Black People Hate Everybody!

In my last post, I was convinced that black people only hated each other, but it turns out they just hate people in general. I'm guessing that Ron Artest of the Indiana Pacers read what I wrote (who doesn't, really?) and decided to prove me wrong. He showed that not only does he really dislike Ben Wallace, but he hates guys that throw beer at him. Well, at least he thought he hated the guy who threw the beer at him. It turns out that that guy wasn't the one getting punched by good ole Ronnie, he ran off to piss on a child or something. The guy that Ron punched is, coincidentally enough, Detroit's newest lottery winner. I'm just going by what I heard, but whenever I was somewhere with people and the clip of Ron Artest "totally Vibe Awards'ing that guy's ass" came on, everybody around me was saying, "Man, that guy's going to be so rich." What a strange turn of events. On the exact same day that he wins the lottery, he goes to a basketball game to celebrate and gets a face full of knuckle and Cocoa Butter lotion. Jesus is watching over us all.

And, in news that's too awesome to be made-up, a new video game is coming out that puts the player in Lee Harvey Oswald's shoes. As LHO, you get to sit in the Texas Schoolbook Depository and bust a presidential cap all up in John F. Kennedy's fat Irish forehead. Actually, would that cap that Lee Harvey is busting be presidential, or is the adjective given to the aforementioned busted cap based upon who is doing the giving rather than the receiving? But I digress. Now Ted Kennedy, JFK's stay-puft bro-bro, is all upset because this game has been made. It's not like he's re-dying every time. While it is true that "every time a bell rings an angel gets its wings" and "nobody puts Baby in a corner," it is not true that every time a computer-animated JFK is shot in a videogame, his soul is beaten with the flaming whip of Satan.

By the way, Flaming Whip of Satan is what I call my wiener the moment right after I've doused it in 151 and touched it to the candle at the table in Red Lobster on Valentine's Day when my girlfriend told me she didn't like when I had too much to drink in public--and right before the Emergency Room and the four months of the most intimate physical therapy two men should ever have to endure. Yes, two men. You know that skin melds very quickly to the flesh of another man when it is heated to the right temperature, especially very soft, thin tissue like that of, say, the dick or anus. I guess the biggest mistake was pulling down the waiter's pants and sodomizing him while yelling, "You want a tip? Here you go, buddy!" It's strange, though. I think if a drunk guy was trying to sodomize me in public with his flaming cock, I'd be quick enough to react. I guess that, even inebriated, I have the speed of a fucking jungle panther.

Interesting thought of the day:
Babies with cancer are lucky because at least they don't have to go through life worrying about if they'll ever get it.