Friday, March 25, 2011
If Ohio State Loses Tonight to that Slimy Fucking Snake Oil Salesman Back-Stabbing Scumbag John Calipari I'm Going to be so Fucking Pissed Off I Won't
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
This particular Cayenne caught my eye for one reason; it had been "booted" by the city. Nothing screams "United Fucking States!" like a douchebag financing a $106,000 sport utility sports car for 8 years, when he can't afford to pay the parking tickets he gets on it. And before you say "He may have just forgotten to pay them", let me tell you this: You have to be dead or in jail for it to get to that point. They send you tickets for months upon months upon months, and mind you.....you have to have 3 separate delinquent parking tickets to get booted. He can't afford the $150. Live the dream brother! I hope he crushed so much pussy with that thing when he could still get the front driver-side wheel to roll forward. And I sincerely hope that the trollops who laid down for this smooth operator, enjoyed the 4 inches and 30 seconds they accepted into their body in exchange for being seen by like-minded vapid whores cruising around town in the Cayenne.
Monday, March 21, 2011
What did you get in Darfur? Lets see, hundreds of thousands dead, famine, rape, torture, just a general ass kicking.....and I think you got some t-shirts, maybe a couple of shitty folk songs, a few righteous Hollywood assholes giving an overly dramatic Oscar acceptance speech not because they cared about you, but because they cared about everyone thinking they cared about something outside of their own giant head.
North Korea, Rwanda, Indonesia, Cambodia, Zimbabwe......cry us a fucking river. The USA and the "Allies", which always appear to consist of the USA, France for 36 hours of the operation, and England until their citizens start asking why they're killing people with their tax money, are the World Police. But not for you sorry sons of bitches. The World Police only police areas which sit on top of a shitload of Texas Tea, Liquid Gold, Oil that is. So until one of you goes out shootin' for some food and happens upon about 10,000,000 barrels of crude per month.....get fucked. Mugabe, Idi Amin, Janjaweed militia, Kim Jong Izzle can do whatever they want, all day baby. And unless you find some Tomahawks and a few F-14s out behind your dung huts, or better yet an assload of oil, you're hating life. So quit whining. We're too busy Tomahawking Tripoli back to a day when Hannibal would still recognize it, to listen to you.
We will bomb the McMutherfuck out of anyone starting trouble in a crude-pumping mecca. But if you start makin' trouble in your neighborhood, and your 'hood ain't oil-rich, eeehhhh, we'll say something really pointed about it at the next U.N. General Assembly. Right before we all head out to eat, drink and whore on the money our governments pledge to pretend to help people like you. It is what it is; lower your expectations to zero and fucking deal with it.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Every year when this happens there is a moment where I have a panic attack and think that a zombie virus hit and I'm going to have the contents of my cranium devoured by the undead. And then I realize it is only the fish-eaters doing their yearly creep-out of all the normals. The lone exception came a few years back when a guy I worked with went out on Ash Wednesday and got utterly pissed. Came into work the next day hungover to the nines. Also forgot to shower, comb his hair, change clothes or remove the eerie Christ tribal tat from his forehead. Now that shit was amusing.
Monday, March 7, 2011
I can't believe these people have the audacity to bitch about some measly hillbilly children to begin with. Look at all we've done for them. Since we showed up there have been some election-type thingys that have occurred. Even better, if the person the U.S. doesn't want to win, happens to win, one of these election-style happenings, we declare it illegal and have other electionesque events until the guy we want to win, wins. It is all in your best interest, trust us. Sometimes some kids get blown the fuck to hell. Instead of sitting around bitching about it, come up with a better game plan next time. If you don't like getting your ass kicked in front of your own fans, then play better. It isn't our job to stop ourselves from scoring, it is the defense's job to stop us.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Although I can't be 100% sure, I think I'm being Inceptioned. And if the movie taught me anything, it's that you don't even know you are being Inceptioned. What I do know is that if I wake up at any moment and see Leonardo DiCaprio, I will bite that handsome son-of-a-bitch into next fucking week. The Scoutmeister is not going to be played for a fool. I haven't actually seen DiCaprio, but this is how I think it went down: I went to Higgins Animal Clinic, which is a pretty normal occurrence for me. My homegirl Dr. Barcyzk gave me a shot--and this is where I think it all went wrong. I am only speculating, but I think when I wasn't looking DiCaprio actually snuck into the room and administered the shot. Now I don't know what is real or what has been dreamscaped just to fuck with Scout. I've checked my treat cabinet about 100 times, and it appears that no one has stolen my sweet potato treats. That was my original suspicion. But now I'm starting to think that something much more sinister is at foot. While I was knocked out on goofballs administered during that shot, presumably, the perpetrators brought Ellen Page into my condo to do some of that mental architectural rebuilding of my surroundings. Speaking of Ellen Page, is she hot or not? Sometimes I want to hump the ever living shit out of her leg. Other times I'm like, "eh, I'd let her pet me". What the fuck is the deal with her? Anyway, she has been slowly dreamscaping my condo and now I don't know which way is up and which way is goodamned loose. Everything is helter-skelter and the Scoutmesiter is fit to be tied.
-I come home one day and the desk in the living room is gone. Apparently dreamscaped into the bedroom. "Well Scout, the desk is still in the house, what is the big deal?" you say. Let me tell you what the big deal is asshole--I used to lay under the desk in the living room and monitor Seward Park out the window as my duties of "Guardian Angel" dictate. Now I have to worry about shit falling on me from above. Kind of stressful, so cut me some fucking slack here.
-Way bigger problem: My goddamned day bed is gone. I used to spend half my day on this thing. Worse yet, it didn't get moved somewhere else. Fucker is gonezo, outright. Up and vanished like a fart in the wind. And in its stead is some weird thing I cannot identify. It is sort of like a bed, only smaller and enclosed on all sides. I mean there are spaces between all the slats so I can look in, but I lack the height or jumping ability to actually get over the railing and onto the mattress to see what it is all about. My only guess is that it is a bed designed for tiny humans, and it would seem the intention is that they not be allowed to escape. Doesn't look too fucking comfortable if you ask me.
-My favorite chair in the living room, also totally gone. I've looked for it everywhere; in the trash cans, in the bathtub, in the sink, under the sofa.....nowheres to be found. I spent another quarter of my day on that chair. And I also liked to look at myself in the mirror behind, which has moved to a new location to make room for....
-A useless set of fucking drawers now sits against the wall. The drawers are chocked full of tiny assed clothes. Ummmm, clothes don't fit mom and dad, and Scout doesn't wear clothes. Seems like a pretty sensible item they had Ellen dreamscape into my condo. Bravo assholes. The drawers are also full of these water bottle thingys, that according to the photos on the package, you drink milk from. Another huge waste of resources. Just wait until your mom and dad are finished with their cereal and lick the milk out of the bottom of the bowl. Works just fine for me, but if you want your fancy water bottles then go for it.
So the Scoutmeister has reacted to this Inception'ing the only way the Scoutmeister can: I started chewing the fuck out of things. Mostly I've focused on all these new books that have suddenly appeared as well. They have a central theme; all feature a cover picture of various minuscule humanoids, all of whom are bald and shirtless. Some are in pink underwear, others blue. Don't ask me, I just tell it like I see it.
One positive is that Ellen Page dreamscaped me a dog bed from Orvis. This thing is the cat's ass. The bed is memory foam. I'm pretty sure some cedar or poly fill would have sufficed, but if it's no sweat off Ellen's dream architecture nuts to create me a yuppie dog bed at 4 times the cost, I'm certainly not complaining.
I'm going to ride this storm out and see what happens. You never know, maybe I wake up and everything is back to normal soon. However, and I can't be any clearer about this, if shit doesn't quit getting weird-and fast-I reserve the right to bite every mutherfucker involved in this Inception, from DiCaprio right on down. Riddle me this Ellen page: If you are in a dream within a dream, and I take a dump right in the middle of the floor of that dream, can you dreamscape that off the floor?P.S.--Don't tell mom but her belly has gotten HUGE the past few months.....what the fuck is up with that?
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
You care not for the recycled nature of public transit air
Flourishing in the unventilated cabin
Unfettered by fresh breezes
Answering to no one in your anonymity
Blamed most unfairly on minorities and the elderly
Musty and musky you hover playfully at face level
Causing accusatory glances
Though not free to leave the bus
You are truly free
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
I shan't, though you go where only eagles dare
O Bus Fart
Both bold and lingering
Like slow death in a Western Front trench
I bid thee farewell for now
Til we meet anon
Dear, unwelcome comrade