That’s right, Angelina had balls.  And not little balls, they were big, hulking cow balls.

I yelled “Why, why… poor Brad.”  Depp stopped licking her balls, smiled eerily and said in an annoying pirate voice, “Vive la France.”

As the chair rotated away from the ball licking, I noticed that there was a playpen balancing precariously on a plank that extended about ten feet from the edge of the ship over the sea.

There appeared to be about 10 kids in it and they were all striped like Zebras.  There was a flag in the middle of the playpen with a banner at the top that said, “Adopt a kid and get free booty.

I began to cry a bit and a couple of tears dripped down my cheeks.  As if those first scenes weren’t bad enough, my chair continued to rotate, I saw that Usher was manning one of the cannons at the front of the ship and had a parrot on his shoulder.  Continue reading

Eclectic; a hipster conversation

From the Merriam Webster online dictionary- ECLECTIC: (n) one who uses a method or approach that is composed of elements drawn from various sources; one who uses an eclectic method or approach

For the most part, people who use the term “eclectic” really piss me off.  Generally, people who throw this term aimlessly into the air from their PBR stained lips are Hipsters or anyone else attempting to be ironically cool.

They are always trying to sound cooler than the current year they live in.  Let me explain a bit here.  Hipsters never live in the present.

They are either dressing, talking, smelling like they live in a previous era or they are attempting to create a new, futuristic beard/side-burn concoction.

But when the day is over, they are exactly like every other douche bag that is trying overly hard to be cooler than the person across from them drinking an obscure craft beer.

Here’s a small example of how the conversation may go down: (a normal, secure person sparking up a conversation with a Hipster)

     Normal Secure Person: Hi there, what kind of music do you like?

       Hipster: Well, I have a very eclectic taste in music.  I listen to a wide variety of artists, except Top 40 of course.  I don’t like to categorize anything or pigeon hole any artists, that would be unfair to their process. Continue reading

Fifty Shades of…….I Gave Up

Look, for my wife, I was trying to read Fifty Shades of Grey.  I couldn’t get past page 50.  She implored me to at least make it to the sex parts, but I just couldn’t do it.

I’m a man, I get off on actually seeing the tits and pussy, not imagining it.

I only used my imagination when I first hit puberty and the Sears catalog was all I had at my disposal to jerk off to.  Thankfully, those days are long gone.

I honestly tried, but within those first 50 pages, I think there were at least 30 references to Grey’s “long index finger.”

So, I’m guessing he either has a gigantic dong or the author is playing some sadistic trick.  Either way, I couldn’t stick around to find out.

For me it was boring and smelled suspiciously of a Lifetime Channel movie of the week.

To my wife; I still love you, but I just couldn’t do it.

To all the other women out there like my wife who enjoy the book; have fun with that.  I too can’t wait until some movie producer hijacks the Twilight cast to act out this steamy, fuck-fest for everyone to see on the big screen.  Now that I will watch.

Anyway, I just started reading God’s Lunatics by Michael Largo and it appears to be fascinating.

Just my two cents for the day.

cheers