Import Beers, Coke and Whores
Current mood: giddy
Category: Goals, Plans, Hopes

So, I'm pretty much the bread winner of my household as god intended the man to be.  My wife brings home some money but it's really just enough to buy the weekly offerings she gives me, and to pay for all of the abortions that banging my uber virile manhood calls for.

I make good coin, but some days it just isn't enough to accommodate some of my finer impulses.  You know, hookers and blow, and fancy import beer that says, "Look at me world, my gut costs more then your's bitches".  So, because of this, and a general disdain for having people around me, I decided to try leaving my family on the front steps of a church.  I learned two things from this.  One, new-age pussy born-again churches don't run orphanages.   Jerks!  And two, you can't just duct tape the mouths and hands. No, when ditching your burdens on the lord you have to go all in and fucking tape those pesky feet up to their wrists, otherwise the fuckers just get up and walk home.  Fuck! 

So there I am, day dreaming on the couch about all my new found disposable income, just about to get me some coke and whores when my wife walks in the door with my kids all in a huff about something or other.  Go figure.  I pretended to be deaf until she gave up and put the kids to bed cause I fucking rock like that, and waited for her to come down stairs and console me and the grief with which their return had afflicted me.

But nooo, she had to start chirping off about how they had to walk through crack-head central to get home, and how I've scarred the children, you know the usual whiny drivel that wives spew.  It was about the third or fourth time she asked me "Why would you do such a stupid thing?" that I finally got sick of listening to her and whipped out my junk to shut her up.  It was while she was mid gobble, that I decided to buy her some false teeth so that she could better enjoy bringing me enjoyment, which just pissed me off further cause that would leave even less money to spend on me.  Fuck families are expensive.

Well, while the wife was showering off and I was pinching a loaf, I figured I'd fill her in on the cause of my unhappiness.  I left out the hookers and blow part cause I didn't want to upset her and make her all insecure and shit.  So, she says to me, "If you can't afford the beer you like why don't you just try brewing it yourself?"  Drink home brew?  What the fuck?  Who the hell will be impressed by watching me drink the fucking moonshine of beers?  No one, that's who.  Fuck! 

But then a eureka moment hit me.  Maybe cause that's the sound the wife made when I flushed the toilet, but the whys really don't matter at a time like this. 

Now, as of yesterday, I am the proud knew member the Hookers and Blow Club, number of members, me!  What I did was I went and made a batch of home brew and bought me a used ice cream truck.  I go out to all the local 7/11's, parks and welfare complexes and peddle my cheap shitty beer off on teenagers.  The best part is, is that the trash from the welly complexes will steal their parents blow and trade it straight up; an 8 ball for a six pack.   Stupid shits, bwah ha ha.  And as an added bonus, after I accidentally on purpose sold beer to my son and his friends the wife scooped up the kids and moved in with her brother.  Fuck yeah, I rock!

7:51 PM - 2 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

What the Fuck Is Happening Here?
Current mood: aggravated
Category: MySpace

With fingers rustier then a nuns cunt I sat down at my computer and decided to spew some hate on MySpace.  I haven't been on since last August and after having a toke I figured, what they hell, let's go back and give'er a go.  I guess you've had ample time to miss me.

Well, that was over a fucking hour ago?  Who CrackBooked up my goddamn MySpace?  I was lost man, utterly lost.  First some flashing shit on the side of the screen tells me I have a couple of emails in my in box.  I failed to notice the word CRUSH imbedded in the flashing neon border and went and clicked on it and shit on my dick, it takes me five minutes and the closing of a thousand stupid pop-ups to escape it's stranglehold on my monitor.  That's piss off 1.  You owe me a new keyboard MySpace; you're bullshit made me throw mine at my cat.  My only solace is that the cat got the worst of it and is now twitching in the corner.  Fuck you Cheeba and fuck you twice MySpace.

So, now I decide to try to find my actual inbox and see what's in there but I can't find it anywhere.  I've only had a couple of puffs so this shit should not be this hard!  I meen seriously, what the fuck? 

I finaly  get in and reminded about the god damn cam hoes.  Thanks for filling my inbox with your lies about getting to see you for free you rotten snatched cock teases. And then I see good'ol Tom's still busy sending out letters trying to convince us that the fucking up of MySpace is actually an improvement.  Thanks Tom!  Douche.  That's piss off 2 and 3 ass clowns. 

So what should have been a simple manner has become an ordeal and I'm in serious need of finishing that joint.  All I wanted was to see if that chick, what's her name, had gone to jail yet.  Whether Chris had been spared and had his children taken away by social services.  Whether RyzenSun was still rockin balls and if that one chick was still, well you get the point.  But no, instead I've got to go puff some more so that I can chill here and try to navigate this bloody site.  Change sucks, so stop changing fucktards.

8:47 PM - 7 Comments - 6 Kudos - Add Comment

Leave Your Name c/o Ryzen$un
Category: Blogging

Leave your name in my blog comments.
Once you do that, this is what I'll do for you...

1. I'll respond with something random about you.
2. I'll tell you which song or movie you remind me of.
3.  I'll pick a flavor of jello to wrestle you in.
4.  I'll say something that only makes sense to you and me. 
(if possible.  if not, I'll say something that only makes sense to me.)
5.  I'll tell you my first memory of you.
6.  I'll tell you what animal you remind me of.
7.  I'll ask you something I've always wondered about you.
8.  If you play, you MUST post this on yours.  You MUST. **

Do it, and do it now!

8:04 PM - 19 Comments - 8 Kudos - Add Comment

Marriage Advice Franken Fuck Style
Current mood: aggravated
Category: Romance and Relationships

There's been something burning my ass for a while now.  At first I thought it was my rectal itch flaring up again, but three tubes of ointment later and I'm still burning, though slightly aroused.

You see, there are a few areas in life where I feel I am of substantial use to my fellow man and woirthy of providing advice.  You of course would guess the first three, which would be:  kicking ass, rocking balls and fucking bitches.  Good work, you intimately know a blogger.  Fuck yeah!  But the fourth, which may come as a surprise to some of you, would be knowledge in succeeding in long term relationships. 

Now, when it comes to just general relationship advice I am of little to no use.  I've been with the same woman for 12 years now as her awesomeness was almost equal to mine and we saw fit as to form an uber union of ass kick.  So if you are single, lonely and in need of some good sound advice, fuck off.  All I can say is this, change.  Obviously no one likes you how you are so stop being a pussy about it and be some one your not.  Try on a new you every month or two until you are able to either find a suitable mate, or atleast start getting laid.  And everytime you feel  the old you creeping out, just push that ass lick back down and bury it with some more booze, drugs or what ever the fuck your sorry ass represses with.  If it works for gays it should work for your weak ass.  Fuck!  Come to think of it, I rock at this advice too.  God I rock!

Oops, off track again.  What is burning my ass on this particular day is some of the relationships I am forced to endure through association.  These fuck wad's dilemas keep popping up in my life and I am forced to repeatedly voice to any one who asks that these people suck.  And since offering them advice to their face appears to be useless  I will simply state it here for all to see and you can apply to your own life as you see fit.

First off, marriage is work so fucking work people.  Monogamy is completely un-natural so in order to make it succeed you must actually put forth effort.  

Men, you must first decide what type of husband your gonna be.  The easiest route, besides not getting married, is to beat your wife.  It's simple, effective and requires very little exertion.  What's that?  You think that's wrong?  Fine, then your only other option is to actually try.  This meens being an equal partner in this endeavour and doing your equal share.  Be a good team mate douche wad!  It's that simple.  Personally, I'd go with the beatings, but if your gonna puss out then you have to puss out all the way and be "good man".  If you fail to do one of these two things your woman will leave you for a better version or worse, cheat and find out that 2 minute pump and dumps are not as normal as you have lead her to believe. 

Now women, I can not stress this enough, it is up to you to put out at every moment.  Seriously.  You must put out until your man says stop.  Whether it be church, work, or your parent's bathroom.  What's that?  Have a sore pussy, or worse, it's bleeding?  That's gross bitch! Fix it and in the mean time learn to suck some dick.  Huh?  Neck's sore?  Fuck fine, give a hand job you whiney cunt!  And if you're too lazy for that, find a friend to fuck him and just watch.  You see ladies, men have to be fucked.  Besides feeding him and cleaning for him, above all else you must get him off.  If you don't he will leave you for a better version.  Or worse, have an affair and bring home a surprise.  Maybe that's where your sore snatch came from.  Dumb ass.

One last thing.  Kids don't fix shit, they wreck it.  If your shit ain't together, this new one your brewing or thinking of brewing will only make things worse.  Parenting is the most stressful thing you'll ever do.  You're constantly just one back hand away from having some fucking hippy neighbour call child services on you, and that shit's time consuming.  So if the two of you ain't tight,  bag it you fucktards as you don't need to ruin our society a little more by passing down your disfunction to some bastard who's gonna go fuck shit up to spite you.  The odds of a child improving a disfunctional relationship are about the same as starting to have an open relationship accept with out any sex whatsoever for 1 to 2 years.  God people suck.  Fuck. 

Wow, this got long fast.  I'm gonna go get me a rub and tug.

7:35 PM - 16 Comments - 12 Kudos - Add Comment

Asking black dudes
Current mood: peaceful
Category: Pets and Animals

I was thinking the other day about how disgusting this Michael Vick shit is when a couple of things occured to me.  First off, rich mother fuckers like him shouldn't be raising fighting dogs; they should be raising fighting crack heads.  Like Bum Fights, but backed by a $120 million dollar man.  Fuck that would rock.  I meen, don't be some sick degenerate fuck torturing dogs.  That's just not right.  Get your shit together and rustle up some junkies you douche.

The second thought it inspired in my cranium of greatness is that this totally affords me an opportunity to practice one of my favourite pass times.  When ever a black celebrity gets caught up in some shit like this I like to go out and find some black people and just stop them on the street to ask em, "Hey, you're black,  what do you think about Mike Vick?"  I figure I'm doing my part for race relations.  By being this stupid and racially insensitive I'm actually helping the cause.  This way, maybe next time when there all bitching about how easy us white dudes got it, they'll simmer down a little when one of them pipes up, "yeah, but fuck them crackers sure are stupid!"  God I rock!

Only problem is, is that not only are there barely any black people up here, but the ones that are here are really really black.  Like dashiki wearing dudes from the heart of Africa.  So, not being all too fluid in speaking click'n'pop, it's fucking useless and I just end up cuonfusing the hell out of them as I try to come up with some sharades gestures that can communicate Michael Vick and electrocuting dogs.  It's usually about the time I grab a dog and start punching it in the face that they bolt.  Fuck!  You'd think the giant smile on my face would put them at ease.  Must be a cultural thing.  That or they were just assholes.  Oh well, meh, I'm gonna go watch me some Kill Bill.  Fuck yeah!

8:47 PM - 18 Comments - 6 Kudos - Add Comment

Miss me fuckers?
Current mood: apathetic

I'm sure no one fucking noticed cause your all assholes, but I've been away for a while.  I wanted to have a super long cool story as to why I've been gone, like I've been helping the old ladies nanna get the fuck out of my house, but instead I'm gonna cop out on account of the shitty attention span once more and give you a list, cause I fucking rock like that:

1.  Jason and me got really pissed one night and decided we were both becoming a couple of fat guys spending way too much time on MySpace instead of a couple of fat guys drinking way too much beer.  We decided to see who could stay away the longest from this crack like site, using the honour system since we couldn't check on eachother.  Well old fuck wad never told me he cracked like two days in.  Asshole!  Jason, you have no honour, and thank god.  Honour's for pussies and the Japanese.

2.  The wife gave me an ultimatum of either MySpace or her.  And well, fuck, divorce is expensive and so are the whores I had to employ to service my perma chub so it took me a while to get my internet up.

3.  It's fucking July and I live in God's country, get a life people.

4.  I watched Jesus Camp and ended up going all Washington Sniper along the Fraser Valley Bible Belt.  God fenatics piss me off, and some one has to give their kind some comeuppins.

5.  Not only did I wait in line for over a month to see Transformers but I then proceeded to watch it three times a day for the past two weeks.  Fuck that movie rocked balls.  Fuck!

7.  The last time I went to hop on MySpace both kids got the shits and one successfully dowsed me in a splatter shit.  I took it as an omen and couldn't go near my computer for a while.

8.  I tried to talk the wife into fisting and she said only if I fisted my own ass first.  Here's a tip for all of you kids out there; remove your watch first otherwise you're making a trip to the emergency room, and doctors are in no hurry to help out a man with his fist stuck up his ass.  Fuck you Dr. Smith!

9.  I started reading the book of Mormon while on the shitter and just couldn't put it down.  I was on the can for so long my legs went in to atrophy and I'm waiting for God to stop busting my balls and fix my fucking legs.  Fix'em already asshole!

9.  I'm doing a total body cleanse and surprisingly enough, without coffee, drugs, sugar fat or booze I ain't got much to say as I seem to have come down with a severe case of Hippiutus and cry every time I think about the damage that the hydroelectric dam that's powering my pc did to some poor grizzly bear's food supply some where.  Fuck I need a drink!

10.  I spent some time working on my grammar hoping that maybe I'd stop writing those goddamn run on sentances that make shit hard to read cause the reader gets all fidgity and uncomfortable with the complete lack of form and finally loses their concentration and skims the rest of the sentence so they can see where this asshole decided to put some sort of puncuation and when they see it's at the very end of what they thought was a paragraph they say fuck this douche and go read some sad poetry or pretend to laugh at some gay dudes photoshopped blog cause MySpace is cool like that.   

Ahhhh, it's good to be back.

9:55 PM - 20 Comments - 18 Kudos - Add Comment

My Three Genius Nemesisssssss
Current mood: hungry
Category: Movies, TV, Celebrities

I was sitting over the shitter today celebrating my latest online IQ test success with an entertaining game of turd coiling.  It's where you try to ring your logs around the outer edges of the bowl and coil it up like an ice cream cone.  If you can cap it off like the dome of a Sikh temple you get the honour of walking away without flushing.  I know, fucking genius eh? 

So as I pinched off the last bit I got to thinking of who my competition was for world's greatest genius.  I wiped my ass and tossed her in the garbage can, not wanting to ruin the picturesque fecal masterpiece I had left in the bowl for family bragging rights, and decided to think it through over a hot cup of coffee.  A master shitter must always re-lube the well after his conquest; it's what separates us from those pussy rabbit-turd shitters.  But enough about shit already, I'm here to share with you my genius.

So I figure I have three legitimate competitors.  I see them as follows:

Stephen Hawkins - I know this totally goes against my beliefs about cripples and using them primarily for drop kick practice but that's just how smart this super-tard is.  He proved it the day he was asked what his IQ is and he said, "People who brag about their IQ's are losers"  He said this while wearing a shirt that said, "My IQ's 250, Suck It Bitches"  Besides, anyone who can earn a cameo on the Simpson's for being a genius must be super fucking smart.  The Simpson's know their shit. 

Al Gore - This man's list is extensive.  He was smart enough to marry that sex freak Tipper.  You know anyone who puts that much energy into fighting lyrical content of  music is a sheister film addict.  The lady doth protest too much.  I have it on pretty strong sources that this southern bell is the co-creator and namer of the Alabama Hot Pocket.  Go ahead, Google it.  Did you?  God you're a dirty dirty person and Jesus hates you.  Douche!  But I'm getting side tracked again.  Fuck! 

On top of Tipper, he invented the internet, created the Krispy Crème donut and perfected the efficiency of the CIA's supply chain of pumping drugs in to the ghetto.  Plus this tobacco money porker has some how managed to convince the hippies that despite being a part of an administration that did sweet fuck all to improve American environmental policy other then a few PR blitzes that he is the face of the global warming cause.  If he wasn't such a pussy I may just concede him the title for that alone.  But he is a pussy so fuck him.

Dr. Percy Spencer - Who is this man you ask?  First off, you should be ashamed of yourself.  Without this man I fear I would have lain to waste long ago.  You see, Dr. Spencer invented the microwave.  Now before all you engineer nerds who find yourself reading my awesome blog start saying shit like, "claiming to invent the microwave is like claiming to invent electricity" let me just say, fuck you.  I Googled it and his name came up first.  End of discussion.  It's just a blog, I don't care.

Life sucked ass before microwaves.  I used to have to wait for my mom for like 20, some times 30 minutes to heat up lunch.  It was bullshit.  No matter how much I tossed furniture through walls or punched her in the armpit (try it, it fucking hurts because you never see it coming) the shit just never cooked any faster.  Then came the microwave.  All of a sudden, no matter how drunk and passed out mom was, I could heat up whatever I wanted.  Pizza, chicken, the neighbour's cat.  It fucking rocked!  Soon after, along came microwaveable food and women were almost deemed completely useless.  And as an added bonus, you could microwave metal and CD's and be tripped out for as long as you could find new shit to stick in there.  You fucking rock Dr. Penner.

So there we have it.  Three noble competitors.  Now all I have to do is find something that pushes me over the top.  I have to fucking hurry too as any day now some one new could come along and replace all of us at the top of the food chain.  That way I can quickly retire champion and forever rest on my past accomplishments.  Fuck, it worked for NHL 95, it's got to work for this.  Fuck yeah!

8:48 PM - 19 Comments - 16 Kudos - Add Comment

Thought I Caught the Gay
Current mood: confused
Category: Life

A couple of you seem to have some concerns with my drinking at work.  I would thank you for your care but I don't want to.  You're pussies and need to get over it.  Winners have no care for time of day, rules or liver health.  Winners set their own times, make their own rules, and are successful enough to be able to afford new livers in second world countries.

Only problem is, is that one of these pussies happened to be my mom.  I stopped by her house cause I was in need of some one to cook for me.  Normally I'd just eat out since I was alone and could brag to the kids later about how awesome it was  without them.  But I happened to also need some laundry done so off to mom's it was.

I'm not in her house for more then two seconds and what do I get but an earful of "so what's this I hear about you drinking at work?"  I knew I never should have taught her about the internet.  A hearty, "Fucking read my blog will you?", and a solid flying knee to her temple later and I found myself stuck alone in her kitchen standing over her twitching body, sans food or laundry.  Fuck!  This is what I get for being generous with my time.

But then something fucked up happened.  While I was yoinking her DSL modem off of her desk and stuffing it into my pocket I started to feel something.  I'm not quite sure how to describe it.  It was kind of like that nausea you feel when your woman squeezes your balls between her knees a little too hard.  Worse yet, the very beginnings of a tear started to form in the corner of my eye.  I nipped that in the bud instantly with a match to the tear duct.  Had to cauterize that bullshit right at the source.  Fuck!

Later that night I was flipping through the channels, still trying to digest what had gone down at moms.  Something inside of me told me I was feeling regret but how could that be?  That's right, it fucking couldn't be!  Then out of no where I stopped on Will & Grace.  What's even worse, I fucking laughed.  And not just any laugh.  It was one of those laughs that's so long and hard you feel like a deflated balloon; like I just took an uber-dump but without the satisfaction.  What the fuck was happening?

I ran to the bathroom and locked the door.  Splashing water on my face achieved nothing, so I turned to draw the bath.   Drawing a bath?  Aghhhhh! 

That's when it hit me.  I went into my bedroom and called my wife over to sit on the bed next to me.  I looked deep in to her eyes and steadied my self for one of those conversations that either kills you or makes you stronger.

Me:  Baby, I don't know how to say this so I'm just gonna come out and say it.

Wife:  Okay baby, what is it?

Me:  I don't know how the fuck this happened.  I mean, I haven't sat down on any public toilets, eaten sushi or watched much NBC lately, but I think I caught the gay.

Wife:  Are you fucking retarded?  You  can't….

Me:  No, baby, stop. (Pulling her into my chest)   I know this is painful.  I can't imagine how hard this must be for you to hear.  I fear though that we don't have much time.  (Tearing off clothes)  Fuck me now baby!  This may be your last chance.  I feel the gay racing through me.  It shant be long.

But it was too much for her.  She fucking bolted.  She scooped a kid under each arm, and sped off in the car.  I guess she was scared of the gay spreading to the children, which makes no sense considering she's the one who painted their rooms all rainbowy and shit.  I ran after her but running naked is horribly awkward for me as my giant balls get all tangled and shit and I trip all over them.  God damn balls!  How I hate how awesome you are. 

So, today I went to the doctor.  I tell him all my symptoms and how I think I may have caught the gay.  Turns out it's much worse.  I caught vaginitis!  I don't know how I missed the diagnosis.  He also told me some shit about needing to find a new doctor and how he was going to get a restraining order, but I'll worry about that shit later.  I have some vaginitis to rid myself of.  Fuck, gayness would have been much easier to deal with.  My only real concern was losing the family.  But even then I would have become the cool weekend dad; not to mention colour coordinated and a lot more popular on MySpace.  Fuck!  What a rip.  So it's nothing but fucking the wife, drinking beer and shit kicking yuppies in Old Navy for a week.  That should cure me.  And if it don't I'll just repeat it until it does.  Fuck yeah!  Having a disease can be awesome!

11:33 PM - 12 Comments - 8 Kudos - Add Comment

Drinkin and Thinking of Thriller
Current mood: drunk
Category: Music

I was sitting at my desk drinking by myself at lunch today, bothered as always that no one was up for getting blitzed with me at work.  Could be because I work alone , but I try not to think about the reasons too often.  Logic is for pussies.

So here I am, deep in JD and thought, and I'm thinking to myself, "When will the next Thriller come along?"  When that album came out Buddhist monks owned that shit.  I was in fucking preschool and I had it on tape, wax and 8-track.  My gramma had that king of awesome, fifteen minute music video on laser disc.  It was the shit.  Between that and Star Wars, it makes total sense why nothing else of any significance was accomplished in the eighties.  Other then a lot of blow of course.

Nah man, nothing comes close to the sheer magnitude of numbers MJ produced before he found little orphans to sodomize.  Fitty Cent has come close mind you with his last album.  But I think that has more to do with the new found buying power of tweens then anything else.  Plus his demographic is pretty narrow; white kids and every black guy who isn't busy trying to be a white conservative.  Got to remember, even gramma had Thriller.  You may find one or two old geezers riding around in their Lincolns vibing to Fitty, but those are exceptions not the norm.  Too bad really cause it would totally rock tits to see more old people into hood rap.

Can't they see the benefits of being all gangsta?  The little shits in Surrey who like to beat on them would be totally cluster fucked if suddenly all the grampas started walking around with a gat and a pimp cane. And what could earn our proud veterans the respect they should already command from all us ungrateful swine then walking around in a bullet-proof vest?  Fuck doing pushups to get that thick chest.  Pour your old man titties into a vest and it can double as a girder.  Fuck yeah!  Even the crack heads around here who home invade seniors to supplement their welfare cheques would have to give that mad props.  But no, instead seniors everywhere just all pussy out and chill to the safe poetic beats of Will Smith and that douche Kanye West.  Fuck!  One more reason to hate old people.  I need more Jack.

10:11 PM - 22 Comments - 8 Kudos - Add Comment

I love my Granny
Current mood: accomplished
Category: Jobs, Work, Careers

My granny's great.  Not only does her fondness of feigning senility lend it self to great fun, but after all these years she's still a hustla that would make Jay-Zed proud.  We got ourselves a great racket going.

A while back she got her self dual citizenship.  Not out of a fondness for the US.  In fact, she hates them as much as any other race.  No, she did it solely for the chedda.  Always aware of the opportunities our socialist health care system would offer her with a raging industrial machine for a neighbour to the south, she got herself that citizenship good and early then sat back and waited.  When the time came, meaning when she was old enough to qualify to be a tenant in an assisted living residence, we signed her up for the three closest to the border.  She stays in each one once a week, and spends the rest of her time back at home.

You see, that one day a week she's busy pimpin black market drugs to her stable of geriatric dopers.  God it rocks balls.  I've pushed a lot of shit in my time but nothing, absolutely nothing rakes in the dough like pharmaceuticals.  Pussy hearts, high blood pressure, soft cocks; all of this end of days shit is making us a fucking fortune.

The key is to set up shop in real piss poor homes.  Those ones that even Dateline passes on doing stories on cause they're a bunch of union-dues paying pussies and are scared of shit like falling through the floors with all their gear.  Homes like that don't have road trips up north like the nicer ones do.  Plus, they're staffed by a bunch of illegal immigrants so it's easy to keep shit tight.  Five bucks goes a long ways with those naïve bastards. 

The tough part is the drug supply.  There's many ways to go about it.  You could rob pharmacies, but sooner or later you're gonna get caught.  Sure you won't get jail time, but it will make it next to impossible to get in to the states.  You could import them from China but that's a hassle.  You could just sell fake drugs, but really that should only be done sparingly as it tends to kill your clientele.  Personally, I have a fool proof method.

First, go down to a local junior high and grab yourself a ballsy fourteen year old chick.  You'll know who to choose cause she'll look like Avril Lavigne and be pretending to smoke behind the tennis court.  You see, pharmacists are all a bunch of perverts.  It's in their code.  It's the reason I dropped out of pharmacology.  Franken-Fuck does a lot of nasty shit, like kick retards and talk about himself in third person, but he don't do 14 year olds.  Even when I was fourteen I had none of that shit.  Nothing but 80 year olds for me man.  They're the best to learn on as they're desperate and willing to do anything just as long as you let them talk.  Loneliness rocks, you just have to be careful of breaking hips; unless you're into that.  Fuck yeah!

But I digress.  Pharmacists are sick fucks and fourteen year old girls are willing to do anything for a new cell phone.  So you set the perv up with this young hotty and her brand new camera phone, with which she takes some nasty foreplay photos of him in his bondage chaps licking her boots.  Once she has a couple of photos of him that are good and incriminating she can bale and give you the photos.  I should note here though that you should have a second gift to offer her as teenage girls are uber-cunts and very likely to just fuck off without seeing the deal through.  Ipods are great for this. 

So, now that you have the photos you black mail that sick douche and get your self a free supply of drugs.  It's best if you get the actual owner of the pharmacy other wise your supply dries up when your douche gets caught and fired.  Also, get yourself a few as it allows your pharmacists the ability to still earn a living as the drugs your robbing are expensive and you don't want to bankrupt your supply.  At least not right away.

So there you have it.  That's how you get into the pharmaceutical racket.  It fucking rocks!  I highly recommend it.  Just stay away from mine and grannies turf as granny will fuck your shit up.  She won't come for you right away.  First she'll kill your clientele with carbon monoxide poisoning. Granny means business!  It's the bond that unites us really, how sick we are.  That, and our love of other people's money.  I love you granny!

2:59 PM - 11 Comments - 9 Kudos - Add Comment

I'm So Goth!
Current mood: apathetic
Category: Fashion, Style, Shopping

We're driving down the road on our way back from the aquarium when I see a pack of highschool victims moping along and smoking their cigs in that look at me manner you tend to outgrow around the age of 24 or so.  In the middle of the pack was the most goth mother fucker I had ever seen.  I mean, his mom must have spent a few hundred on his boots alone, I'd say an easy hun on the make up, fifty on the hair dye, and probably another four or five hun on his clothes and accessories.  This douche was a full out, 18 year old, thousand dollar goth prince.  I piped out the window, "Yesterday you were a jock weren't you bitch?  Yuppy fuck!"  while we sat waiting at a red.  I thought nothing of it and turned up the Pantera I had blaring to reinforce the fact to this pecker ass that I indeed was some one with whom he should not fuck.  Instantly I could see his, and all other's manhood shrivel as the sonic awesome of Fucking Hostile punched them in the gonads.

I was basking in my little piece of fuckin'eh when I fealt the glare of the wife burning through me.  The light turned green as she jousted at me, "You should try walking a mile in their shoes before you go being such a dick!"  Normally I'd fire back some shit about how back in the day I was the hard core fucker which affords me an endless supply of streat cred from which to base my opinion. And more importantly, it allows me to let the whole world know that dudes like that are bitches.  But today I took the road less traveled.

I did my best Rambo role from our moving car on King George Hwy and booked it towards the prince of suburban pain.  Probably would have been best though if I had of been the passsenger rather then the driver.  Sure it gave me the cushion of a landscaped meridian to land on but it left the family sort of hanging.  Oh well, that's what the side curtain airbags are for I guess.

So when I got face to face with this demon of middle class youth I told him he had two choices.  He could either disrobe and hand over everything all nice while the bitches he was with bobbed on my knob, or I could just role his ass while his bitches sixty-nined for ambiance.  I'll give him credit; he managed to not wet himself until after handing over his clothes which I of course made him role around in while his women finished me off.  And I was right about his high quality make up.  Not a single smudge despite all the tears and piss that now covered his face.

So now there I was, so goth fuckers were offering me lunch box endorsements right on the spot and I got to say, it's a lot harder then it looks.  First off, silk panties just don't fit your junk and give you a ball wedgy.  Ball wedgies fucking suck cause you either have it right up the middle making your nuts smash together like a couple of naked linemen on a football field when ever your thighs pass eachother, or both balls are pushed to one side, smushing them into your thighs as you walk.  Fuck! 

Secondly, assholes like me keep throwing shit at you as you walk down the street.  It left me all dissoriented to have that much hate thrown my way.  It's such a complete 180 from the adoration and random hummers I usually experience.  The only people that seem to suck goth cock are goth whores as both his wenches plus a couple of new ones couldn't keep their mouths away from my junk.  I'm gonna have blood red lip stick in my pubes for weeks.  This cock thirst though probably had more to do with the fact that I actually had a boner and not some limp rope like their normal pain slave does.  I don't imagine one can maintain much of an engorged member when ones on Paxil.  Fags.

And third, but for sure not last as I could go on forever, heeled boots fucking kill.  Seriously.  A mile in this panty wastes footwear almost killed me.  Doesn't this ass clown realize that for a quarter of the cost he could go down to the surplus store and get some military issue boots.  On top of these highheeled, buckled, vinyl pieces of shit hurting, to top it all off, they didn't even have steel toes.  Can you believe that shit?  If your gonna wear boots they had better give you the ability to shatter bones.  My god you fuckers suck.

Seriously, being Goth was the worst mile in my life.  I kicked the parasites off my cock and got my ass in the house so I could shower and change into the only attire a man should wear; jeans and a concert shirt, preferably GWAR or Pantera.

So here I am, reflecting on this life lesson that the wife's suggestion had presented to me.  I take from it two things.  First, even if I was capable of empathy, no amount of mileage in this vagina-bums shoes could make me feel it towards him or his kind because there is simply nothing there to pitty.  If you can afford to be goth, and have parents who allow you to leave the house looking like that without beating you with a cord or changing the locks while you're gone then you've got it pretty good.  Yes the world is cruel, yes your misunderstood.  But walking around like a such a fag that fags rag on you only makes the world treat you worse.  Do some push ups, eat some pussy and kick some ass.  Only things that will make it better.  Fuck!

Secondly, I have learned to not take the wife so seriously as now no one is home yet to cook for me and I think one of those cock sucking whores stole my wallet.  Now I have to get off of here and go BBQ the last steak in the house.  Fuck!

4:39 PM - 12 Comments - 9 Kudos - Add Comment

A Rebutal to a Rebutal
Current mood: sore
Category: MySpace

Okay, so I've been called out by one of yall.  It would seem that one of the three people who calls themselves my readers has sprinkled some my way while in the process of bathing Jason with an amber shower of morning hangover piss.  Why you'd piss on some one who already bathes in fat chick sweat and wipes towards his balls is beyond me, but hey, some people are just redundant.

Now the main focus of this call out is the fact that I copy Jason, though the door swings both ways on this one.  Sure, it could be because we hang out alot and talk the exact same smack about the exact same shit all the time.  Maybe we're just one of those douche wads with multiple MySpace persona's and really are the same person.  Or maybe we plan our blogs in advance and email them back and forth multiple times before posting them cause being cool on MySpace is important like that.  But really, for all intents and purposes, this shit don't matter and are worthy of a giant Meh.

What matters most is how pitiful the slam was in general.   A couple of cousin jokes, calling me the Ford Pinto of the blog world and a reference to a parasite makes up the rest of the ingredients of this paragraph of fecal stew consisting of constipated suburbanite meth turds and one ply stolen from the can at the Circle K.  I expected more.  I thought that after three months of reading my shit perhaps some of my awesome would rub off more on this guy.

So, to help out all of you who I'm sure some time in the near future may feal it necessary to try your hand at slamming me, let me give you some help with a short list of effective and easily applied amunition that pisses me off about myself:

1.  How occasionally I don't notice that my balls have landed on the keyboard leaving an inadvertant  hglhyes in the middle of a sentance.

2. I constantly hit ; instead of '  Fuck I hate that.

3. I spend a shit load of time on this fucking site writing about the wife and children I sapposedly live with.  At this point I would seriously call in to question whether or not they truly exist.  What type of fucking loser invents a family for writing material.  That would be like hopping on here talking smack abpout picking fights in Burger King lineups when you know full well that there's no way you'd ever risk being banned from one of the havens that make up your Axis of Awesome:  Burger King, Taco Bell, and Kenny Rogers. 

4.  How I've got more illegitimate kids then a ghetto slut who keeps wanting to up the size of her welfare cheque.  Think about it, if my balls get bitches pregnant just by passing them that would make me responsible for thousands of kids.  What's that?  You call in to question the legitimacy of my medical condition?  It's called fuqinay, go ahead, google it asshole!  Douche!

5.  I've shit on everything that moves since I've hopped on this MySpace wagon.  From the homeless, to the Dutch, and yet only one cancer victim has had the decency to give me a "Hey there, come on now, that hurt"  You are seriously missing the boat here.  Sure, you could say that you like flailing around general hateful statements as much as I do and don;t want to be a hypocrite but fuck off.  Know what some one is who isn;t a hypocrite?  A pussy.  Besides, the envy my greatness must raise in you should be more then enough to lash out at my hate.

6.  You could call me on how I claim to be so awesome yet my grammar and shit is horrible.  So far only one person has called me on it.  I think I used right instead of rite.  To be honest, I'm bullshitting here.  I just want you to try this so that everyone can see what a douche you are.  Only ESL students are expected to learn and apply propper grammar.  It's how we know they're not from around these parts and therefore worthy of living in fear.

7.  I live in Surrey.  It is the car theft capital of North America.  It is home to the only known South Asian gang wars outside of South Asia.  It has the highest per capita ratio of wanna-be white rappers outside of Detroit.  Only they're Canadian so they try to pull it off with out the ebonics.  I'm not even trying here.  See how easy it is.  Fuck you suck.

8.  Okay, there's something I've been meaning to ask and now seems as good a time as any, though I doubt anyone is still reading.  When do you feel it is an acceptable time to repost?   There, make fun of that shit hammer.

9.  Take a look at the times of my postings and replies.  They're usually around 8pm and on for my postings, and replies are pretty fucking quick.  What kind of attention starved fuck wad with a complete lack of life am I?  God damn, how did this happen?  I used to be a bad ass mother fucker.  Fuck!  What's that?  You can;t call me on that cause then you'd have to call out every other douche on MySpace?  You know what, you're right!  Fuck yeah, that's awesome.  Now I get to be the bad ass mother fucker on MySpace.  Fuck yeah!  All the cred without any of the broken knuckles.  Awesome!

10.  Finally, I'm a lazy bitch without anything close to an attention span so instead of writing well thought out short stories with beginings middles and endings I usually resort to copping out and writing lists like right now.  Sure, my laziness still kicks total ass on the bullshit most people rewrite ten times but hey, it's hard to find ten things to call me out on.

There you have it folks, my good deed for the month.  I'd tell you who this pecker face is but why should I double his views.  You know he records them and brags to his buddies when he breaks his previous high and I want no part in that particular brand of suck ass.  Fuck yeah!

6:32 PM - 18 Comments - 14 Kudos - Add Comment

Speaking of rage...
Current mood: relieved

I'd be ashamed to admit this if I didn't kick so much ass, but either way, here is my confession;  today I almost apologized.

I have what I call an over abundance of manliness.  Friends say it's just me being an asshole.  They can go fuck themselves.  You see, when one is truly a man there is a constant undercurrent of rage flowing through our body.  It is what enables us to start fires, turn wrenches and offer up glorious meat staffs to horny women.  Especially those at the woman's shelter.  Nothing makes my day finer then giving the old hard knob salute to some awaiting pork canal smoking outside the woman's shelter down the road with an inviting "Eh?"  But I digress.

Yes, without rage society would cease as we know it as the decisions of the world would be based on compassion, empathy and other vagina based emotions.  More importantly for this blog however, with out rage I would cease to be me.  And that would suck ass cause I fucking rock.

Yesterday was rocking tits in every way imaginable.  I was basking in the glory of my house which I am currently in the process of emptying of clutter and touching up.  It is all very liberating to remove old shit like hand me down furniture, broke down matresses and siblings posing as roommates. What was making things even better is that it was day one of a well deserved four day weekend.  Things were humming and life was grand.  Nothing could get me down.  Not even the fact that the wife kept turning down my advances and letting the kids out of the crawl space.  "Later" she promised.  No worries, even if later is the term which all men recognize as the karmic cause of such cock deflating happenings as bloody pussies, headaches and talks about our relationships.  But like I said, life was good and so was I.

But then it happened.  The world started to tap the keg containing my rage.  And it all of course started when I left my house.  Fuck I hate people!  First some bitch cut me off as I entered the left hand turning lane.  So I wished her cunt cheese and was gonna let it go until the look on the wife's face told me I had said that out loud.  Oh well, self induced tourettes I claim and on we go.  Next, a shit box Hyundai Pony won't let me pass it in the short lane before hitting a monster hill (west on 64th ave at 152nd st for those in Surrey).  Fuck!  So now I have an extra minute to reflect on how much I hate people as I curse the Koreans who made this shit box and the aging hippy cunt behind the wheel who I know is basking in this moment and some bullshit moral to which only she is privy to.  Fuck you cunt!  But no matter.  Life goes on and in the grand scheme of things, this ain't shit.  At this point though I have been informed that it is perhaps time for me to take a pill of the chill variety.  To which I of course reply, fuck off.

Now, this is  getting pretty fucking long so now I'll just state that no less then 37 more bullshit happenings like the ones above took place in a 45 minute span, as well as three more offerings of chill pills.  The last of the shit feast being some teenage wart-twat working in the back of the KFC, one of the ones that tries to still look all hood and tough shit in their douche bag uniforms, shouted out "Holy fuck this fridge is disgusting" as two junkies piled out of the washroom and bumped past me and out the door.  Ummm-mmmm.  De-lic-ious!  Fuck yeah.

So we get to where we're going which in case I haven't mentioned is a BBQ at the wife's brother's house.  Good times, good food, and for the most part good people.  But it's too late.  My asshole is perma-puckered and I'm seething.  I'm putting my best foot forward and trying to say the right things but shit keeps slipping.  a "your a fucking tard" here, and a "go fuck yourself" there, and a slight over reaction or two to the  wife later and I find myself even madder. 

For you see, no matter how in the wrong an angry man may be, being shown so, especially when inadvertantly showing himself, only turns a rage homicidal.  Fuck!

But then it happened, a spontaneous game of touch football.  Sure, tackle would have helped the rage more, but it was good either way.  Manliness in it's purest form; competition.  And as you can tell, my side won.  Obviously, fuck!  If I hadn't won I wouldn't be blogging right now as I would probably still be out throwing pedestrians into traffic and beating down pigs with my throbbing meat hammer.  But more importantly then soothing my rage, it helped me avoid the dreaded apology.  The wife was too caught up in the pussy frenzy that happens to all women who get to go home with the winner.  Fuck yeah, being me always works out!

8:36 PM - 7 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

Happy Mother's Day
Current mood: touched

A lot of you have mentioned to me that you wonder what my wife thinks of all the shit I say in cyber land.  Well, today being the sham of a holiday it is I figured now would be as good a time as any to reiterate that her opinion just doesn't fucking matter.  Hell, your's don't either for that matter.  That being said, I think I'll start with a little five point comparison of my wife and my mom, cause I know that if there's one thing that will over joy any wife it's being compared to her husbands mom.  Fuck yeah!

Mother –        Would wake me up to remind me that I'm ugly three, four times a night.

The Wife –      Checks in on the kids and whispers sweet nothings in to their sleeping ears.

Winner –         Mom.  What good is saying shit to a sleeping person?  At least wake them up dumb ass!  Fuck

Mother -         Would randomly choose to drag me around

the house while blasting on a pressure point in my wrist

for shits and giggles.

The Wife -      Surprises the children with bursts of

affection

Winner -         Random acts of kindness towards children

merely encourages them to feel special.  No one is

special.  Ever.  Feeling otherwise only leads to

disappointment and an addiction to playing with your

asshole.

Mother -         Taught me that by whispering your racist

sentiments you're in the clear.

The Wife -      Was in the multicultural club in high

school.  I at first thought it was to infiltrate the foreigners

and report shortcomings to the immigration board.  She

insists otherwise.

Winner –         Undecided.   I swear there's more to this

club.  There has got to be.  Maybe there was some monster

cocked black dude in it she was hot for.  She smacks me

every time I say that, so of course I keep on saying it.

Mother -         Taught me the birds and the bees by letting

me watch a porno with our retarded neighbour when I was

nine. 

The Wife -      Is nurturing our children's sense of body

image and self respect and teaching them shit like

exploring your body is okay.

Winner -         The wife.  Only to punish my mom for

letting me watch such timid fucking porn.  Not one facial

and no anal.  What the fuck bitch?

Mother -         Put me in scouts presumably so I could

learn to make better nooses for when I played hangman

with the deaf kid next door.

The Wife -      Encourages trying many activities as to

allow the kids an opportunity at variety while young so

they can better choose shit to focus on when they're

older.         

Winner -         The Wife.