Saturday, December 31, 2005

"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."

Friday, December 30, 2005

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.

Thursday, December 29, 2005

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.

Tuesday, December 27, 2005

Monday, December 26, 2005


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."

Sunday, December 25, 2005

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!

Wednesday, December 21, 2005

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.


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.

You ready to fuck, bitch?

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

Sorry. You ready to fuck, Sweetheart?

That's better.

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

That's disgusting.

No it isn't. It keeps it clean.

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

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.

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

Harley starts coughing.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

What did you add? It's delicious.

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.

Okay, it's your turn.

She lays on her back and opens her legs.

Can't I skip it this time? Just this

No way. Ten-second rule.

Ten-second rule?

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

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.

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

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

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

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.

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.

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

She rubs her vagina and smells her fingers.

Wait. That's the dog puke. But,

The two have sex, missionary-style.

Oh yeah. Oh yeah.

It smells like a liquor store in here.

Britney gets louder.

I'm getting close.


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.

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.

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

Wait. We ain't finished yet.

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.

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

The two kiss. He turns the camera off.


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!"

Tuesday, December 20, 2005

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.

Monday, December 19, 2005

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.

Sunday, December 18, 2005

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.

Friday, December 16, 2005

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 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.

Wednesday, December 14, 2005


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!

Tuesday, December 13, 2005

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.

Sunday, December 11, 2005

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.

Friday, December 09, 2005

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
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.

Thursday, December 08, 2005

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?"


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


"Well, whose doodie is that then?"


"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.

Wednesday, December 07, 2005

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.

Tuesday, December 06, 2005

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.

Monday, December 05, 2005

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!

Friday, December 02, 2005

"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.

Thursday, December 01, 2005

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.