"Hey. Wait--I'll See You Next--Why Are You Stabbing Me?"

Don't you dare say this to me today or any time in the weeks leading up to the New Year. If, at any point you feel the urge to say, "I'll see you next year" to me, I promise you that you won't. There are two things that will happen as a result of you saying this to me. The first is that I may simply avoid you for all of 2006 as punishment for you being such a fucking moron. Besides, my life will be much easier without having to pretend that I like you. This punishment is reserved for family members only. The second, and much more likely result, will be that I will proceed to murder you as quickly and in whichever manner I deem most appropriate.

It is for this reason that I have rented a magician's coat so that I can dispatch of human life in as many interesting ways as possible.

Hopefully this is how my night goes.

"Hey, Kurt. I'll see you next y--Oh my God! Are those bees? Did bees just fly out of your mouth. They're stinging me. Oh dear God. It hurts so bad. I wish somebody would just finish me so I can avoid this immeasurable pain."

"Wow, those bees were crazy, Kurt. I guess he kind of deserved it. That guy was an idiot. I'll see you next y--Doves? That's awesome. How did you do that? Anyway, like I was saying, I'll see you next y--'Kali ma'? That's what that guy from Temple of Doom says when he pulls out people's hearts. Why are you saying--My chest. Oh, somebody help me. Kurt is removing my still beating heart from my chest cavity with his bare hands. Why are you all cheering? I--"

Sometimes I have to improvise.

"That was a cool trick when you pulled that guy's heart out of his chest. He really committed to it. He's still lying there on the floor. I have to go. The wife wants me home before midnight so we can celebrate together the way we always do: in one another's arms reminding each other how lucky we are that our souls have found one another on this huge, chaotic planet of ours. We'll probably hold our newborn son as well. Life is so wonderful. So I'll see you next--Ouch! I don't know how you did it, but you've pulled a full-size grandfather clock from behind my ear and now you're beating me to death with it. Why are you counting how many times you're hitting me? Ten. Ugh. Eleven--"

These words are me: "The clock strikes twelve, bitch!"

"Fine. I guess I won't see you next--Sunday." Deathed!

So I'm looking forward to tonight. It ought to be fun.

Year-end Retrospective!

People always do these end of the year things where they recap the highs and lows of the year, so here's mine.

My favorite thing of the entire year was a couple of weeks ago when I was having dinner with my mom and she said that people with Down's Syndrome looked "soggy."

That's all.

Interesting thought of the YEAR:
Toffee is what delicious would taste like if the word delicious meant "fucking disgusting."

My e-Hate Grows Exponentially!

There are some people that I only become aware of through random contact on the old supermation infohighway. And, as you can imagine, I learn very quickly to hate them. There is this one girl who I feel like epitomizes everything I hate about the majority of people (not just women) who are on myspace. It's all summed up in one picture.I know nothing about her other than looking at her picture here, yet I know everything about her.

• She loves reality television, especially shows like America's Next Top Model.
  
• If she lives near them, she loves to go to "The River" and "Glamis." If she doesn't live near them, she has been to their geographical equivalent in her neck of the woods at least once a year.
  
• She once gave a guy a blowjob at a frat party even though she had a boyfriend. She never told her boyfriend about it because she was "so drunk" and she "couldn't be held responsible for it--you saw me, Lisa."
  
• She makes out with other girls in bars so guys will pay attention to her.
  
• She definitely was in a sorority, but her sorority had "all the prettiest girls in it."
  
• She sits in the front of her college classes and makes sure the male professors learn her name so that if she's between a C minus and a C, he'll give her the C because she sometimes wears low-cut shirts.
• She can't do basic subtraction when it comes to figuring out how much change she should receive when she buys her smoothie from Jamba Juice. She just takes the cashier's word for it.
• She has hundreds of myspace friends, because it's not enough to lead on all the dorky guys who actually know her in real life, she decides to do it online as well. It wouldn't be so bad, but she makes sure to message them every once in a while using endearing phrases like "Sweetie" to make that poor guy think that she means it in a way that there's no way she actually does.
  
• But the biggest problem I have with not only her, but the majority of people who exist on the planet is that nobody ever questions anything. If somebody tells them something, they believe it. I'm not just talking about religious dogma, but everything. I hate to borrow a cliche, but they are cliches; they sleepwalk through their life. They conform so that they won't be noticed. They don't want to form an original thought for fear that it will go against what other people think and they'll become the outcast. It's this kind of person that constantly looks for the outcast and points them out to the others so that they themselves aren't the outcast.
  

Wow, that last point kind of got away from me. I think I kind of came across as one of those bitter outcasts, though I'm actually not. I like to think that I'm not a part of that societal structure, but more an observer of it. I guess what I was just trying to say is that there are so few original thinkers out there (I'm not including myself in this category as some sort of an intellectual revolutionary) that when I see the world filling up and overflowing with essentially useless, carbon copies, hackneyed, you'd-think-it-was-a-cliche-if-it-wasn't-so-fucking-true people, that it starts to grind on me a little.

I'm such a faggot.

By the way, my favorite thing about that whole picture I posted nine pages back is the caption that she chose to put with it: "Out of control on my 22nd birthday!"

"Help! I'm out of control! I've got a hat on and it's sideways! Ahhh! Somebody line me up another Irish Car Bomb while I make out with this chick!"

Interesting thought of the day:
Chewbacca had emphysema.

New Year's Resolutions!

It's that time of year when the virtual odometer of life starts back at zero for some people. Normally I'm very against the complete arbitrariness that is the New Year's resolution, but it was my resolution last year to take resolutions seriously this year.

The following are my resolutions for 2006 and beyond.

• No more bacon, cheese, butter, and steak "health shakes" to start the morning.
• No more mornings. Those start way too early.
• Start carrying actual money around to pay for things instead of hugs.
• Get in touch with lost girlfriends and crushes. This year, no more pictures of my cock close up with the phrase "I Miss You" sent as an email icebreaker.
• Wear more kerchiefs. Just wear the hell out of 'em.
• Bake a layer cake for Tony Danza's birthday. I will make him love me.
• Learn what the word "hepatitis" means so I can finally start telling people the great things the doctors have been telling me to let everybody know about me.
• Release new hit single "Blood in my stool (Love in my heart)" on iTunes.
• Write pop-up autobiography.
• Find, kill, and skin a midget. Wear its hide as a sign of my fertility.
  
• Give more "high tens."
  
• Stop calling everybody "my nigga." Especially Grandma.
• Become a werewolf.
• Realize that the Canoes at Disneyland isn't a ride if you have to actually do work. Rides are fun, work isn't (unless your work includes the word "Wheeeeee!" a lot).
• Paint a self-portrait of somebody else.
• While looking up "hepatitis," look up "oxymoron."
• Give a eulogy somewhere and include the phrase, "More pure than a glass of Papal diarrhea."
• Blink sometimes. It's not a sign of weakness and more women will probably continue conversations with me.
• Learn to be more intolerant of others.
• Become more decisive.
• Or don't.

What are you guys changing for the New Year? Are you all going to try to stop being so fucking stupid? How 'bout it?

My heretofore unwritten resolution is to completely alienate any audience I have. And use the word heretofore doing it.

Interesting thought of the day:
Not too many people know that the literal translation of the lyrics to the song "La Bamba" is a delicious recipe for salsa.

I Hate Comics 13: Triskaidekaphobia!

Assumami!

I haven't been paying attention to the news the past couple of days because I've been holed up inside a Buddhist temple as I do every Christmas. I drink my unfiltered urine until I am at one with myself again. It is then and only then that I allow myself to re-join civilization.

So, I went to google news to see what was going on, and found that the world as I knew it had changed (and, in my estimation, for the better).

I saw this headline: Glitter police 'drop rape charge'

Many things went through my head as to exactly what this headline could mean, and they were all awesome.

• There's been an overhaul of one branch of the criminal justice system as a direct result of Brokeback Mountain. This new law enforcement unit is populated by only the most fabulous of gentlemen and they call themselves the Glitter Police. "Freeze! You have the right to remain fierce."
• A new offensive weapon has been released. It's a huge grenade filled with hundreds of giant rubber cocks that, when deployed, using advanced robotics, artificial intelligence, and, most importantly, the ever-advancing field of dildotronics, search out and occupy with great and repetitive force any warm orifice. This is referred to as "dropping a rape charge." There has been an overabundance of these being "accidentally used" at the hands of the aforementioned Glitter Police.
• Finally, I had hoped that a new universal standard of single quotes had been decided upon as the way in which to convey sarcasm in writing. And the BBC decided to use it in the most inappropriate manner. "They 'dropped the rape charge' because he's 'not guilty'. That girl was 'asking for it.'"

It turns out, though, that it's actually a story about a 61-year-old former rocker who moved to Vietnam because it's easier to get away with raping young girls there. Tis the Season!

You know what takes the sting out of murder? Rhyme! At least the New York Daily News thinks so with this headline: Woman fatally stabbed--parolee nabbed

I think they're on to something here.

• Baby drowns in pool--totally uncool!
• Suicide bomb kills thirty--Ouch! Shrapnel hurty!
• Train derails, all feared lost--driver was sauced!
• Nuclear plant melts down--T-rex-armed babies for an entire town!
• Child shot on playground--loses at tetherball on way down!

It does work! Thanks, New York Daily News.

Interesting thought of the day:
Debbie Gibson once stabbed Mayim Bialik (Blossom) for what Ms. Gibson referred to as, "Because that bitch be wearing all my hats and shit."

Putting the Christ Back in Christmas!

Gather 'round all the family and friends and enjoy a sing-a-long.

Christ (Sung to the tune of Hark the Herald Angels Sing)

Christ Christ Christ Christ Christ Christ Christ Christ
Christ Christ Christ Christ Christ Christ Christ
Christ Christ Christ Christ Christ Christ Christ Christ
Christ Christ Christ Christ Christ Christ Christ

Christ Christ Christ Christ Christ Christ Christ Christ
Christ Christ Christ Christ Christ Christ Christ Christ
Christ Christ Christ Christ Christ Christ Christ
Christ Christ Christ Christ Christ Christ Christ

Christ Christ Christ Christ Christ Christ Christ
Christ Christ Christ Christ Christ Christ Christ
Christ Christ Christ Christ Christ Christ Christ
Christ Christ Christ Christ Christ Christ Christ

Christ Christ Christ Christ Christ:
Christ Christ Christ Christ Christ Christ Christ Christ Christ Christ Christ Christ Christ Christ Christ Christ Christ Christ Christ Christ!

If Britney Spears Is Anything, She's Classy!

Britney Spears is suing bastion of journalism US Weekly for their claim that she and husband Kevin Federline made a sex tape many months ago and are worried about it being leaked now.

And yes, that article is from MTV. That's the only place I get my news from. I can't watch or read regular news without knowing that Good Charlotte is just one click away.

Now, while Britney Spears claims that there is no sex tape, hence that story couldn't be true, I have a feeling it is true, and this is how it might have been.

INT. BEDROOM - DAY

KEVIN turns on the video camera and backs away, framing the bed in the shot. They don't own a tripod, so it rests on a pile of dirty clothes. BRITNEY lays on the bed naked holding a bag of beef jerky.

She hands the bag to Kevin as he sits next to her. He picks up a Big Gulp from the nightstand and takes a sip.

KEVIN
You ready to fuck, bitch?

BRITNEY
(slaps Kevin)
Shaa. Don't say it like that.

KEVIN
Sorry. You ready to fuck, Sweetheart?

BRITNEY
That's better.

Their poodle, HARLEY, enters, jumps up on the bed and starts licking at Britney's vagina. She doesn't stop it.

KEVIN
That's disgusting.

BRITNEY
No it isn't. It keeps it clean.

KEVIN
Keeps it clean? How often do you
let Harley lick your pussy?

BRITNEY
You make it sound gross. It's not
sexual. It's nurturing. You know,
like when a girl's dad rubs her tits
to help her to go sleep at night
because she's nervous about her Mickey
Mouse Club audition the next day.

KEVIN
I see what you're saying. You're so
cultured, Honey.

Harley starts coughing.

BRITNEY
Plus, a dog's mouth is, like, a hundred
times cleaner than a human's.

Harley throws up on her vagina. Kevin throws the dog off the bed and into the wall.

KEVIN
God dammit. Now I know where my last
three cigarettes went.

Kevin pulls off his doo rag, wipes the vomit away, and throws it toward the camera.

KEVIN
While we let that dry, why don't you
get to work over here.

He motions toward his dick. She leans forward and timidly licks it as though she's testing a 9-volt battery.

BRITNEY
Oh my God, y'all. It tastes so good.
What did you do?

KEVIN
I know that sometimes you say it tastes
like the inside of a spittoon, so I
added a little flavor.

She's really getting into it.

BRITNEY
(muffled)
What did you add? It's delicious.

KEVIN
Your favorite. It's Mad Dog 20/20 mixed
with strawberry soda.

She finally tires of it, sits up, and burps. She's rubbing her jaw.

BRITNEY
Okay, it's your turn.

She lays on her back and opens her legs.

KEVIN
Can't I skip it this time? Just this
once?

BRITNEY
No way. Ten-second rule.

KEVIN
Ten-second rule?

BRITNEY
Yeah. The barf was on my pussy for
less than ten seconds. That means that
it's like it wasn't there at all. It's
science.

KEVIN
See? Some people say that I married
you for your money. But I really
married you because you're so damn smart.
You're like Einstein if he was a girl
with dried dog puke on his snatch.

Kevin starts to go down on her. She farts. He quickly pulls his face away.

KEVIN (cont'd)
Aww, come on. I felt the wind from that
hit the roof of my mouth.

BRITNEY
Sorry, y'all. It was your beef jerky.

KEVIN
I'm kidding. You know I love it when
you do that.

He gets back to work on her. She starts rubbing her tits.

BRITNEY
(mumbling)
Daddy, I'm so nervous about the audition
tomorrow. So many other kids will be
there. What if I mess up?

Kevin interrupts her mumbling. He sits up and spits into his hand.

BRITNEY (cont'd)
What is it? A hair? I haven't shaved
for a while because I didn't want to
open up the scabs.

KEVIN
No. Some tobacco from Harley. And what
looks like a doubloon. Can't we just
fuck? I need to get to the recording
studio soon so I can lay down some more
of my dope rhizz-ymes.

BRITNEY
Fine. You're lucky that it makes my
pussy all slippery when you talk like
that.

She rubs her vagina and smells her fingers.

BRITNEY
Wait. That's the dog puke. But,
whatever.

The two have sex, missionary-style.

BRITNEY
Oh yeah. Oh yeah.

KEVIN
It smells like a liquor store in here.
Awesome.

Britney gets louder.

BRITNEY
I'm getting close.

KEVIN
Okay.

He punches her in the face over and over again as hard as he possibly can. She moans in ecstacy.

KEVIN (cont'd)
Now I'm about to...

Britney grabs a cigar from the nightstand and puts it out on his dick. He ejaculates into a half-empty can of Miller High Life.

BRITNEY
I love you so much.

Kevin grabs his previously discarded doo rag from the laundry pile, shakes it, blows on it, and ties it on his head.

KEVIN
I gotta go, Baby. My mind is
filled with some bomb-ass beats.

BRITNEY
Wait. We ain't finished yet.

KEVIN
Oh yeah.

He grabs the can of Miller High Life/ejaculate cocktail and takes a drink, holding the fluid in his mouth. He then spits it into her vagina.

BRITNEY
That's better. How else am I
supposed to get pregnant?

The two kiss. He turns the camera off.

FADE TO BLACK

Merry Christmas, America.

Interesting thought of the day:
Street vendors don't like it when you grab all their pretzels, untie them, and yell, "You're free! You're free!"

I Hate Comics 12!

Dilbert is fucking terrible. It's the comic that the guy in your office who you wouldn't be surprised to hear raped a girl while she slept giggles at while drinking his morning coffee.

Another Casualty in the War on Christmas!

This is getting out of hand. At first it was kind of funny. People that work at Wal-Mart are being instructed to say "Happy Holidays" instead of "Merry Christmas" this year. That's cute. Now some people on the right are calling for a boycott of Target and Wal-Mart for their anti-Christmas attitudes. Because that's what it is: anti-Christmas. If you're trying to include others by using a more vague term like Happy Holidays, you're anti-Christmas. Now go drink at your non-Christian water fountain. This one here only serves Holy Water.

Anyway, so I thought that was going a little far in the so-called "War on Christmas," but I figured it would stop there. But it hasn't. The liberals have now gone too far. That's what happens in these situations. It starts off playful and slightly jovial, then somebody has to go and escalate some shit. It's like when you're play fighting with your girlfriend and you slap her in the face, call her a whore, and tell her that you fantasize about having sex with her mother. And of course it was the liberals who went over the line.

It's being reported that the unspeakable has happened: Santa Claus has been murdered. Police are hot on the trail of the prime suspect, the epitome of liberalism at its worst: a gay, black Jew.

Santa Claus (née Kris Kringle) was going through his normal routine this time of year. He was making a dry run of all the houses of good Christian boys and girls that he would be visiting this Christmas Eve and also dropping a hot, yuletide crap on all of the heathen's doorsteps when he was accosted by the suspect. It is said that he was stabbed, prison-style, with what appears to be a Menorah filed down into a seven-bladed shiv.

Mr. Kringle is survived by his wife and eight tiny reindeer. Those close to him hope his memory won't be tarnished by the discovery upon his death of a slave labor ring employing the physically challenged buried deep within the North Pole.

The liberals fear retaliation for what one renegade gay, black Jew has done. A spokesperson insists that his actions do not represent the opinions of the liberal majority. Fearing for his safety, however, Harvey Fierstein (the Jewish equivalent of Santa Claus) has retreated to an undisclosed location.

It is the opinion of this reporter that we have not seen the last of this "War on Christmas." I fear, to quote The Carpenters, it's only just begun. Sean Hannity was seen biting the jugular of a black man who wished him "Happy Holidays" while walking down the street. It's been reported that Hannity didn't even hear the man say "Happy Holidays," he just routinely murders black people.Interesting thought of the day:
The hardest working man in sports? The ghost man on first.

Reason #2,368 Why I'm a Bastard!

I went Christmas shopping today. Well, I guess you could call it shopping. I actually just donated money to the Harvest Crusade in the names of those to whom I'm giving presents. You like the grammatical structure of that last sentence? I "to whom'd" the hell out of it.

So I was at Circuit City buying 90 D batteries for the ghettoblaster that I bought for my grandpa and I sort of recognized the girl working the register of my line. She was an unattractive girl, but, for some reason, I kind of knew her. That last sentence sounds like I'm implying I don't know any unattractive girls. I didn't mean to imply that; I meant to state it outright.

Quasimoda finishes ringing me up and I swipe my debit card to pay. The whole time she's giving me the look like she recognizes me or maybe I look delicious to her. After I swipe it, she asks for my I.D. She's holding it in her hand, then says, "I knew a Kurt once."

Now, not that I think that I'm such a beautiful, unique snowflake that nobody else has my name, but it's pretty uncommon, so I know she's saying she knows me and is trying to get me to say, "You do look familiar. What's your name?"

But, since I'm a bastard and I refuse to keep any unattractive lady friends or acquaintances or even speak to them in public really, I just picked up my bag, said, "It was probably me," and I skipped merrily out the door.

What I'm hoping will now happen is that she'll go home and google* me. Then she'll find this entry and realize what a cockbite I am and be glad that I didn't bother to continue the conversation with her. So I was actually being kind to her by not talking to her and then calling her unattractive and Quasimoda behind her back on the Internet. Never mind that whole thing about me being a bastard. I'm like Father Theresa.

*Masturbate while thinking about

Interesting thought of the day:
When you put your tongue on a 9-volt battery, that's exactly what it's like to suck Benjamin Franklin's dick.

What Sound Does Email Make?

Apparently, it's a clap.

There's a new service out that lets a person anonymously inform somebody that they may be infected with a Sexually Transmitted Disease.

While they haven't settled on a name just yet, they do have a few ideas: Syph Happens, "You've Got Crabs," and Gonnor-email.

I'm all for keeping people safe from spreading diseases that they may not know they have, but I just don't think they're going about it in a very tactful manner. This is a sample of one of their emails informing a woman that she may have been infected with gonnorhea from a man.There's also this one, and I'm not even sure what circumstances call for its use.Of course, the service has great potential to be abused (just like a stripper). But, they believe that it's better for somebody to receive an email warning them that they may have something in order to get themselves checked (and subsequently removed from the monastery) and be on the safe side.

A flood of emails have automatically been sent out to every email address containing certain terms: "hotboy," "69," "cockbiter," "daddysgirl," "whore," "sweet," "ready," and "fuckhole." So I got about 30 of these emails today. I don't think I should use my hotboyfuckhole69@aol.com address anymore.

I did get a pretty disturbing email from this company, though. I'm not exactly sure what it's implying.I'm hoping that this actually starts a trend of giving difficult news anonymously via email. If it does, I have a couple of ideas.And this one.Interesting thought of the day:
That rattling sound you hear in a Hula Hoop is bits of petrified kitten brain.

TEH MOVIES!

Hey I herd theyre's a new movie comeing out called King Kong! It's about a big munkey that steels a white gurl and climes up to teh top of the Umpire State Biulding. I'll bet you that he has a huge ballz and pen15. LOL!

He's all "Oooh ooh, I'm a munkey and I'm going to fuk a white gurl." And she's all "You probly are like so sexy and teh fuk me." :) ROFLMAO!

Then they totally do it on top of the biulding when eveverybody watches and she maybe gets pregnant and has a half munkey half person baby that is borned on top of the Umpire Biulding. The white gurl is all scared of it becuz it has balls and feet like a teh gorrilla but it has a face like a twizzler wherewoolf gun human.

This gurl in my class named Jessica touched my hand 2day. It was way awsome. I was sitting behind her in algebra class just looking at how kewl her hair wuz and she reached back and grabbed my hand. Maybe I wuz petting it and licking it and she turned around to tell me to cut it out but if I wuz touching and licking it it was a total accedent (and also tasted just like appels).

I no that all of u guys, my friends, here on teh Battlestar Galactica fan website are probly going 2 say something liek "Y dont u ask her out?"

I did ask her out. I said to her "Jessica you remind me of 7 of 9 from Deep Space Nine and maybe you should go with me 2 c king kong this weekend. That fuking gorrilla probly has some huge ballz." I LOLd here and I think she wud of to but she couldnt becuz it's hard to laff and scream at teh same time.

And I relly think she wud of gone with me if I didnt scratch my face when I asked her and make a couple of my zits bleed and stik to her hair.

Watever. I met a relly cool gurl in a chat room teh other nite any way and I'm probly going to have sex with her n e way. She said that she's a cheerleader at this other school near me. And to top it off she lives in her own house witch I'm going to this weekend. She says that her dad will pick me up in a white van. Her dad is so cool too becuz he noes that his dauhgter is going to have sex with me and told me that I don't even need to wear any clothes to teh van.

I'll let u guys no how it goes. I'm physked!

Glorious Day!

I don't know why, but I woke up this morning and something just seemed better. The air was cleaner. The birds happier. The entire human race just better off. Then I took a big whiff of the air and realized why life was just so much better.

California killed a black guy last night!

Hooray! Huzzah! A guy who would be in jail for life is dead instead. That's good news for people who hate when other people are alive.

I actually heard somebody (I think it was Larry Elder) on some "news" program (maybe "Hannity & Colmes") say that the death penalty was not murder. He said that it was an execution and that those are completely different. And it's not "rape," it's "nonconsensual sex." That guy didn't steal that woman's car, he borrowed it indefinitely without intent to return (and ejaculated in the glove compartment). And that's not child pornography on my computer, I just really enjoy when fourteen-year-old boys bathe one another; I'm a stickler for cleanliness.

It's not that I don't think that "Tookie" Williams didn't do it. He's black; they're guilty of everything. I just disagree with the death penalty in general. Why is it even called the death penalty? A penalty is five minutes for high sticking or a week of detention for exposing yourself to the girl with her dead, unformed Siamese twin's extra mouth on her cheek from the Special Ed class. It's sort of a hefty penalty. It reminds me of the time in Fifth grade I misspelled the word dyspepsia at the District Spelling Bee leaving me to take third place (absolutely true), and, instead of ringing the bell to indicate a wrong answer as they normally do, the judge actually shat on his own hand, threw it at me, and yelled, "Now you eat that! Dummy! You eat it for being stupid!" (absolutely true).

This is my second death penalty-related post in as many weeks. With as politically active as I've been lately, I should probably run for office. You don't think any of these things I write would come back to haunt me, do you?

Interesting thought of the day:
The lethal injection that they gave Stanley "Tookie" Williams? Mayonnaise. Black people hate that shit.

I Hate Comics 11!

Click the picture to make it bigger.I also added an "I Hate Comics" index in the column on the right.

Dear Kurtsy!

Advice columns are much too understanding and helpful. That's why I've started to answer people who write in to Dear Abby with the advice that I would like to see them given.

DEAR ABBY KURTSY: My father went to prison five years ago, and my mother has been taking care of my brother and sister. (I'm older and out of the house.)

What did your father go to prison for? Helping give birth to the biggest pussy on the planet? Pussy on pussy crime? (That means you and your mother's rotten vagina.)

I recently came across some shocking information. Mom has been going on dates with a clergy member who has been sending her text messages saying things like "I can't stop thinking about you," etc.

"Etc."? You can't lead off with some pansy-ass half-come on like "I can't stop thinking about you," and then say "etc." I mean, I've texted the same thing to my toilet when I'm at school and I really have to take a dump (because I can't take a dump at school because somebody I know will hear me pooping and that's weird). It's harmless. Wait! I figured it out. This clergy member likes to shit on your mother. Nothing wrong with a Saint Cleveland Steamer.

I also found out she has a profile on a couple of Internet dating sites and has been coming home later than usual after going out "for drinks with friends" after work. When I confronted her, she first denied it, then got caught in a lie. She refuses to accept responsibility, insisting "it wasn't a date," although this man expressed romantic feelings for her.

You "found out" she has a profile on a some dating sites? How did this happen? Did you do a search for "wanting to date girls like my mother"? You creepy, incestuous fuck. And, the reason she's coming home so late after going out for drinks is because it takes a long time to blow your way out of a DUI. Would you rather she lost her license and YOU had to drive your brother and sister to school in the morning? I thought not. She's blowing those police officers for YOUR benefit. You selfish dick.

My father knows nothing about this while he languishes in a cell for what could be another five or six years. Should I tell him? I also do not know if I should confront this clergyman because I find his actions despicable.

Despicable? I was right. You are a pussy. A black one who is constantly trying to eat a yellow bird named Tweety. By the way, your father isn't "languishing." He's living the good life. Every day he wakes up and thanks the same good Lord that talks to the guy fucking the shit out of your mother that he doesn't have to talk to his "gay, gay, gay son."

How can I explain to my mother that what she's doing is wrong? When I try to talk to her in a mature way, she says things like, "I can't hear you!" Any advice you can offer would be appreciated. -- DISILLUSIONED SON IN NEW JERSEY

DISILLUSIONED SON IN NEW JERSEY. So you're the reason people say New Jersey sucks.

How can you explain to your mother that what she's doing is wrong? How about a suicide note taped to your chest while you hang yourself in the bathroom. I'll wait. Go ahead. And, the reason she says "I can't hear you" when you try to talk to her is because, to normal human hearing, the sounds of a crying whiny bitch are sub-sonic--like the brown note.

Finally, I'll give you this advice: Tools needed: hammer and box of nails. Place self unclothed on a wooden bench. Stretch scrotum between fingers pressing firmly onto bench. Drive nail through left side of scrotum into bench (repeat with right). Repeat this process until you are out of nails. If you start to black out, call your younger brother or sister in to finish the job. If they hate you half as much as I do (and I've only read one of your letters), they'll gladly help you out. Conclude process as follows: Pull feet onto bench and stand up as quickly and with as much force as possible.

Interesting thought of the day:
It may come as a surprise to some of you (I know it surprised me), but rabies can be transmitted sexually. And so, it is here I will apologize to my neighbors, The Meyers's: I'm sorry for what I gave to Plinko.

Murder: Eight and a Half by Eleven Style!

I was going through some old things of mine and found a drawing I made when I was in seventh grade. I think that, if you were to take the timeline of my life leading up to the point that this drawing was made, you'd see that, after I did this drawing, there were many directions, many forks, my life could have gone down. This is where I made the decision whether or not I was going to get a gun and shoot all of my schoolmates.

Click the picture to make it bigger.

If you can't read it, it says, "What It's Like Inside A CANNIBALS HOME." I think that I used the all caps as a way of saying, "So, here's my drawing of what I think it would be like in a CANNIBALS HOME (no possessive apostrophe--stupid young me). Bet you didn't see that one coming!" Then, I'm guessing I underlined home as my way of making sure that you know that, not only am I tackling the taboo subject of cannibalism, but I'll take it where it hurts: their homes! "Oh my God. Can you believe how crazy this is? Cannibals don't have homes! Hilarious!"

In the extreme foreground you can see a can with a hand sticking out of it. And on that can it says, "Cannibal's Soup is good food." Like the old slogan for Campbell's. I'm not going to lie to you, I'm actually still kind of proud of that joke now. I was like 12.

However, it's the rest of the drawing I find disturbing. I thoroughly enjoy the fact that I thought cannibals used swords to chop up their victims. Apparently I thought that cannibals not only killed and ate people, but they fought dragons as well. This is further emphasized by the fucking cauldron that the guy on the left is cooking in.

I'm also a little upset that I helped to perpetuate the stereotype that cannibals are a sloppy people. I mean, heads and arms and shit on the floor? You have a hand-built body part-hanging rack right there. Use it!

What is most disturbing, though, is that, if you look closely by the sword in the middle, there's a smiley face. I didn't draw that shit. That's a girl's handwriting. That means that a girl saw this drawing, enjoyed it, and felt the need to add her seal of approval to my fucking dimentia. I never once was called into the principal's office (princiPAL is how you spell it, because he's your PAL!) or talked to by my parents. My parents never talked to me anyway. They sent me a card the day I graduated from high school that said, "Happy Birthday, Kevin!" and that's the last I heard from them. But my princiPAL should have at least done something--called the FBI or some shit. I think Badger Springs Middle School dodged a bullet or two (oh, puns, you slay me--I did it again! A parenthetical pun within a pun. I think I broke the pun flux time capacitor).

On a completely different note, I posted the bearded picture of me on my myspace page to see what those people thought I should do with it as well. By the way, thanks for all the comments regarding that. Anyway, the greatest thing happened: a gay dude messaged me!

Whats up? I was checkin out the local guys and found your profile, damm man your a hottie...drop me a line sometime

Later Bud
George

Oh, my sweet, sweet George. Oh, what I were a man with the man-thirst such as yourself. But, alas, I am not.

Even if I was gay, though, I would not go out with this guy because his two sentences are riddled with grammatical mistakes, the most glaring of which is his use of the wrong "your." If a guy is sucking my dick, he better be thinking, "Your cock is delicious," and not, "You're cock is delicious."

Interesting thought of the day:
The "qwerty" layout of keys on the keyboard was not decided upon because of some investigation of frequency of letter usage in words, but, instead, because, irony of ironies, the man in charge of it was illiterate. Say this out loud to the tune of the alphabet song, "QWERTYUIOPASDFGHJKLZXCVBNM." Personally, I think it's better.

Holo Back, Y'all!

The Holocaust is making headlines today. Finally, people are talking about it!

First, Mel Gibson's production company has announced that it's going to make a made-for-TV movie set during the Holocaust. If you remember, many people felt that the movie he made was anti-Semitic (that means it kills germs, like soap). Personally, I have seen Lethal Weapon a lot and if it's anti anything, it's anti-I'm-too-old-for-this-shit.

When The Passion of the Christ was first released by the Mel Gibson (if the Jesus gets an article before his name, so does the Mel) news came out that Gibson's father denied that the Holocaust happened. I never knew that the Mel's dad was the President of Iran (it does kind of make sense, though, he has a "the" before his name, too: "the President").

Because that motherfucker said today that he doesn't think the Holocaust happened and, to top it all off, said to move Israel to Europe. That's the guy that I'm going to take international affairs advice from. He seems to have done so well for himself up to this point. It's like asking Rosie O'Donnell the proper way to suck a dick. That just put an awesome mental picture in my head; thanks, me.

It always fascinates me when people deny that the Holocaust happened. It blows my mind. There is just so much evidence that it happened, like--oh, I don't know--the fucking people that it happened to and pictures and bodies and sad Jews. It reminds me of when a little kid gets caught shitting his pants and his parents call him on it.

"Gregory, did you just poopoo in your pants?"

"No."

"There's some doodie running down your leg, Gregory. Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

"Well, whose doodie is that then?"

"Yours."

"Mine? I dare you to fucking lie to me again, Gregory. I will hit you in the face with a scalding hot iron."

That's actually verbatim from my childhood. The name has been changed to protect the innocent (guilty shit-pantsers).

So the President of Iran not only denies the Holocaust, but he wants to move Israel to Europe. I think the poor Jews have had to move enough. They'll probably get lost in the desert again on the way to their new home. They're known for wandering around out there for-fucking-ever. You can't just move a country whenever you want. If this was the case, I would have moved Turkey next to Hungary when I was seven.

Interesting thought of the day:
Pilates, the exercise regimen sweeping the nation, is one bent 'l' away from pillaging and plundering your ass.

A Bo...? No, A Bomb!

A guy got his body made not living anymore today when he decided to pretend that he had a bomb on an airplane. A Federal Air Marshal who was on the plane shot the guy in the jetway. That's right:

Shot in the jetway and you're to blame
Darlin', you give love a bad name

I haven't see a session of make-believe go this wrong since when I saw that mime suffocate to death who was actually trapped in a giant invisible box. Poor, Mimey.

The best part about this article is this:

After the shooting, investigators spread passengers' bags on the tarmac and let dogs sniff them for explosives, and bomb squad members blew up at least two bags.

I would love to have seen the person's reaction while they watched their shit get blown up.

"Look at that, Honey. That dog is really sniffing my suitcase."

"I told you not to bring your beef jerky, Stanley. But, no."

"Listen, bitch. You know I don't go anywhere without my beef jerky. Dehydrated meats are my lifeblood, Debbie. They called the dog away anyway."

"Stanley, what's that robot doing to your bag?"

"Probably x-raying it so they can figure out why the dog is smelling it. They'll see it's the original copy of the Constitution that we put on display for the Colombian schoolchildren and they'll let it...HOLY SHIT!"

"You kept beef jerky in the same bag with the Constitution?"

The other blown-up bag was inconsequential. It only contained three newborn Colombian puppies. But, those puppies were suspected members of al-Qaeda. They would have made the most adorable terrorist attack ever.

Interesting thought of the day:
Hopscotch was originally created with the intent of giving parents early notice on whether or not their son was gay. It's 100% accurate.

I Hate Comics 10: Keeping It Real!

You all don't seem to appreciate the experiments I try on comic day, so, to appease the masses, I'll go old school for this one.

To Beard or Not To Beard?

Yay or nay?

Lost Pictures!

I was looking up Hitler in the library for a book report I had to do about mustaches and their correlation to hating Jews, and found this picture.

Translation: I made this with Photoshop.

Bill O'Reilly, You Should Write a Song!

That guy is like 10,000 spoons when all you need is a spoon.

I just heard him say on his show, "I have no intent at all to commercialize Christmas. I have respect for the Holiday." Knowing that he kind of has a tendency to contradict himself, I decided to check out his website.

A wreath in the upper left corner. That's festive. Certainly not exploiting the Holiday of Christmas--merely celebrating it. Maybe he's not such a hypocrite. Then I look over to the right side and see a big-ass ad for his "O'Reilly Christmas Store." Now, I don't know much about words or book-learning, but I think commercialize means "To apply methods of business to for profit." But, I'm not as smart as Bill O'Reilly; he won a Peabody Award. Oh, well, a Polk Award. Whatever, they're exactly the same thing. One can easily understand how one can confuse them.

There has been a big stink this year about the "secularizing" of Christmas. And, when I say "big stink," I mean "fake uproar substantiated by the press." And, when I say "secularizing," I have no idea what that word means.

As some of you may have been able to figure out by reading this blog, I'm an atheist. You'd have to really read between the lines to get it, but it's there. Trust me. But I don't see a problem with people saying "Merry Christmas" to me. I still celebrate Christmas even though I find its basis to be completely insignificant. To me, Christmas is an excuse for people, families, and friends to get together and not be dicks to each other once a year. Also, homeless people need to eat even though they're crazy and smell like curdled ass.

I don't care if Target or Wal-Mart has a sign up that says "Merry Christmas." If they had something that said, "Jesus says, 'Buy an iPod for your kid this year (and don't forget the new CD from Black Eyed Peas, y'all!)'" that would bother me. But things bearing the symbol of Santa Claus and elves and shit like that is fine because it removes the religion from Christmas and, instead, celebrates it on its merits of giving and receiving and goodwill toward men and all that shit.

Do you realize how fucking crazy the entire Santa Claus thing actually is? First, I'm sure there's a wikipedia entry about how Santa Claus came into being, but, without understanding or looking up the evolution (sorry, intelligent design) of the mythology (sorry, intelligent design), it's fucking bananas. B-A-N-A-N-A-S. There's a fat guy who flies through the air in one night in some sort of supernatural Iditarod Race who passes out toys made by elves to all of the good boys and girls.

What the fuck? And when I was a kid, this was completely plausible. I was like, "Yeah. And don't forget about the reindeer with the lightbulb as a nose who helps to guide the sleigh when it's cloudy." I ate that shit up. And so do millions of kids. But, kids realize after a while how ridiculous all of this is. Good for them. But, still, there are millions of grown adults who believe that there was a woman 2,000 years ago who got pregnant by an omnipotent being who created the universe. Then, this kid was able to walk on water like a superhero and do other miraculous feats. And millions of people see that as completely plausible. Isn't it more likely that the Virgin Mary was a little freaky deaky, got knocked up before she got married, and made up some excuse so she wouldn't get stoned to death for being a "harlot"?

But, wait! Then we wouldn't get presents! Never mind. You guys keep believing that last part. I'll believe the part about the flying fat guy who slides down chimneys before I believe the part about Aquaman Christ.

Why do I write this stuff when I know some of my readers are Christians and other god-believing peoples? Because I can, bitches. Steve Holt!

Interesting thought of the day:
Catorce, the Spanish word for fourteen, is what Hispanic men yell out when they hejaculate. Yes, hejaculate. CATORCE!

"Congratulations! You're the 1000th Caller!"

Says Death.

Finally, after waiting for 29 years since the death penalty's reinstatement, we have our 1000th customer. The lucky winner is murderer Kenneth Lee Boyd.

In a distasteful twist, his last words were, "Live from New York, it's Saturday Night." I'm sure Lorne Michaels paid a pretty penny for that publicity--pants pencils paprika poppycock.

Much like the first baby born each year, the 1000th executed prisoner has received some very lucrative endorsement deals. For instance, like every person who is to be executed, Kenneth Boyd received a last meal. Unlike those other prisoners, though, he didn't actually get to choose what he ate; those rights were sold to the highest bidder. Many companies fought for this right, but only one won out.

You're about to be executed. You are allowed one final meal. What do you choose? Well, Kenneth Lee Boyd, recipient of America's 1000th execution chose the new RAZR phone from Motorola. With our 2.1 Megapixel camera with both still picture and video capabilities, text messaging, downloadable games, and built-in MP3 player, the RAZR is not only the sleekest mobile phone on the market, but the most delicious. And it's low in carbs.

On screen: a plate with a RAZR phone sitting on it. Kenneth Boyd holding a knife and a fork.

Kenneth Boyd: I'm supposed eat this? It's a fucking phone.

With this milestone, the death penalty is back in the media spotlight which means its detractors will be in the spotlight as well. Personally, I don't have a problem with the death penalty. I mean, nothing teaches people that killing is bad better than public murder. It reminds me of when I was a kid and I would accidentally wet my bed in my sleep. My dad, in order to teach me that it was bad, would piss all over me the next night while I slept. "See how your bed likes it?" he'd say. Ahh, life lessons.

But, I think in order to make the death penalty more accepted by a lot of people, they should kind of change things up a bit. It seems like the only way they execute people now is with lethal injection. Boring! At least they used to use things like the gas chamber and the electric chair where it was easier to watch them squirm. But, I think I'd like to go old school with this shit: lions--lots of hungry lions. That would be awesome. Or, what about this? We take the person up in an airplane somewhere over the U.S. and just drop him (or her) out. But, in order to make it fun for everybody, we hot glue a phone number to him and, whoever finds him and calls the number wins a $500 shopping spree at Best Buy? Or, we do this with multiple inmates and do a Golden Ticket type thing. I haven't quite figured out the logistics of it yet.

All I'm saying is that just because it's number 1000 doesn't mean we need to look at it like, "Boo hoo. We've killed 1000 people. We're just as murdery as they are." Instead, we just need to find ways to make killing fun and we wouldn't have to worry about all this hullabaloo. I'm working on a similar thing with abortions and youth soccer; but that's all I can say about it so far.

Interesting thought of the day:
Pillowfights in prison are exactly like those outside of prison, except, in prison, the closing anal rape is a little more unforgiving.

The Neverending List of Surefire Pickup Lines!

I want this post to be a cumulative effort. I'm going to start off by listing some pickup lines that always work and you folks can contribute in the comments section. If I like them, I'll add them. And, this list is completely heterocentric, but, feel free to contribute dude-on-dude or chick-on-chick lines.

For guys to use:

• This is the part of my pants where the boner sleeps and it's wake up time.
• I'm like Peter Pan; I'll never grow up. And I'm sexually androgynous.
  
• Whether you're there or not, my penis is going to be all about you tonight.
• I'm positive that yesterday was the last time I'll ever wet my bed. Sleep with me now?
• Are your legs tired? Because they will be once I chase you into the woods and murder you tonight.
• Don't be afraid, that sensation you feel is love--and roofies--but mostly love.
• I don't have any pickup lines to use on you, but my ventriloquist dummy Lester does (Note: this requires you to carry a black ventriloquist dummy with you wherever you go).
• Got your clitoris! (This is just like the "got your nose" joke your uncle would do right after he touched your penis in the swimming pool, but before he touched your penis in your bedroom)
• My mommy says I'm a good catch.
• Hey, I like how you don't care about what you look like when you go out. It's carefree.
  
• Wow, I like what you're doing to that pacifier, little girl.
• You know what's a myth? STDs.
• You have never seen a better collection of Star Trek figurines.
• Are you a hooker? If not, you should be.
  
• You know that movie where the guy fucks the pie? Totally doesn't feel like the real thing.
• I can smell it; you're on your period, aren't you?

For Women to Use:

• Want to have sex with me?

That's all I've got.

Interesting thought of the day:
Jennifer Garner and Ben Affleck just had a child. Shortly after giving birth, Jennifer disappeared never to be heard from again. This happens to everything Ben Affleck's ever been in.

About Face!

Fuck me. I just wrote an entire, hilarious post about this and my damn browser crashed when I tried to post it.

Anyway.

A doctor in France performed the first facial transplant. Umm, awesome! You can't spell France without face, bitches.

The woman who received the transplant was just walking down the street by a cafe and a guy selling long bread, smoking a cigarette, not shaving her armpits and probably stinking a lot when a dog came out, barked "Le woof! Le woof!" and attacked her in the face. And, of course, being French, at the first sign of any force against her, the woman just surrendered to the dog. Then they both laughed and laughed at old Jerry Lewis movies.

Okay, no more French jokes! On to the inappropriate sodomy! Probably not surprising to most of you, that's not even close to the first time that those two sentences have been said by me.

The face was removed from a braindead woman. The orderly who regularly engaged in inappropriate sexual intercourse with the woman was quoted as saying, "I don't care. You don't fuck the face! Oui! Oui!" It's strange that he would say this publicly.

If I could receive a face transplant from anybody, I think It would probably have to be from David Faustino, Bud from Married...With Children. This is for two reasons: 1) I'm not a very tall fellow, but he was pretty damn short. Whenever people would see me, they would always say, "Wow. You're much taller than I thought you would be." and 2) I could finally get people to call me Grandmaster B.

Or, I would have them remove my face and leave it all gross looking. I could so easily become a Supervillian. People would be like, "That guy's such a dick." "Yeah, but have you seen his face? I completely understand." People probably say that about me now anyway.

For all we know, Asian people could have been doing face transplants for years, but we would never know because they all look the same. I'm kidding, they don't all look the same; some of their eyes go up on the corners and others down. But they all would have eaten the fuck out of that dog before it was able to mangle their face.

Interesting thought of the day:
Girls wear lipstick because, without it, how else would they mark every cup in your apartment as their territory? They would have to resort to urination. And that's just hot gross.

I Hate Comics 9: Sort Of!

I decided to try something a little different. Click the picture to make it bigger.

Positively True Adventures 2!

Warning: This one is long.

"How about these long lines, huh?" the forty-something man with the patchy facial hair and extreme overbite (EXTREME OVERBITE! The new hot dog from the creators of Mountain Dew!) says to me.

"Yeah. They're something," I reply, staring at the "Rules for Safe Driving" sign on the wall hoping to end the conversation there.

"I mean, seriously," he continues, "it's like, these lines are so long, I better be getting a blowjob from Pam Fucking Anderson at the end. Am I right?" His arm nudges mine.

My arm feels sticky where he touched me. I know it isn't, but it just feels like it should be.

I fucking hate strangers. And this doesn't come from some childhood trauma where a guy fingered my asshole in the changing room at Wild Rivers Water Park. I just fucking hate strangers.

"Hmm." My replies are getting shorter. Still no eye contact. Is he catching on?

"So, what are you here for?"

A goddamn question. Why did it have to be a question? Now everybody around me will think I'm the asshole if I don't answer him. Don't they know that he's really the asshole? He is. Not me. But, I can't have all of these random strangers thinking that I'm an asshole.

I'm here to renew my license.

Before I can say the words, he continues, "I'm here because I just bought a new boat and, thanks to the D fucking M fucking V fucking," he doesn't know how words work, "I have to fiscally come down to the office to register it."

Fiscally? I hate this man. I hate him hard. This is a special kind of hate that is only reserved for people who put pets in clothing and the guy who fingered my asshole in the changing room at Wild Rivers. If that happened. But it didn't.

Without thinking, I spin around and grab a number two pencil (not the clever moniker I assign to the log of shit that I fill out Scan-Trons with, but an actual pencil) from a girl taking her written exam.

"Hey, that's my...," she cries, stopping when she sees the fury of hate soup overflowing from my eyes.

"I'm doing this for everybody," I tell her. She totally makes out with me for, like, ten seconds.

Back to work.

"What are you doing with that pencil, Buddy?" the man asks. I pretend I don't hear him even though I do. It's called pretending; look it up.

Turning my anger into strength thanks to a process called photosynthesis (which was invented by the Ancient Egyptians), I jam the pencil into the man's throat.

The crowd cheers and I totally make out with that one girl again. But their cheering is cut short.

A plume of thick smoke erupts from the man's neck. The song "Don't Stop Believin" by Journey begins to fill the room.

Just a small town girl, livin' in a lonely world.

It's worse than I thought.

The cheers turn into screams. A black woman explodes. Everybody is covered in chocolate cake and attitude.

"So, you thought a number two pencil could defeat me, did you?" A half-lizard, half-Steve Perry nine-foot-tall beast hisses at me.

She took the midnight train goin' anywhere.

"Make it stop! Oh, God. Make it stop," a woman screams. She pulls on the door to escape, but the door doesn't budge. "He's somehow locked the doors with his mind! We're all going to die!"

A sign on the door reads 'Push to exit.' I don't correct her mistake. I hope the Steve Perry lizard eats her first.

"Do something," that wicked hot chick that I've made out with twice now screams to me. "You don't know what's going to happen when it hits the chorus."

Just a city boy, born and raised in South Detroit.

She's right. It's nearly at the chorus and Steve Perry lizard is growing stronger and larger with each line of the verse. It's as though he's powered by suck.

A centaur who, unbelievably, I hadn't noticed before, hands me a golden bow and arrow then evaporates into a cloud of a hundred pregnant rainbows.

"Hey, Steve Perry," I say pulling the arrow back onto the string.

He took the midnight train goin' anywhere.

I let go of the string. But, I've never used a bow and arrow before and the arrow just kind of sticks to my hand then falls to the ground.

"What do you want?" Steve Perry lizard hisses. Now eleven feet tall, glowing, and stroking his reptillian mullet with one hand, he holds a poster of a soaking wet kitten that reads "Bad Hair Day" that he tore from the wall in the other. "Now that's funny. Git 'er done."


A singer in a smoky room, the smell of wine and cheap perfume.

"Wait. Just--hold on." I pick up the arrow and rearm the bow. Quickly I try to come up with a clever way to work one of his other songs like "Faithfully" or "Open Arms" into some sort of comedic line but can't. I let it fly and it sticks straight into his torso. He should be dramatically exploding any second.

"What is this?" he asks, not exploding.

"It's the golden arrow that the centaur gave me," I reply in a surprisingly matter-of-fact manner.

For a smile they can share the night, it goes on and on and on and on.

That's the last line of the verse. The chorus is coming.

"On and on and on and on," he shrieks, his body swelling in size and breaking the roof of the DMV.

Everybody, maybe even me, screams in unison at the horror that is about to occur once the chorus begins and Steve Perry lizard is able to harness all of his power or whatever happens at the chorus. It was never really made too clear. This was all kind of sudden, you know.

Before our fears can be realized, the spirit of Kurt Cobain appears and, using his ghostly shotgun, shoots what I'm assuming were some sort of Magic Heaven Bullets through the hole in his own head and into the head of the fifteen-foot-tall, reptillian, former lead singer of Journey causing him to just sort of cough a little and then fall over and die.

The young girl who may have contracted my Herpes Simplex I (and, if she's lucky later, II), runs over and wraps her arms around me, "Who was that ghost? John Mayer?"

I break her neck and she drops to the floor in a heap.

I have one!

"Hey, Steve Perry, Who's Crying Now?" Nobody laughs. Maybe they don't realize what song it is. But I know they know it.

"Come on, guys," I say.

I start singing, "One love feeds the fire. One heart burns desire. I wonder, who's cryin' now."

Nobody reacts. Fuck them. It was a good one.

The moral of this story is: If some stranger is bothering you, maybe you shouldn't overreact and try to murder them because you never know when they'll turn into some 80s rock star demon beast.

Headline Hilarity!

I'm sure you've all heard the devastating news that Nick Lachey and Jessica Simpson are getting a divorce. I care about this as much as an Ethiopian kid cares about the flies around his eyeballs. But, I love the awful headlines that people try to come up with in situations like this.

• Newlyweds No More -- Probably the easiest headline of these, but at least it's not trying to be clever.
  
• Will Newlyweds Become Newlysplits? -- They're not even trying with that one. "Nick Lachey and Jessica Simpson? More like Nick Ladivorce and Jessica Splitson." Fucking retarded.
• Wedded Diss: 'Newlyweds' Jessica and Nick Split -- You see what they did there? Instead of bliss, they said diss. It rhymes, yet they mean completely different things. Normally I'm okay with stuff like that, but it doesn't even work with the definition of diss. It's not like Nick was like, "Jessica, I love you," and she was all, "I don't love you. FACE!"
• Newly Separateds -- Fucking Australians. Somehow this one is even worse than the 'Newlysplits' one. At least the 'Newlysplits' one tried to match the number of syllables; this one just used the prefix and tacked on the entire legal definition of what process they're going through: "From Newlyweds to Newly Legally Separated for the Next Twelve Months Until the Paperwork Goes Through to Finalize Their Divorce---s."
• And, I'm nominating this as the single worst headline about this crisis (yes, crisis): Unlachey In Love. That's so fucking bad. If Lachey sounded anything like lucky, I'd forgive it and actually think it was kind of clever, but just because it starts and ends with the same letter doesn't mean you can make a pun out of it. It's like telling somebody to go firetruck themselves. Or saying, I want to put my rock-hard pants in your tight coat.

And, this is just a note to Splitsville: I know you're not a real place, but whoever your publicist is, they're doing a bang-up job with getting people to go there. Any time I hear of somebody getting divorced, according to headlines, that's where they go. You must have a very good Club Med.

Interesting thought of the day:
The Hamburgler had sex with Mayor McCheese in the plastic balls at McDonalds. This is the reason the Hamburgler is never convicted. Coincidentally, my penis looks exactly like Grimmace.

Pardon Like It's 1999!

Every year the President pardons a turkey as a way of showing the world that turkey's lives are more valuable than Iraqi children. And that's how things should be.

This time things were different, though; there were two turkeys. In typical GWB fashion, however, he pardoned the turkeys and, upon finding out they were retarded, re-ordered their executions.

That's how my President does it.

If we ever get a dirty, vegan Hippie as our President, I'm sure some tofurkey will be ceremonially replanted or however the hell you un-eat tofu. Melted down into candles? Boiled and made into flip flops?

In the article, it says that the two turkeys that got pardoned are now going to Disneyland. Seriously. You used to have to win a Superbowl or World Series, but now the Disney stock has fallen so drastically that all you have to do is not be eaten and you get to go? Sure, half of the Uruguayan rugby team that crashed in the Andes couldn't go, but, aside from those guys, the gates to the Happiest Place on Earth have swung wide open. First they let black people in and now this.

Interesting thought of the day:
Not many people know that Thanksgiving Eve is National Racism Day, Chink.

Survey Says?

There's a whole story that goes along with this, but, I just wanted to write the headline.

I Hate Comics 8!

I've decided to use my artistic ability to create my own comic. I hope you don't get too distracted by the beautiful visuals, but, instead, focus on the message.

Click the picture in order to read it.Here's the special, director's cut DVD alternate ending version of that comic.Which is better?

Positively True Adventures!

I went to the grocery store yesterday to pick up some necessities like lye and a shovel. While I was there, I noticed this dark-haired woman looking at me. It wasn't one of those good looks either. You know the good ones I'm talking about: when she's rubbing the Aunt Jemima syrup bottle on her vagina screaming, "I want to ooze my lady-goo all over your short stack!"

It wasn't one of those. And I don't have a "short stack."

Whenever I would pass her she would sigh heavily and roll her eyes. Finally, when I saw her in the International Foods aisle where I was picking out some fermented baby dolphin meat to put in my nephew's piñata, I had to say something to her. By the way, when I use italics, that's me being sarcastic; I don't think this woman understood it.

"What do you want?"

"Oh, I think you know," she replied.

"I have no idea. But the way you're staring at me, it's like you're in love with me."

"I most certainly am not."

"Well, why don't you marry me then?" I said.

"I thought you'd never ask," she quickly responded.

She took my hand and pulled me through the store to the deli section. This would have been odd enough, but then we continued on through the metal doors to the back where they hang all of the meat and frozen cow heads that Mexican people buy sometimes to put in soup.

Her entire family was there dressed up and looking as nice as a family that I'd later come to learn suffered from six generations of fierce inbreeding could be. Her mother/sister was there. Her father/uncle/son was there. And her grandmother/brother-in-law was there. It was very inbred.

We stood in front of the Minister hand-in-hand. Me in my Vaginas are for Pussies™ t-shirt and her wearing a three-sizes too large unitard with one tit hanging out and one wooden clog infested with termites.

"I was being sarcastic about the proposal," I cried, my desperate plea falling on deaf ears. Literally. A side-effect of the inbreeding was deafness and a tendency to permeate an odor akin to a burnt hair and asparagus piss latte. She was the only one from her family in the freezer who could hear, but she was too busy sorting out the details with the Minister. By the time she did finally turn to speak to me, I could only speak in short spurts as I was choking on tears and the fermented dolphin meat that I had decided to snack on while being dragged through the store.

I'll never be sarcastic again, I thought. Look what it's done for me.

"What's your name, Gorgeous?"

"Kurt. It--it's Kurt. But I'm not--" I began to choke.

The Minister started, "Do you, Cornelia, take Kurt to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

"I do." She gripped my hand tight and smiled at me, her one good tooth beaming at me like a lighthouse a sailor sees right before he crashes into a coral reef.

All I have to do is say 'I don't.' That's all I have to do and this is over, I repeated to myself. Just don't be sarcastic.

"Do you, Kurt, take Cornelia to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

Here we go. No sarcasm just this once.

"I do."

Fuck!

So, I'm married now. It's kind of weird how this works. They're so inbred that, in order for us to have a kid, I have to actually make love to her dad/uncle/brother and there's a possibility she'll get pregnant. At least there's always some lovely banjo music playing.

Kids, the moral of this story is, "Don't be sarcastic or you'll end up having sex with some inbred dude's open appendix scar wound trying to get the girl that you married in the back of a grocery store pregnant."

Hooray for Politics!

Maybe you heard or you didn't because you get all your news from me, but Friday night there was a vote in the House that was shot down 403-3 to withdraw the troops immediately from Iraq. I was listening to some right-wing talk radio program yesterday and the host was gloating over the fact that while Democrats may say they want the war to end, deep down they know that the Republicans are right about the war and that's why it was 403-3. The thing that irritates me the most is that people hear that dumb motherfucker talk and they think that what he's saying is absolutely true. They don't bother to find out what the actual details of the story are.

The truth is that there was a proposal put up by John Murtha, a Democrat, that had a much more thought-out plan for the withdrawal of the troops and it wasn't like the Bill that ultimately got put up by a Republican Congressman. See, the Republicans' plan was basically, "Let's just fucking leave. We'll leave so fast that all of the troops' guns will still float in mid-air for a second before they drop to the ground."

Nobody can seriously vote yes for that kind of bullshit. But, what a lot of people will hear is that the Republicans "called the Democrats' bluff" about pulling the troops out of Iraq and the Republicans TOTALLY OWNED THEM.

But, in reality, what the Republicans proposed was like the question I would ask other kids when I was younger because I was a little bastard.

"Does your mom know you're gay? Yes or no. YES OR NO ONLY."

The entire crux of the question is based on a false premise. But, the premise, to stupid fucking right-wing talk show hosts, is something that cannot be questioned.

If people voted Yes on the Bill that was proposed, they would look like they just wanted to "cut and run" to borrow a cliche from everybody who has ever talked about the War or my penchant for stabbing joggers in the park. But, if the Democrats voted No, then it would look like they were agreeing with the Republicans because, when it really comes down to it, the Republicans are right about everything--especially about how Evolution is for pussies.

Maybe this post wasn't funny, but it's just frustrating to me that a majority of people will just hear about the vote and leave it at that instead of finding out what really went on. So, I decided, with my massive audience of literally Billions per day that I reach, to educate whomever was out there about why every politician--Republican, Democrat, Independent and Whig--should have empty wrapping paper tubes shoved into their various orafices and then have lava poured into the makeshift funnels. And I'm not talking that fake stuff that they put in those lamps that Hippies like, I'm talking real fucking lava that kills Hawaiians and Darth Vader.

Interesting thought of Sunday:
Jesus died so you can watch football. Remember that.

Fun Sound Pictures Happy for You!

A big movie opens this weekend that tells the story of a boy wizard growing up learning to harness his powers. Joaquin Phoenix is Johnny Cash in Walk the Line. Not a lot of people know that the reason Johnny Cash became a successful country artist was because he was a level eight warlock. His famous song "Ring of Fire" is about the time he was surrounded by five dragons and managed to slay them all with his magic guitar and the power of rock. This movie is going to be awesome.

In Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire I heard there's also some magic. The magic of when a young Hermione first begins to experiment with herself alone in her room (with her magic wand if you know what I'm saying--I'm going to prison). There's also the wonder of a newly pubescent Ron who disovers you don't need magic spells when you have Roofies (look for the spin-off film Ron Weasley and the Chalice of Date Rape coming in 2008). And, finally, the entire film franchise is turned on its head when Harry reveals to Dumbledore, in a very Airplane-esque manner, that he does, indeed, like gladiator movies.

My recommendation is, if you're going to see one new movie this weekend, make it Harry Potter simply because Walk the Line is like the film Ray except Johnny Cash wasn't blind or black or a transvestite. You can rent Ray and turn up the contrast on your TV and it'll be exactly like watching Walk the Line.

Interesting dream of the day:
So, the other day, I had a dream I could fly. I have these dreams semi-frequently and have had them since I was a child. Anyway, in my dream it always seems so easy to do. I just point my fist in the air and jump and there I go. Well, when I was younger, when I would have these dreams (and I'm talking mid-teens, not even six or seven), I would actually try what I was doing in my dream when I woke up. Needless to say, it never worked. Or did it?

Relationship Advice!

I get dozens of emails a week saying, "Kurt, you seem to make all the right moves with the ladies. What am I doing wrong?" So, I've decided to help you out by highlighting things you need to work on.

• Pointing to your erection and saying, "The Love Alarm is going off and it's half past boner" will almost always get you kicked out of church.
• Trying to get a girl to go out with you by proving to her what a good kisser you are by making out with your best male friend in front of her never works. However, if all gender roles are switched and you're a woman trying to get a guy to go out with you, this is the best thing you can do.
• The first thing you say to a woman when you approach her at a bar should not be, "On the surface you seem like the perfect woman; tell me you take it in the fart box."
• Your cologne should not be homemade and, specifically, should not include any bits of ground-up meat or gravy.
• The line on your business card where it says, "I'm going to piss all over you, bitch" is kind of a turn off.
  
• Singing songs to your lady is good. Reciting famous suicide notes is not.
• Honesty is great. "Sometimes I put a thimble on my penis and pretend it's a tiny Nazi." Forget honesty.
• When your lady is about to see your member for the first time, refrain from saying, "These are my boy parts. You're welcome."
• "Your vagina smells exactly like my grandma's!" should never come out of your mouth under any circumstances. No matter how true it may be.
• Flowers are a good gift on a first date. A baby you stole from the hospital, not so much.
• "My semen is so potent I've been able to impregnate nine different species of animal. Ever seen a half-dolphin, half-man? It's possible. I'm just saying." While impressive, feats of beastiality only impress a very small portion of women.
• Discussing past relationships is a no-no. "Two years! That's right. Her parents made us stop dating because they felt that two years was not old enough for her to start dating."
• "Mmm. Delicious." Repeated over and over while a woman is talking to you will not get you laid. Especially when she is talking about how her dog just died.

There you go, World. I hope you have learned from some of your mistakes. I may come back with another installment of this soon since I know you guys have a lot of questions. Feel free to email me with your questions: dontreadthisweblog at gmail dot com. Or leave them in the comment section below.

Interesting thought of the day:
Peter Piper loved alliteration so much that, aside from picking a peck of pickled peppers, he also pummeled pregnant pre-teens and pooped pewter pachyderms.

I Hate Comics 7: Crossover Edition!

Something somebody commented in the last one got me to thinking, "Why don't I combine some of the worst comics into one orgy of awful?"

So, I've done that.

The End of Days Draws Nigh!

Super Tokyo Diarrhea Robot Explosion!

I can't think of a good title for my weekend movie previews, so, for now, I'm going to pretend that it has a really cool name in Japanese, but something gets lost in the translation.

Three new movies open in wide release this weekend and there couldn't be a wider range of shit I don't want to see unless there was some lame-ass Reese Witherspoon/Kate Hudson fights off her romantic feelings about Hugh Grant/Hugh Grant film mixed somewhere in there.

The first film comes to you by the guy who starred in Swingers and directed Elf. Zathura tells the story of how a director who once made good, entertaining movies decides to throw all that away and remake Jumanji...in spaaaaaaaaaaaace! Remember how bad the show Cheers got when they moved that to space? The same thing is going to happen here. Granted, a huge up side to Zathura is at least, unlike its predecessor, it doesn't have the world's least funny "comedian" Robin Williams in it. But even without Robin Williams trying his hardest to convince people that if he says things a lot and quickly that something in there has to be funny, this movie is still going to be shitty.

By the way, let me be very clear to anybody reading this in case you missed it: Robin Williams is not funny. The laughing that you do when he says something is the exact same kind of laughing you do when you first take your pants off in front of the doctor*. It's uncomfortable laughter. He has managed to make a living being a comedian by doing "improv" comedy that involves him stealing jokes (look it up) and the jokes he chooses to take are awful. It's like, you know when you take a dump, turn around to flush and it's nowhere to be found? There's some shit-stealing Robin Williams-esque gnome who does that.

*hooker

The second movie out this weekend is Derailed. This stars Jennifer Aniston as a woman and Clive Owen as a man. The trailers are all pretty ambiguous, but I think it's safe to say that something goes wrong (Derailed!) and some tense situations follow. I guess if you're vague about a movie, it's harder to convince people not to see it. It worked for Pearl Harbor. But I'm just going to speculate and spoil Derailed for you and let you know that Jennifer Aniston has a penis. That last sentence ought to bring in some interesting google traffic.

And, finally, the crème de la crème of films this weekend is Get Rich or Die Tryin'. First, just in the title, I'd like you to notice the apostrophe instead of the 'g' on the end. Right off the bat that establishes that this film, much like the television series Punk'd, doesn't play by the rules. If it doesn't even abide by the constricting bonds of grammar, what kind of rule breaking can I expect to see within the context of the film itself? How exciting. And, to add another espresso shot to your excitement latte, the world's most boring rapper "50 Cent" is the star. I've shat bloody post-anal rape stool with more charisma than 50 Cent. I know why he got shot nine times, it was self-defense; he was boring everybody around him to death.

I went shit joke crazy this post. Sorry about that.

Interesting thought of the day:
Hugs are poor people medicine.

New Professor at Kansas Schools: Jesus!

As you probably know by now, the Kansas School Board has elected, by a 6-4 margin, to allow "Intelligent Design" to be taught in public schools as an alternative to Evolution.

But, relax, left-wing nutjobs! It's not religion. It's Intelligent Design. They're not saying, "Hey, maybe God created the Universe." No. They're saying, "Hey, maybe a god created the Universe." Doesn't that work much better? It's so open-minded. They're so liberal!

Sure, there's years and years of scientific study and research that prove to a very reasonable degree that the species on the planet have evolved over time. But, isn't there an equal chance that a unicorn fucked a dragon on top of a cloud made of pixies and their offspring was Baby Earth Jesus?

Sounds good to me.

On the heels of this decision, the Kansas School Board has also decided to adopt the song Dust in the Wind by the band Kansas into their teachings. This will now be known as Psalm 151 and will be totally kickass.

And, effective immediately, The Wizard of Oz will be shown in every science class as a documentary on how Kansas came to be. Children will learn that there was a time not long ago when monkeys could fly, lions could talk, and ruby slippers were something that could magically transport you home and not something that got your "queer ass" tied to the back of a pick-up truck and dragged until the gay came out of you.

I, for one, applaud Kansas for taking a stand in this age ruled by Science and reasoning. Who needs to know how things really work? Hell, that's all too confusing for me. You can take all day and try to explain to me why it is when I point the remote control at my TV and push some buttons it changes the channel. You can spew your mumbo jumbo about infrared signals and sensors, but, dude, you're starting to hurt my brain. I'd much rather believe that I am a wizard and the remote control is my magic wand; it's easier that way.

Abracadabra, Kansas! You just made eighty years of progress disappear.

Interesting thought of the day:
Santa Claus's beard is made from all of the first pubic hairs of every child on the planet.

I Hate Comics 6!

Last week I was requested to do Marmaduke. I hadn't done it up to this point because I had been lucky enough to not have much interaction with Marmaduke.

I have lost my innocence in that respect and I now realize why such resentment is harbored toward this shitbag of a comic strip.

I actually did 3 of them, but I'll save them for the future.

Celebrity Business Cards!

I was looking for ways to get into contact with some celebrities so I could hopefully score a writing job somewhere and a surprising number of celebrities have their business cards readily available online.

(End fake setup)

Jessica AlbaParis HiltonKevin FederlineR KellyI found some more (this is me keeping with the setup of the bit and acting like I didn't make all of these), but I'll have to get to those another time.

Interesting thought of the day:
Motorcycles stay on two wheels in direct contrast with the laws of physics. Therefore, anybody you see riding a motorcycle is a witch and should have a pole put between their spokes (not a euphemism) Indiana Jones style.