stop praying for Orlando, please

orlando-tributes-9The shooting in Orlando was an absolute tragedy.

The poor child who was attacked by the alligator and died, also an absolute tragedy.

The singer who was shot and killed signing autographs, that’s another absolute tragedy.

But, for the love of all things rational, please stop praying for these victims.  If you didn’t notice, god was caught napping again.  Apparently he didn’t give a shit about these victims.

“Hey god, where the fuck were you on that one?  I mean you had 3 different tragedies to stop and totally failed.  Well done god.”

So why are you praying?  Because it makes you fell better about yourself?  Because you like to be part of drama?  Because you have nothing else worth while to contribute?

When you change your social media profile picture to an LGBT flag, do you know what that does?  Absolutely fucking nothing.  Absolutely fucking nothing.

Oh yeah and I almost forgot, for all you assholes who posted the story about Chic Fil-A working on Sunday and delivering food to people at the blood drives, fucking spare me.  Their owners still believe that all gay people will burn in eternal hell.

“Here’s your chicken sandwich, sorry you are still going to hell because Leviticus says so.”

I always love when people turn tragedies into right vs. left (sarcasm).

Again, your prayers mean absolutely nothing.  Instead of wasting time praying to your god who doesn’t care, go give blood or volunteer somewhere.  Feed a hungry kid or find something productive to do.  Put your cell phones down and make a real difference.

Well done Duh’Merica, you’ve done it again.

(Personal note: I feel terrible for all the victims and can’t imagine what their families are going through.  It pisses me off how people and the media turn all these events into political rhetoric and how quickly the victims are forgotten.)

 

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John Travolta & a Redneck Walk Into a Bar…….

(The past few days I noticed that my site views were higher than normal so I check out what was being viewed the most.  I was a little surprised to see that my top three blog posts for the week were about John Travolta, Rednecks and pit bulls.)

So, I decided to write a little story that incorporates all three:

Characters:

Pam the Bartender– she’s about 48 years old, with stringy blonde hair and looks like a meth addict.

John Travolta- playing himself of course

Skeeter the Redneck– a very prideful Southern man who obviously hates gays, blacks and anyone who doesn’t believe in God.  He’s about 6’4” tall and built like a lumberjack, a big goatee and mullet hair.

Hitler the Pit-Bull- Skeeter’s dog who will attack, he has a Confederate Flag collar

Fade In– a somewhat seedy bar in Sanford, Fl (where the Trayvon Martin ordeal took place).  Travolta is already sitting at the bar, smiling creepily and ordering Cosmopolitans as Skeeter walks in with his pit bull Hitler. Continue reading

all cats are probably gay

catprancing down the street, with a constant look of “I’m better than you bitch.”                              

laying on the grass in the front yard, deliberately flipping their tails back and forth inviting you to pet their stomach,                                      

then as you oblige, they scratch you like a mad queen who was just told he was “chunky”                           

they flutter past you, deliberately brushing your leg for attention with their tail high in the air exposing their asshole, an asshole that looks like a banana that’s been split in half                   

I’ve yet to see a cat who appeared masculine in any way, nor have I ever heard a cat meow in a deep voice like the Allstate guy                                                                    (I’m fairly certain that All Cats (Domestic) Are Probably Gay)

God and the Gay Dude

A gay dude walked into a bar and God was sitting at a corner booth looking all cool and shit while stroking his white beard.  The conversation went something like this:

Gay Dude– Hey there, is that really you?  Are you God?

  God– Yes my son, behold, for it is me, the Almighty.

Gay Dude(clapping gingerly) Finally, I’ve been looking for you for like years.  I have a really, really important question for you.

  God– Anything my son, what’s on your mind?

Gay Dude– Well, I’m afraid you don’t love me.

  God– Why would you think that?  I am God, I love everyone.  I created you in my image.

Gay Dude– But I like other dudes.

  God-Well so do I, what’s wrong with that???

Gay Dude– No, I mean I realllllllllllllllly like other dudes.  I like penises.  I like to touch them, lick them and put them in my ass.

  God– Holy Shit, I get it now.  You are a fag, hmmmmm.  Yeah, I don’t really like fags that much.  You know, I’m still pissed about all that Sodom and Gomorrah shit that went down a while back.

Gay Dude– But do you love me?  I was born this way, does that mean you are gay too, since you created me in your image and all???

  God– Look buddy, I love pussy.  We had a security breach in heaven years ago and Beelzebub snuck in and started creating fags just to fuck with me.  I so didn’t create fags.  But now lesbians, I love me some lesbians.  I take full credit for them. (winking)

Gay Dude– This is bullshit.

  God– Get used to it and be thankful, at least you aren’t a black fag.

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

1-976 HIPSTER

Subcultures fascinate me and nothing fascinates me more than Hipsters.  They are fucking everywhere, literally and figuratively and I enjoy poking fun at them.  (probably a poor word choice there)

There is a fetish out there for everyone so I’m sure there is a Hipster Phone Sex Line and here’s how I think it would go down:

Caller: (after dialing 1-976-HIPSTER and giving her his credit card number) Hi there, I’m a little nervous, I’ve never done this before.

     Hipster: Don’t be nervous, I’m here to ease your stress and a ease a few other things….if you know what I mean.

Caller:  Oh well, that sounds nice.  Can you call me Clementine?

Hipster: Sure thing, but how about Clemmy?

Caller:  (giggling) Oh yeah, that’s nice.  I’m already getting wet, tell me about your vintage records.

Hipster: Glad you asked, I have quite the vinyl collection.  Original Sgt. Peppers, Hendrix Isle of Wight,  Johnny Cash, Salt N Peppa………

Caller: (gently moaning) I was so close until Salt N Peppa.  Let me hear about your ironic beard and wardrobe  (hands in panties) Continue reading

John Travolta and the Creepy Van

(I wrote this years ago before any of this “gay” rumor shit was in the news.  And by the way, who gives a fuck if Travolta likes to give rim jobs to hot, male masseurs?)

Am I the only person around who thinks John Travolta is just a bit too creepy and might be that guy you see driving a weird, old van in your neighborhood right after school lets out?

I’m not even talking about the whole Scientology aspect either.  His smile is just a little bit “off” for me.

When I see him on television doing an interview he kind of looks like that guy who drives the old, decrepit van with the tinted bubble window on the back offering kids in your neighborhood candy.

You know the van I’m talking about, the one with the airbrushed wizard mural on the side.  It was the type of van your mother told you to stay away from.

The van that was always circling the elementary school playground, the van with the mini air conditioner unit in the back window speeding away from playgrounds like a convict was driving.

Then, on the rare occasion that the van actually parked somewhere, the guy getting out had bad, green prison tattoos and that crazy Travolta-like smile.

That smile that someone only has when they have one hand down their pants and are alone on their couch watching a neighbor sunbathing.   That smile. Continue reading