The First Honest Obituary

Recently, my grandfather passed away at the age of 88.  I won’t bore you with the details.  He was a great man, lived a great life and he died.  That’s just life.

As my family prepared his obituary for the local paper, it got me thinking about a couple of things.  Have you ever noticed how obituaries are always positive and always portray the dead person as a freaking saint?

Now, this has nothing to do with my grandfather, he actually was a saint and never hurt a soul.

But, I would like to prepare an obituary for a hypothetical dead person who was a real piece of shit.

Billy Ray Bumpkus 1980-2012, from Anytown, USA

Well, we all knew it was coming.  Satan finally cashed in Billy Ray’s soul ticket and took him to the depths of hell where he belongs.

We all wondered how it would happen.  Hell, the whole family and neighborhood had a death pool going.

Congrats to Billy Ray’s cousin Lula Bell who correctly predicted that he would die by being bitten by his pet Black Mamba named Hitler.  $100 to you Lula Bell, well done.

Early Life:  Billy Ray was a fairly destructive child.  At age 7, while still breastfeeding, he stumbled upon his neighbor’s meth lab and set the entire trailer park on fire when he tried to light a Newport.  After that incident, Billy Ray began drinking heavily and became known as the “Trailer Park Firestarter.” Continue reading

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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

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.

French Class (I will be taking Spanish next year)

First Day of Class

When I was a freshman in high school my French teacher told me that she had heard from someone that I could be smart if only I tried harder. At first I was not too sure how to absorb that statement. Sure it was somewhat of a cruel thing to say to a high school freshman, but maybe she had a good reason for delivering this statement to me in front of my entire class.

She didn’t even bother to tell me this with the professionalism I expected from an overweight, boring French teacher. She delivered the line with a smugness that could only be replicated by true, obnoxious euro-trash. (Stereotyping people of all nationalities was a popular thing for me at that time in my life.)

I would have preferred maybe some informal meeting before or after class, but she decided to exhibit her power and embarrass me in front of the class. I now was left wondering who this mysterious “someone” was who had informed my French teacher of my intellectual potential only two weeks into the semester. Continue reading

Rednecks Don’t Need Spell Check

(I’m not sure why, but this post gets the most views of anything I’ve written.  Apparently, rednecks are polarizing.)

“No one has anythang agenst rednecks” Chris from Independence High

 

(I used to run a website where I made fun of people who posted stupid shit on Facebook.  This was one of my posts about rednecks.)

One group of people who always help me feel intelligent is “Rednecks.”

I absolutely love the fact that they jack off on their bibles, wear camouflage, hate all non-white people, hate northerners for no reason, use the word nigger, hate gay people, fuck their sisters/cousins/aunts/uncles, go mudding, hunt anything with a pulse and bitch and complain all the time about Hispanics taking their jobs.

Rednecks are the best.  Society always needs a continuous stream of racist, sister fuckers with non-chlorinated gene pools to keep the white race alive.  Sometimes, I am so proud to be white (sarcasm).

Please do not get confused between “Rednecks” and “Country People”.   There are actually many good country folk out there and those are not the people I am speaking about here.

But, for the love of God, Allah, Buddha and Krishna, WHY CAN’T REDNECKS USE SPELL CHECK???  I just do not get it.  The following posts are from Redneck Groups on Facebook.  Just read and enjoy.   And remember, this is real; I could not make this shit up. Continue reading

A Redneck Conversation

(I’m reposting this because rednecks crack me up)

Billy Bob: Hey Skeeter

Skeeter:  Whut??

Billy Bob: We gonna get some fried wolf knuckles for lunch?

Skeeter: Nah, how bouts some fried mayonnaise balls, dipped in some Ranch

Billy Bob:  Hells yeah

Skeeter: Fried mayo balls reminds me of that time I gave my love muscle to that girl with the fine turd cutter.

Billy Bob: You mean that chick down by the lake last summer??

Skeeter: No dumbass, that girl we met at the swap meet down by the dollar store, ‘member I traded her my Dale Jr. jacket for some shotgun shells??

Billy Bob: Oh yeah, I think so

Skeeter: Then we went out back behind the port-o-let and I fucked her mouth real hard.  ‘Member, you were taking pictures and tossing the mayo balls into my mouth while I partied all on her gums?

Billy Bob:  Oh shit!  I ‘member that, you were rocking her teeth like ACDC.  Wasn’t her name Claire?

Skeeter: Yep, Claire.  She had the softest cock gums and her ass was fine like a Dusty Rhodes elbow.

Billy Bob:  But isn’t Claire your sister??

Skeeter:  Shut the fuck up.

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