Back in 1990, when I was a spry little 10 year old, my parents had to put up with my bitching and crying and middle fingers when they wouldn't let me go to an ACDC concert. At the time I just couldn't understand why they wouldn't let me go to a concert (my first concert) when I had obviously made it clear, via high decibels, that this was the best band ever. If I couldn't convince them that by me knowing all of the words should justify them dropping me off at a stadium full of skinheads, gangs, and basically the lowest common denominator of society, then I could convince them of nothing. Ever. What confused me at the time was that it was my parents who bought me the G&R and ACDC tshirts, and the Anthrax poster. My grandmother actually bought me all of the Poison and ACDC tapes. I had to buy my own Metallica tapes. I was truly a child without laughter. At 10 years old I was the only kid I knew who was into the metal scene. Of course at the school dances I'd line-dance my way into a girls heart to Billy Ray Cyrus, and whisper Color Me Badd lyrics into her dainty, clean ears, but I really just wanted to take to the girls face with a cricket bat and do thousands of push ups on her corpse. At 10 years old I was one of those "quiet kids". The day after the ACDC concert, the news reported that amongst the ruins of overturned cars and burning obstacles, the police found the body of a stabbed teenager. I missed a riot. Jealous. --- If my mother were here I'd ask her if there were any pop culture icons in the nineties that she just wanted to punch in the face and piss all over. My parents barely tolerated my choices of music, figuring it was just a phase that I would grow out of. She actually liked one Pantera song, which I thought was quite witty. Suicide Note Part 1. She wasn't too keen on Part 2. As far as television went there was "Saved By The Bell" and Beverly Hills 90210" but my parents never paid them enough attention to care. My father loathed those twins from "Full House". He KNEW they'd grow up to look like empty nutsacks.
There was one person that I know my mother despised, some NZ no hoper, dirty balls pig molester, Jason Gunn. But he doesn't count because even I thought he was a wanker. He was like Mr Rogers, but 50 years younger and his past time was solely devoted to sticking his penis in the asses of 5 year old boys. Santa in the making.
Nowadays, I just want to beat to death DOZENS of "celebrities". I won't even stop to clean the blood off of my clothes. Onto the next. Pure rage. There are just SO many douche-nozzle celebrity cocksuckers that needed a spine beaten into them. I don't even need to see their works to know I want them destroyed. The Jonas Brothers look like budding homo porn stars. Katey Perry revealed that the song "I kissed a girl and I liked it" was about one of the Jonas Brothers. They're even worse than the Hanson Brothers. At least they banged their groupies, and often performed on coke. If the McFuckface Brothers ever meet the Jonas Brothers, the last you'll ever see of them is a photo here of them in some kind of menage et tois involving Jonas fists in Jonas asses. Disney spawned poofters. Speaking of Disney, what the fuck is High School Musical?!?! I can understand school productions of Grease and Oliver, but what is this shit? Ashly Jizzdale all over the news for her nose job and budding solo career? The only thing that should be budding are her breasts. Then there's that Michelle Hutchins or whatever her name is. I don't actually mind her because I've seen pictures of her naked. She certainly didn't look 15 in those pictures. She's got a great future in front of her in the porn industry. Dolphin porn. Hannah "Check Out All My Teeth" Montana is a load of old shit. Disney owns every pube on that girl. Her dad sniffs her panties too. Hello Spencer Pratt. You are a monkey shit eating moron. Look at you. One day you will eat your face. I will help you.
Nation, last night the Revolution began. Triggered by the economic crisis and the public pressures of the up and coming presidential elections saturating the news channels, citizens are starting to snap. No longer able to afford Hanna Montana concert tickets or the latest Disney bullshit DVD, parents across the country are grinding their teeth in anticipation. Yes, the first punch was thrown and it wasn't even done in this country, England had to step up to the plate and deliver the first swing. Good ol England. Poms are good at three things. 1. Having bad teeth 2. Being soccer hooligans. 3. Beating up that fucking blow up doll, Zak Efron.
YES!!!! America, takes notes!!! As micro cock Efron left the West End Theater in London an obvious leader of the revolution (I bet his name is John Conner) charged Efron and took a swing at him. Tomorrow I am sending him a medal, and a list of other "celebrity" burst colostomy bags.
And do you know who I want to lead the American branch of the revolution? This man. Yes, nation, Bruce Mother Fucking Willis. He told me the other day through Yahoo Chat that he's pretty much resigned himself that for the good of the nation he's going to put a knife to his hideous daughters throat.
What celebs do you wanna slap down to the pavement? And don't say Sarah Silverman. My backhand killed the dinosaurs.
Currently
listening
:
The Razor's Edge
By
AC/DC
Release date: 2003-04-29
Choking The Chicken To Daytime TV.
Current mood: ninja
Category: Friends
Some things in this world are absolutely beautiful. The setting sun over the ocean, the smell of a clean toilet, the pay raise you don't deserve, and free porn. What's even cooler than free porn is free SURPRISE porn!!! A few years ago friends and I would have regular porn and pizza nights (and of course beer), and every week the same clown would deliver the pizza. Each time he came he was less and less shy and would timidly come into the house. One time he stuck around for a while. Good kid. Last month, something exceptionally beautiful happened in New Zealand. Something that would make tent poles in the pants of thousands of 13 year old boys instantly around the country. For three minutes and fifty seconds, the afternoon show on the Prime Channel was delightfully interrupted by breaking news. Namely, "Desperate Blackwives 2". According to my sources, it left little to the imagination and one girl in the mongrel town of Whangarei ran out of the room saying "ewww" and "gross".
One mans eight year old son has had his innocence "ruined". However, it isn't mentioned that his 14 year old brother brought himself to orgasm a chiefly 5 times within the accidental broadcast. Apparently it was caused by a "distribution fault" with another pay per view channel. I don't honestly care why it happened, I just want it to happen again. I have never seen this movie, so I thought I had better look it up. If God was going to grace the nation with free porn, then it had better be good. Being married I'm not really into black chicks. I looked it up. "It's all good in the hood when the Desperate Blackwives returns in the sequel to last years all black hit. The big booty ladies shake and bake as they fuck and suck their way through the neighborhood." Fucking awesome. To "shake and bake" is to bump fists, like a high five.
If they actually shake and back while sucking and fucking I will piss nails. It'll be delightful. "You go girlfriend, you suck that big ol black cock!" "Shake and Bake" is also a seasoned coating mix (dry rub) for chicken. Yes I too feel a racial stereotype emerge from my pure and innocent mind. It may seem that these bored black ladies with bulbous bottoms are preparing some chicken for dinner while they get their vagina's massaged by their neighbors' 10 inch rolling pins. I agree, all that fucking gives me a hankering for some fried chicken too. That vaguely resembles a penis.
The Night I Could Have Been Bitch Slapped By A Douche If He Had Hands
Category: Life
A couple of months ago my wife Em, and I were enjoying a few beers at a popular watering shithole in downtown Boise. It was one of those places where, even though there are only five people in the bar, someone has already chundered a burrito into the urinal. So there I was at the urinal, pissing around the chunks. I turned around and started washing my hands in the sink when I noticed bumping and banging coming from the cripple crapper. The toilet flushed and I heard the industrial door creek open. I wanted to see who this clown was but didn't want to make it look obvious so I watched from the reflection in the scratched and graffitied mirror. Huh, it was a guy in a motorized wheelchair whizzing past me and out the door. After the door closed behind him I went into the cripple crapper looking for damage. Pretty clean. And as I thought, no sink. That prick didn't wash his hands. I didn't see him again until after I had blasted my way through several beers, but when I did spy him screaming through the half filled bar with little regard for other patrons, I pointed at him and told Em loudly that "that bastard in the wheel chair didn't wash his hands after he went to the toilet!". He rode past our table. Em pointed out that he had no hands. Comedy like that is a gift from the heavens, but still, I felt pretty terrible! I recall very little of the rest of the night as I was swimming in a sea of beer and guilt. No life jacket for me.
Now a couple of weeks later a group of us were chilling out (not really) in a dive bar usually reserved for washed up musicians, emo kids who read poetry books under the black lights and girls with black sabbath tattoos in summer dresses. This is one of those places where it doesn't matter where you sit you can hear someone pissing in the delightfully acoustic bathrooms. We were outside enjoying the fresh Boise night air that wanker Californians have come to love when out of the bar shoots a familiar toe terrorizer. This disabled chap came up to the table and asked for a cigarette. Normally I'm not scared of disabled people (except for Rip Torn in Dodgeball) but immediately this clown was spooking me. He was more trashed than I was. And now he was asking for a cigarette. In hindsight I should have just stood up and walked the 15 miles home. No, I asked him if he needed me to put the fag in his kisser, and whether he needed me to light it for him. Boo!!!! Everyone at the table groaned. Man, crippled people can get SO angry sometimes!! So Em, in all of her sparkling wisdom that I have grown to expect from the spring blossom, told the legless (as well as armless) stud about what I said 2 weeks earlier. And of course this gets the little cabbage patch doll SUPER pissed! Blah blah blah, can't reach taps blah blah. So I offered to buy him a beer. "Yeah, fucker, go buy me a fucking beer!!!" I looked him dead pan into his faced and sincerely asked, "Should I get you a straw too?!?!" Big mistake.
Robbing Dogs Of Their RIGHT To Fuck Their Owners
Current mood: virginal
Category: Pets and Animals
My penis got big last week when I read an article about this couple in Tulsa, Oklahoma, who got their asses handed to them by their own flesh and blood. That really grinds my balls. This couple worked hard to raise their child in one of the crappiest states in this country, where eating broken glass is some kind of desert treat, and the son repays them by ratting them out to the cops because of their sexual fetishes. No, they weren't making love with the lights on. The son went to visit his parents (55 and 54yo) and came across a collection of home porno movies. 150 of them. So like every son who thinks his momma's a stunner and finds a stash of his parents' home porn, he drops trousers, makes himself comfy on the couch and watches some. Good times. Apparently he didn't like what he saw. They were all videos of his parents fucking their dogs. He was so appalled that he took the tapes to the cops and got his parents arrested. The dogs were taken away to the Animal Rescue where they're awaiting to be put down. The police said that the dogs were emotionally distraught being taught something against their nature. I think that's a bit bullshit really. My old cocker spaniel used to hump against my leg like a crazy bitch (yes, I've also paid a lady to do that once) and I'm pretty sure that I, nor my family, never taught her how to do that. She was pretty chuffed about it too. Ever seen a cocker spaniel grin? I'm sure that if someone teaches a dog to actually go all the way with its master, it won't be "emotionally distraught". Now, what grinds my balls is the fact that after the prodigal son watched (I assume) all 150 movies, he went straight to the cops. If I found my parents in laws "best"iality video collection, I certainly wouldn't be chugging my fat ass down to the cop shop. There's a market for this stuff, which means there's money to be made. Screw extortion, I would create a website dedicated to this taboo lovemaking. There's more than enough content to keep the business looking fresh for years. With there being 150 movies, surely the parents got creative and did a little role playing with the dogs on film. Instant classics! "What's that Lassie? Timmy wants to throw you a bone?"
Office Depot Air Cleaners Aren’t Good For Breathing From, whoops. My Heart Hurts. Ow.
Current mood: drunk
Category: School, College, Greek
My wife, you know, that chick I hang out with, yeah... well she's gone on a business trip. I'm quite jealous you see, as so far, in four days she's been to Fort Collins-Colorado, Austin-Texas, Harrisburg-Pennsylvania, and New York-New York. All on a private jet. Yes, our company is back on track and pumping ass HARD!! Well, what have I been doing? None of your business, tape worms! I have been making banner ads for jack9, like so...
At least I hope it's true.
I've heard that if you plug your video camera into the TV and film yourself filming yourself jacking off to you filming yourself jacking off, you can actually time travel.
Man lately I've been ill, it got to the point where I was delirious with fever I'm sure. While I'm awake and watching my favorite show, your favorite show, King Of The Hill, I'm seeing myself taking shits, right there in my rocking chair. But they're not normal turds, my lord no, these are some kind of pedophile dream poohs. These are squashed up baby dolls heads. Complete with hair, swollen eyes and mouths full of shit. I still remember having to push as hard as I used to to push start my old cars just to get the noses out.
One after an other, baby faces staring at me from the toilet bowl. "How could you daddy!?!?"
The other day, I was wandering my vacant hallways, naked as per custom when wife is away, cock in hand, rubbing seductively on the door handles. I looked at the bare walls of our new house and decided that I need to get back into painting. I took inspiration from a wedding present that a fellow myspacer sent me.
I love love love blood spatter patterns in movies from gun shot wounds to the head, especially when you can really tell that there's dense material involved. You know, a shadow cast from skull fragments embedded in the wall. Goregasm.
My nickname is now Fatty Ding Dong.
I've decided to paint pictures using blood spatter as a medium. I already have a piece of art clearly showing that this has already been done (the wedding present and most prised possession in the house) but here's my predictable, yet unyielding twist. I'm going to paint pretty flowers. The petals of the flowers will be the blood splatter. The blood splatter from guns various guns.
The blood, from my friends on myspace. These flowers will be gorgeous!!! I'll be famous.
"Friends" will be chosen at random. I've got just over 400 friends so I figure if I just get 50 of you it'll easily be enough to make an art show. All proceeds will go towards my court fees if I ever get caught.
I doubt I would be though. My friends are all over the world. Many of my friends have hundreds of "friends" also.
I tweak my nipples in glee.
Uncle Steven, sorry I missed you last weekend. I didn't have a gun handy.
I'd already painted the leaves and stem.
The other day I watched a Stephen King movie, The Stand. It's like 8 hours long but I only watched 4 hours of it. Molly Ringwald was in it. Back in the day I watched 16 Candles like everyone else, and whatever shitty, stick my cock in a mangle for amusement movies she was it at that time, and I wondered about Molly. I thought she was just type casted for the roll of being a dribbling teenage douche whore who gives her panties to anyone. But in this movie, The Stand (1996-read the book, it's tits) she was exactly the same, just ten years older.
Open mouthed, bubble gum eyed and looking like she's in a constant state of confusion.
I know she's not disabled, but why can't she just die?
Squeezing the Ju-uice In The City Of Trees
Current mood: awake
Category: Religion and Philosophy
As you may have heard, Mrs McFuckface and I have escaped from the bedlam and drunken brutality of Colorado, and back into the warm embrace of Boise Idaho and the moist inner thighs of inner city bartenders who allow me the pleasure to smoke Pall Malls incessantly while whistullly banging my forehead on their sticky but polished bars. The company that Em and I both work for had fallen upon some hard times due to this recession, and our Denver office was forced to close it's doors. a decision had to be made. Should we stay in denver where the quality of crack is marginal and I was getting killer split ends, or should we leave for somewhere where we could actually afford to eat fresh fruit and veges, and the crack is far more tasty.
My job with Jack9 was uncertain as all of the video editors in California were laid off, so my choices were to find another job around Denver somewhere shitty or work with my brother in law on an oil field up in the Rockies. Or Mrs McFuckface and I could pack everything up and move back to Boise. The lure of a monstrous paycheck and equally large biceps that come with being a roughneck almost convinced me to make the trek up to the mountains where I would surely die in some "accident" working with redneck roughnecks with rap sheets as long as my cock, but I decided that it just wasn't worth the agony, being away from my wife for two weeks at a time. So we packed up a truck and moved back to Boise, to a house we rented site unseen. Best decision EVER!!!! We love being back here. One of my finest memories of Denver was going over to our friend Becky's house, drinking a shit ton of wine and beer and then, just after we waved our good byes, I stumbled out of the house with the last of the beers and collapsed, defeated, straight into a bush outside their front door. Hopefully, Becky will make the trek back here and fall in our bushes. The rose bushes. Right up the hoo ha. Another fine memory was at our neighborhood bar where I performed a haka in front of a whole bar out of respect for a friend who was moving back to Kentucky to be closer to his kids. I must have looked like a lout up there on the bench waving my arms around screaming in a language that nody understood. But I guess everyone needs to experience witnessing a war dance in a bar performed by a 6'2 drunken ginge.
So here we are, living in a gorgeous three bedroom house, living like kings way out in the suburbs, making little to no effort to be adults, like all of our surrounding neighbors. We've been living here for about three weeks now, and I have only made contact with one of our neighbors, a man who promptly asked me what my occupation was. Upon hearing that I was legally retarded and I shouldn't be allowed out of the house unsupervised our conversation soon came to an end. I heard him deadbolt his front door and I was pleased. Our house has already been broken into, which I'm pleased about. I appreciate the promptness of the neighborhood thieves. Nothing was taken, so I just assume that it was just our extremely shy (or frightened) neighbors having a nosey in my panties drawer. At least our most prized possession, a skateboard deck that was given to us as a wedding gift from a fellow myspacer, Ubb, was not disturbed.
So here we are, now sitting at our new patio furniture overlooking our back lawn, watching the twisted sisters bolt around the yard, chasing eachother and munching on bones. Shirtless and under the shade of our umbrella, I wonder about what I should do for the rest of the day. I still have some graphics work for jack9 to do, and someone should be calling me about a photoshoot for the new jack9 girl of the month. Perhaps I'll shave off my four month beard, maybe I'll practice some songs for karaoke. We found a great bar here that seems to tolerate my drunken ramblings and incessant begging for another pitcher please barkeep. The D.J., Shorty doesn't even seem to mind when I get up on stage and peel off incredibly slurry renditions of Seven Mary Three and Biffy Clyro songs. YES, that is correct, I have found a joint that has Biffy Clyro on karaoke. You can't even imagine the size of my erection when I read that in the song book. I'm feeling a little hesitant to go back there though. Saturday was such a glorious day that the missus and I got stuck into the Coors a little early. Within a few hours I'd polished off a nice bottle of cab, a couple of super strength Black Russians, and many beers. I can't remember getting to the bar, but that was irrelevant to how chopped I was. Royally chopped. I was living up to my reputation of being "that useless son in law", a title I've given myself after spending a few uncomfortable hours with my in laws a week earlier. By the end of the evening I had managed to pull off singing Toxicity by System of a Down, threatened to drag someone outside and slice his throat, and then become near incoherent thanks to Jagermeister and a ton more beer. It seemed as though life couldn't get any better. I think I even showered that day too, which is always a good start to a day.
I love being back in the city where I can buy beer at 2am from the gas station. I was made for this city. I'll bring it to it's knees.
Zombie Love Ain’t Cool, Bro
Current mood: distressed
Category: Quiz/Survey
Last night I was watching a documentary about the decline in oil reserves in the world and the fact that not enough of a contingency plan has been established. The ugly and corrupt American government is a homosexual love affair with their own oil companies and knows it can get away with extorting the masses. At the moment America produces 7 million barrels of oil a day but uses 20 million a day. That's why we're over in the middle east killing people. So morbidly obese and ignorant America can cruise to and from the gas stations in Hummer style. Little else is being done as a back up plan. Hybrid cars? Hydrogen? Sorry sunshine, there's no way that those things will be mainstream enough by the time we run out of oil. No, there'll be a gas starved societal MELTDOWN by that stage. I'll be stuck in Denver, too lazy to trek over the Rockies. Why would I? then I'd be in Utah, and those guys are crazy! So what's going to happen to our pretty little planet? I'll tell you and it WILL happen. The greed and God fearing fuckface of America will dictate the best way to distribute the last of the dwindling oil supplies, by simply eliminating others that use it. With chemical warfare. It's fucking true, and I'm glad to say that I'm all safe and sound in the mountains of Good ol' US of A. Religious loons will say it's the beginning of the Apocalypse, and yes, in one way it is, but it's certainly not Gods will that you turn into zombies (unless you think republicans are Gods messengers), but chemical warfare that has been secretly deposited into the middle east, then Europe, then Asia. Not Southern Africa though, I'm not too sure if anybody there actually has a car. It's going to start out looking like the films Resident Evil (except without the chick with superhuman strength, that's just bullshit) and 28 Days Later. And then later on, once the world population is decimated (excluding USA of course-minus the silly soldiers sent to "fight" this plague) the world will be like Mad Max, with Tina Turner kicking so much ass with her saucy licorice legs, she'll be made queen of Bartertown/France. What do you think the REAL reason why they're putting up a monster fence between USA and Mexico!! Nobody wants beaner Zombies! Here are five scientific reasons a zombie Apocalypse will happen. Read them. This article is so cold hearted it will freeze your urine in your bladder.
And this morning I did a quiz to see whether or not I will actually be ready for a zombie attack if it does move here. You can do it here. Not surprisingly I fared pretty poorly, but that's a good thing, because unlike in school I am now ready to learn. I have found that I have a lot of work to do if I am able to survive the onslaught of zombie love. I was talking to my wife last night about owning a gun, well, actually she just told me outright that we will not have guns in our house. She didn't even want to hear my reasons. No it's not just because a black family has moved in down the street. FUCKING ZOMBIES!!! That family will be able defend themselves. We've got nothing! I don't even have a cricket bat.
Ok so guns are out. Not even one shotgun?! We can buy one after work at Walmart!!! So while right now, my wife is in the office next door, planning a production schedule because the actual head of productions is a complete tool, I'm in here, quivering in anticipation of the end of the world. I'm like, "Whoa, I need a lot of Beef Jerky, a crow bar and machete, some kind of Kevlar vest, cut my hair short or into some nifty Mohawk, and work on my cross country running. Basically, I'm going to convert my basement into a bunker of anti-zombie warfare." I'll also have to get better at stealing boats, and drinking hard liquor and mentally prepare myself for the fact that I will eventually have to kill my wife. I'll need a lot of hand sanitizer. Fuck Fuck Fuck
Set Your Wife On FIRE!!
Current mood: ashamed
Category: Life
This morning, when I got to work, I did a quiz on weird St Patricks Day traditions. You can play it here. Play it. Well, I only got three out of ten, which is pretty much on par with any test that I do. But this time, at the conclusion, the test said that I should order another beer, and that I must be drunk to perform so badly. Well, actually, I was still quite drunk this morning. Late night Karaoke down pub can really kick you in the teeth when you're drinking away a hangover, people actually sing in key, and you spend the afternoon throwing up semi-digested lunch in preparation of drunken debauchery. Yay me.
One day when I get a video camera I may just share my obnoxious wailings with you. Add to the fact that I look like I should have been on Braveheart and you will swoon like grandma at a Chippendale show.
In other news, I got an email this morning from Faith Ramey, who I don't know. I google image searched her but I don't recognize her from any of the pictures. I think Em is getting her friends to email me, dropping hints that I'm a poor lover, I need a bigger cock, I should last longer, all these hurtful things that really make me sad and unsexy. The email from Faith Ramey (whore) is titled, "set your wife on fire" which I think is a brilliant idea, especially since our one year wedding anniversary is next week!! That would be HOT. VIKING funeral for lil wifey, I'll even dress as a viking!
Who would say no to viking sex? Viking sex with a sexually inadequate Viking! Anyone? No? Pooh. I love the email from jodie Ham (I assume it's one of Em's "friends") which was titled "Make your dick the envy of all your dudes!!" I can imagine the scenario at the bar (my only friends are bar flies) whereby I whip out my new and improved cock and cradle it like a prize winning baby, demanding jealousy, envy and tears of amazement upon witnessing my WAR MACHINE!!!
Fine, I Just Won’t Drive then, Fag.
Current mood: impervious
Category: Automotive
This blog is mainly directed to people outside America. Pretty much my family and friends (if I actually have any left)! I apologize to the Americans who will just laugh this off as "just one of those things" that is normal here, like child obesity and school shootings.
To Americans the DMV is considered a national joke, an institution that people seem to just accept for what it is. To me however, it's a disgusting and unapologetically useless ass factory. Shanty Town quality services with Patty and Selma at the helm. Even though we were there yesterday for just over 2 hours (which is apparently a good thing) I accomplished nothing. I spent the time either standing in a stagnant queue, or sitting on a bench with my head in my hands watching chola mothers scream and hit their bored children. At least cholas are easier on the eye compared to the more buxom and brutish Samoans that I am more accustomed to back in New Zealand.
Em and I went there yesterday because we both needed Colorado licenses and Em wanted to change her name on her card to my last name. We drove clear across town to find a shearing shed style abomination. It was completely ridiculous. After being in a queue for an hour I was told by some ape that New Zealand wasn't a US Territory. Well no shit bitch, it's something to be proud of. What that means is that I will have to take all of my tests again. If only the information man at the front desk told me that when I asked him an hour ago. "Y'all wanna take the written test now?" She asked me with disinterest. I replied with a fuck no, I don't want to spend any more time in this no frills zoo.
Em was talking to another ever-unhelpful employee the same time I was, so I figured this would be over pretty soon, so I just waddled over to her. Useless, useless, pie crust of a woman (the employee) didn't know what she was doing. Come on penis teeth, you work in the DMV, all you have to do is drivers license related paperwork on an early nineties computer. Surely my wife isn't the first customer to ask to change her name and swap her out of state license to a Colorado one?!!?!? Apparently so. And why do most of the employees here have hand written name badges? Well done tits McGee, you can spell you're name. Do you use the same name tag when you visit Narcotics Anonymous every week? Once she had joylessly corrected my wifes information she gave Em a piece of paper and told her to wait for the cashier to call out her name. You have to be fucking kidding!!! Another queue to get to the cashier!?!?! You don't have your own register? No. And it's Cash and cheques only?!?!? Yes, once you enter the Denver DMV, you're actually stepping out of an invisible DeLorean that has transported you back to 1985 where there are no such things as EFTPOS machines or whatever you call them here in America. "So is there an ATM here so we can get some cash out?" "No we don't have an ATM here for security reasons. But the driving school across the road has one." At this point I'd reached my limit of sanity, and while Em waited in another line to pay for the privilage of me having high blood pressure, I walked across the road to the driving school, where there was only one person present, chatting to her friend on the phone. And yet the DMV has issues with security when at any given time there are at least 100 people there as potential witnesses if someone has the gall to actually walk off with an entire ATM!! The only thing remotely worth stealing from the DMV are the wandering and unwatched children.
Back in New Zealand when I needed to get a license I was never there for longer than half an hour. There were always enough seats, I never had to stand in a queue, the employees were actually courtious and thus gained my respect. I was seated while they processed the paperwork. Each teller had their own cash register, and for fucks sake, each teller had their own digital camera so I wouldn't have to get out of my comfortable seat and stand in another god damned queue. In fact, after the my sweet honey wine of a lady took my picture she turned the screen around and asked if the pic was ok or whether I wanted another shot. After paying the cashier the measly sum of $22, Em was herded with the final group of people who were queuing like sheep to have their photo taken, of which there will be only one chance to get it right. And that purely reminds me of these two clips!!!
The only pleasing thing about writing this is that when I google image searched DMV on page 9 was a picture of asians eating shit. Sure, I've seen tons of pics like that but hey, it really brightened my normally rectal tearingly drab work day. This tale is just another reason why I strongly dislike America. Apparently I have to get over that kind of negative attitude. Nobody likes a whiner. I mean, why doesn't the government take the 70 billion dollars they're going to blow putting up a 300 mile fence (which will have holes in it for rich people) along a small portion of the mexican border, and do something useful with it. Like send a million more troops to Iraq, or at least send me back home to New Zealand.
Currently
listening
:
Infinity Land
By
Biffy Clyro
Release date: 11 October, 2004
Jumping Woman Hating Monkeys With Knives!!!
Current mood: cultured
Yes, Jumping Woman Hating Monkeys With Knives!!!
I have no idea how i came across this picture, but when I saw it I thought it was ace. Then I looked closer and my brain just shattered at the awesomeness. As I right clicked and saved the pic to my desktop I shed a single miraculous tear, all salty like cheap tequila.
Less than 2 minutes later I was watching this at work with the largest erection I think I could ever accomplish. It was stretching through my 3 week unwashed jeans and rubbing against desk. I was too weak with excitement to stand and be proud of my "WAR MACHINE" and so I just slid out of my chair onto my knees, never taking an eye off the bewbs. Watch it now with me now...
I have now realized what has been missing in my life. Nazi Exploitation movie re-enactments. My woman is now in a whole heap of erotic trouble. I never knew that WW2 was so damn HOT!!!! I wish they'd talked about this in History class in high school. All they ever talked about was atrocities and rape, and genocide. No wonder I've turned out the way I did. I'm totally going to home school my children.
Here's a Stinkymeat haiku: As flesh turned to soup We watched as new life emerged Welcome, future flies!
Currently
listening
:
Puzzle
By
Biffy Clyro
Release date: 18 September, 2007
Valentines Day is just around the corner and I couldn't be any more excited about it. When you're a single (and fugly) dude on Valentines day, you use the time constructively reassuring yourself that you're going to be alone for ever and you may as well just ruin some girls day by either raping her or killing her partner in front of her. And then raping her. For so many years my life had gone down this familiar path. Then all of a sudden I got married. Yippee...
Now, this year I might do something different. My original idea would be to spend the entire day (and of course the night too) at Shotgun Willie's, a strip bar here in Denver. It's pretty close to my house (only a 40 minute walk away). E can come to. We'll have fun, sinking beers together on a lonely Thursday afternoon, spitting on whores, and violently making out in front of incontinent old men. Then afterwards we'll set up an account on E Harmony, and abuse the unloved. Then we'll have sex in a tree.
I was recently steered towards a site that told me about a recent US Patent, and instantly I felt the bulge in my hammer pants grow and the bile in my throat rise. It was for a musical condom. Sounds ridiculous? Why, yes it does. Ridiculously fucking awesome. I know you can buy all assortments of condoms in the dire hope of actually getting aroused while using one. You have colored ones, flavored ones, ribbed, ridged, ones with little fingers or bunny heads on the tips, all for her pleasure. Or you could buy really small ones and put a few grains of salt in them and pretend your having rough prison ass sex. Well, soon we'll have musical condoms, which includes "a chip-controlled piezoelectric sound transducer which plays a melody or voiced message when during intercourse the contacts of the sound-playing unit are closed and the transducer is activated" by forceful movements.
That's right, with each thrust you'll hear my cock scream "Bitch!" I could totally do that. I know it. Last night we were watching a 15 minute Obama ramble on tv, and I was so bored and angry that I decided to jerk off, violently. A Solo Hate Fuck, per se. And I was good. Listening to Obama fill mindless minions with empty promises, I gave my cock a ruthless beating. Never before had I been so abusive. And finally, I over-powered the preaching on TV with some of my own. "BASTARD!!! FUCK YOU!!!" Now, you might say that I jerked off while watching Obama give a riveting speech, and I'm fine with that. It's true. I'm sure I'm not the first. I bet someone in the crowd last night was tugging as hard as I was. And maybe even for different reasons. I think it was Al Sharpton with his giant, son of a gun, veiny love tree.
The night We Danced the Bonita Caca
Current mood: bummed
My useless and even more useless dogs ate my $500 glasses last night so please excuse me if there are any spelling and grammatical errors. Does anybody want two pugs? A friend last night offered to shoot both my dogs for $10, and I'm seriously considering it. If someone doesn't take them out of my sight before the end of the week I'll either let my friend shoot them or I'll leave them outside overnight, where the sub zero temperature will turn them into pugsicles. I'm not fucking kidding. Onward.
Plans had been drafted, routes were mapped and the gift was bought. E and I were ready for a birthday dinner. This was kind of a big deal for us because since we've been living in Colorado this was the first birthday dinner we've been invited to AND attended. You see, very few people actually like me, let alone have faith that I won't completely fuck up their night. It seemed that back in NZ it was my primary job to just fuck everything up. I was exiled to America where everything is already ruined. Yeah, I am a soulless, empty, blind, slug, eating all your lettuce.
So E and I were invited to our friend Becky's birthday dinner at some Mexican place. It's labeled as the most exciting restaurant in the world, and upon hearing this I was pretty damn excited. At about 5pm we decided that a pre-funk fiesta would be in order. We were going to be having dinner with strangers so we were in desperate need for our A-game. And we got there with beer. Dinner was at 7pm and by 7.15 we decided that we were comfortably funked for the dinner. We felt fucking awesome and by the time we reached the restaurant 45 minutes late, we were both in dire need to use the bathroom. We brought a bottle of limited edition vodka encased in a disco ball and 23 bead necklaces as a gift. So fucking festive, we were out of CONTROL. This was going to be be so fucking rad I was planing to re-enact "Weekend At Bernies" and have to be carried, dragged and dropped everywhere. I was gonna fuck this party up so royally that nobody would talk to me ever again. That would be perfect. Better yet, I wanted to be beaten to death by someone. Someone small. And then we walked through the front door of Casa Bonita.
Fucking children were everywhere like a nest of baby spiders had burst open and tiny critters were crawling around, screaming, farting, waving glow in the dark swords. Oh My God Penis, I hate children in restaurants!! Children should be making my dinner and sewing me new shoes, not running around with smiles on their faces!! We couldn't even see into the restaurant. It was a fucking mess. Becky had texted me earlier, saying that there was a queue to get into the restaurant. She had failed to mention that the queue to get in was about an hour long. I had visions that we were actually eating in some kind of twisted mexican restaurant theme park. Well fill my ass with concrete. It is a Mexican restaurant theme park.
Thankfully, E and I were full of enough booze and bravado that we managed to muscle our way through the crowd, declaring that we were late for a birthday party. We couldn't believe that people were letting us pass them. I bet it was the power of the beads and the sheer presence of the giant, ginger, god like creature before them (me). We made it through about half of the queue when we ran into Becky and her family and friends. Awesome, we'd pushed through 45 minutes of queue. But there was still more to go, and the desire for a piss was doing anything but waining. Add the fact that the pre funk was wearing thin, and you have me coming to the realization that I really was queuing for food like Germans in the depression. Food was being thrown out of the kitchen at factory line speeds. Everything looked the same. Holy Mexican goodness. Mmmm cheese that comes out of a glue gun... Becky's plate looked like a midget took a shit on her plate. Her husbands plate was still soapy from being previously washed. I was starting to lose my marbles a tad, blinking only two or three times a minute. I was asked what I wanted to drink. I was going to ask for a pitcher of margarita, possibly two, but I feebly mouthed, "coke please". And then we were seated at our table. I mean tables, because our party was scattered over two floors with three or four tables. All the while children are running around, a woman who didn't speak English was selling swords and flashing lights and I'm pretty sure she was packing a couple of vibrators too! The urinal I used was clogged with vomit, the bathroom stunk like a fat womans sweaty vagina, and the screams of children was near constant. Withdrawn and withered Mariachi's were singing a miserable and empty version of happy birthday every two or three minutes, there were palm trees everywhere, and there's a three story fake waterfall at one end of the restaurant where employees regularly committed suicide (not fucking kidding you-this was dinner time entertainment). And yes, like Cartman, I was screaming, "Jump ASSHOLE!!!" This place had fucking everything except a Gravitron and bumper cars. It even had a gorilla all chained up.
But best of all, this was All You Can Eat. As soon as I finished my plate I was rewarded with another! I didn't even have to get up, or say anything! By the time I had finished my second plate of beef-esque enchiladas, tacos, beans and rice and rat skull, I was so fat I could barely hear, let alone see. And what made matters worse was that I was now dead sober. I couldn't trust myself in this environment to drink. If I'd known this place was going to be so bizarre I would have stocked up on schrooms AT LEAST!!! Becky's parents told me they would pay me twenty dollars to push some annoying Cowboy off a ledge into the pool below us, and I replied that the offer would have to be tripled, which they rightfully agreed to pay. But i just couldn't do it. I was so laden with terrifyingly awful food that it was uncomfortable to breathe, let alone tear off my shirt, pick up some scrawny prick and throw him into the pool and then kidnap a young girl and hold her hostage only to later drown her in my bathtub at home (as was my plan).
But the awesomeness of this restaurant didn't stop at heartburn and epilepsy. After 15 minutes of trying to peel ourselves from our chairs, we took a walk around the restaurant, watched a few divers, dodged squealing children running around, and came to a cave. Yes, this dining establishment also has a fake cave that takes you about 5 minutes to walk through. Even Becky's parents came. There was something new to explore in every nook and cranny of this building. I took a lot of photos but I can't be bothered uploading them, so you all can go get blown.
I am totally going back to that restaurant, wearing little more than a trenchcoat and a bag of shrooms. And next time I will get fully margarita'd up and I'll party so damn hard you'll wish you were me.
Currently
listening
:
Morningwood
By
Morningwood
Release date: 10 January, 2006
I love it when a celebrity dies, and I get a painfully huge erection when it's an Australian celebrity. Australians are right up there with Americans (eg. Anna Nicole Smith-that chick with the massive titties who married that rich old dude) for celebrity deaths. Who can forget the Steve Irwin Incident, and the lesser known Peter Brock (he drove cars pretty fast). The world went batshit when Steve Irwin battled the stingray and lost. I laughed and obtained my customary boner when I heard he died, but for weeks later I had to forcefully ignore millions of people throughout the world mourning his loss, and the eventual exploitation of his ugly as fuck daughter Bindi.
She's on the left, I think...
I think the second funniest thing about his death (first being that when he was found by the maid, she stated that cranberry juice was leaking out of his ass) is that he'll be mainly remembered for his role in Brokeback Mountain. Ultimately, it's the reason why he's dead. For years he's been typecast based on a movie of appalling acting, a shit eating plot, and ass fuckery. The phrase "why can't I quite you" haunts his dreams(not because he said it, but because it was addressed to him). He could only get erections when he remembered those brighter days in gay ol Wyoming. And yet, through all of this, he was never made into a gay icon, unlike his bubble boy boyfriend Jake Gyllenhaal. I think that the quote that we should use to remember Heath Ledger can be taken from the movie, "First Knight".
"My pride is the only thing that they can't take from me. "
Wrong again buster.
Currently
listening
:
Probot
By
Probot
Release date: 10 February, 2004
How was everyones New Years Eve drinkfest? I woke up on the first day of the year wearing a tiara, wishing that I had video taped at least some small portion of the evening. Basically all I remembered was telling someone that I was a desert flower and watching him laugh solidly at me for five minutes. I know we were at the bar down the street from about 8pm to 2.30am, and it was really cold, but any other important details were washed away in a furious storm I called Hurricane Coors.
Over the past couple of days I've been thinking about Santa Claus. There have been discussions as to his weight issues and in a couple of countries he's been coming under fire for "advocating obesity". I'm sitting on the bench with this issue. Back in the day when Santa was invented, a jolly old rotund man was a symbol of wealth, of which he needed to pay for all the toys and rocket fuel to feed his coked out reindeer. So in accordance to inflation, Santa's girth should increase every financial year. E and I watched a program the other night about the worlds fattest man who at one point amassed the biblical size of 1250 pounds or something equally amazing. There's your santa, Manual McFatfuck. Brought to you by Hallmark, Dominos pizza and Tampax.
But on the other hand I too want a buff Santa. I want topless Santa bench pressing children in the mall, and scores of women with dripping vaginas. I want supermarkets filled with pictures of hot men flexing muscles, rubbing presents against their washboard abs. And I want all of these men to be pedophiles. Everyone of them. And I want them all to gather every year and battle to become the ultimate Santa.
I don't think there's any reason why pedophiles can't be Santa's. Pedo's love children and would be more than happy to get children what they'd like for Christmas. Old men are generically grumpy old farts who just smell poor. They have no idea what Grand Theft Auto is. If they had their way every child would receive a handful of Werthers Originals and be lectured for 8 minutes on how they should respect their elders and save for their retirement. Pedo's know kids only like Werthers Originals when they're inserted in their asses, sideways, and would be more than happy to go out and buy a couple hundred Nintendo Wii's and crotchless panties. Of course the parents and mall owners don't know all of the Santa's are pedophiles. That's the beauty of it. Everyone wins.
Think about it. You know I'm right. it's all about the kids.
ninja
virginal
drunk
awake
distressed
ashamed
impervious
cultured
sweaty
bummed
