Wednesday, December 22, 2010

If a Trees Falls in the Forest and No One is there to Hear it, Does it Make a Sound?

This is a very pertinent question on 12/22/10. Why? Well, let me ask you this: If the UCONN women's basketball team breaks the all-time NCAA basketball record for consecutive games won, and no one gives a flying fuck, was the record really broken? If you ask me, I say UCLA still holds the record. If women's and men's basketball were essentially equal, maybe. But a simple comparison of the following will make it apparent that they are nowhere near equal:
1. Revenues generated by men's college basketball versus women's
2. Attendance at men's games versus women's
3. TV ratings of men's games versus women's
4. The number of different teams that have won a national championship in the past 25 years in men's college basketball versus the number of different teams which have won national championships in women's college basketball in the past 25 years
Very few people give a shit about women's college basketball. Sorry Ms. Femi-Nazi, but you can't look at the sky and argue it is magenta. This isn't a chauvinist thing, this isn't gender inequality, this isn't a male-dominated society trying to keep women in their place. This is facts. This is reality. There are a very small handful of teams in women's college basketball who are good. There a ton who absolutely fucking suck. It is like Brunei. Sure, the Sultan and a few of his homies are rick as shit, but then there is the rest of Brunei. In the past 16 years, there have been 6 different women's champions. UCONN has 7 of those titles, Tennessee has 5. 75% of the titles with two teams in this span, with over 100 teams total. In the 29 total years of the women's tournament existing, these two schools have won 15 titles, or 52%. No one else can win. Who cares that you are beating absolutely no one. If I take 4 of my friends to elementary school playgrounds and win 5,000 straight games, who gives a fuck? I will promise you that Hasbro Games is not furiously pumping out new versions of Trivial Pursuit to alter the answer to the question "Who holds the record for most consecutive games won in college basketball?" from "UCLA" to "UCONN". There is no reason to compare these records. Whatever the previous women's record was....well you eclipsed that. You didn't eclipse UCLA. Deal with it.

Tuesday, December 21, 2010

The Scout Chronicles: I Just Learned the Story of Jesus Today from that Religious Freak Beagle in the Dog Park

He told me all about it. I think that little fucker is tooting blow in his kennel all day. He will not shut the fuck up about Christ and the Holy Spirit and how you've got to give up dry-humping shit if you ever want St. Peter to open the fucking golden gates for you and blah, bark, blah. I mean Jesus Christ dude, give it a rest. Some of us are trying to sniff some anus around here, not listen to you drone on endlessly about your savior. Anyway, I listened long enough to catch the gist of the story: A virgin teenage girl gets knocked up by a ghost, without any sex occurring, mind you, and gives birth to the apparently fully human son of an omnipotent entity who is nowhere and everywhere all at once, floating around in a cloud paradise somewhere, presumably above us given that is where all the Latin baseball players point when they cross home plate after going yard, and all the VIPs in town want to kill the baby, even though they haven't a fucking clue who he is to begin with.......HAH! You have got to be fist-fuckin' me dude! Maybe I would have bought that story when I was like 6 months old and still pissing the rug. But the Scoutmeister shits outside now and doesn't need fairy tales anymore. I mean come the fuck on. I don't buy that story, and I still think grizzly bears on TV are in our living room. I'm just saying beagle, you're going to have to get up a lot earlier in the morning to pull that one over on ol' Scouter. I'm not really on board with this whole story my parents have been feeding me either, the one about this fat-fuck in a red suit who is apparently going to sneak into our condo through the chimney on our gas fireplace, somehow without me hearing him (and I wake up when our neighbor 4 doors down the hall cuts a fart in the middle of the night, mind you). However, at least that fucking guy is supposedly bringing me some sweet potato treats and a stuffed rhino this weekend, so I'm not laughing them out of the building when they spin that ghost story. Live and let live beagle, I'm going to go run around in circles until I'm dizzy and then bark at that old lady sitting on that bench. Hope the savior and his son bring you some cool shit on Saturday.

Whatever Happened to Honesty and Integrity in the Pan-Handling Business?

If you are starving, then look fucking starving. When you are trying to sell me your starvation 150 pounds overweight and wearing brand new retro Air Jordans, pardon fucking me when my heart refuses to bleed and my wallet remains sheathed. When you walk the streets of Chicago, you see a lot of the gentleman in the lower photo asking for help to get something to eat, but very little of the gentleman on the top asking the same. There used to be integrity in pan-handling. I recall a time that when approached by a pan handler you had to really consider if that person was starving or just in dire need of some Thunderbird. I'd respond much more positively if a vagrant walked up to me, said "Pardon me (and not in that woe-is-me pussy assed way, but like you meant it) sir, but I'd like to smoke some rock today and wash it down with a couple of 22-ounce pounders of Steel Reserve. I'm currently underfunded and seeking some start-up capital. Are you interested?" Depending on my mood I'd say there is a 30% chance I'd give him $1. That is a much greater chance than the 0% you have when you are built like Fat Albert and tell me "Can you help me get somethin' to eat?". No, I can't help you Pigman. It appears you've plenty of help in stuffing your fat gullet. Now fuck off. If you want me to buy that you're starving, you've got to sell it. Be skinny. Be frail. Look wild with hunger. Try to entice a fly to land on your eyeball. Have a distended belly. Look a little more like Gentleman A on the top above. There is too much dishonestly in the world today without the noble pan-handler reducing himself to running Ponzi schemes.

Tuesday, December 14, 2010

Could Somone Please Buy Me the Brett Favre "The Streak 297 Starts" Autographed Football for Christmas....

.....So that I can punch you right in your fucking stupid face.

And then de-friend you on Facebook. Then block all of your email addresses. Then erase your phone number from my cell. Then call your parents and tell them I saw you making out with a gay dude at a bar, in the corner behind the jukebox, to an Elton John song, and your hand was in his pants. Then break into your house when you aren't there and download "Hardcore Elementary School Orgy" onto your hard drive with a shortcut on the desktop called "Sand Storm". Then call the Department of Homeland Security anonymously from a pay phone and tell them I overheard you talking to a Jihad'ish looking dude at the WalMart, about "Operation Sand Storm" and that all the plans are on your hard drive. Then give them your address. Then the week before you go to prison I throw you a "Going Away to Prison" party. At the party I slip a shitload of roofies into your drinks. When you are passed out from the roofies I pay a tattoo artist to come over and tattoo a giant set of awesome tits on your back, so that when you get to prison dudes will want to rape you more. Then while you are in prison getting bitched out to the Mexican gang by your cell-mate Big Ronnie, I get your sister and your mom addicted to heroin. Then I turn them out to start tricking, in the neighborhood of an ethnic group you don't like. At the end of their long day of tricking I give them a cheeseburger and take all the money they made, possibly a slap in the face. Then I show up to all your parole hearings and tell them you send mail to me from the joint talking about how you are going to get out of prison and trick out a white van with window-black, beaded curtains and track lighting and start hanging out at local elementary schools and "show all the kids what they've been missing". At some point during this time I killed your dog with antifreeze.

Friday, December 10, 2010

Whoever is Putting These Foreign Chocolates in the Office Kitchen can Knock it the Fuck Off

If you are going to put chocolates in the kitchen for all to enjoy, fine. But have the common goddamn decency to make sure that the label is written clearly in 'Merican. Not fucking Frencher, not I-tie, and sure as shit not written in fucking mountain Nazi. When I open a chocolate that is wrapped with a picture of a red-cheeked elf goosing a 3 year old Swiss girl with golden pigtails, what am I biting into? I don't fucking know, that is the problem. Is it some kick ass real cherry in there? Is it some bush-league non-descript off white cream shit? Is it rat feces coating a spider monkey semen center? No one knows. So if you are going to print the label in your goaddamned effeminate, state sponsored socialist welfare, surrendering-ass pussy language, fine. Just don't export that shit to 'Merica, Jack. We speak fucking 'Merican here, not vagina.

Brett Favre Douche-O-Meter

Brett Favre was injured in Sunday’s action, a sprained throwing arm shoulder. Brett Favre has been telling the media this week that it hurts in the only way Brett Favre tells the media that he is hurt: By sounding very mellow-dramatic and making sure it seems that although the situation is dire and Brett Favre could die at any moment, Brett Favre could very well get up and take the American flag from a fallen comrade and lead the colored 54th Infantry into Fort Wagner ala Matthew Broderick in Glory. Or in Favre's case, throw 3 interceptions, lose one fumble, and come hobbling off the field as though Brett Favre won the game by merely showing up. Brett Favre told the media that it "Hurts to put socks on".
Threat Level: SEVERE
Expect: Ed Werder hourly tweets that "Brett Favre still day-to-day"; Brett Favre hinting that Brett Favre doesn't know if he can do this anymore; Brett Favre convincing himself that if Brett Favre had been in command of the German army at Stalingrad they could have overcome the Soviet winter and accomplished the dream of German lebensraum; Brett Favre saying that Brett Favre is going to be the lead actor in Something About Mary 2; Announcers blaming Brett Favre interceptions on Brett Favre pain.

Thursday, December 9, 2010

Urban Meyer Boldly Attempts to Out-Douche Bag Brett Favre

Urban, you've got a long row to hoe if you want to supplant Bayou Brett as sports' most egomaniacal, narcissistic douche bag. But brother, you're well on your way. Last December you lost the SEC Title game to fellow It's All About Me asshole extraordinaire Nick Saban. You were undefeated going in, and had you won you would have been in the national title game and everyone would be talkin' Urban all the time, and not the dude Nicole Kidman is fucking. But you lost, and no one was talking about you. Like Hitler you couldn't fucking stand it, so you invaded Poland. Actually you just held a self-press conference to announce you died of a heart attack or got AIDs or were in love with Tim Tebow, or whatever, you said you couldn't handle it and were walking away. You got more than you could have ever hoped for when ESPN fell all over itself like only ESPN can do, and started fellating you around the clock. Once everyone was talkin' Urban again, you had a miraculous comeback 48 hours after you walked away. The fawning went into hyperdrive. You used your Jesus-rising-from-the-dead story to steal a recruit from Ohio State by texting him that God told you he should come to Florida. Fast forward one December later and we've got deja vu. Urban the family man is walking away again to be with his family. Last year he needed less than two days to be with his family. How long this year? It was interesting that last year's retirement coincided with losing the SEC Title game to Saban and not getting what you wanted. Just as interesting is how this year's retirement coincides with a bad year for Florida leading to playing in the Toilet Bowl where no one is going to talk about you because the other coach is 83 year old Joe Paterno. I'm pretty sure you won't be with your family for very long this year either. Type-A egotistical assholes don't care much for their families because although they are a part of you, unfortunately they aren't actually you. You might unretire from Florida again. You might take the Miami job. You may even go fill the coaching vacancy in Denver so you and your life partner Tim Tebow can take long hikes in the Front Range and fill each other's "vacancies". Whatever it is, you are a douche bag. Keep your nose to the quit and unquit grindstone and one day soon you might get to fly in the same rarefied assclown air as your mentor Brett Favre.

P.S. Your daughter is hot.

The Chicago Transit Authority Sucks

The directors of the CTA should all be lined up in Daley Plaza and executed by firing squad at high noon.

If I have one more fucking bus fly by my stop without stopping this week because it is too full, I am going to get on one the following day strapped to the tits and sporting a trench coat like Neo in the Matrix and go fucking postal. The only good news is that it is colder than a well-digger's ass right now, so you get a side of frostbite to go with your stewing fury as you wait for the next late and as a result overloaded bus to roar past and tell you to eat shit. Here is a novel fucking idea: During evening and morning rush hours, run more buses to accommodate the significantly higher commuter volume. Done and fucking done. The train situation is no better. My favorite part of the winter commute is that when you get on the bus with your wool hat, wool scarf, insulated wool pea coat, sherpa-lined gloves and Wookie sized winter boots, the bus driver typically keeps the bus at a balmy 97 degrees Fahrenheit. Nothing like walking into work with swamp ass when its -4 outside. And the absolute worst part of it all? I am going to bend right over and shake it like a little whore and let CTA cram it right up my ass. What else am I going to do, walk? Fuck that.

Monday, December 6, 2010

If We Ever Get Off Our Asses and Actually Capture Bin Laden, This is what Should Happen

Let's play make-believe for a moment and pretend we're actually trying to catch Bin Laden, rather than using him as an iron-clad excuse to continue to steal poor people's natural resources. So we've got a tactical unit out trying to negotiate with Afghan warlords over land we want to run a natural gas pipeline from the former Soviet Central Asia republics through, and Osama happens by, trips and falls into a cage. Now we've got that skinny asshole. In my scenario, everyone wins:

-Gather Osama bin Fuckstick and any of his other buddies we've got rotting in Morocco, Guantanamo, central Florida, whatever shithole we've got them languishing in, and fly their asses to NYC under cover of darkness.
-Build a giant WWF-style cage around all of Central Park with only one entrance/exit
-Gather up all police, fireman, transit authority, port authority, any first-responders in the NYC metro area
-Tell all of these people there is a party for them tomorrow at Madison Square Garden, be there 8 a.m. sharp
-When they show up the following morning, turn on the beer taps and bring out the hard liquor and serve them all the freebies they want
-Also give them copious amounts of cocaine. Anyone refraining from the cocaine, just put speed in their drinks
-While this is going on, take bin Fucko and associates to Central Park and lead them through the only entry/exit.
-Give all of them one Nerf brand weapon of their choosing. Nerf bazooka, Nerf rifle, Nerf baseball bat, etc
-Start showing images of 9/11 on the Jumbotron at MSG. Images of the towers, the towers collapsing, the fallen, the families of the fallen, the terrorists partying afterward
-While the images are being shown, play really aggressive metal with some sad songs mixed in. Every Rose Has Its Thorn at some point, for sure
-Let the entire liquor-addled, coked-up crowd from MSG out, and take them on buses straight to Central Park
-Hand every one of them an old-timey weapon as they exit the buses: brass knuckles, rubber truncheons, socks filled with rocks, etc.
-Announce to this crowd that within the cage currently surrounding Central Park is Osama bin Laden and numerous of his tee-totalling douche bag buddies
-Open the only entry/exit to Central Park and let them in

End of chat.

Friday, December 3, 2010

BREAKING NEWS: We Got Bin Laden!!!

Oh wait, no we didn't. My bad. He is still kicking it in a cave in Peshwar, balls-deep in virgins, washing down fresh opium with some tea you've never even heard of. There is a silver lining to this cloud however, which is:

Since Bin Laden and his associates took full responsibility for the master-minding and financial support of the 9/11 World Trade Center attacks, the United States has.....
-Had a full meltdown of our stock market
-Obliterated parts of Afghanistan, which were already fucked to begin with
-Made up an utterly and completely horseshit story about Iraq. We used to party with Iraq, but they quit following orders and someone needed to pay for thinking independently
-Used the horseshit story to launch a multi-billion dollar terrorist attack of our own against a country that had nothing to do with 9/11, killing scores of their completely innocent non-combatant civilians
-Tested out some pretty neat weapons of mass destruction on the innocent civilians of the country we were punishing for supposedly having weapons of mass destruction
-Showed that Colin Powell was one of the only people in the American government with a shred of honor
-Killed a bunch of fucking people NOT named Osama bin Laden
-Had the effects of trying to support two separate occupying forces ultimately lead to our economy collapsing
-Even though he was one of the only people with big enough balls to call bullshit on the wars in the first place, we blamed the black guy for the wars and bailing out the banks that were already bailed out before he ever set foot in the White House
-Turned Iraq from a country where a terrorist would be summarily executed if he stopped to take a piss in the desert there; to a country that is now the MTV Spring Break Cancun of international terrorism
-Spent combined more than 1 trillion dollars to completely re-fuck two countries that were already well-fucked to begin with
So obviously we fell into a pile of shit and came out smelling like roses. The really awesome part is that I guarangoddamntee you that if 2 days after 9/11 the U.S. had sent 2 dozen of our best special forces Navy Seal kill-you-twice-before-you-know-you're-dead badasses to Afghanistan with a blank check to sign over to some local Afghan poppy-field baron warlords, Osama would have been all kinds of dead a fortnight later. I bet it wouldn't have exceeded 250 million bucks, tops. But no, we'd prefer to handle it the Texas way and spend all sorts of money to still fail. So here's to you Osama bin Fuckface, you orchestrated one of the most successful attacks in the history of earth from a fuckin' cave on the other side of the planet. Colonel Kurtz could have used a man like you in 'Nam.

Thursday, December 2, 2010

Are Donkey Shows Real?

I was retelling a story last weekend that a friend told me about in college. His dad was an underwater welder and has seen catfish next to bridge supports in the Ohio River in deep pools of water that are large enough to swallow a human whole. They stay on the bottom their entire lives eating river scum and become gigantic due to never being caught. Pretty fucking terrifying, right? Well my brother informs me this is an urban legend. Apparently there are no catfish the size of blue whales at the bottom of the Ohio or Mississippi River. Who knows, maybe there are no underwater welders either. There should be, because it sounds pretty fucking cool. Using fire underneath water and all. I've told this story no less than 25 times in my life, fully believing this to be true. Honestly I wanted to stop the goddamned car and tell my brother he could walk his know-it-all fucking ass the rest of the way. My pride was pretty injured. No one likes being told they were duped, except for really stupid people. They seem to get a kick out of that shit. Watch the David Blaine street magic video sometime where he goes into the Cowboys locker room. He pulls one playground magic trick on Emmet Smith, who responds like a Neanderthal that was just shown fire for the first time. He had a ball with it. I'm no rocket-scientist, but I'm confident I could best Emmet in a knowledge bowl. Even if two of the categories were "Football" and "Emmet Smith's Life", I'm pretty sure I'd win. So my brother can fuck off with the too sly to be duped by the man-eating catfish story attitude.

Anyway, conceptually I think I understand how a donkey show works. A bunch of highly intoxicated and coked-up bikers, frat guys, traders and other upstanding members of a moralistic society (Luckily I was only a frat guy and a trader, but never a biker) gather in a poorly ventilated structure somewhere in the Baja peninsula, usually a quaint little suburb of Tijuana. They pay $50 or so a man and are allowed to drink Tecate from a cooler that was probably also recently used as a transport for a chopped-up drug runner named Paco whose family owed a little too much money to the local narco traficante. Once these social aberrations are all oiled up they probably play a little mariachi number, maybe fire a pistol. A shower curtain opens to a retarded donkey with, as you might guess, a donkey dick swinging between his legs. From a location you don't even want to know about stumbles in a woman fucked 6 ways to the weekend on booze, black tar heroin and ketamine. All the poppy plants in Afghanistan will not help this poor soul to forget the multiple nicotine-stained finger-blastings she received from her mom's boyfriends during her trailer park Christmases in Bakersfield, CA. She gives the donkey an HJ, maybe a short blowie, and then its go time. I do not know the logistics of a chick fucking an equine, to be honest with you. Once upon a time when I was about 15 we were hanging out somewhere and my friend Tony popped in a bestiality porn that he claimed he "Found" somewhere. Two chicks were in the process of fucking a horse. I made it through about 30 seconds of that, and then left the room and drank enough Cisco to kill the very horse I think I saw get fellated. Thankfully I no longer possess any memory of that event. Needless to say a chick crams a monstrous donkey cock into her holiest of holies, presumably the donkey gives the crowd a money-shot, and they in turn go wild. The bikers bike off to start some trouble in Belize. The traders head back to Wall Street to gamble away your kid's college fund. The frat guys drift into Tijuana to "Do some fucking bombs, bro!" The protagonist of the show goes back to wherever it is she came from to cook up the shot to end all shots and lays on the floor of her pimp's trailer as his homeboys run a train and visions of marrying Prince William of Great Britain dance through her head.

At least that is how I envisioned the spectacle. But this catfish wool that got pulled over my eyes has made me question even the sanctity of the donkey show. Say it ain't so, Joe. So can someone confirm, with irrefutable evidence, that they've been to a donkey show. Or am I an even bigger gullible asshole than I thought?

Wednesday, December 1, 2010

I'm Sorry, You Must Have Mistaken Me for a Trailer Park Resident who has Cavities

No cavities 4Life son! Just got back from destroying Dr. Decker's office like I do every 6.5 months, mutherfuckers. I spout off about my dominant oral health pretty regularly. But like Cassius Clay said, "It ain't bragging if you can do it". And guess what, I can do it. Same ol' song and dance as usual: "You have excellent oral hygiene." "Your brushing technique is flawless". Tell me something I don't already know. Listen, I was in "Dr. Dave's No Cavities Club" from the time I could crawl, and no one is taking my picture off that club wall anytime soon. I fucking eat tartar and shit pearly whites. You can try to defend it any way you want, but at the end of the night I will hang 28 cavity-free Chiclets from your neck and there is nothing you can do to stop that. When I walked into the appointment today I grabbed a bottle of baby powder, poured it into my hands, and then clapped them together and threw the powder right in the receptionist's face and screamed "GAME TIME BITCH!" She started crying something about "I got laid off from my job....I'm only a temp...." Boofuckinghoo hoe. You just got owned you little hussnut and you know it. I went into the cleaning room and started karate-chopping all the equipment in sight. When the hygienist-in-training appeared to ask why I was destroying the exam tools I told her to take that little league meatball back to the Cape Cod League and call someone in from the pen who could throw some high fucking heat. She looked astonished so I got into a wrestler stance and asked if she had two singlets and one bottle of Vaseline. She could not smell what The Rock was cookin', and fled accordingly. My usual hygienist D-Real knew what time it was when she saw two office employees in tears. She brought her A-Game to the cleaning, knowing she was going home with the L. I respect her for that. The dentist appeared and gave me a nod to signify his respect, and I was on my way.

All y'all haters gonna have to wait until late May, early June, to try and knock me off the No Cavities Wall again.

Tuesday, November 30, 2010

If You Camped Out in the Parking Lot of a Store on Thanksgiving Night to be the First in Line for Black Friday, You are an Asshole

That's all I have, you're a fucking asshole of the highest order.
And to the stupid redneck bitch in the picture, "It WAS You", and everyone fucking knows it.

Monday, November 29, 2010

The Scout Chronicles: I Took it in the Ass on Thanksgiving Day

Get that fucking camera out of my face asshole! You wouldn't be smiling either if you got rail-roaded like I did on "Turkey Day". More like "Same 'Ol Dried Hippie Dog Food Bullshit Day" for the Scoutmeister. The day started with promise. There were a ton of people in grandma's house for reasons which were at the time unbeknownst to me. I had no clue, maybe everyone had just been to the groomer and were gathered at the human park to show off the new cuts? Dad turns on the TV and boom, it hits me. Football on Thursday afternoon = Thanksgiving. So now I'm pretty fired up, running around the joint, shaking my ass, jumping on the younger cousins, getting a lot of attention from great grandpa. He thinks I'm the bomb because I'm pretty emotionally uncomplicated. He had just gotten a tongue-lashing from great grandma because he was "drinking too fast". Like chill out great grandma. He is 80, fought the North Koreans and commie Chinese in the Korean Conflict, fathered 5 kids and worked for 40 years. If he wants to put on some liquor on Thanksgiving and pass out in the recliner, I think he's earned it. Anyway I'm pretty fucking stoked because I've been requesting Turducken for the better part of 3 weeks now. I heard John Madden talking about it and using the diagram he drew up on TV, I Google-searched it and that shit is right in my wheel-house. You take a duck, stuff it into a chicken, then stuff both those pigs into a turkey: Yes please. I also saw in the Google side-bar that sweet potatoes are a common part of this Thanksgiving fad. Fucking BOOYAH! Anyone who knows the Scoutmeister knows one thing: He fucking crushes sweet potatoes. Although I'm particularly fond of the Farmer's Market brand of dried sweet potato treat for dogs, I do not look a gift sweet potato in the mouth. So if they're slathering those fuckers in butter and brown sugar, I'm still a taker. Everything goes quiet at one point and everyone looks at the floor and starts muttering some horse manure about a son and his holy ghost or father or something. I have no clue so I just bowed my own head and barked very quietly. If I know one thing its that when something is about to be awesome, if I get too fired up I'm usually in the hurt locker. The scent of turducken is strong and I'm not about to fuck this up. Everyone scratches their forehead, their stomach, and then each shoulder in rapid succession, perhaps due to fleas, and then queues up on the feast that sits on the counter. Fucking game time. I see the big boys towards the back of the queue and I start to worry that I'm going to get shut out if I play the polite card. So I nudge in between Mom and some lady behind her that I've never seen and throw two paws on the counter and start sniffing the goods. Apparently this is a faux pas because mom growls out some "Scout, down!" bullshit. Its cool, I'll wait. Calm your shit down mom, not a life-or-death sitch here. To my astonishment that is followed by dad giving the dreaded "Scout, come!" command from the garage door vicinity. I peek around the corner and see that he has my food dish in his hand, and I know that all is well. He apparently filled it with turducken and sweet potato casserole while I wasn't looking. So I follow him to my aunt Cora's kennel in the garage. She is a big, brutal mastiff bitch. But a sweet gal who usually lets me do whatever the fuck I want. So I hops in the kennel, down comes the bowl of hot awesomeness, I stick my muzzle in it, and bam, pie right in Scout's face. Same fucking dried dog food horseshit that I eat every goddamned day. Mom and dad buy it from the hippie dog food store because they are dumbass liberals and apparently like paying extra money for shit that sucks. Of all the kicks in balls that I've ever gotten, this might be the tops. I started screaming at dad as he walked toward the garage door, "Hey dad, go fuck yourself! I hope you choke on a turducken bone asshole!" Unfortunately all that seemed to come out of my muzzle was this really pussified high-pitched crying noise. In my mind I was chomped down on his jugular vein fucking growling like a pit bull dog octagon grand champion. But in reality I was crying like a little bitch.
Scout's Thanksgiving started with such high hopes. But like the Native Americans before me (whom I also read about in the Google side bar on my Turducken search), all I got for my efforts was bent over and fucked. After mom let me out of the kennel I went straight to the front door to take a dump so that the first person to go to their car stepped right in it. But all I could muster was a really weak fart. My mother told me there'd be days like this.

Buffalo Bills Wideout Steve Johnson Finally Holds God Accountable

It is about son-of-a-bitch'n time someone finally held God accountable for a fuck-up. It is all praise for successes, all the time. But finally Steve Johnson showed some fucking balls and blamed the responsible party for dropping the game-winning touchdown against the Steelers yesterday: God. If it is God that catches passes and wins games for you, then it is God who drops passes and loses games. That simple. There is really no sense in wasting effort trying to figure out why he took time out of his busy day of listening to billions of prayers from billions of people just as stupid as you. Just know that God presently fucking hates you, and loves the Steelers. Maybe he's a fan of all the chicks Rothlisberger is raping, maybe a Harrison cheap-shot that paralyzes a defenseless receiver really gives him a hard-on, perhaps he had some money on Pittsburgh, or it could even be as simple as God loves that Polamalu commercial where his Polynesian afro keeps getting progressively puffier. Whatever the case may be, for the time being God is pulling for the black and gold, at your expense.
And given that you are not taking credit for anything your physical being does in life, Steve Johnson, just go kill someone. Shoot them right in the face. God did it, not you.

Friday, November 19, 2010

Brett Favre Douche-O-Meter

Held mid-week press conference to explain that he is "hurting". Made sure to emphasize that it wasn't a big deal. He is a warrior and is playing through it. It doesn't affect him. It is an excuse for his brilliant 4 turnover (3 INTs, 1 fumble) performance previous week versus Bears, but it doesn't affect him. Brett Favre IS responsible for absorbing massive amounts of pain that would have the rest of us mere mortals lying in the fetal position drinking from a bottle of morphine. Brett Favre is NOT responsible for the turnovers that Brett Favre's body commits. The injuries and the "hurting" are responsible for those. Brett Favre the man and body is only responsible for playing through the "hurting" and being a warrior. Brett Favre the man and body has never committed turnovers and lost games. Only the "hurting" commits turnovers and loses games.
Threat Level: MODERATE
Expect more interceptions to be thrown by the "hurting", Turkey Bowl game in which everyone wears Wrangler jeans and no cleats, sexting dick pics to your mom and sister, hanging out in hot tubs with teenage babysitters and Mark Chmura while Mrs. Favre and Mrs. Chmura pray to Jesus. With the Brett Favre Threat Level at Moderate, holiday travel should not be impacted.

Thursday, November 18, 2010

The Scout Chronicles: Big Ass Dump Today!

You should have seen this pile I curled a while ago. Minding my own business trying to get some beauty sleep when that goddamned alarm goes off. I ignored it per usual but mom and dad were up like the fucking Nazis that they are. Dad starts up with his bullshit right away, trying to get me out of bed. I'm all like "Leave me the fuck alone, I've got nothing to do today. Just let me sleep in" and he's all like "Scout, come!" I just gave in because usually there's some sort of small food item on the other end of that "Come!" directive. Come to find out it was an elaborate ruse to get me outside and hose it, maybe take a shit. Well, lets just say I had the last laugh on that one. I unleashed the fury on that dump. It curled and smelled like a Calcutta gutter in July. I had chili con queso on my dog food last night, cut about 14 SBDs in mom's face in bed. Anyway, I told dad to just leave the dump where it lay so that little yorkie in 607 could see it. That bitch is always trying to get a sniff of my ass. However dad bent over and picked it up like the punk ass that he is. Always tying it off in these Norwegian made corn bags that are 100% biodegradable. Then he throws the biodegradable corn bag full of my deuce into a Hefty bag. Hey dad, considering the Hefty bag is made of shit they found on Mars and won't decompose for 3,000 years, who fucking wins on that one genius? Dumb ass. I must say it was a relief to get that out of the way. Have a big day ahead of me. Planning to lick my tackle for a bit, move slippers around the condo, sleep for 3 hours, get walked at noon, sleep for another 4 hours, and finally get after that stuffed lobster who has been talking all sorts of trash this week.
Peace out y'all.

Friday, November 12, 2010

Goose Island Bourbon County Stout is the Bombtrack

Your first sip of Goose Island's seasonal release is like God, Jesus and the Holy Ghost all ascended from Cloudland and put their nuts directly in your mouth. Its that good....A tea-bagging from the Holy Trinity. At 13% ABV you are also in no danger of sobriety rearing its ugly head. If you don't go out and buy some stat, you're a dick.

I don't typically like Goose Island beers. They are supposed to be "The Chicago Brewery", but I think the majority of their beers are sub-par at best. Honkers Ale is lame. 312 is queerer than a 5-wheeled wagon. The new Green Line pale ale is a piss-poor representation of the pale ale genre. With local breweries such as Revolution Brewing, Half Acre and my personal fave Piece absofuckinglutely dominating, I don't understand why people waste money on GI's regular mediocre lineup. Oh wait, because people love mediocrity. Why else would Navy Pier exist and GW Bush get a second term? That being said, this beer is decadence in a glass. I just had my first of the season last night, and here are some tasting notes:

-The nose was that of a fireplace lounge at a country club, full of wealth and opulence and rich mahogany. It won't allow any of the servants to look it in the eyes.

-The first taste has the essence of a long Allman Brothers instrumental in a green field at a humidity-free 75 degrees, on mushrooms.

-The palette is dominated thereafter by very strong, powerful, quick thrusts of Metallica Garage Days leading into an extended instrumental version of Metallica's "One". The palette of the Bourbon Country Stout ends with "Darkness....imprisoning me....all that I see.....". At some point a hole is torn in the sun.

-The finish has not-so-subtle notes of a virgin's honeypot on prom night.

Or you could always just go pick up a 6er of Bud Light and drink low-alcohol, ice-cold piss. That's a popular choice.

Thursday, November 11, 2010

God Ain't Gonna do us Like That

Run, don't walk, to your local car dealership and buy yourself the biggest SUV or truck you can find. Climate change is the bullshit of all bullshits. It is the biggest bullshit in China. And why you ask? Because John Mutherfuckin Ballgame Shimkus says so. But who the fuck is John Shimkus, and why are we invalidating millions of hours of scientific experiments showing that Climate Change is real? John Shimkus is the Illinois 19th District Republican Congressman, that's the fuck who. But it isn't so much who John Shimkus is as much as who is validating his claims that Climate change is a steaming pile of monkey jizz: God. That swashbuckling, fire and brimstoning, pillar of salt turning, certified badass sumamabitch God. Argue with that Mr. Save The Earth fucking pussy. Go ahead, argue with God. "Well, I think we have to accept the completely logical fact that as a 3 dimensional object with proven, existing boundaries, thus finite and not infinite resources, if we wish to not exhaust those resources and destroy the planet we live on, we should consider some conservation strategies." Shimkus, just ready to bury this mutherfucker in a goddamned Mt. Everest worth of logic: "BULLSHIT!!! God says this isn't going to happen!"

And this is of course splitting hairs, but God he/her/itself (and lets be honest, we know its a dude, why else would guys have these cool dicks?) didn't actually say that. Rather it was written down in the official book of God, the Bible, by some dudes that wrote about God, but never met God. Nor did they really even know the guy claiming to be his son. But they heard some shit he might have said once upon a time at this fucking awesome kegger rage-on over at Zebbeciah's parent's Dead Sea house when they on vacation in Italy. I don't know where they got the rest of the information. Maybe microfiche in the Jerusalem Public Library? Maybe it was written on the wall of the men's room at the Damascus-to-Cairo donkey cart stop. It doesn't fucking well matter, because God said it, and that is endy fookin' storry, lad.
So live it up and quit sweating this natural resources and climate change fairy tale that liberals and science PHDs are trying to blow up your ass with their water bongs. God promised Noah, after the flood, that he would never end the earth through natural disaster again. Even though he (or the dudes espousing his wisdom even though they never talked to him) made no reference to human beings in their consumptive excesses exhausting the earth's resources, the fact that he vaguely mentioned in the book he never wrote or authorized that he wouldn't destroy the earth through natural'y type devices again is good enough for Johnny Ballgame Shimkus, and it is damn well good enough for me.
So if you think God isn't creative enough to come up with a new earth-ending strategy, then fuck you. And secondly, fuck you.

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

Do Native Americans Celebrate Thanksgiving?

I really don't know. Do they? If they don't, then they sure as shit should. If not, then I guess they're with the terrorists. That original Thanksgiving was such a sweetheart deal for them I can't even stand it. The Pilgrims bent over and took one in the ass on that trade, and the Indians gave them a reach-around with a sandpaper glove. The natives welcomed the Pilgrims with a feast of local produce and wild game, of which they were previously ignorant and risked starving to death without the knowledge of. To repay the Native Americans the Pilgrims offered very generous gifts of:
Forcing them off their historic lands through violence
Pestilence and disease
The concept of greed
Raping of their women
Theft of land through alcohol intoxication, of which they were previously ignorant
Loss of their cultural identity
Mass genocide in the name of a god that they didn't even believe in
Mascot representation for American sports teams
So they had better well goddamned celebrate Thanksgiving because they obviously cleaned house on that day. It is like the time I traded the Billy Ripken "Fuck You Bat" to one of my dipshit buddies for a Michael Jordan rookie card. In summation, the Native Americans got raped, got alcoholism, live in squalor in marginal lands no one else wants, got diabetes, got wiped the fuck off the face of the earth, got some sweet beads and shells....and all they had to give up in return was some food, a little wacky tobacky and some knowledge on how to grow local and organic. So pass me some turkey and be thankful, Keemohsaabe.

Two Words, When Used Together, Guaranteed to Creep Women Out

Moist Panties. Utter that phrase together and you will undoubtedly send shivers up the spine of the woman you are talking to. When used alone, no big deal: The grass is moist from the dew; Don't get your panties in a bunch. Neither of those sentences would illicit a response from anyone. But put them together for a show-stopper such as: "I bet you have extremely moist panties right now". Boom, Creeped. The fuck. Out. Give it a try sometime. Saying something extremely offensive like "Cunt" is fine, but really you are just going to piss them off and cause them to shout at you. My friend Gerald once began a sentence with a group member in college with "Listen you fucking cunt.....". Sure that was offensive. She got pissed and yelled and it escalated from there. But if you say "I bet this [insert something] makes your panties sooooo moist", that conversation is over. I would venture to say the relationship--whatever its nature--is terminated as well.

If you use the phrase "moist panties" in conversation with a woman, and she's into it, then all bets are off. Anything from her letting your college lacrosse team run a train on her, all the way up to her stabbing you to death during sex and drinking your blood, are in play.

Wednesday, November 3, 2010

America Proves to the World Once More that We're a Nation of Impatient Morons

If that black guy can't fix everything that ails our country in less than 2 years, then fuck him right to hell, we'll vote in a bunch of other people with no ideas on how to do it. Take that bitch!!! We fucking showed him, and everyone else, man! Inherit one the top 5 worst financial disasters of all time, 2 wars of incomprehensible aggression, massive bailouts, staggering unemployment, infrastructure in ruins and a housing sector that looks like Beirut in the 1980's, well we don't care about any of that shit. Fucking fix all of it and get me and my cousin Denny a goddamned job, and do it in one year or less. If you can't, well then we're going to vote an entirely new group of fucktards into the office with the sole intent of telling you to fuck off. We don't even care that we don't know them or that they have presented not one idea on how to fix a single problem. All we know is that they said for the past 6 months that you suck, and that is all we need. So fuck you, you commie red bum. We don't really know what communism is, other than that guy Rocky fought in Rocky IV--the asshole that killed Apollo Creed, but Fox News says you are one and we're pretty sure from the contextual inferences in the movie, that it is something pretty bad. And we don't want that goddamn shit in our country man! So you better watch out Barack bin Laden, cuz the mutherfuckin' Republicans are comin' for your pinko commie ass! All your ideas on improving education and trying to bring health care to all Americans, that shit ain't happening now dick. Who the hell was that supposed to help anyway? I've got a G.E.D, my kids are gettin' er done with D's in school usin' the same fuckin' books I used when I was there, and I'm payin' $350 a month for COBRA policy so I'm pretty sure I don't need your goddamned health care handout you fucking c'mon, you know we ain't racist, don't try painting us into that corner you sneaky, fast-talking son-of-a-bitch. Tea Party bitches! Just like the one they did in Washington D.C. back in like 1876 when we told those Brits where to shove it!

Friday, October 29, 2010

Brett Favre Douche-O-Meter

Has broken foot/ankle. Wants to play this week, not to help team, but rather to continue consecutive games started streak that only he and John Madden care about. Insistence on playing will have direct negative effect on team. Recent quote: "I've played through injuries that most people wouldn't even attempt."


Expect "Gunslinging", Brett Favre passes completed to people NOT wearing Vikings jerseys, limping off field as though amongst wounded at Verdun, pained "warrior" faces on sideline sans helmet, general assclown behavior.

Thursday, October 28, 2010

Four Loko can go and Four Fuck Itself

Seriously, look at the goddamned advertisement. You're going to drink this shit? Well then, you deserve everything you get, from a pants full of shit all the way up to and including a lack of heartbeat. Everyone is fucking everyone else right up the ass to try and be the most EXTREME!!! these days. You know what is most EXTREME!!! ? Drinking this monkey jism until you fucking quit breathing. So go for it University of State School '13, Valhalla beckons. Odin awaits you in Asgard with an eternity's supply of Mountain Dew, Four Loko, jet-fuelled dirt bikes and heavy metal snowboarding halfpipes with some other extreme mutherfuckers. You can all catch major air while chugging non-coffee caffeine right into oblivion.

I have never actually tried Four Loko, and you can bet your bottom fucking dollar that I never will. However I know this much for absolute certain: It tastes like your dog's asshole. Why would you keep drinking it? Several years ago I was going to a college campus with 3 other guys to visit one of their brothers who was still in school. Our friend Brad brought this devil's brew of vodka mixed with a greenish-hued energy drink concentrate he bought from a Korean market. I can't read Korean, but I'm pretty sure it was called "ThunderFuck". I choked down one drink on the ride. I was both crunk and felt like I'd smoked a jumbo with Pooky from New Jack City. It tasted like failure and Brad was getting alarmingly drunk and loud. I decided I'd have no more. When we arrived at the college, Brad was quickly vomiting blood behind the residence hall. I knew then I wasn't drinking that bullshit again. So if you drink a can of Four Loko once I can forgive you. But if you wake up with pissed pants and your roommate is getting his stomach pumped and you drink it again, well that's called "Thinning of the herd". If it isn't the Four Loko in 2010 A.D. taking you down, it would have been the saber toothed tiger you were throwing rocks at in 20,010 B.C. Carpe diem, jackoff.

I'd love to pass judgment and say that all you need is a 6-pack of heavy beer and a couple of hits off the bowl, and you'll be pleasantly wasted yourself and can piss on the faces of the passed-out dudes with labored breathing who chugged Four Loko three hours earlier, at your leisure. However if I am being honest with myself I know that if Four Loko existed in 1997 I would have been the first asshole in the dorm down on one knee ripping a beer-bong full of this nonsense.

Wednesday, October 27, 2010

The Corner Bakery is Bullshit

I've eaten better out of dumpsters behind veterinary clinics. This is processed, sodium-laden food in all its glory. If you are going for this shit, you may as well go to fucking McDonald's. At least it tastes good.

Thursday, October 21, 2010

There is Only One Way to Teach People to Respect the Value of Human Life: Kill Some Mutherfuckers

Two weeks ago the corner where I get dropped off by the bus each day after work was shut down for the entire night by Chicago Police, Fire Department, Bomb Squad, Traffic Wardens, Garbage Men, Vagrants, you name it and they were on the scene for over 5 hours. Why you ask? Because someone left a suspicious suitcase in front of the Planned Parenthood (aka Oopsie Fixing Clinic) at the corner of LaSalle and Division on Chicago's near north side. Authorities are speculating it was done by a fundamentalist religious group (i.e. pro-life cult) to send a "message" to the facility which houses an abortion clinic. I see these pro life wastes of space most Saturdays if I happen by the PP, singing songs of stupidity and generally haranguing the staff. And you know what, I get it. I think there is only one effective way to teach people to respect life in all its cycles, whether post-uterus human or zygote. And that way is to kill the fuck out of them. What better way to force people to cherish human life than to indiscriminately blow them to hell? That will teach rape victims, impoverished young women, hungover and semen-stained sorority girls, Lindsay Lohan/Paris Hilton, and anyone else who is choosing to not burden society with a life they can't support, to fucking think again. Same goes for those that work at these types of operations. You want to be able to go to work each day and not worry about being blown up or snipered by a person who is 2 I.Q. points north of an official "State Certified Retarded" stamp on their resume? Well you'd better just change careers and work out of your house from now on asshole. If you want to continue to do Satan's work by assisting a 16 year old black girl who tried alcohol for the first time and made a bad decision to have a second chance to finish school, get a job, find someone she loves and start a family she can support on her terms, that's fine. But you need to be prepared for some blond-haired, pink-eyed albino from deep in the bowels of Salt Lake City to murder the ever-living shit out of you. That's the trade off, bandejo.

Same goes for convicted murderers. How we gonna teach puppies not to bite? Bite them. How you gonna teach the kids not to murder people? Murder people, that's how. Oh, you are mentally retarded and don't understand the fundamental differences between right/wrong, alive/dead? BooFuckingHoo. I guess you shouldn't have been born then, and especially not in Texas.

I'm with the fruit-loops on this one. Sometimes you have to murder a few humans to make an omelet. And I think I'll start getting off the bus one stop early and walking it on in.

Tuesday, October 12, 2010

Now I Know how Women Feel

I was recently jogging near the lakefront in Chicago. I took a path through some woods where there is a small nature preserve, near Recreation Drive. As I ran down this narrow path I was visually assaulted in a most violent manner by a raging homosexual man with a pencil-thin moustache whose hands undoubtedly reeked of Boys Age 7-10 cotton briefs. His appearance screamed "Sexual Deviant" and I'm quite sure he thinks about dicks 98% of his life. He gave me an "elevator eyes" size-up and a look that said "I can't get off anymore without knife play and the sounds of children screaming". It were as though I was the only wounded springbok left on a dried out South African plain, and this skeezy lion had missed his last 50 meals. I felt dirty, used and objectified. After that fuck-me eyes horror show I wanted to run a wind-sprint and dive head first into Lake Michigan where I would be dashed by waves against the concrete wall until I felt clean again. While I raced away from this Jeffrey Dahmer it suddenly hit me like a ton of bricks: This must be how women feel when men leer suggestively at them. And I thought, that is fucking awesome! To have that much impact on someone's psyche, merely by looking at them as though they were a side of perfectly marbled grass-fed beef cooked to medium-rare perfection over a spit, well that is pretty neat.

Even though I'm pretty sure that guy has already been murdered during an after-sex knife fight over the last line of crystal meth, he's gonna haunt me. I may never run through that wooded area again.

Friday, October 8, 2010

Both Candidates for Illinois Senate Have Such Great Ideas on how to Fix Illinois, that I Have No Idea Who to Vote For

I've been watching television ads lately and I have to say picking a candidate in this race is going to be tough. They both present such phenomenal ideas on how they will solve Illinois's problems.

Alexi Giannoulias has, in my humble opinion, a great strategy for cleaning up corruption in Illinois, getting out of debt and becoming profitable again, and bringing Illinois back to respectability: Mark Kirk Fucking Sucks. There it is folks, all problems solved. Mark Kirk is a complete and utter turd, he spends like a drunken sailor at a Thai brothel, and he will without a doubt cram a giant black rubber cock into the unsuspecting asses of average Illinois citizens if you give him opportunity.

Mark Kirk has a different, but still compelling, message stating his plans to medicate and ultimately fix our great state: Alexi Giannoulias is a Fucking Asshole. I was barking up all the wrong trees such as fiscal responsibility, ending graft, increasing manufacturing, etc. I didn't realize that all we might need is to point out what a fucking scumbag Alexi Giannoulias is. Kirk's ads are quite clear. If we vote Alexi into office he is going to steal all your money in Ponzi schemes, let your chickens out of the barn, and steal off into the night with your daughters where he plans to annihilate their cherries in a most aggressive and unloving manner, only to return them the next day with his demon seed growing in their bellies.

I've stewed over this for weeks. Alexi Giannoulias is an asshole versus Mark Kirk sucks. Each plan has its merits and could ultimately save Illinois from collapse. These guys are both running a great campaign. Keep it simple and stick to the main points. In the end it will probably come down to which commercial I watch before leaving for the voting polls.

Thursday, October 7, 2010

The Fat, Pan-Handling Asshole is Back on my Corner Again

This fat bastard has been on the corner of Adams and LaSalle, in front of the Brooks Brothers in the Rookery building, for yonks. His manual of operation, during the years I've had the honor to pass by him and not contribute dick to his GDP, is always being on his knees (on concrete), holding out a hat and with a fake tear or two streaming down his face. I am not a heartless person who has no compassion for poor and starving people. There are starving people all over the world that I feel quite terrible for. However, all of these starving people have a couple of things in common:

1) They are not wearing a brand new Allen Iverson3 football jersey
2) They are not 125lbs overweight

I am not going to delve into the subject of why you would ever buy the jersey of a player in a sport they don't play. This is a black cultural thing that I am not meant to understand. Sort of like how spectators at a golf tournament who are there to watch and not play golf, wear their fucking golf spikes, is a white cultural thing that black people are not meant to understand. But I digress. You've got to sell it to me buddy. Don't cry to me about how you are starving and need some food when you're sitting flush with AI3 gear and have eaten yourself into type 2 diabetes.

Tuesday, October 5, 2010

The Ryder Cup is Over, Now What the Fuck do I do?

Probably jump off a bridge or try and shoot my weight in black tar heroin. The Ryder Cup is over, America lost again, and now all I have is NFL football, college football, MLB playoffs, English Premier League soccer and the basketball season about to start. Who fucking cares? Nothing else can stiffen a dick like America's best privileged arrogant country club assholes versus Europe's best privileged arrogant country club assholes in a winner takes nothing contest of Lets Go Hit a Stationary Ball and Walk Slowly Behind It. The pageantry, the mystique, the raw athleticism, the complete and utter lack of comprehension of the theory of "team". If you give even one flying fuck about the Ryder Cup and root vehemently for the United States to win, then you probably also rooted for Judge Smails and Dr. Beeper to beat Danny Noonan and Ty Webb. So take your USA Ryder Cup hat, your horizontal striped polo shirt with the fill-in-the-blank dickhole golf tournament emblem on the chest, your golf tournament watching spikes, and go fuck yourself.

You've Got to be Off Your Fucking Tits to Eat Food from the Rotisserie Racks at 7-Eleven

I am not tangling with any person that eats food from 7-Eleven warming and/or rotisserie racks, because clearly they don't give a fuck. I'd as soon approach the rotting carcass of a week-old wildebeest in the Serengeti that was beset by jackals as I would a "hot dog" spinning menacingly in the cooking rack at 7-Eleven. I have read declassified Pentagon papers which explained that the pilots of the Enola Gay were not given cyanide tablets in the event they were captured, as previously thought. They were given hot dogs and an order of mozzarella sticks from 7-Eleven.

Not even in my drunkest, darkest, most stoned hour in college did I ever consider consuming that toxic manna from hell. The children seen scavenging food from Mumbai gutters are ingesting better calories than the American fatties crushing chili dogs from 7-Eleven. The usual consumer of this fetid filth are people in the 75+ pounds overweight demographic with acne and sweat pants, trying to score a quick hot dog, pizza slice and beef burrito snack before their all-night chat room marathon. As their "Who Farted" t-shirts would indicate, these are typically harmless individuals no more to be feared than the common 3-toed sloth. This past Friday afternoon I encountered something completely different and I fear altogether sinister. There was a man near the age of 30, dressed well according to modern fashion tastes, clean-cut, of Arab or possibly Persian descent. He strode confidently into 7-Eleven and straight up to the group of Indian proprietors who were at that time arguing in Hindi over which products in the store they were going to incorrectly label with high prices until a customer noticed and complained and they pretended it was a simple mistake. He interrupted them and without hesitation ordered two slices of peperoni pizza which were warming in squalor inside a most foul transparent oven of some sort. This individual is capable of anything. Murder, rape, sodomy, theft, assault, buggery, the sky is the limit. A person such as this has nothing to lose and is not concerned with their own welfare. Tread cautiously.

Monday, October 4, 2010

Are Amish People and Hasidic Jews Interchangeable?

Its a toss-up. Neither much cares for modernity. Both eschew razors. Each group's fashion sense is "17th Century Farmer Chic". Both cultures are governed by strict interpretations of fictional books written thousands of years ago by people who thought you could sail off the edge of the earth straight into space. I'm going to say yes, the Amish are interchangeable with Hasidic Jews. If a Hasidic Jew on your team blows out his ACL, you can sub in an Amish guy and no one will notice.

Tuesday, September 28, 2010

Would Someone Please get these Fucking Skinny Jeans Out of my Face Already?

This fashion trend has been mildly annoying for some time now, but I reached my breaking point this past Sunday at Whole Foods. I was minding my own business in the check-out line when I noticed two lines over a fat fuck hipster of EPIC proportions in a pair of skin tight black skinny jeans. His feet had to be purple given how tight these fucking things were at the ankle. I'm not even going to attempt to describe this asshole in full. If I did the World Wide Web might explode. At minimum I'd have a seizure. Suffice it to say just the sight of this fucktard was enough to ruin even the sunniest of days. Whoever came up with the idea to sell skinny jeans to fat people should be sacked immediately, with much aggression. The highest waist size these things should be sold in for men is 28. If you are bigger than that, fuck off and wear some goddamn pants. Ultimately no one could legally buy these abominations unless they were in a band or could prove Swedish citizenship, if I had my way.
This virus initially started, as do all malignant fashion diseases, in Europe and spread to New York, America's most densely populated assclown hipster den. It should have died there but the virus went airborne and escaped the island to take root in the mainland. As I have a natural immunity to this pandemic I ignored the problem as people were suffering all around me. After my harrowing experience with the Hippo Hipster at Whole Foods I can no longer sit idly by as grotesque people over the age of 25 with stick-out-guts butter their hips so they can stretch these prepubescent trousers over their ample flesh. I haven't the foggiest idea how they get into or out of these pants. My best guess is that they have to jump into them from several stories above to apply the pants, while calling for the Jaws of Life to remove them at night.
My "Surf's Up!" SoCal buddy has informed this contagion has infested the greater Los Angeles area as well. I thought everyone in L.A. wanted loose-fitting, comfortable clothing that didn't impede their ability to be far-out? I guess I was wrong. And when I say "L.A." I am obviously not including the greater Hollywood area, which doesn't count as part of Earth.
I think these jeans are very practical if you are between the ages of 16-24, in a modern punk band, less than 140lbs, are addicted to herion, and have tiny feet. Everyone not in that demographic, please do the right thing and quit wearing them.

Friday, September 24, 2010

I've Heard there are People who don't Like "The Town"

Those people should really be spending their time trying to erase the encyclopedia of kiddie porn they have stored on their hard drive (and please remember to empty the recycle bin) before the Feds arrive with a warrant. Unless you are Pete Townsend and are just doing research to try and find a way to stop child pornography, they'll put your ass in federal pound-me-in-the-ass prison for that shit. Trying to convince people to be joyless losers who do nothing but bitch like 14 year old girls such as yourself, and not appreciate the wicked awesomeness of this movie is a sad waste of time. This movie is ball-rattlingly good, and this is why:

-Afflek is back. Believe it.
-Jeremy Renner is proving himself a very convincing crazy and bad mutherfucker.
-Blake Lively is hot. Even as a drug-addled whore with a Charlestown accent.
-Gratuitous use of a David Ortiz RBI highlight
-Fenway Park
-Over-the-top Bahston accents
-Lack of Jack Nicholson running around playing a bad parody of himself and ruining an otherwise brilliant movie
-Car chases up your ass
-Loud assed fucking machine guns
-Did I mention Blake Lively?

So if someone tells you this movie sucks, just say, "Hey, I understand your dad didn't take it well when you told him you were gay. But that has nothing to do with Ben Afflek or The Town. He'll come around eventually."

Thursday, September 23, 2010

EMERGENCY BROADCAST: Katy Perry Shows Some Cleavage on Seasame Street....Pick up the Red Phone and Call Fucking Batman!

That is the last straw, I'm packing up the wife and kids and moving to fucking Iran. I will not sit idly by and tolerate my children or anyone else's children being exposed to evil, dirty, vulgar, partially-exposed breasts. If you expose a child to this sort of pornography rest assured they will be face-down on a urine-soaked sofa in the basement of an abandoned home with a heroin needle dangling from their arm, the only sign of life being the festering herpes sores in their nether regions, by the time they are 19. Sesame Street, along with their harlot Ms. Perry, have brought great shame and bad tidings to our nation this day. I just don't know how you can ask children, resilient though they may be, to recover from briefly viewing the upper 35% of a set of breasts? For the love of God, someone please find us an army of psychologists to try and work the children through this heinous event.

I do have one small thing I'd like to point out to all the mentally-challenged people who are up in arms about this: ALL KIDS SUCK ON TITS. How do you think you were nourished the first 1-9 months of your life you sanctimonious cunt? Was it "Immaculate Feeding"? One of the most indelible images burned into the brains of babies is staring for large periods of time, multiple times per day, at a set of tits. Seeing a pair now is not going to cause them to torch their daycare to the ground or collapse into the fetal position quaking with fear. I'm sure they are probably wondering "Where are the nipples?", but I think they're going to get through this just fine. Instead of worrying about Sesame Street having the audacity to not hide nature from nature's children, instead get your fucking kid out from in front of the TV and have them run around or read a book. And then fuck off, asshole.
*In this picture, doesn't it look like Elmo is saying "Daaammnnn! Look at them titties!"

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

Mark My Words: "The Braylon Edwards Story" will End in Tears

Braylon Edwards is an egomaniacal, selfish asshole whose brain is incapable of processing abstract concepts such as "Others" or "Consequences". He cannot compute simple mathematical calculations like "This action + this action could = negative outcome". In today's professional sports environment people like him are a dime a dozen. But I have a gut feeling on this one. He's going to cause some very serious emotional distress for someone, a group of people, possibly even an entire team's fan base. He is big and strong and fast and could be an elite receiver. He never will be though, because he has zero heart, doesn't give a shit about anyone outside of himself and loves to drop passes. He was out drinking with Donte Stallworth in 2009 the night before Stallworth ran over a guy while driving drunk, and killed him. Most of us would look at that experience and say "Wow, I'm a rich guy with plenty of options outside of driving drunk and killing an innocent dude". Not this Class 1AA Asshole. Take a cab, dick. Hire a fucking driver. Also in the car when Edwards was pulled over were Jets players D'Brickashaw Ferguson and Vernon Gholston. Together these three morons are probably worth about a quarter of a billion dollars. They could have hired David Hasselhoff to drive them around in Kitt all night if they wanted (Assuming they were paying in cash, not sure the Hoff has any bank accounts left). I'm worth about a quarter of a thousand dollars and I know to call a cab if I'm hammered. Not Braylon. He's gonna drive. And if he kills someone, he doesn't give a fuck. That's their problem.

As a side note I was thoroughly disappointed when the Browns drafted this dickhole. I told everyone I talked to about it that I hoped they didn't. I was in attendance at the Ohio State versus Michigan game in 2004 in Columbus. Michigan had a highly ranked team which included Edwards. Ohio State was in the midst of a bad season and was starting a lot of young players. Edwards was considered one of the best WRs in the country at the time. I watched him get shut the fuck down by Ashton Youboty who was a sophomore corner back. He dropped balls and sulked like a little bitch. He didn't rise to anything and instead sat on the bench between series with an "I don't give a flying fuck" look on his face. I thought he was a pussy then, and he is a confirmed pussy now.

Tuesday, September 21, 2010

Season Premier of "The Biggest Loser" Tonight!

And it doesn't matter who wins, because you're all still fucking losers. These are truly some of the most miserable pieces of shit our planet has to offer. I would love the shit out of this show if they got these heifers together and force-marched them through the deep south, depriving them of food and encouragement. March until everyone is dead save one. Then that person gets locked in a cage next to a river subsisting on reeds and rat meat until they have an acceptable BMI. Everyone has some goddamned crybaby story that supposedly justifies their selfishness and lack of will. "My dad was an alcoholic so I ate to cope. Wahhhhhh". "My family was poor and I had to go with my mom to local fraternity houses on the weekend nights and watch her suck frat dick so we could make ends meet. I ate food to forget the laughter of the frat bros as they came. Sniff, snort, blubber, sniff, tears". You have no excuse piggy. You look like a bean bag with eyes because you are weak and lazy. Begin your path to redemption by telling the truth: "I am a fat disgusting fucking pig because I eat like a fat disgusting fucking pig". The only worthwhile person on this show is Jillian because she sees through these piles of fluffer nutter's bullshit and tells them everything they don't want to hear: "You are fat because you are a coward." "Your personality is repellent and people despise you." "You can finish the mile out because I have the treadmill set to 4.5 and you aren't a quadriplegic." I do not watch this show for stories of personal triumph. Rather I watch for the same reason Nascar fans watch the race. I want to see a hideous 11-car pile-up with much mutilation.

Thursday, September 16, 2010

The NFL is a Pile of Shit

I can't fucking take it anymore. I haven't wanted to give voice to what I've known in my heart for several years: The NFL absolutely fucking sucks. In my youth, during college and throughout most of my 20's it was appointment television. Even after that fat cunt of a jackal Art Modell ripped my heart out and moved the Browns to Baltimore. The New Browns have been a laughing stock ever since and still I watched NFL Football. But I just can't do it anymore. I don't know how it could get any more boring. It doesn't matter how goddamn pedestrian the play you just saw was, you're gonna see it 20 more times via replay. And just pray they don't have to review it, that's another 7 minutes. The commercial breaks are beyond excessive. This is now the actual sequence of commercials:
Come back from commercial.
Offense goes three and out.
Offense punts.
Return team fields ball and is tackled.
Offense begins series.
How is this entertaining? You have to drink like a sorority girl trying to forget last night's "Eiffel Tower" just to make this fun. And a lot of people can't do that on a Sunday. Add in brutally painful announcers--and don't forget there are 20 of them per game now, and 40 per pre-game show--who shit from the mouth for 3+ hours, and you need xanax, minimum, to get through this drivel. The action is still entertaining, but there are too many breaks in the action coupled with players needing to insert their individualism into games by doing an asshole celebration after every play. These are the plays worth celebrating:
Fumble Recovery
That is it. Only assholes celebrate first downs, catching a ball, tackling someone, breaking up a pass, etc. I saw a Miami Hurricane linebacker celebrate and do an interpretive dance last Saturday after tackling an Ohio State running back. However the tailback just got a first down, on Miami's 10 yard line, and they were ahead two scores (I realize this is a collegiate example but the assholery has trickled down).
The final death blow occurred on opening night when the Vikings played at the Saints. This was truly a shitshow to behold. For America's "tough guy", macho sport, the opening musical act was Taylor Swift. Yes, you read that correctly, Taylor Swift. The chick with the legions of fans in the 9-17 year old girl demographic. I've listened to her "music" before, and it sounds like an elephant being put to sleep with a fucking razor blade. What could get you more fired up to watch some dudes go smash heads than a chick crooning out-of-key about the emotional fallout from an under-bleachers finger-blasting? This sorry-assed pansified display was followed by the coat hanger abortion that is Brett Favre. Once that suck fest ended it was time to PLAY SOME FUCKING FOOTBALL!!! Oh wait, no it wasn't. It was time for a Dave Matthews Band concert. Dave Fucking Matthews. They've sucked, aggressively, for a solid 12 years now. My freshman year roommate played the song "Crash" 275,000 times during our first semester at the University of Maryland, and I've had a special place in my heart for those assholes ever since. Listen, I only worked for 1 year in marketing, and it was for college textbooks. But I know that the first rule of marketing is "know your target". If your target was a large group of stoned University of Virginia undergrads, then DMB was a great choice. But it wasn't. Epic fail. If the NFL was really striving for this queer of a kickoff party, why not save a lot of time and money and just pay two dudes to smoke each other's poles on a stage outside the Superdome? Once we FINALLY got to the game, it was a commercial and unnecessary superlative-filled night with some football mixed in. It was okay. It was better than being at work, but it wasn't as entertaining as reading a good book.
I understand that dudes don't want to admit that the NFL fucking sucks high shit. I didn't either. But there are in life certain realizations that must be acknowledged lest you live your life in denial. And this is one of them. RIP NFL, you had a good run.

Wednesday, September 15, 2010

Where is Guy Fawkes when you Need Him?

In case you aren't familiar with my main shit stain Guy Fawkes, he was the mastermind behind the Gunpowder Plot of 1605 in England. Keeping a long story short, Guy dug a tunnel underneath Parliament and filled it with kegs of gunpowder with the intention of igniting it during a parliamentary session. Fast-forward 400 years, and this is the best idea I can think of to save America from itself. To say the American government is currently a clusterfuck is like saying World War II was a donnybrook. If you honestly think that one of these two parties full of utter and complete ass clowns is the "answer", then you are either batshit insane or your I.Q. is < 85. Bush had the White House and both houses of Congress for years, and guess what they accomplished.........bitching profusely that Democrats were obstructionists. Obizzle has the White House and has had both houses of Congress since he's been there. Guess what they've accomplished.......bitching profusely that Republicans are obstructionists. Fuck 'em all, I'm done. I just hope that when I'm old and gray and rocking my porch swing on the front deck of the retirement home, that I still have enough heart left to shout obscenities at all the Chinese backpackers and exchange students who are here to "soak up our quaint culture".

I hate nothing more than when people respond "We will not lose our place of international prominence, this is America". I'm sure no one ever said that in Mesopotamia. Or Egypt. Or in Ancient Greece. Or any Romans. Or Spaniards. Or the French. And I know the sun never actually set on the British Empire either.

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

I Can't Remember what Arizona used to be Called Before it was Called Arizona?

Was it...hmmmmm.....Oh wait, I know! It was called MEXICO. I cannot for the life of me figure out what these xenophobic red neck assholes think gives them the right to tell Mexicans they can't come back into their historic land and clean their toilets. Please tell us, Monsignor Patriot, if your skin is currently the color of burnt siena, your hair is long, black and shiny, is your name Flies with Eagles, are you currently whiskey drunk, and do you wear dream catcher earrings your grandmother fashioned from coyote teeth and spider webs? If the answer is no to all these questions then guess what? Your ancestors arrived here the same fucking way these people are now arriving: Packed like sardines into some unpleasant means of transport across dangerous natural features to work long hours at menial jobs and be ridiculed and despised by dumb shits like you. They wanted a few days a year to honor their local traditions and festivals and be left the fuck alone so they could get black-out drunk and fuck like rabbits. And that is all these Mexicans want, so take your These Colors Don't Run flags back to your house and blow your miserable fucking head one will miss you.

These fucktards never want to consider for one second, or they are too stupid to wrap their meager brains around the concept of trying, how it is they are living in the desert southwest and how that area came to currently be known as the U.S.A. I'm not going to delve into the full shadowy history of how this came to be, but lets just say the most benign word I can think of is "Squatting". More accurate terms would be Aggression, Rape, Pillage, Theft and Murder. It was the equivalent of you sending your alcoholic brother-in-law into a restaurant you coveted every day until eventually someone got so offended by his bawdy behavior that they kicked his ass and threw him out. Only then you went back into the restaurant and beat and murdered everyone and then crossed out the name of the proprietor on the deed and signed yours next to it. And when one of the people you beat up and threw out of the restaurant comes back in 20 years and tries to mop the jiz off your bathroom floor, you tell him, "Fuck you Beaner, this here's Mare-eh-kuh!". And why are you trying to live in a desert anyway? I'm sick of spending money to get shit from places that can sustain growth of shit to you so that you can hang out and be not-so-bright in a place that can't sustain the growth of shit.

While you're at it Arizona, pass legislation that requires yourselves and your wanna-be Valley Kids to go work as fry cooks, janitors, landscapers and roofers. You sure as shit aren't going to do those jobs of your own volition.

Is the WNBA Fucking Serious with these Playoff Commercials?

Slo-mo art house black-and-white shit meant to incite fervor amongst the fan base and exaggerate the excitement of the sport.....oh wait, this would imply there is a fan base. I 100% think women should be entitled to careers in sports just like men. However when that sports league is losing money hand-over-fist every year of its existence someone should pull the plug. Same goes for men's sports. If truth in advertising means anything to anyone, then lets make these commercials a little more realistic. Show us locker room scenes of players engaging in a game of "Disappearing Knuckles" or footage of Lisa Leslie trying to find a pair of high heels in her size. Whatever it is, lets quit showing scenes from games where the camera angle hides the fact that there is no one in the arena past the first 8 rows.

Friday, September 10, 2010

If this Terry Jones Nutbag in Florida doesn't Burn the Quran Tomorrow, then he's a Fucking Pussy

What's done is done. You went out on the balcony of the nuthouse with your eyeglasses that have one lens missing and the other is a broken spiderweb of a lens, your foil helmet and embarrassing facial hair and announced to the world that you were going to burn the Quran. Not burning it will not take that back. You are crazier than a rat in a tin shithouse and are far more loathsome than those batshit religious fundamentalists you are trying to send a message to. And you know why? Because when they say they are going to do some shit, they do some shit. While I do agree with you that maybe the only way to fight crazy is with crazy, no one agrees with you that the best way to fight crazy is to talk crazy and then wuss out like a giant hatchet-wound of a vagina. The wingnuts which exist and claim Islam as their banner are already going to torch some American flags and probably torture some America soldiers based on your incoherent rambling. Now you are going to puss-out and only strengthen their resolve because they'll think we're all a bunch of blowhards who don't make good on their word. So you're already a total cunt that everyone globally despises. If you don't make good on your threat then you're also a colossal pussy.

And yes, I'm well aware this is just a huge publicity/marketing stunt to get people to buy his shitbagging books. I'm just jealous that I didn't think up this Quran burning bullshit first to try and get someone to actually read my insane ramblings.

Thursday, September 9, 2010

Let's Spend a Shitload of Money to Retry Rod Blagojevich

Prosecution went above and beyond the call of duty to fail miserably on the first attempt. I see no reason to not give them a blank check to see if they can fail a second time, albeit differently. Why the fuck not? We've got piles of cash of burn in the state of Illinois. I say we set the crippling debt and massive budget shortfalls aside, along with the exploding gang violence and youth murders problem, and go balls out to fry this goofy fucker and his luxurious hair.

I've got an idea: Just let it go. Trust me, I'd like to see this guy in federal pound-me-in-the-ass prison just for being the staggering asshat that he is, as much as the next guy. But if you let it go at this point, another type of justice is going to play out. It is well known that this cock-chugger owes money all over town, and, well, he's gotta, you know, feed the monkey, man. So call off the dogs. If you do, then he's out of the news. If he's out of the news, he isn't selling books and the Today Show isn't paying him money for interviews. He becomes an irrelevant douche bag that owes massive sums of money. He is a career politician that will never see another day in any office. He'll go bust and eventually someone will see him in an alley next to a 7/11 taking a $5er from a closet homosexual to allow him to suck his dick. The problem solves itself. Sure Fitzgerald never gets to say "I got 'em!", but in the end he kinda did.

Why does anyone want to clean up Illinois politics anyway? Everyone in the country knows Illinois is dirtier than a hooker's jiz rag on Nickel Night, and they all love it. Its fun, its hilarious, it provides entertainment. The Fates will sort this salad-tosser out in the end, lets spend our tax dollars on something more productive, like giant shiny beans in the park.

Wednesday, September 8, 2010

Notre Dame Versus Michigan Saturday!

GO AL QUEDA!!! I love watching this game each year in eager anticipation of watching a 747 careening into the 50 yard line at several hundred mph. I don't know of two groups of more obnoxious, sense of entitlement having, condescending ass hats in college sports. They make Dukies seem incredibly humble. There are many differences but in the end they both suck equally. At least Michigan fans have gotten the memo, read it, and are putting cover letters on their TPS Reports which read "Michigan Football Currently Irrelevant". If I were to take an Eastern European exchange student who knows nothing of college football and send him to a Notre Dame party and then ask him upon leaving "When did Notre Dame last win the championship?" he would say "It must have been last year, now can we go to disco?" Domers are convinced that denial is exclusively a river in Egypt. They live under the illusion that Notre Dame's mystique somehow still matters to the types of athlete that wins championships. It is a sad, sad illusion. Big corn-fed white catholic mules ruled college football for many years, but their reign ended several decades ago. These days you need Kodiak bears which are not only huge, but can run 35mph in short bursts. And those bears want to eat fried fish on Fridays because fried fish is fucking delicious, and not because they have to. Domers can keep on ignoring modernity just like they ignored legions of pedophiles with their greasy hands inside the robes of altar boys, and drink like hell when they start adding more Hawai'i Bowl trophies to the case. Michigan fans on the other hand understand reality, but it doesn't stop them from being first-rate wine-and-cheese tailgate party assholes none-the-less. They can take their Princeton Review approved degrees, untuck their sweatshirts from their dork jeans, and cram them right up their smug asses. Although they are cognisant of where they currently stand this does not prevent them from watching a win at home against historical powerhouse UCONN in the first game of the season and yelling to any and all, "Michigan is back!". R-Rod is a good coach. A pure scumbag as well, but show me a relevant program without a scumbag coach. Anyway, he recruits undersized speed demons and nothing else. This strategy can work with a spread offense in the Big East, the WAC, maybe even on occasion in the Pac-10. You can surprise some teams with this but what you cannot do is run the table in the conference if you are in the Big-10, the Big-12 or the SEC. The Kodiak bears will eventually tear you limb from limb.

Big Ben Rothlisberger's Suspension Reduced from 6 to 3 Games

Rape away my friends, rape away! The message is very clear: If you are a big stupid gorilla and you play "No means Yes" with a young girl who is currently blowing a 0.32 in a bathroom while you are wearing a t-shirt with a picture of Satan emblazoned on the front, AND you are smart enough to pay her $10 million to stay out of court, your punishment is that you aren't allowed to work for 3 days. If that is the downside to raping, then tell me what's the point of using your fame and fortune to have consensual sex?