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 ni............now 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!