Thursday, May 26, 2005

Legalize Vampire Hunting

I recently was watching this show called “In Search of” which is essentially one of those shows where they “investigate” the supernatural. By supernatural I mean various cryptozoological critters like Bigfoot, religious issues like the existence of hell and Satan, and other unusual topics like psychics, UFOs, and vampires. Yes, real live (how inauthentic) vampires living amongst regular people in America. I was curious and in need of a good laugh so I continued watching.

They ran some footage of what were essentially Goths with fake fangs dry humping each other in a room lit by a bunch of candles. This hardly constitutes someone calling himself a vampire.

After a while, one of the vampires got out some medical paraphernalia and extracted blood, safely and sterilely might I add, from his lady vamp and drank it. They took turns sipping on each other’s blood for a while and I assume it ended in a session of coffin shaking vampire boning. That’s what being a vampire is about, drinking a few drops of blood here and there, and boning.

It only got worse as lisping self-proclaimed vampires gushed about the benefits of drinking human blood. I can’t give any exact quotes because I saw it on TV and my memory isn’t that good. But one guy was even saying that when he goes extended lengths of time without drinking blood, he loses power, feels weaker, and becomes more easily frustrated than when he’s been drinking blood. I’d like to assure this nutsack that these affects are caused by an active, and flamboyant, imagination and not a physical phenomenon.

Not only that, but how the fuck is drinking blood with sanitary medical equipment even remotely like drinking blood the old fashioned way: chewing a big hole in someone’s neck and chugging the blood as it gushes out. If you’re going to call yourself a vampire, you at least better be able to drink blood the right way. I mean, these gothesque morons already look like bitches, now they have to use a needle to drink blood. Can they get any gayer?

They also said they got an inflated feeling of power when they drank blood. Not surprising because poking their ugly girlfriends with a needle is probably the most harm they’ve ever inflicted on another individual. Of course, next time I see one of them walking down the street (in daylight for fuck’s sake) I’m going to punch him in the head so hard his fangs will fall out.

Being a vampire is also supposed to be a sensual experience. I suppose it’s more romantic than the Dungeons and Dragons people fucking each other while wearing Viking helmets and chain male, but the fact remains it’s still a bunch of dopey looking pale people with too much makeup on drinking droplets of each others blood and hissing like an enraged, ranting faggot.

Nothing they can do will make them real vampires. Here is the definition of vampire.

A reanimated corpse that is believed to rise from the grave to suck the blood from sleeping people.

So until I see one of those motherfuckers die, raise from the dead, and suck people’s blood for real, and against their will, he's just a goth with an unusual habit.

Now I know I’m being harsh on this idiotic subculture, and I know I’ve been harsh on plain old “cutting myself to feel something while writing bad poetry” everyday Goths in the past, so I’m going to try to do something nice for vampires to sort of, give these people a break.

I propose we legalize vampire hunting. If there really were actual vampires running around making victims out of American citizens, you can bet there would be vampire hunters. So the way I look at it, if these people want to act like they’re real vampires, legalizing vampire hunting would add to the authenticity they’re trying to create.

I mean, what could add to their collective delusion more than that? They’d have to spend every moment of their lives trying not to get killed by professional and amateur vampire hunters. How’s that for emersion in a fantasy? Also, a new industry would boost the economy while creating jobs that pretty much anyone would be qualified for. I mean seriously, anybody could kill one of these vampire people. They’re total wimps.

I must admit, this proposition is a selfish venture on my part. These pseudo vampire faggots piss me off. There’s nothing I’d like more than the chance to beat the shit out of them whenever I feel like with no negative consequences. I’d slap these sissy sons of bitches around and make them eat their fangs. Pass that through your system you little douchebag.

The thing that really made me laugh, is that the show portrayed these people like they actually scare or concern people. I’m sure some Christian mother of five in the Midwest saw the program and was terrified. Pity, she just got over those Marilyn Manson nightmares she was having. I haven’t noticed a recent spike in garlic sales so I’m assuming the majority of the country isn’t exactly worried.

Wednesday, May 25, 2005

Three Days that Really Sucked

Last week something happened to me. I suppose you could say I got sick. I don’t know what caused it, and I don’t know what you would call my condition. All I know is that it was a really shitty three days.

I woke up in severe pain. My lower/middle back was being treated to what felt like multiple, pulsating stab wounds. I decided to medicate myself and stay in bed. Luckily it was the weekend so that is what I would have done anyway. The pain pills helped but I was still in such amazing pain I could barely move. At times, I had a difficult time breathing.

It was impossible to sleep because of the pain so I did what any man would do: I stayed up all night drinking and watching TV. So the next day not only was I in pain, (the pain got worse by the way. By this time my stomach hurt as well) I was also tired and angry, not to mention drunk. I spent that day wondering what the fuck was wrong with me. Here’s a list of what I imagined might be wrong.

1.) My kidneys were melting.

2.) An alien that had grown in my body was trying to claw its way out of my insides.

3.) The ghost of a vengeful ninja was attacking me.

4.) I was dead and in hell.

5.) Some voodoo dickhead I pissed off made a voodoo doll of me and was going to town on it with a hot poker.

6.) I had been poisoned.

7.) Internal flesh-eating virus.

8.) Some muscles had snapped like a bundle of overstretched bungee cords.

At any rate, my life sucked more than usual and I was pissed. I hate being pissed and not being able to do anything about it. My only real options were to go to the hospital or just wait out whatever was wrong with me. Because I’m not going to let some pervert in a lab coat fiddle with my balls when the pain is in my back, I decided to wait it out.

Then I realized that maybe if I went to the hospital, they would figure out what was wrong with me. Maybe it was something they could fix. Then I thought, “Shit, maybe it’s something that will kill me if I don’t get help.” That thought bothered me for a moment until I remembered I didn’t give a shit if I died.

I did however want to sleep. So that night I took some nighttime medicine that was supposed to be pretty strong. On its own, maybe. Combined with a gut full of cheap whiskey, holy shit.
I was borderline hallucinating. I could barely feel my limbs, as if they had become weightless and were about to float away. I was all dizzy and fucked up too. All I wanted was to sleep so I was glad when I started nodding off. I slept for a little while and then the strangest thing happened.

I woke myself up. I started dreaming that I was in my own head and every time I fell asleep I reminded myself that I was asleep which woke me up. It was a pain in the ass. After a while I started getting into debates with myself. I would fall asleep and my sleeping self would say something about other dimensions and how time can be bent based on your location within these different dimensions. Then I would wake up and think about it. When I passed out the next time, my sleeping self would counter what I thought about while I was awake.

This pretty much went on all night. It was very strange and would have been a lot more fun had I not been in so much pain. We talked about the different vibrations a being has to radiate at before being able to exist in other dimensions. We talked about the theory of relativity and wormholes, and all kinds of other weird shit. My sleeping self even proposed that he was me existing elsewhere with a different vibration perhaps even on a higher plane of existence. My stance was that I was just really whacked out on booze and pills.

My sleeping self said that maybe I was going back and forth between life and death and that maybe death is just another dimension. I dismissed his new age hippy crap. It kind of seemed like I became less tolerant of new ideas as the medication wore off. Not surprising as I am completely closed minded about a lot of stuff.

By the time the medication had worn off it was morning and there was no more reason for me to keep trying to sleep. I spent that whole day the same as the last two, and that evening I drank until I passed out and woke up the next day feeling fine. I don’t know what the fuck was wrong with me those three days, but it sucked. I still think it’s funny that I’d rather suffer for 72 hours than go to a doctor. I may be unreasonable, but I’m no pussy.

Monday, May 23, 2005

I hope you die of Aids you sick queer

All I ever hear from stupid, teary-eyed, braindead celebrities is how bad Aids is; how everyone needs to do their part. Apparently I should "get informed" and "spread the word." I should also send money to another useless organization that is supposed to be putting an end to Aids. I should wear a ribbon too, because we all know how effective ribbons are when it comes to combating a killer virus. Millions of dollars are thrown at the problem and guess what; it doesn't accomplish anything.

Aids awareness isn't working. These assholes advertise like no one has ever heard of Aids. Like the only reason people keep getting it is because they're uninformed. I mean, who the fuck doesn't know how Aids is spread? Ignorance isn't the reason people get Aids, stupidity is. Everyone already knows you get Aids when you have sex with someone who has the disease (or share dirty needles etc.), but that doesn't stop them from going out and fucking everyone who will bend over. That's stupidity; that's what is causing the epidemic.

You hear about these morons in the paper who contracted super Aids because they regularly went on meth benders where they would fuck hundreds guys and not even bother wearing a condom. Do you think they got Aids because they were uninformed? Do you honestly think they had no idea they might get Aids doing that shit? Of course they knew. They just didn't care.

That just proves ignorance isn't the reason Aids is the epidemic it is. The millions of dollars spent advertising Aids awareness is wasted because no matter how informed these assholes are, it won't keep them from nailing one hundred total strangers in some gay orgy. Here's an example of Aids awareness doing no good whatsoever, once again:

Guy: Here you go sir, have an Aids awareness pamphlet.
Faggot: Oh, thanks.
Guy: You will be reading it and getting informed right?
Faggot: No. I already know all about Aids and HIV.
Guy: Well then why did you take the pamphlet?
Faggot: Because I'm going to roll it up and shove it up someone's ass at the gay orgy I'm on my way to.
Guy: As long as you wear a condom.
Faggot: No, I don't wear condoms.
Guy: Sir! Having unprotected sex with multiple partners is how one contracts the Aids virus.
Faggot: So.
Guy: You're putting yourself and everyone you make love to in great danger!
Faggot: Okay, listen. Number one: I don't make love to anyone. I've done a shit load of drugs and I'm on my way to a club where I'm going to FUCK hundreds of strangers who, in turn, are going to fuck hundreds of strangers each. None of us wear condoms either and no one makes sure everyone is clean. Number two: I know all about Aids; we all do. So don't act like you know something we don't.
Guy: Then how the hell do you justify spreading a deadly virus to a countless number of people who will most likely die from it just because you can't control your sick sexual urges.
Faggot: I don't know. I'm just a stupid faggot.

Your solution isn't working. Not only that, but wearing a condom will not keep you from getting Aids. The Aids virus is so small that it can pass through latex. You didn't know that? You can read about it on the internet, you just have to look for it. For some reason they left that out of the all the awareness advertising. The only way you can be sure you won't get Aids is to keep it in your pants. If you're not having sex with anyone, chances are you won't be getting Aids. To all of the sick queers out there dorking hundreds of random guys: I hope you get super Aids and die. You people are the reason Aids became an epidemic. You're skum. It is my hope that you get a super-charged form of Aids and it kills you before you have the chance to spread it.

G5's are pieces of shit

Everyone thinks these computers are so fucking great. People pop wood whenever someone says G5. It's hailed as the "fastest home computer" and a bunch of other shit that is also completely untrue. I hate the G5. I hate mac computers in general, but the G5's at my school are worthless.

The G5's in my school suck nut-butter. They have so little memory, you can't even put any files on the desktop. If you do, the computer flips out and you have to restart. Sometimes a G5 will start making a lot of noise for no reason. It sounds like a jet engine powering up only way less kick ass. It gets louder and higher pitch with time. No one knows why it does that, usually no one is even using the computer when it does it.

The G5's are so weak that they sometimes don't even have enough memory to open a program from the hard drive. I tried to open a macromedia director file the other day and it said it didn't have enough memory. That's just sad. When a program does open, it takes forever. Opening adobe Illustrator takes a full minute. The computers freeze if there's too many windows open at once. I checked how much memory the computers had. The damn computers only have 556mb on them. What the fuck? I have a portable usb plug that has 256mb, and these whole computers have just barely double the memory of a tiny little usb plug.

These are inferior computers to say the least. The macophiles in class say that real G5's are better and the school must have bought inferior possibly made in mexico computers. I don't doubt the school would do that. The way AICA-SD has been fucking me over I'd almost bet the G5's are just really old mac computers in the fancy G5 casing, which is dopey looking by the way. Also, the school provided every G5 with a laser mouse, which would be cool, except the tables on which the mouse sits are black and that makes it hard for the laser to reflect back to the mouse. So, the mouse works about as well as a regular mouse would if the ball in the mouse was square. It's just pathetic, if you want to use the mouse, you have to use something not black as a mousepad. I suppose I could bring in a mousepad, but the computers don't work for shit so what's the point?

Buddha pisses me off

Why? Look at him. What an asshole. Sitting around with that smarmy grin on his face, thinking he's better than me. Lazy bastard; of course he's going to preach against materialism, he was too lazy to get a fuckin' job. Everyone should have called him a lazy bum, but he was a smooth talker and made himself look really fuckin cool and wise for essentially being a hobo.
Life is suffering, no shit! That's not an epiphany that's common sense. It took him six years to figure that out. Nice insight fatass.

Sitting around under a tree telling me what to do, I don't think so man. Buddhism teaches tolerance for all other religions and beliefs. You know why, because Buddha was too much of a pussy to punch, say, a catholic in the face and proudly and confidently say, "My religion is better faggot". No wars have even been fought in the name of Buddhism. What kind of lame ass shit is that. No wonder all the other religions think Buddhism is a sissy.

Buddhism is like the wimpy, paste-eating kid in school who gets picked on for eating paste but never stands up for himself. Instead of cowering in the corner with his tub-o-paste, Buddhism needs to stand up for himself and kick some ass. Then, maybe the other religions would let him in their club. Instead of answering an insult with a silly pacifistic statement, he should start kicking people in the balls. Maybe he just needs to grow some balls. He needs to get off the 8-fold path and onto a stairmaster. What a dick.

Do goths squeak when you hit them?

This is a question that has been wracking my brain for quite some time. I've beaten up plenty of gothic kids in my day, but I never pay much attention when I'm hitting them. Honestly, it's like I'm on auto-pilot. For example, one day I was walking along, minding my own business, when I noticed a wimpy looking gothic kid in a long black trench coat. I thought nothing of it at first; I mean, I chuckled a bit when I saw him because he looked so fucking stupid, but other than that, it was no big deal.

As we passed each other he looked at me, bared his stick-on fangs and hissed at me. Without thinking, I instantly reacted by punching him right between the eyes. I just kept walking too, there was no need to stop. As I walked away, I heard him whimpering (that'll teach him to come out in the daytime I thought). I heard that, but I don't remember the sound he made when my fist connected with his face. Could it have been a squeak? That is what I plan on finding out.

TEST SUBJECT 1: A skinny gothic guy, with his head shaved except for his bangs, wearing a trench coat, and Marilyn Manson shirt with torn pants and knee high leather boots.
I approached him, ready to aid science yet again. I had to make sure to listen carefully and not start laughing until a few seconds after I hit him. As we passed each other going in different directions, I extended my arm to neck-level, brutally clotheslining the wimpy goth right in the throat.
RESULTS: There was a definite cracking sound, as well as a shocked gagging noise expelled from the test subject's throat. No obvious squeak was heard, but a clear squeak could have potentially been muffled by other sounds caused by the violent forearm to the throat. ANALYSIS: Unclear. More tests to follow.

TEST SUBJECT 2: A big, stupid-looking guy with black jeans, black t-shit, and black lipstick.
For this test I decided to be more direct. I walked up to the lumbering, effeminate buffoon and kicked him in the shins. When he fell to the ground, I kicked him in the gut three times, followed by a quick stomp to the groin, just because I thought it would be funny.
RESULTS: Many sounds were clear in this test. The most prevalent sound was crying and begging for mercy. I ignored all of that and tried to hear the more subtle sounds. I heard no squeaking, but there was some wheezing that could have been mistaken for squeaking to an untrained scientist. ANALYSIS: Unclear. The next test's results will provide a conclusive answer.

TEST SUBJECT 3: An ugly, fat broad, wearing a shitty black dress with fishnet sleaves, sporting a gnarly, dreadlocked mullet and thick black makeup.
Considering this subject is a female, I decided to try hitting her open fisted. The ol' bitch slap beating for this tub-o-depressed-lard. I walked up to her smiling, and proceeded to repeatedly slap her across her fat face. The slapping sound combined with her pathetic whimpering was so loud that any squeaking present would have been inaudible. So I changed my attack by punching her several times in the stomach.
RESULTS: When slapping the subject, if there was any squeaking, it was hidden by the loud smacking noise. While punching subject 3 in the stomach several noises similar to squeaking escaped her mouth, but it was later determined that noise was wheezing caused by the subject trying to catch the wind knocked out of her by my relentless blows to her gut.

ANALYSIS: After extensive testing, it would appear that goths do not squeak when beaten.
There you have it. Another one of life's mysteries solved. Science has progressed and new knowledge is being spread. It is a great day for science, and a great day for me.

Driving School

People are driving like shit all the time. It used to be rare to see someone run a red light, abuse the carpooling lane, or exceed the speed of sound in a residential area, but now, this crap and worse happens all the time. I wondered just why this was happening. I came to the conclusion that people driving so poorly fell into two categories: The clueless, and the pricks.

Basically, the clueless don't know the law. The DMV I went to would have given a driver's license to a tampon applicator. The clueless doesn't know the law and was awarded a driver's license anyway. They usually tend to be incredibly stupid as well. The pricks are the people willing to commit any act of vehicular douchebaggery simply because they think they're better than everyone else. They're so self-centered they drive however they want regardless of how rude or dangerous it is.

Here I have presented some of the very basics of driving, that apparently, a lot of people are unaware of. I also cover some driver's etiquette because a lot of folks seem to be lacking the common sense necessary to understand that blasting the vehicle in front of you with your high beams is a dick thing to do.

What do the colored lights mean?
This is important. These lights tell you when to stop (red), slow down/proceed with caution(yellow/orange), and go (green). Let's clear up a few technicalities/misconceptions.1.) Contrary to the way some dickheads drive, a red light always means stop. Never run a red light. Even if you're in a hurry to get somehere because you slept in, don't run the light. You might have a very high opinion of yourself, often accompanied by a microscopic penis and a compulsion to go to the gym and shower with other men. This does not entitle you to run a red light. Take the time stopped at the red light to look at yourself in the mirror. Attempt to hide your homosexuality by awkwardly flirting with the soccer mom in the minivan next to you.

2.) The yellow/orange light does not mean "speed the fuck up." Proceed with caution, if safe to proceed, go on through. If not, stop so you don't slam into another car going 300 mph and end up in one of those grisly accident videos that the police would have forced you to watch at traffic school if you had survived.

3.) Green means go. Don't sit there like a putz, making everyone wait. If you do, expect someone to exit their vehicle, yank you from your car, and stomp on your head until you have an asphault tattoo on your face.

Mind the signs

Speed Limit Sign: These signs are important. They tell you how fast you can drive legally. Contrary to popular belief, they are not just a suggestion; they're the law. Apparently many people don't realize this because I hear stupid shit like, "Oh my god, that asshole cop gave me a speeding ticket for driving 98 miles an hour. What a jerk." all the time. If you're doing 98 in a school zone (or anywhere else for that matter) and get a ticket, it's your own fault. Stop bitching about it because you were practically begging for it. It's like kicking a ninja in the nuts and being surprised when he cuts you in half.
Stop Sign: I know the concept here is pretty vague, but I'll do my best to explain it. When you see a stop sign, simply stop, then when it is YOUR TURN, proceed. Don't be surprised if someone runs the stop sign, or takes your turn. Although they probably just don't know the law, ignorance of the law is not an excuse, so kindly inform them of the stop sign's function by caving in their face with a tire iron.
Deer/Ilegal Immigrant Crossing Sign: Fuckin' gun it.
No U-Turn Sign: Don't make a u-turn.That's pretty simple right. I know what you're thinking, "But if I don't make an illegal u-turn here, I'll have to drive, for like, ten seconds longer to find a place to turn around legally." Life is hard, and you don't need an extra burden. But come on, your dealer can wait an extra ten seconds for that blowjob you promised him in exchange for a teaspoon of horse.Handicapped Parking Sign: Even if being incredibly stupid counted as being handicapped, you'd still need the sticker for your car to park there.

Miscellaneous Information and Driver Etiquette
Turn Signal: If you don't use your turn signals, you're an asshole. If you see someone in another lane signal that they're going to change lanes in front of you and you speed up, you're an asshole. If you turn on your signal after you start turning, you're missing the whole point of using a turn signal and you're a stupid asshole.
Cell Phones: If you're so important that you need to be taking calls every waking moment of your life, you should be smart enough to talk and drive at the same time. Usually people aren't, and someone ends up crashing their over-sized SUV into a telephone pole. Then their vehicle, which looks gay by the way, blows the fuck up and the idiot with a cellphone in her ear is consumed by a gigantic, over-the-top, hollywood special effects extravaganza type fireball. It serves her right and everyone points laughs. Eventually someone comes along and puts out the fire, cleans up the wreckage, and takes the charred remains of the driver to the zoo to feed to the lemurs. You wouldn't think those arborial sons of bitches ate people, but the ones at the san Diego Zoo developed a taste for burnt human meat when a drunk tourist was struck by lightening and fell in the lemur cage. I ought to know, I'm a local after all.
Stay in your lane: You may think you're important enough to completely disregard the lines on the road, but you're not. Deflate that swollen head of yours dickweed; you're not above basic traffic laws. If you start veering into my lame because you're an empty-headed nitwit with a two second attention span, don't be surprised when I run your car off the road. I've got an old car too, from back when they made the entire vehicle out of metal. Even my rear view mirrors are fucking metal. If I slammed into your gaudy, plastic piece of shit, I doubt there would be anything left of it, or you. So pay attention and be courteous, and stay in your lane. If you need to get over, simply signal, then change lanes when it's safe. Isn't that a lot easier than getting destroyed by my car? I'm here to help people. Taking my advice saves lives.
Tailgating: The ultimate sin. Not only is it extremely dangerous(especially if you tailgate me because I'm unstable and prone to violence)it's rude. If you tailgate me, I'm going to stop suddenly. Because I have a badass metal car, your puny vehicle will be crushed like a beer can against my forehead if you run into me. Then I'll sue your ass for pissing me off and you'll end up hanging yourself in a closet.
High-beams: If I wanted to go blind I would have gouged out my eyes already. It seems like some people never turn their high-beams off. Since my car isn't eighteen feet tall, it's especially bad if someone's highs are on and they're in some massively jacked up truck. Thanks a lot, your headlights are positioned at exactly my eye level. Now, not only do I know you have a small dick and are overcompensating with a big vehicle, I also know you're an asshole. If your night vision is so bad that you need two six billion candlepower lights to see, you shouldn't be driving in the first place.
Driving too Slow: Although driving too fast is bad, driving too slow is a problem too. I don't need to be stuck behind some retard in a minivan, pushing seventeen mph in a 45 mph zone. I can appreciate your commitment to safe driving, but driving like that is dangerous. I say it's dangerous because it makes me (and other drivers) want to kill you.
Driving Drunk: I've known people who actually drove better when they were shit-hammered; Of course, they'd been practicing for years. Practice makes perfect - but if you're going to practice drunk driving, make sure you practice during a gay pride parade.
Pointless Honking: If you honk at people for no reason, you better pray to whatever god you worship it's not someone who owns a gun. In heavy traffic honking at the person in front of you, who is obviously halted because there are thirty-five thousand other cars in front of him all trying to use the same freeway entrance, is a lame thing to do. Not only is it lame, it is the epitome of pointless. Nobody is going anywhere for a long time. When you senselessly blast your horn in traffic, all you're doing is pushing someone closer to the edge. Every time you honk you're saying, "Please Mr. crazed lunatic, make me your first victim."
Carpool Lane: You must have 2+ people in your car to take advantage of this lane. Dummies and luggage don't count as people, however, a dead person is still a person so they count.

That's all I can think of for now. But I'm sure I'll think of more the next time I have to get behind the wheel. Driving is so infuriating that once I actually followed someone home because he cut me off twice. I wanted to kick his ass. The little bastard was quick though and managed to get from his car to the safety of his living room before I was able to pummel him. Anyway, I hope this is a wake-up call to all the uninformed peons out there who were driving like shit accidentally. I'd also like to let the people who drive like an asshole on purpose, that I just got my paycheck and I'm going to go buy a gun.

Drunken Saved by the Bell Haikus

What happens when you go to Las Vegas for a week and are completely drunk the whole time? Add to that that you're a minor and the arcades all close before midnight. You know what happens? You end up getting stuck in your hotel room from midnight until the next day. That inspires a lot of in-room drunken activities. One such activity is watching TV. I watched a lot of Saved by the Bell during those long drunken nights. The following is what came of heavy drinking mixed with Saved by the Bell reruns. Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you, Saved by the Bell haikus:

Famous Zach Morris
Makes things go extremely wrong
Thanks, Saved by the Bell

Tough A.C. Slater
Jesse is a lesbian
Get it through your head

Screech is number one
Real bad case of jungle love
When will you be free

Highschool must be tough
Call Teen Line, you've had enough
Will Zach really win

Kelly or Nikki
Bayside High is in turmoil
All thanks to Teen Line

Teen Line falls apart
Lisa Turtle takes her place
Things work out, the end

Sitcom story line
Yet somehow still amusing
Grew up with the show

Saved by the damn Bell
How did the show last so long
Because it kicks ass

Kelly's 80's hair
What a fucking tease she was
What a fucking whore

Slater is a dick
Zach Morris is too damn smart
We all know who wins

Zach and Kelly K.
Want to up and drive away
Slater fucks it up

Slater has junk ride
Fixed up it could get Kelly
How will Zach react

Zach is your boyfriend
Stop being a fucking whore
You mean nothing bitch

Kelly camel toe
Jesse will soon be a ho
Show Girls was a bore

Floral pattern pants
Zach will never be beaten
Kelly will be his
(Written by myself and Joe)

There you have it. One drunken night in Las Vegas is responsible for these haikus. If you're a Saved by the Bell fan, you'll probably figure out what episodes inspired these haikus. I know the haiku syllable format, 5,7,5, and if any of the haikus aren't true haikus, I'm fucking sorry. I was drunk, in Las Vegas. It was like 4am when I wrote these. I could barely hold a pen. So give me a fucking break. Hell, I'm drunk now while I'm writing this. I'm going to Las Vegas in October when I graduate, this time, I'll be 21 so I'll be even more inebriated when Saved by the Bell comes on. Expect more haikus.

Obviously, the chef has never beaten his wife

I saw yet another commercial that pissed me off. It was for some kind of Uncle Ben's rice instant rice in a bag thing. It shows a chef in a busy kitchen, busting his ass, sweating, stressing, yelling, getting frustrated, and freaking out. Then he's on a bus or a subway (I can't remember which) all by himself. He looks exhausted, it's obviously late at night, and he probably just wants to go home and go to sleep. Well, his wife is a lazy cunt so that isn't going to happen.

As soon as he gets home, he's in the kitchen, cooking some lovly salmon fillets. Slaving over a hot stove, as the saying goes. It's ok though, because he microwaved a bag and instantly had some delicious pilaf or something. After he's done cooking he takes to plates of food to his living room where his bitch of a wife is reclined on the couch, bottom half covered by a blanket, and looks as if she just woke up.

What the fuck? She couldn't have made her husband something to eat? Is she some kind of alcoholic who drinks all morning then passes out for 20 hours? The guy was busting his ass in a busy kitchen all day and the whore couldn't even make him dinner? Obviously he needs to start hitting her. I mean, what did she do all day? Sleep probably. Or maybe she watched the home shopping network all day, spending all of her husband's hard-earned money. Then he comes home tired and has to cook dinner for her lazy ass. Something is obviously wrong here. The guy needs to grow a pair and lay down some law. It might go a little something like this.

Husband: Honey, I'm home...boy what a shitty day I had. Pedro, the dishwasher ruined my souffle, and Pepe, that French bastard, thought he could put out a grease fire with water. God, I'm hungry. What's for dinner?
Wife: zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz...snooore...snort.......gurgle...
Husband: Son of a bitch, she's gotten into the liquor cabinet again. My friends were right. I never should have married her. WAKE UP BITCH!
Wife: Huh! Wah! -YAWN- oh, hey dear, when'd you get home?
Husband: Dammit bitch, where's my dinner?
Wife: Shit Bill, you're the chef, you know where the kitchen is.
Husband: Fuck it! That's it! -Bill slaps the shit out of his drunk bitch of a wife- Now, where the fuck is my dinner?
Wife: -sob-boo-hoo- What do you want to eat?
Husband: Make me a meatloaf and some mashed potatos, and get me a fucking beer! And would it kill you to clean this place up once and a while? Wipe those fucking toothpaste spots off the mirror in the can!
Wife: I...I'll get right on it Bill.
Husband: Fuckin' A right.

See. That's how you handle that sort of thing. Simple. If Al Bundy would have smacked Peg around every now and then, maybe he would have had dinner on a regular basis.

Talent means nothing to idiots.

It's become obvious that talent, for the most part, is found nowhere in the music business. Turn on your tv or radio and you will hear very quickly that the most successful, rich, and popular "musicians" are completely talentless. I think record execs have been testing the waters, so to speak, by releasing music and bands that were more and more untalented with every new project. The decision to do so might have gone something like this.

Jim: Wow. We make so much money.
Dick: Dude, I know. Can you believe how rich we are?
Jim: It's amazing what we can release and legally call music.
Dick: Did you expect so many people to buy the new 50 cent cd?
Jim: For like, $18.00 even!
Dick: Yeah really!
Jim: Honestly, I didn't think people were that stupid.
Dick: Well, they did all buy into the whole nu-metal craze, and remember the backstreet boys?Jim: Yeah, I guess the population is dumber than we thought.
Dick: I wonder exactly how stupid they are...
Jim: That's a good question. Do you know how easy our jobs would be...
Dick: (Chuckling) You mean, how MUCH EASIER, don't you Jim?
Jim: (Laughing) Oh yeah. Anyway, there's a chance that the public is so stupid, they'd buy cd's with no real music on them!
Dick: How are we supposed to know just how dumb the public is though?
Jim: I have an idea! We'll just start releasing cd's from bands that get progressively worse. When people stop buying the cd's we'll know just how dumb people are!
Dick: That's brilliant! How'd you ever come up with it?
Jim: When you think about it, that's pretty much what we've been doing for years. Now we're doing it for science.
Dick: Good point.

We can only speculate as to what really happened on that fateful day, but we know something like that did occur. Just when I thought I had heard the worst the world had to offer, something happened, that was so stupid, so unbelievably ridiculous, it showed that the public has completely lost their collective mind.

William Hung burst onto the scene...not so much burst, more like danced onto the scene with no coordination while "singing" off-key through a thick chinese accent. I have a question for the general public. What the fuck are you assholes thinking? The guy is completely talentless, yet he has thousands, if not millions of fans. How stupid does someone have to be to consider herself/himself a William Hung fan? I think whatever record company is responsible (I think it's Koch) for giving Hung a record deal really thought no one would fall for it. They probably thought, "We'll just release something so terrible, there is no way anyone would actually like it. Then, we'll know where our stupidity levels are".

The guy is releasing an album and I bet it will sell hundreds of thousands of copies in like, three seconds after it's release. People are stupid as hell, this is just more proof. When I first saw William Hung on my tv, I had no idea where he came from. I soon learned his origins, because every dumb girl in my entire school talks endlessly about American Idol and I hear it wherever I go. I should have known something as ridiculous as William Hung was caused by American Idol.

This guy actually thinks he's a professional singer. He thinks he has talent too. I can't believe it. What is it about him you idiots like? Do you just feel sorry for him or something? Someone said people like him because he's being himself. Listen, if people were liked because they were happy just being themselves, no one would get beaten up in highschool. I wonder if William Hung will get a full 15 minutes of fame, or if it will be over when everyone buys his record, listens to it, and realize just how stupid they'd been. I think he's going to be really shocked when he becomes the biggest joke the music industry has ever seen. It almost makes you feel pity for him...but then you think about the thousands and thousands of dollars he's making for basically dancing around like an idiot, and you realize you want to see his reign of talentless delusion come to a humiliating end. You just know all the stupid magazines are going to run headlines like "Hung out to dry" when the trend is over. There's probably a slew of shitty magazine writers out there who already wrote that headline. You know, I don't really have anything against the guy himself. From what I've seen, which is very little, he seems like a decent human being with some actual morals. It's not his fault the general public is incredibly stupid. Take em' for all they're worth you silly little asian!

American Idol is fucking stupid.

This show is so damn stupid. I've never even watched it because the commercials for it tell me enough to know it is a big, faggy, waste of time. There are enough jackasses in the world, yet, somehow, people keep finding ways to put more of them on tv. What a load of crap. American Idol, World Idol, the whole mess just makes the world a dumber place.

For those of you who love the show, there is good news; they made a video game based on the show. When I heard there was an American Idol video game, I almost went crazy. I could feel my brain changing its shape. I started to drool and got the urge to run around killing people with scissors. I almost lost it, but was able to maintain my sanity. I've never watched the show and I never will, but I have a few ideas that would make the show much better.

1. Everytime someone sucks at singing, a crying clown should run into the room and beat the contestant mercilessly with a freshly-clubbed, baby seal.

2. Every trendy, stupid, jackass who appears on the show should be ambushed by ten angry ninjas during thier moving renditions of whatever shitty mtv friendly song they are in the middle of singing.

3. Everyone involved with the show in any way should all be gathered together in one room and incinerated.

4. For every tear a losing contestant sheds, he/she will be shanked in the genitals by an alcoholic midget with a silly haircut.

5. Anyone who is surprised when berated by the British fellow will be lobotomized with an ice pick. The process is much like the ancient Egyptian practice of removing one's brain during the mummification process.

I think idea number three would be the coolest. I hope someone from FOX calls me and asks to use my ideas. I'll get paid a large sum of money for my ideas, and American Idol would come to an end. That would be swell.

How to tell if someone you know is in the closet.

In this modern world, there are a lot of gay people. Some of the people you know may in fact be gay, but are hiding it for fear of ridicule (even though everyone loves faggots these days). Here are a few telltale signs that might help you identify someone you know as a rump ranger. Then you can make fun of him and cut all ties with him.

1. He plays sports just so he can smack guy ass whenever someone scores a point.

2. He randomly asks if anyone wants to wrestle...Bonus gay points if he wants to wrestle on the beach.

3. Every pornographic picture he has is of a woman giving a BJ or an HJ, ie, there's a crank in every picture.

4. His frequent Freudian slips when angrily insulting someone. Example - He says, "Shut-up asshole, or I'll suck your dick".

5. He talks about nailing chicks all the time, but when he has the chance, he makes excuses to get out of heterosexual sex.

6. He constantly, and for no reason, talks about how tough he is, and how he can kick everyone's ass.

7. Is gothic or listens to nu-metal.

8. Cries constantly.

9. He tells his friends they all have small dicks and dares them to prove him wrong.

10. He really wants to go to prison.

These signs should let you know pretty quickly that your buddy wants to be someone's girlfriend. If your buddy acts like a normal straight guy, but you notice something just a little "off" about him, look for these signs. Of course, if he says he's straight but radiates gay like a flaming neon billboard, you won't need to look for these signs. Simply laugh hysterically while bitch slapping him, never talk to him again, and expect to see him performing on American Idol.

I hate mtv.

I remember the day I thought the world was coming to an end. Mtv had actually commanded its faithful viewers who live their lives according to the channel to destroy all who did not do the same. Anyone with their own opinions and beliefs were to be killed, and anyone with an I.Q. of over 13 was captured and taken to mtv headquarters for reprogramming. The news showed multitudes of people, all fashionably dressed with at least three high priced accessories each, marching down the streets obeying mtv's commands.

I knew I would be killed if I was found. I had no time to think. I could already hear the throngs of mtv viewers pounding on doors and inspecting people's rooms. My neighbor was beaten to death for not owning the new Blink 182 cd. The ruthless hordes of mtv viewers even went as far as to stick his head on a pike in his own front yard. Looking out my window, I noticed dissension in the ranks. The styles, and what was "cool" was changing so quickly that even some of the most dedicated mtv viewers couldn't keep up. In the few short minutes I had been watching mtv, the styles had changed drastically. I saw the masses of politically correct, trendy, faithful mtv viewers beating and lynching the people that couldn't keep up with the changing trends. One guy accidentally said "radical" and was brutally beaten for it. Another unlucky lady was wearing clothing that didn't make her look like a whore. The other women, each dressed sluttier than the last, mocked her and spat on her.

I knew my time was short, but I couldn't abandon my home. I stayed quiet while my door was pounded on. I knew if I opened the door I would be killed...I didn't have even one picture of Justin timberlake on my wall which was a crime punishable by instant death. I kept low to the ground, quietly watching the tv to see if the end of the riot was near.

Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, all hell broke loose...Britney Spears and that other whore tongue kissed Madonna. That drove the crazed mtv viewers into a murderous frenzy. Ugly, untalented women began making out with each other. Sexually aroused, frat boys began to grunt like apes. They started challenging each other for the affection of the ugly wenches by dancing sporadically, and randomly screaming, "I got bling bling".

I finally realized "bling bling" was code for "kill anyone who doesn't know what for shizzle means". The crowd broke my door down and captured me. I was violently beaten by rich white kids dressed like gangsters. While they kicked me, they tried to rap about Compton but none of them seemed to know exactly what Compton was. One thug took a break from beating me to sip gin and juice, which he violently spat out and decided to drink Zima instead. As soon as he drank the Zima, his gangster image faded and was replaced by slick, boy band attire, complete with sissy yet intricately groomed facial hair.

He then started to dance and lipsync to pussified bitch music that came out of nowhere. Others noticed this and started exchanging malt liquor for Zima. Each sip changed a pseudo gangster into a boy band member/female pop star.

The trends had changed again. This was a transitional moment and I knew I could escape if I moved quickly. I zipped through groups of people who were dancing carefully choreographed steps in unison. None of them noticed me and I was able to escape the mtv induced riot that had broken out and forced me to flee from my home.

I was able to escape my home, but where could I go to truly escape the tyrannical grip of mtv and all of its mindless followers. I was able to reach my car, but I knew my car would stick out. My car was small, made in 1984, and completely lacking any special rims or other custom features. That alone would make me an obvious target. My car was also adorned with numerous metal band stickers. That may have made my car a more obvious target, but I didn't care. I had principles, and I would not change my behavior or appearance for mtv.

My car started and the mighty V-8 engine roared as I screeched out of my parking spot and onto the open road. Just because I was in constant danger didn't mean I couldn't blast death metal in my car. I put in "Dechristianize" by Vital Remains. It was good to hear some good music. I drove for hours not really knowing where I was going. The streets were littered with clothing that had gone out of style. I could see several corpses as well. I had no time to shed a tear for those who had lost their lives. I had to save my own life. I knew there was a resistance out there somewhere, and I had to find it.

The damage of the rioting was wide spread. The large groups of people had split into smaller groups so they could cover more land more quickly. I wondered if this was happening all over the world. I had to assume so because I knew mtv had stations world wide. I wondered what kind of carnage the rest of the world was witness to. I was deep in thought when I noticed a lone vehicle on the road far behind me but quickly approaching. As it got closer I saw that it was an SUV. I giant vehicle complete with custom rims, nine dvd players and tv screens, a huge stereo system, and enough space to hold fifteen people, yet only one person was in the vehicle. Soon, the lone vehicle was joined by others, driving in formation, taking up three lanes each.
I slammed the gas pedal to the floor, quickly accelerating to over 100 mph. The large group of SUV's accelerated as well and kept pace behind me. I assumed they planned to push me off the road but they couldn't quite catch up with me. After about thirty minutes, I noticed several SUV's, one by one, exiting the freeway. I was lucky that such massive and useless vehicles needed to be filled with three hundred dollars worth of gas every twenty-five minutes.

After driving for a few hours I decided I needed to find a place to check the news and stock up on gas and supplies. Judging by the few mtv soldiers I saw moonwalking around, I could tell that the boy band/female pop star fad had not changed yet. I pulled over to a gas station and got out of my car. I was quickly ambushed by a soldier who attacked me by using the macarena's hand movements as sissy punches. I immediately punched him in the mouth, knocking out three of his teeth. He fell to his knees, sobbing violently about not being beautiful anymore. As he sat there crying, I noticed movement in the growing shadows as the day came to an end. I saw an overweight gothic girl slowly emerge from the shadows only to grab the crying boy band soldier and quickly drag him into the shadows. I could see at least five gothic kids, most likely another kind of mtv soldier. After all, mtv is responsible for nu-metal and Marilyn Manson so I had to assume the goths were mtv soldiers.

As if in answer to my thoughts the goth girl that dragged the boy band soldier into the bushes said, "We are indeed mtv solders, hiss, but we don't like to admit it, hiss. This man has lost his boy band beauty so we must dispose of him. Hiss, we are scavengers, afraid of light and everything else, hiss, but we serve a purpose". I laughed as I threw bricks at the gothic kids, "write a whiney poem about this faggs" I thought.

After causing the gothic kids some more physical and emotional pain, I made my way into the gas station and gathered supplies and several large tanks of gasoline. I noticed a poster on a nearby telephone pole. It simply said, "Resistance" drawn in black marker to look like a black metal logo. I ran to a phone and looked through the yellow pages. I noticed an address circled in black ink. It was the address for a small metal only record store a mere five minutes away. I knew that was where I had to go.

I pulled up to the abandoned looking record store, it looked completely empty. I knew that this record store, could be like the legendary "Helvete" located in Norway. This place had to have a basement. The door was unlocked and I walked inside. The store was full of rare, imported, and hard to find, metal, but I didn't see a basement entrance. I looked around and noticed a giant slayer tapestry on the wall in the back of the store. I looked behind the tapestry, and sure enough, there was a large metal door. The door was locked and required a three number combination to open. I instantly knew the combination. Sure, 666 was obvious to me, but mtv's soldiers were all idiots and would never figure out the right combination.
I made my way down the dark stairway. At the bottom of the stairs I could see the faint flickering of light and hear hushed conversations. I had a feeling of what to expect, but I couldn't be sure...

When I reached the bottom of the stairs, I was greeted by people I didn't know, but had seen before. These were the people I had seen at metal shows. The guy with all the old-school metal patches I saw at the Behemoth show was there. The guy with the rare Carcass shirt I met at the Impaled show was there. Even the huge bald guy who got kicked out of the Dying Fetus show for beating the shit out of a punk was there. They greeted me with "hails and horns" and the apparent leader, the owner of the store, spoke.

"Congratulations brother, you have found the resistance. Mtv may be winning but we have a plan to stop them." Everyone held up a cup, cheered, and chugged mightily from their humble chalices. The leader told me that mtv was broadcasting brainwashing messages and only people who watched mtv on a regular basis for long periods of time could be affected by them. "We know how to stop them," he told me, "but none of us can do it". "Why" I asked him. They all laughed before answering. "It is a long drive to mtv headquarters, and we are all far too drunk to drive safely".

The leader pulled out a crudely drawn map and showed me how to get to mtv's headquarters. He told me small metalhead resistance groups like this were doing the same thing all over the world, and if we could stop mtv's transmissions for one day, the brainwashing would be erased and mtv would have to start all over. They said I was the chosen one, and it would be my job to stop Carson Daily and make sure mtv was unable to transmit for 24 hours. They gave me a bat that they had hammered long nails into, making it a spiked club. They assured me this was all I would need to battle the mtv soldiers because they were all still into the boy band trend.

I left the basement and drove for a while to get to the mtv transmitting bunker. I stopped several hundred yards away to see what I would be up against. There were about seventy people standing outside with cardboard signs that read, "we love Carson. Justin's a hotty. We (heart) Britney". I knew I would have no trouble breaking through their lines; it was what I would encounter on the inside that I was worried about. I had no idea what to expect.

I turned on my high beams and revved my engine. I turned on my stereo proudly blasting "Destroy the Opposition" by Dying Fetus. I made myself ready, and stomped on the gas pedal. As I got closer to the crowd, few paid any attention to my presence. They were all too involved in waving their signs and trying to get noticed by Carson Daily. My car violently plowed through the stupid, squealing teeny-boppers. I made my car violently swerve into a series of doughnuts, spraying dirt, and human flesh everywhere.

I had taken out most of the troops, so I exited my car, spiked club in hand. Several girls attacked me with slaps to the chest. I quickly batted them over the head with my club. Their heads caved in and blood sprayed everywhere. I also noticed that if any of the girls even had brains, they were significantly smaller than normal brains.

One blonde sang me a rendition of a Britney Spears song with the lyrics changed to something about sparing her life. I laughed coldly as I whumped her in the head with my bloody club. She fell backwards but her singing didn't stop so I proceeded to stomp on her head until she was silent. I kicked open the mtv door and made my way to the heart of the studio where I would find and destroy Carson Daily. There would be no final showdown, as soon as I saw Carson, I kicked him in the kidney. He started crying so I hit his head with my club, sending it crashing through the window and three stories down to the cold and blood-soaked earth.

From there, I walked into the control center and began breaking everything I could smash with my bat. I then found their vault and destroyed every tape of every show they ever aired. I went back to the studio and destroyed all of their cameras. There was no way mtv would be back on the air any time soon.

I went back to the resistance where all of my metalhead friends were celebrating. They told me I had succeeded, as did all of the other resistance groups all over the world. All of mtv's leaders had fallen, as well as Jesse Camp, even though it wasn't really necessary. After a huge party we went our separate ways, we had to put our lives back together.

The world forgot the cause and reason for the riots. The media chalked it all up to a massive power failure and super-flu epidemic. Only the resistance groups know the truth. So, whenever you see two metalheads flash each other the horns hand gesture, you know the meaning behind it.

Did this happen? Could this happen? Did I just use a long story to explain a simple principle? Yes. Mtv sucks, and only a dipshit would think otherwise. Fuck mtv.

A message to would-be stigmatists.

Want to be a Saint? Want to be considered a living miracle? Are you incredibly stupid? If so, the stigmata is for you. Stigmata is defined as bodily marks, sores, or sensations of pain corresponding in location to the crucifixion wounds of Jesus. Stigmatists often suffer open, bloody wounds that cause them pain and inconvenience at the very least. It's ok though because it is supposedly a blessing from God. Before you go on your way to becoming a stigmatist, I'd like to give you a few helpful hints that will make the experience all the more believable and enjoyable.

STEP 1: COMPLETELY DISREGARD HISTORICAL ACCURACY-- The most common stigmatic appearance is of holes, or bloody marks through the palm of the hand where Jesus was nailed to the cross. Historical accounts have shown that people were not nailed to the cross by their palms, the nail was driven between the small bones of the wrist, the radial and ulna bones, because the hand cannot support the weight of a human body. So remember, when you first decide to become a stigmatist, poke holes in your hand. Were you to be historically accurate, it would be obvious that you were a fake.

STEP 2: BE A GOOD FUCKING LIAR-- It is a common misconception that the stigmata must be visual. Well, if you're too much of a pussy to put holes in yourself, I have good news for you. If you're a really good faker, you don't even have to have visual proof of the wounds of Christ. In 1373, St. Catherine of Sienna claimed to feel the pain of Christ's crucifixion in her hands and feet but never bled or showed physical signs of the wounds. Thousands of people bought it; they called it an invisible stigmata. If you're going to try this, you should practice lying into a mirror. Practice saying things like, "ow", "ouch", and "Oh, the pain, the wonderful blessed pain". Make it convincing.

STEP 3: HAVE A VAGINA-- Throughout history, there have been more female stigmatists than male stigmatists. At one point, for every male stigmatist, there were seven female stigmatists. Most people chalk this up to the fact that women are more open to spiritual activity because they are more in touch with their emotions. I think the truth is obvious. Women are good liars (See STEP 2). They also tend to crave attention much more than men. What better way to get attention than to walk around with bloody, open wounds. When Britney Spears' popularity wanes, she could easily follow St. Catherine's example to raise her level of popularity.
STEP 4: TAKE A SHIT LOAD OF DRUGS FIRST-- In many cases of stigmata, the wounds of Christ appear on the stigmatist after they experience states of religious ecstacy or hysteria. So, if you're not a good enough liar to fake a seizure, you still have a shot at becoming a world famous stigmatist. Simply ingest a shit-load of PCP, LSD, Angel Dust, or any combination of these or other crazy drugs. This should lead to some sort of bizarre behavior which idiots will believe is religious hysteria. When you start coming down from the zany high, start staring at your hands and feet saying, "Oh man, does this look like a nail-hole to you guys".

STEP 5: SURROUND YOURSELF WITH RELIGIOUS IDIOTS, ESP. CATHOLICS-- Catholics are usually the people to receive or at least revere the stigmata. They like to endure pain and suffering for God. They are also prone to believing any stupid thing they see. Hell, you should get an idea of how stupid they are just based on the fact that they listen to the pope. Anyway, Catholicism is like an incubator for suckers, so head to a catholic church and start making friends.

STEP 6: ACT REALLY PIOUS-- When you're a stigmatist, you have to act really holy and afflicted. Try to look really tired and feeble but still make lots of public appearances where you bless everyone in sight. Try to sound kind of deep or cryptic when you speak. Constantly mention your visions of Christ's death on the cross, catholics love that.

STEP 7: BE VERY THOROUGH-- If you want to be really convincing, you have to make your wounds look really good. The catholic church is really anal about this kind of thing and they'll check your wounds for things like puss, and signs of healing. Your wounds must look fresh at all times. This requires being really deicated because you have to keep re-injuring yourself. It might even require driving a nail through your hands every morning. Make sure there is a lot of blood too; a blood-free wound screams fraud.

STEP 8: TIE UP THE LOOSE ENDS-- If you can pull off the stigmata for the rest of your life, you're pretty much set; BUT, the catholic church will probably check your stigmata when you're dead because they don't trust people very easily. One way to deal with this last test, is to let your wounds heal completely near the end of your life (do whatever it takes to minimize scarring). You'll have to hide your hands, feet, side etc. but if you've been a stigmatist long enough people will believe you have Christ's wounds even if they don't see them every time you make an appearance. After your death, when the catholic church checks your hands and feet and see that there is no stigmata, you'll be golden. They assume that after death, the stigmata is taken off of the individual because he/she can no longer use it (Like taking expensive jewlery off of a corpse).

Congratulations, you're an asshole who spent his/her entire life lying to people for the attention and adoration you think you deserve. I hope you feel good about yourself you dick head, you've perpetuated a disgusting farse that should have died a long time ago. Thanks to people like you, the catholic church can easily continue its corrupt mission, enslaving and robbing millions of people too stupid to see the ridiculousness of the situation. You're a bastard.

I'm the new Pope

Well, it's official. I'm the new Pope. Old John Paul II is dead and I am his successor. I know it's big news. Hell I was surprised too. Here's what happened.

I thought the Pope was a little too old, weak, and feeble minded to have so much power, so I hopped a plane to Rome and visited him in the Vatican. Not just anybody can go visit the Pope but I saved his life in the war so he owed me. The conversation was recorded and transcribed by this one priest who is a total brown-noser.

Me: Hey there Your Holiness, long time no see. How's Jesus doing these days?
Pope: (wheeze) Popcorn...banana umbrella... (wheeze).
Me: I won't take up much of your time because I know how busy you are.
Pope: (cough) butter...Volkswagen... (garbled Latin)
Me: I'm going to be honest with you JP. I think you're too old for this Pope shit and you should retire.
Pope: I...I saw...dolphins...lederhosen... (mumbling).
Me: What? You want me to take over as Pope?
Pope: (imitating an outboard motor).
Me: Your dying wish is for me to take over as Pope immediately?
Pope: (makes popping noise with his mouth then dies)

Needless to say, I had to honor his dying wish. I know choosing the next Pope is usually a lengthy ordeal, but since it was the Pope's last wish, the Catholic Church swore me in as the new Pope that day and I had some priests move all my shit into the Vatican right away. It's pretty sweet here at the Vatican. I had some of the Pope's guys show me around the place. I got to go into the Vault where the Church keeps all their piles of money. There were a few priests in there laughing and making paper airplanes out of hundred dollar bills. The Pope's guys even showed me this sweet balcony where all the Cardinals go to throw rocks at the poor people outside of Vatican City.

Anyway, after being familiarized with my new living quarters, I decided to make some changes to the Catholic religion. I'll be the first to admit I might have gone a little power crazy. Here are some of the changes I made. I decreed all of this crap officially in Rome recently, but I thought my followers should have access to the new rules and changes. Being uninformed is no excuse for committing a mortal sin.
1.) My Pope name is now officially Pope Trantor the Mighty and Vengeful III.
2.) Obeying the laws of physics and thermodynamics is now a mortal sin.
3.) All Catholic rituals will no longer be performed in Latin. From now on, they will be performed in Swahili.
4.) Instead of wine and crackers, sake-bombs and pretzels will be served during the Holy Communion.
5.) Priests no longer have to take vows of celibacy. I think we all know why, and quite frankly, I don't know why the last Pope didn't think of this.
6.) All confessions world wide will be recorded for my own viewing pleasure, and if all goes as planned, the really juicy stuff will be aired on HBO.
7.) The crucifix will be replaced by an image of me kicking Mohammed in the ass.
8.) I'm replacing the Swiss Guard with a crack team of ninjas.
9.) The Catholic church now officially condemns the following: Waking up early in the morning, putting beans in chili, American Idol, male ballerinas wearing tights, modern art through postmodern art (although photorealism is ok), that stupid kid that that spilled her slurpee on me at the movie theater, the new Ninja Gaiden game being only on the shitty x-box, people pronouncing vinaigrette like vin-uh-guh-ret, spitting out wine at a wine tasting, homosexual bestiality, soft roe, Good Charlotte, and getting a tribal tattoo if you don't belong to a tribe.
10.) Instead of saying Hail Maries as penance, you'll smoke cigarettes.
11.) At the request of my brother, all "hot chicks with big racks" will be certified as miracles.
12.) Bob Saget is now the Patron Saint of being awesome and Lemmy Kilmister is the Patron saint of totally kicking ass and rocking out.
13.) Pauly Shore movies are great. Anyone who disagrees will be excommunicated.
14.) Did the previous Pope have a jester? I hired a jester.
15.) Thursday is pizza night.

Those are my contributions to Catholicism so far. So make sure you follow those rules, and whatever ones you had before. In the case that one of my rules contradicts the old rules, follow mine. I decide if you people get into heaven or not so don't piss me off.

Some Kind of Monster? More like Some Kind of Menstrual.

I was recently on a trip to the bay area. It was lovely San Francisco, where gays hold hands freely in the streets, and smoking near a federal building is a crime. What a great city. Well, not really, but I was stuck there for a number of days and I had to deal with it. Needless to say, I stayed in my room most of the time. I didn't get many cable channels in my room but I did get VH1. Yeah, I know, that's not good news, but it was something to watch when they aired Some Kind of Monster.

Don't get me wrong. I've been a Metallica fan for years. I've got all the CDs (including plenty of bootlegs), I've got the Live Shit Binge Purge box, I've got tons of their shirts, a program from a live show, posters, and stickers. I've got it all. I've been a fan for years. When Load and Reload came out, I forced myself to enjoy the CDs for what they were - they were decent CDs, I'll give them that, but they were hardly Metallica.

Honestly, if that was the way Metallica wanted to go, good for them. It wasn't the Metallica I knew and loved, but it was still listenable. Who cared if their hair was short, they cold still kick ass. Then the whole Napster thing happened. Honestly, I don't blame Lars et al. That's a whole other story though, so forget about that for now. All I'm saying is, I've been a fan of the band, thick and thin, for a long time. Then I heard St. Anger.

The production was bad, and the majority of the music was bad. I bought the CD at Target for $9.99 and I still felt ripped off. Granted, the additional DVD that came with the CD was cool, and sounded a lot better than the CD, but that couldn't make up for an overall crappy record. I've listened to St. Anger plenty of times and it does nothing for me. In fact, it's almost nu-metal. If there is one thing I cannot tolerate, it is nu-metal.

Even through all of this, I still insisted that Metallica kicked ass. St. Anger was a fluke, everyone has off days (or months in this case), and I could overlook it. Metallica would eventually make up for it by kicking ass on their next record. I truly believed this until, in my hotel room in San Francisco (where Metallica's reign began), I watched Some Kind of Monster.
I've never seen such emasculating footage. These guys, who at one point were the pinnacle of badassitude, were now sniveling, whiney, epicene old men who argued like menstruating bitches fighting for attention. It was shameless and pathetic. Metallica was actually sitting in a room with a wimpy psychologist telling them how to feel and they were listening to him. The old Metallica would have shoved a vodka bottle up his nose and punched him in the face, but this, nu-Metallica, was sitting there, teary-eyed talking about their feelings.

The whole movie was one big bitchfest, complete with pointless drama, needless emotional breakdowns, and six months of rehab for James Hetfield. Since when did men, not only men - fucking Metallica, need wimpy shrinks to make them cry in order resolve their problems? Now I can see why Jason Newsted left the band. He was probably like, "Dammit, this is Metallica. We should be kicking ass and busting balls, but all the other guys in the band want to do is cry and exchange tampons." Voivod and Echobrain suck, but still, Newsted was smart to leave Metallica.

Men don't solve their personal problems by crying and talking about their feelings. Essentially any problem between guys can be solved with a fight and a drink. Here's an example of what I mean:
Guy 1: Hey asshole! I heard you were talkin' shit about me.
Guy 2: Yeah? What are you gunna' do about it?
Guy 1: I'm going to beat the shit out of you.
Guy 2: Is that so. Well, fuck you, let's see you try!
Fight ensues and both guys take damage. Bloody nose is wiped clean, teeth are spit out, and they help each other off the floor.
Guy 1: *Sniff* Good fight bro.
Guy 2: You too man. Sorry about the shit talking.
Guy 1: Yeah, no biggie.
Guy 2: Wanna' get a beer?
Guy 1: Why the fuck not?
Guy 2: No hard feelings right?
Guy 1: Fuck no! What am I, a girl?

That's just how it works with guys. I've been shanked by a guy and then drank a beer with him ten minutes later when he let me use his sock to wipe the blood from my wound. Holding a grudge and bitching about it all the time is what happens with women, or men who go to a shrink. Seriously, Metallica should just be thrown in a small, poorly lit room and be forced to duke it out until they knock all the pussy out of each other.

It seems that Metallica have gotten old and wimpy. It's sad really; they used to kick ass. Some Kind of Monster does a good job of explaining why St. Anger sucked so much. How the hell are you supposed to record a decent metal CD when you're busy crying to your shrink? It is my hope that Metallica will stop bleeding out of their genitals, grow some balls, and kick ass once again. If not, I've got plenty of death and black metal to listen to - no skin off my nads. It's just a shame to see a once badass band turn into a bunch of bitchy old men who'd rather talk about their girly feelings than beat the shit out of each other and then get drunk.

A Few Drunken Escapades

Ok, I'll be the first to admit it: My life is dull. So incredibly dull, that even I get drowsy thinking about it. My life used to be more interesting. I used to do stuff. For example, I used to get into a lot of fights, I've been jumped, and I was robbed at gunpoint. Once, I was even searched by a cop when I was so drunk it was miraculous that I could stand or even speak. He never even asked me if I had been drinking or taking drugs. He asked if I was a gang banger. I told him I couldn't possibly be a gang banger because my clothes fit me properly and I could read. Smartass remarks and all, I got away without any real trouble.

Nothing like that ever happens to me anymore. I still get wasted, but now I'm of legal age and I usually drink at home. I don't have friends that I go out and get into trouble with either. But I have been remembering things that I did back in the good old days that make for a good story. Pretty much everything I write about here was caused by the drinking of alcohol. A big surprise I'm sure.

Vomit, vomit, and more vomit.
I have, on film, an actual drive-by vomiting. On our way to hopefully ease our hangovers, myself, my brother, and some other guy who used to be cool but sucks ass now, were driving to the nearby Carl's Jr. for a burger breakfast (or late lunch rather). Feeling the contents of his stomach being rocketed to his mouth, my brother yelled that I pull over right away. I did so immediately and just happened to pull up to someone's driveway. At that point, my brother leapt from the backseat and vomited all over the driveway. In a matter of seconds he was finished and back in the car. I stomped on the gas pedal and we screeched off, laughing all the way as a bewildered homeowner looked on from his living room window. I can only imagine the emotions he felt while he scraped chunky, sludgy, beer-vodka vomit off of his defiled driveway.

I once slept in a pile of my own vomit in an apartment complex parking lot in a shitty neighborhood. This is what happens when you mix 40's of St. Ides and 151. Obviously I like to drink. But I hate, and when I say hate I mean really fucking hate, weed. I don't want to smoke it, you won't convince me to smoke it, and if you won't leave me alone about how great weed is, and how it isn't really a drug because it's all natural, and how the government is out to get you, I will cram your sneak-a-toke so far up your ass you'll be coughing up resin. Also, for some reason, the smell of bud (especially combined with all the alcohol I tend to drink) makes me unusually violent.

I drank more than anyone without a deathwish ever should, and the rest of the rejects at this particular apartment party decided to hot-box the apartment. It pissed me off so I stumbled outside and my last memory is being really pissed off and leaning on my car looking for someone to punch. The next thing I know, someone is trying to wake me up and I am face down in the parking lot. My face is covered in warm vomit that had cooled down significantly since it escaped my stomach. I smelled weed on the people waking me and became belligerent. I don't know why, but as I stood up, someone ran up and sucker punched me. I lost balance and fell back into my own vomit, where I was told I stayed for some time before getting up and passing out on the floor of the apartment. It turned out my brother sucker punched me and to this day, no one knows why.

I have around an hour and 45 minutes worth of drunk people I know puking on film.

Once, in Palm Springs, my brother got so drunk we had to force him to eat for his own safety. He ate a Cup O' Noodles. I watched him chew the food, yet somehow, when he threw up minutes after eating it, the noodles were long and unchewed. The same thing happened to me later the same night. It's the damnedest thing.

Myself and three others were relaxing in the park after eating a Carl's Jr. lunch to combat our raging hangovers. One guy present thought it would be funny to poke my brother in the stomach with a stick. It made my brother throw up the thickest, heaviest vomit I've ever seen. This, in turn, made stick-poker guy throw up. I resisted, but all the puking-the smell, sounds, and ghastly visuals-made me loose it too.

We laughed while setting off chain reaction after chain reaction of painful vomiting. There were puddles and piles of steaming barf everywhere. We needed to rest and we sat at a picnic table for a while. We then watched in awe as some dog went from pile to pile, eating as much vomit as he could. That was funny. It was even funnier when the dog trotted happily back to its owner and licked her face for far longer than should be considered normal.

I drank so much one time, I threw up for almost two hours and passed out on the bathroom floor for the rest of the day. I think I hurt myself because for the next three days, I was in severe pain whenever I swallowed.

My brother puked in the Jack in the Box drive through.

He also threw up pure black sludge one time.

I chipped my tooth when, on my way to the bathroom to puke, I fell and hit my face on the toilet. Future of America right here folks.

A guy I used to hang out with threw up in the sink. That's not so strange, but the reason he threw up in the first place is. He was so drunk he ate a can of tamales without removing their individual paper wrappers. The last wrapper made him choke which caused him to throw up.

My brother puked in his sleep and slept in his own puke all night. He was so hungover the next day, he didn't bother showering, he just changed his shirt.

When I had morning classes in college I would often throw up out my window while driving to school because I was so hungover. And I somehow managed to graduate with a 4.0 gpa and perfect attendance.

Like other groups of people who want to get really shit-bombed, we used to play drinking games. One such game was checkers. All the pieces were shot glasses and when you jumped the other player he had to do the shots. Since the people I was often pitted against were about intelligent as pubic hair, I won a lot which meant I wasn't getting to drink enough. So one night I made a new rule. That rule being, the winner of each game would have only five minutes to down all of his remaining shots. Just in case some people don't know, there are twelve pieces per player in a game of checkers.

The night the new rule was implemented, I was on a mission to get drunk. In a short amount of time, I had played and won three games and was in the middle of a fourth. Thanks to the new rule I was destroyed. I suddenly realized I needed to throw up so I ran outside and puked in a potted plant that belonged to someone's mother. I ended up drinking more and spending most of the night talking to some guy about UFOs.

Public urination
Once, my neighbors were having a party. Some people, or vato douchebags as I referred to them, were giving me the eye on my own front yard. They were trying to stare me down for no good reason. So I did what anyone would do: Drank 20 beers and pissed in their car. It would have just been on their car, but they left their windows down and I couldn't refuse.

I pissed off the back of a moving pickup truck.

This guy I know was dumb enough to bring a shitty CD in my house, and when I got really drunk I took it outside, smashed it, lit it on fire with lighter fluid, and pissed it out.

This guy I know drank more than he was able to handle and passed out. Me and my brother were drunk too and we thought he was dead. We were smacking him, yelling at him, and throwing shit at him but nothing would wake him up. I remembered a scene from the movie Calling Bobcat and poured some water on the seemingly deceased drunk. This, unlike previous attempts, produced results.

He stood up and without saying a word, walked outside to the hotel room balcony and pissed all over the place. Then he came back in and went back to sleep without so much as looking at me. It was like he was sleepwalking. The next day he didn't remember shit about the previous night which is pretty common when you drink like you're trying to kill yourself.
A guy I used to hang out with got really drunk and wandered off and left the hotel grounds. He ended up wandering around in the desert (long story). I went to look for him but got sick of it and just pissed on his brand new truck instead.

In the old days, when me and my friends would drink, if someone had to piss outside, someone else would run up and push him into his own piss.

One of my old friends had a really lame younger brother and we used to fuck with him. He kept this big jug of water in the fridge because he got thirsty when he went to the nearby park to dance around like an idiot and call it capoeira. Well, he was out of town, I was drunk in his house, and I pissed in that jug of water a little.

I was at a kegger and the line to the bathroom was ridiculous. I remembered that this guy I hate lived nearby so I went to his house and pissed on his front door and possibly broke some shit.

One night, after all involved were thoroughly blitzed, someone suggested that we slam our heads against this wooden stool in the room. I don't know if we were supposed to be trying to break it or what, but we spent a good half hour busting our skulls on the damn thing, laughing all the while. We managed to crack the sumbitch, and then realized we didn't want to break it completely because it was a place to set our beer. After watching the video and seeing how fucking hard we were slamming our heads on the stool, I'm amazed no one got a concussion.

One guy got drunk and left the hotel to wander in the desert, at two in the morning, without any shoes, and he was piss drunk. So desert boy ends up getting lost, hearing voices, and falling into a big hole. And I ended up pissing on his truck.

I got really hammered and climbed out over the balcony at this one hotel. I guess I was trying to get the attention of one of my friends who was by the pool. The best part: Someone yelled "Don't jump!"

Later, at that same hotel we got one of our group to go downstairs so we could pour beer from the third floor into his mouth. All went as planned except I was too drunk to pour, and the guy trying to catch the beer was too drunk to stand up. So, after a few brief moments the guy trying to drink the beer tripped and fell into the bushes, and had a hard time getting back up.

One guy I knew got so drunk he purposely jumped in my pool in the middle of the night, with cigarettes, a pager, and his wallet still on him...on two separate occasions.

I once ate a paintball because I was drunk and wondered if it would make my piss green.

This ass head was bitching about cigarette smoke one night. So after he passed out like a bitch, we filled his mouth with the contents of the ashtray...and lots of mustard for color.

This one guy was so drunk he started throwing lunchmeat at everyone because he wanted to "hear the slap it makes when lunchmeat connects with skin."

After 3:00am we, a group of three, decided we wanted some Mexican food. We were all underage and totally drunk. We barely made it to the restaurant because one guy, it's desert boy by the way, was so drunk me and my brother essentially had to carry him. When we got to the restaurant desert boy wandered off. Next thing we know, he's hitting on this girl who is with her boyfriend and another very large guy. Luckily he gave up before they decided to kick his ass.

When we were trying to eat he was making all kinds of noise and bothering people. Plus he looked like he was about to puke. He said he was going to go to the bathroom but he really went out side and talked to a security guard while enjoying a cigarette. A few minutes later a police car pulls up and we realize Desert Boy has wandered off again. We tried to hide our drunkenness as we walked by the police officer who was talking to the security guard.

We found Desert Boy a few hundred yards away, trying to walk but mainly falling over. We ended up having to carry him home, hiding every time a car drove by lest we be spotted by the cops.

We went to that same Mexican restaurant another late night when I got drunk and decided I wanted to try menudo because "It has guts in it." So once again we stumbled to the restaurant and I ordered my soup. For a while I ate it quietly, not bothered by the tripe. After a while the soup's blandness angered me but the tripe intrigued me.

I threw a piece of tripe against the window and it bounced off landing on the floor. I guess I thought the way it jiggled was hilarious because I began throwing it everywhere. I noticed that one of my friends was talking to some girls so I had to ruin it for him. I pelted him with tripe saying something about throwing guts around. I don't really remember much else. After that we never went back to that little, open all night, Mexican fast-food restaurant. Probably because we got sick of the hassle. Also, I don't really care for Mexican food.

In college, I knew these two guys that drank a bottle of tequila in the back row of the classroom during a morning class. The bottle of tequila had been a prop for their presentation. After their presentation they polished off the bottle even though it was just after 8:00am.

I went on a college field trip to an art museum totally fucked up. I spent my time making fun of cultural art, and mispronouncing artist names sometimes on purpose and sometimes because I was so drunk. You can imagine how much the docents loved me that day.

I passed out in the theater when I saw Collateral Damage because I drank a bottle of rum in the car before the movie. The last time I went to a movie, I took a flask of whiskey.

See? Wasn't my life just a bit more exciting than a sitcom at one time? A bunch of other stuff happened too, but it's hard to remember and I don't care to talk about myself all that much. I prefer just being pissed off and ranting about something.

I rest my case

On my site I've bashed the Catholic Church. I've criticised John Kerry, Ted Kennedy, Bill Clinton, and Michael Moore. I wrote something called "Buddha buttfucked upsidedown." I used the word "Islamofucks." I wrote of my hatred for Nirvana and a slew of other shitty bands. I've bashed the gays and the goths. I've been irreverent, rude, and vulgar. All of this, and it hasn't pissed off anyone enough for them to leave an angry message in my guestbook. Then I bashed a shitty TV show on Adult Swim and I got hate mail. Who would have thought that out of all the shit I've written about on this site, the people I would piss off the most are fans of a homoerotic cartoon show. Here's how I kicked the proverbial hornet's nest.

I often post on the Adult Swim message boards. I'll never understand why I even bother, because most of the other people posting are pain in the ass message board nazis who spend the majority of their time bitching about people posting in the wrong place. Anyway, I got tired of typing up the same responses to "Why do you hate TGTTM" threads, so I took some time to write about how much I hate the show on this site. That way, I could just post a link instead of typing my usual responses. I'm busy, excuse the fuck out of me for managing my time effectively.

As you well know (if you read TGTTM is a pile of crap)I hate the vile show Tom goes to the Mayor, and it's pain in the ass fans on the message boards. I always knew the fans of TGTTM were morons, now the proof is in my guestbook. After people read my piece on TGTTM, I was bombarded with 20-some nearly incoherent messages from enraged, foaming-at-the-mouth TGTTM fans who hate what I wrote. As intelligent as the fans of TGTTM claim to be, I assumed their responses would have been more interesting, more clever, and at the very least, free of typos. These are some of the worst attempts at insulting me I've ever read. It's pathetic. Hell, it's barely readable. Let's look at a few of these guestbook entries.

Name: DIE
Ok...not the most creative response but I get the picture. Pretty good until you forgot how to spell "DIE" near the end. Also, when someone writes "DIE" a bunch of times in a row, I get that he's upset. Using all caps was really unnecessary. Idiot.

Name: Wow
Comments: D0 y0u play Wow cuz y0u ar3 s0 1337! AND TGTTM IS THE BEST SHOW OF ALL TIME! SCREW YOU!
Wow, that was barely English. I'm judging from your net lingo, you're probably a 13 year old girl. Because if you were male and any older, you would realize that using zeros as O's isn't that clever.

Comments: YOUR AN IDIOT! FUCK YOU! (x11)
This fellow must have figured writing in all caps didn't look angry enough so he repeated the same two sentences like, eleven times. You'd think that at least one of the times he would have realized he was using the possessive "YOUR" and not the contraction "You're" (you are). Lots of TGTTM fans seem to have a difficult time using the right word. I thought the reason I didn't like the show was because I wasn't smart enough to get it. Well, I know the difference between "Your" and "You're" so I'm already looking smarter than you peons.

Name: Meatloaf
Comments: Do you like meatloaf? O wait...Your more of a sausage guy...
What the fuck kind of moron writes something like this? Oh yeah, a TGTTM fan. Note the "your" typo again. Maybe lacking a basic understanding of the English language is a prerequisite for enjoying TGTTM. I also find it interesting that someone who loves a show that is essentially one big gay dry hump, is trying to insult me by insinuating, with a staggeringly brilliant and original metaphor by the way, that I'm gay. Well, I'm not gay, because if I was, I would probably be watching TGTTM right now.

Name: ITotallyAgree
Note the standard typo, and use of capital letters. If these insults really came from different people, then TGTTM fans are dumber than I ever imagined. I swear, the same stupid wingnut probably wrote most of these.

Name: Poop
Comments: *raises middle finger* go away
Great. Now I've got mentally challenged kids coming to my site and flipping me the digital bird. I just hope your helmet strap isn't cutting off the oxygen to your very feeble brain.

Name: O_o
Comments: You have no life at all if all you do is write about shows you DONT like...and use immature language and talk like ur a 9 year old crack smoking thug...fuckin loser
Yeah, I'm the immature nine year old, yet you're the one spelling "you're" ur. Probably another teenage girl. Besides, I don't only write about shows I hate, I also write about stupid little Jr. Highschool dropouts who send me poorly written hate mail and suck off their boyfriends in the alley behind the liquor store. (Sure that last part might have been a bit immature but, ZING!)

Comments: I do your mom
Sorry, but I must doubt the veracity of that statement because my mom never lets people lacking the intelligence of a hubcap fuck her. Your mom on the other hand...I'll just say this: It truly takes a woman of questionable morals to so frequently have sex with transients in her son's bed while he's at school. Wash your sheets dude, because hobo nutsack has been all over them...and your mom.

Comments: FUCK YOU
You assholes aren't even trying any more are you?

Name: REEM
This is one of the saddest things I've ever seen. This poor soul is so uneducated and illiterate that he can barely write a complete sentence. Yet, he hates me so much, he was more than willing to look like a complate moron just to try to defend his only friend: A homoerotic, poorly-animated pile of crap known as TGTTM. This guy is so dumb, I almost want to set up a charity to raise money to help him learn to read and write. Plus he posted this with slight variations like six times so he's also too stupid to operate a computer. Poor bastard.

Name: SexyLady069
Comments:DID I MENTION YOU HAVE NO DICK? I rate your TGTTM review a *raises middle finger*
I shouldn't expect much from someone calling herself SexyLady069. She's probably a fat gothic chick. No you didn't mention I have no dick because that was the first fucking thing you wrote you imbecile. You don't start hatemail with "Did I mention" when you've never said anything to that person before. She then posted the same thing again under the name Zynx. Where the fuck are you people coming from? I hope you realize how stupid all of you look, and what a great job you're doing to disprove the theory that one must be of exceptional intelligence to understand the humor in TGTTM.

Comments: :P eat shit and die
Believe it or not, that's not the first time someone suggested I do this. You TGTTM fans are a lot more civil on the Adult Swim message boards. Normally, you give people a hard time for swearing. I guess you're all just a bunch of pussies afraid to get banned by some stupid SwimMod. You're all pathetic.

Name: Zynx
Here we go again with a caps lock retard who doesn't have the time to use punctuation. Zynx, or SexyLady069, seems to share a common characteristic with the rest of the TGTTM fans. An overwhelming obsession with dick.

Name: Ravenne
E-mail: oh well
Url: :p
Comments:Loser! How can you hate tom? Eat shit and die!
See, this is the kind of shit question I was getting on the Adult Swim message boards that led me to write about why I hate TGTTM-so I wouldn't have to keep typing the same answer when some retard asked the same question for the hundreth time. You people are telling me I have too much free time on my hands but in reality, I was conserving time and energy. Do none of you possess even the scantest shred of common sense and logic required to function like a normal human being?

Name: ThirstyPairOfPants
1.) They're not your boards exclusively. I signed up long ago and that makes me a member of the Adult Swim message board community. I belong there as much as you do if not more because I've been watching Adult Swim since it first aired and you probably started watching it a little before TGTTM aired. In which case, fuck you newbie. 2.) Unless you're using IMD as the abbreviation for intermodulation distortion, which I doubt because you're a moron, I have to assume you meant to type IM'd as in instant message. I didn't instant message anyone you twat. I responded to a thread on a message board. The threads concerned TGTTM and what people thought about it. I simply answered. 3.) You didn't come to my site and sign the guestbook out of pity, you came here and signed the guestbook because you were pissed off. It was out of rage not pity so fuck off. I never asked you to sign shit, I was just tired of typing the same responses to stupid questions all the time so I just put up a link. 4.) I didn't build an entire I hate TGTTM site you simpleton. It is simply a small article that I put up on my overall page. Seriously, do you know nothing about the internet? Don't you think before you make an ass of yourself? Apparently not. Why don't you do yourself a favor and slit your wrists in the bathtub.

Comments: im not pissed. im amused by what a faggot you seem like and you really need a life.
You're probably amused by the sound your genitals make when you slap them on tiny animals in the park too. Fuck you, you're no better than the rest of these rejects just because you didn't type in all caps.

So what have we learned folks? You don't have to be extra smart to get the "humor" in TGTTM, because as we've seen here, none of the fans that responded were of above average intelligence. In fact, most were abnormally stupid. I think that says a lot.

Your arguments were nonexistent, your insults were pathetic, your spelling and grammar was atrocious, and you've proven youselves to be mental midgets. You lose ass clowns, and I shall continue to advance anti-TGTTM sentiment on the Adult Swim message boards (whenever I bother going on).

It also occured to me that not one of you left any credible contact information in my guestbook. What are you pussies afraid of? Maybe I'll send you an angry e-mail? Pathetic. Why don't you stay offline and continue masturbating to TGTTM. I bet it gives you a special, tingly feeling whenever the Mayor says something stupid.

P.S. Hey fuckbags, did you bother reading the guestbook information? By signing my guestbook, you've given me legal ownership of your souls. Usually I sell them to Satan wholesale, but I will probably find something worse to do with your useless souls.

UPDATE: I've been banned from the adult swim message boards. I guess someone complained. Adult Swim's message boards suck anyway. It's supposed to be ADULT swim yet they even censor the word suck. Everything you type is censored and if someone doesn't like what you have to say they ban you. What a bunch of fascist bullshit. Adult Swim is essentially dead to me.

New shows like TGTTM suck and make Adult Swim barely worth watching. Plus, as I've already written and proved, the new fans are stupid losers. If I wanted, I could just re-register with a different screen name but the boards aren't worth my time. If I wanted to waste some time talking to brain dead idiots who will never listen to another person's point of view I'd go hang out with some Democrats(rimshot).

I'm still going to watch the good shows on Adult Swim such as Home Movies, Aqua Teen Hunger Force, The Venture Brothers etc. Some of the anime is ok too (Full Metal Alchemist, Ghost in the Shell, and Samurai Champloo). But I am no longer the loyal Adult Swim fan and viewer that I used to be; not because I'm upset I got banned mind you, the shit just sucks now. Adult Swim, you're now officially on my shit list.