Black People Hate Everybody!

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

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

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

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

Black People Hate Each Other!

The other night at the Vibe Awards, some guy reached out and punched Dr. Dre in his smelly face right before he was going to receive a lifetime achievement award. The lifetime achievement award for rappers is living past 40. Thank you very much, I write for Jay Leno. Anyway, then somebody in 50 Cent's posse decided that "ain't no nigga gonna punch Dre in the face for free" and proceeded to stab that guy. Whatever happened to the message we all learned in You Got Served? If you've got a problem with somebody, you don't stick him with a filed down toothbrush, you dance like you've never danced before...at that guy. Stabbings heal, but getting outdanced, that lasts forever.

In "I fucking hate religious-right morons" news, people are mad because on Monday Night Football the other night some woman's naked back was exposed in front of Terrell Owens as part of a promotion for ABC's show Desperate Housewives. People wrote in and are so angry because of this. Seriously. I'll bet if the football player was white, they'd be fine with it all. Instead, since it's a black guy, the entire South actually emailed torches and pitchforks to ABC's corporate offices. I hope that next week Terrell Owens sodomizes Barbara Bush in front of America.

Also, Clinton's Presidential Library opened up today. Sorry, I'm still auditioning for Jay Leno, so you probably don't want to read the next sentence. Clinton's library is the only Presidential Library to carry The Kama Sutra. Well, I just stabbed myself in the throat with a pen.

Star Jones got married over the weekend to some guy who likes money. Well, he either likes money or he really wants to become a member of the Hutt crime family and there's no better way to become a part than to marry the boss. Boba Fett was reported to be a no-show for the wedding. An entry in his weblog from the day before the wedding may lend some help in figuring out why:

Hey guys. Today really sucks. :( I had to go out and track down some guy on Naboo and it was really hard. It was all hot and stuff and I forgot to put on deodorant so I totally didn't want to go near anybody. You guys know how that goes. Anyway, you know that guy I've been telling you about that I had a crush on? Well, it turns out that he's totally going to get married to somebody else tomorrow. He sees how hard I work for him and, remember that night I told you guys about--when our hands accidentally touched--it turns out that that was all in my mind. I mean, I've known him forever and always thought we'd end up together. I don't know what to do. There's no way I can go tomorrow. *sigh* Well, I'm going to go burn some sage and go to sleep. :*(

Interesting thought of the day:
When Bob Barker tells you to have your pet spayed or neutered, he only does that because nothing turns him on more than a dog with his lipstick out.

Duck, Duck, Goose!

I wrote about The Swan when it first came on, but I feel that it is necessary to revisit this awesome show. The show is fantastic because it really makes women feel like they look absolutely shitty all the time. There's nothing better for somebody's self-esteem than to watch somebody else who is average get madeover to look like a glamorous monster. When they show the people at the end of the show and they're all made up, it kind of looks like when an old lady with Alzheimer's gets into the makeup drawer when the orderly that's supposed to be watching her was masturbating in the broom closet humming The Golden Girls theme song.

I was watching this television spectacular tonight when the main plastic surgeon (a guy who looks like he actually sleeps with the sun) said something that made me write it down so I could relay it later on. This is where the real asskicking to the self-esteem comes in. He said, "[We're going to] excavate her beauty and bring it to the surface." Holy shit. There's nothing that makes a woman feel better than when somebody refers to her face like it's Carlsbad Caverns. He may as well have said, "Well, right now she's fugly. What I'm going to do is chip away at this flabby canvas and try to form something that looks less like the back of my ass and more like an Olsen twin with a vaccuum in her snatch."

I still have that story about my Grandparents to tell, it's really nothing, so stop getting excited. I'm serious, that'll get all over your keyboard. Gross.

Bad joke of the day:
What do you call an Italian hooker?

A pasta-tute.

Hell yeah.

Jesus dies again!

In preparation for the Christmas Season, Jesus has died again. Big Baby Jesus, also known as Old Dirty Bastard or "Isn't he that rapping homeless guy from the Mariah Carey video?" died in a rare fencing accident on Saturday. He was just doing what he normally does on the weekends, fencing at his country club, when the tip of one of the rapiers hit his heart on a T-wave killing him almost instantly.

The President of Fox Hills Country Club, 97-year-old James McGreevy, had this to say regarding ODB's death, "Old Dirty was a regular member around the clubhouse. He will be sorely missed at our ice-cream socials, golf tournaments, and cricket games."

After some investigative reporting, and Mr. McGreevy trying to gum his way through my left arm while yelling, "Meatloaf for dinner! Hooray!" I realized that the story he was telling me was somewhat factually inaccurate. So, I shot him in the head and went to google news and read the actual story.

It turns out that ODB collapsed in the recording studio (a place where a lot of rappers go to die--kind of like that farm your parents took your cancer-infested dog to when you were little). I'm not going to presume that perhaps drugs were involved, as ODB--as you can see--is a vision of perfect health. But, in some circles, there are rumors that maybe he died of drinking too many Zimas. I did the math and, in order for alcohol poisoning from Zimas to kill somebody of ODB's stature, he would have to drink 5 a minute for six years straight. It's amazing that nobody caught him drinking, but that's how alcoholics do it--alone and in the dark.


I have my own theory that it was actually a suicide because ODB was grief-stricken over recent events. It's no secret that ODB was a huge Polar Express fan. In fact, he ran the largest Polar Express fan website on the internet. When the news hit him that The Incredibles was going to beat it at the box office this weekend, ODB felt he couldn't go on. Friends and family said things like, "Don't worry, Big Baby Jesus, It will still make its money back with the overseas market." But he just wouldn't listen to them. He was already in a huge depression after seeing that his favorite actress, Lindsay Lohan, "went all slutty once she got her boobs," this just sent him over the edge.

Rest in peace, Big Baby Jesus. In your honor, I would like to propose a new Holy Trinity. No longer will it be the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Henceforth it will be The Brotha, the Sixteen Kids, and the Holy Shit, isn't he that rapping homeless guy from the Mariah Carey video?

Interesting thought of the day:
I didn't get to use the word "monicker" in this entry and I'm too lazy to go back and change it. But it's a damn good word. It's like "conduit."

Sweet Yassy Molassy!

I don't know much about anybody that isn't me or my immediate family. In fact, I don't know much about those people either. I have seen them and I know that they exist, and I'm pretty sure that my brothers' names both start with the letter 'J,' but that's all I've got. And I don't know much...but I know I love you. And that may be...all I need to know. That was my internet Aaron Neville impression but I probably didn't have to tell you that; I'm told it's flawless.

Anyway, what I was getting to in the horrible title that I've written is that Yasser Arafat died. He was some guy who was the head of the Palestinian Liberation Organization. Jewish people hate him more than they hate opening their Hanukkah decoration box and finding a broken Menorah or Hitler. He kind of looks like if a person was an ant. That's 'ant' not 'aunt.' We all know that aunt's can't be people because they're women. What's funny about him dying is that people fucking hate him. People on the late night talk shows make all sorts of jokes about him and the audience yucks it up. Sure, maybe he's authorized the murder of thousands and thousands of people at the hands of terrorists, but he won a Peace Prize, bitch! Have you won a Peace Prize? I didn't think so. He's all peaceful up in the ass of all those damn uppity Israelis. His motto is "Kill 'em with kindness...or a guy with ninety pounds of dynamite strapped to his balls." The ratio of suicide bomber kills to kindness kills is at a surprising 50:50.

I wish, though, that whenever anybody died, no matter if they were a bastard or not, people just mocked the shit out of their life. Like, things would have been a lot better if I would have turned on the end of the Tonight Show waiting for Conan to come on and Jay Leno would have been like:

"Folks, we lost somebody very special the other day, Christopher Reeve. He was a great man, a truly great man--if you like a hundred and fifty pounds of dependency and a permanent indentation on the side of his mouth where the river of drool ate away at his flesh. Fuck that guy! Stay tuned for Conan, he's got Smashmouth!"

That may even actually make me watch Jay Leno's shitty, shitty show.

No real news on the car thing. I went to the school police station Wednesday at their request after I called them. I'm positive that the guy who helped me is the reason that the word "rotund" was invented. There is no other way to describe him. His stature was almost cartoony. He had normal sized legs, but from his waist to his fat head was fucking huge. He was a real cop because he had a gun, but that's why he's taking traffic reports instead of "walking the beat" or whatever cops do. He said there's about as good a chance as him becoming president as them getting the person who hit my car. He was Mexican, too, so now I really know that there's no chance.

I have to tell a story about my grandparents, but I've written too much today, I'll try to do it next time.

Interesting thought of the day:
If you've ever used a handkerchief, you're either really old or you really love old snot.