Thursday, July 28, 2005

Jury Duty: An Exercise in Bureaucratic Inefficiency

About a month ago I received notice in the mail that I had jury duty. At first I was kind of looking forward to it. I was ready to be part of a jury and send some dirty criminals to jail. I thought it would be a good opportunity to see how our legal system functions. Then I remembered our legal system functions about as well as a glue-huffing carnie operating the tilt-a-whirl. That’s why criminals like O.J. Simpson, Michael Jackson, Robert Blake, and Bill Clinton are still running around free when they should be behind bars, and some old coot who spilled hot coffee on herself was able to sue McDonald’s for her own stupid mistake (not that I don’t hate McDonald’s, I just hate bullshit lawsuits even more).

Anyway, I was looking forward to the learning experience I presumed jury duty would be. I knew there was a chance I wouldn’t get assigned to a trial, but considering most people try to get out of jury duty, I figured I had a shot at seeing some action. I was well aware that even if I was assigned to a case, it would probably some unimportant trial to determine whether or not Quantrell owes Laquanda money for smoking her crack stash. Still, I maintained the hope that I would be part of an interesting trial of some actual importance where my decisions as part of the jury would have some positive affect on the city in which I live.

What a wake up call going to jury duty really was. I had to get up at 6:45 and be at the pompously titled Hall of Justice by 7:45. I hate getting up that early unless I’m getting paid. Once there I was sent through a metal detector to ensure that I didn’t have anything dangerous on me (like a safety pin or a pair of scissors). I was pulled aside and questioned by a guard that was either as tired as I was, or dumber than a guard should be. Apparently he was perplexed by my wallet chain. He asked me if it was “some kinda belt or something.” I explained that it was an anti-theft wallet chain and while it could potentially be used as a weapon, I only wore it because I didn’t want some asshole running by and ganking my wallet.

They confiscated it and told me I could get it back when I left. Damn! They were too clever for me. My plan was to use my wallet chains to disable every single gun-toting guard and police officer in the building, take a room full of over 100 potential, cranky jurors hostage, and keep the SWAT team at bay while I make my demands to the police officer on the loud speaker. The same people who think this scenario is a possibility must be the same people who think an old lady with Parkinson’s disease and some toenail clippers is capable of hijacking an airplane.

After that nonsense I walked into the jury lounge. It was a large room with rows of uncomfortable metal chairs. After sitting for about twenty minutes, a judge who looked older than the city itself came in and gave a speech about being part of a jury, and fulfilling our civic duty. It was almost inspiring. Then we were told to await further instructions.

So, I sat there for several hours reading, waiting for something to happen. I like reading but the people around me made it less enjoyable. There was some guy behind me coughing like he had TB, some smelly guy in front of me listening to techno on his headphones so loudly I could hear it, there was daddy’s little princess bleating into her cell phone for three hours straight, and this young Asian couple making out like they were in the alley behind Big Jim’s Liquor Store. I continued reading but I was pretty pissed off.

Hours and hours of putting up with the sights and sounds (and smells) of stupid people go by before an announcement is made over a loud speaker. “Lunch break, all jurors must be back by 1:30. Thank you.” Dammit! Weren’t there any trials today? I sat through lunch reading in the nearly empty room. The waiting still sucked but at least there were fewer people in the room.

After lunch all of the people came back, full of cheap food and smelling of onions and Taco Bell burps. Thank god for that recycled air, heaven forbid we open a fucking window or at least issue mandatory breath mints.

After a few more hours there was an announcement and finally some names were called. My name was not called so I sat patiently reading, waiting for more names to be called, and wishing I had a drink. About and hour later some more names were called, not mine though, and I continued waiting. A short time later the announcement was made that all the necessary jurors had been selected and the rest of us could go home. What a gyp.

So after all that time, I was free to leave having accomplished nothing other than getting pissed off. How inefficient is that bullshit. The city calls over 100 people to jury duty, we sit for over seven hours and then only about 40 people’s names were called. There’s got to be a better way to do this. It’s just another case of bureaucratic nonsense going completely unchecked. The next time I get called for jury duty, I’m telling them I’m a felon.

Monday, July 25, 2005

Donna Frye Sucks

The San Diego government is fucked. Mayor Dick Murphy resigned all of a sudden for some reason, a number of council members were recently convicted for all sorts of criminal behavior, and depending on the next elected mayor the city might even file for bankruptcy. The worst part about all of this nonsense is the fact that Donna Frye has another shot at becoming mayor.

What do I have against councilwoman Frye you ask? Well plenty. Aside from being a possible man in a woman’s pantsuit, there’s plenty wrong with this hippy cunt. The dumb bitch almost won the previous mayoral election but because the people who voted for her are abnormally stupid, she lost. She wasn’t even an official candidate last time, but she convinced a bunch of assholes to vote for her as a write-in candidate. Fortunately she lost because they wrote her name on the ballot but oopsie, forgot to check the box next to her name. What a bunch of morons.

Now she’s officially running and she has a good shot at winning. Why? Because a lot of voters in San Diego are stupid, stay-at-home mom’s who’ll vote for Frye because she’s a woman. Much like Frye herself, these boneheads don’t know a damn thing about politics, the economy, or anything else of any importance. Yet, when I actually leave my house, I see vote for Frye signs all over the place. What the fuck people?

As far as I can tell, her biggest accomplishment is marrying the famous surfer Skip Frye. Way to go bitch, but don’t get too cocky, even RuPaul tricked some people into thinking he was a woman. So the fact that you fooled some surfer isn’t that big a deal. She’s also a tree-hugging hippy who cares more about absurd environmental bullshit than actually getting this city out of debt. She thinks that solar power and butterflys are San Diego’s magical ticket out of debt.

On the other hand, she has a dog named Diogenes. That’s really cute and everything, but having a pet named after a famous Greek philosopher, who slept in a bathtub for a while and occasionally pissed on people like a dog by the way, doesn’t qualify a person to be in a position of leadership. This power-hungry twat is just that: a power hungry twat.

She wants to be mayor not to fix this fucked up city, but just to play mayor. She’s another one of those manly looking women who wants to prove that a woman can do anything a man can, including using a urinal apparently, and she has the support of all kinds of self-important women with bigger cocks than brains. I don’t need to get into who I’m voting for and why, all I can say is please, for the love of everything that does not suck, don’t vote for Donna Frye. I’m sick of seeing her ugly mug on TV and I’m sure if she was mayor she’d be on TV a lot more.

Saturday, July 23, 2005

Some Advice Free of Charge

During my lifetime I’ve had to listen to a lot of people bitch about asinine shit I couldn’t care less about. During highschool, college, and in all of the bands I’ve been in, I’ve had to watch as pathetic Dawson’s Creak drama bullshit was treated like it mattered. I’ve had to listen to slobbering morons cry about the girl that got away, or how their parents mistreated them as children, or how the death of their beloved childhood pet scarred them for life.

This emotional excess is a bunch of shit. Drama is best left to teenage girls who write shitty poetry and cut themselves by candlelight while listening to Tory Amos. Yet, for some reason, I’ve had to listen to people bitch about their epicene problems and expect me to give them advice. I gave those morons my advice just to shut them up, and for some reason they didn’t take my advice, and worse, they didn’t shut up.

They said I wasn’t compassionate enough, and that I was too mean. That’s exactly the kind of bullshit I’d expect from a bunch of pussies so I wasn’t surprised. Well, I’m no prissy, cry on my shoulder, wimp who candy coats a situation. If you ask my advice, you’re going to get it. If people handled situations the way I suggested, there’d be a lot less people menstruating all over Oprah’s stage. Just for the record, I fucking hate Oprah.

Here are a few of the things people have asked me/said to me followed by the advice I doled out. If they would have listened to my advice, they’d be better off. Instead, they’re probably curled up in the fetal position bawling their eyes out to the latest Sarah McLaughlin CD. Pussies.

1.) I really love this girl, but she likes my friend/bandmate. It’s killing me. What should I do? (Imagine this question being asked through violent, snotty, tears…I know; it disgusted me too).

First off asshole, you don’t love her. You barely know her. Besides that, she’s an ugly, disease-ridden, mullet-headed, hose-beast that would make Mother Teresa nauseous and you should thank your friend/bandmate for jumping on the grenade even if it wasn’t intentional. Second, it’s not killing you. If it were really killing you, I’d expect to see some blood, and the only blood I see is coming out of your pussy. What happened to your balls? My advice: grow a pair and get over it.

2.) My estranged father used to beat me. Now I have low self-esteem and strong feelings of rejection. It’s starting to hinder my growth as a healthy human being. I don’t know what to do.

I’ll tell you what you do. You either suck it up, forget about it, and get over it, or you track down your old man, break his kneecaps with a tire iron, and kick the shit out of him until you feel better about yourself. If you’re not man enough to do either of these things, you probably deserved to get beaten.

3.) My job sucks. My boss is so mean to me, and I’m tired of sitting in a cubicle all day.

At least you have a job dickhead. Shit, you barely made it out of highschool after six years, you never went to college and now you’re upset because your job sucks? Before you do anything else, I suggest you thank the god you sacrifice kittens to for showing you so much favor. And the next time you think you’re so bad off, go to the nearest porn shop and spend five minutes watching the jizz mopper do his job. Next time you head back to your cubicle, be happy your job description doesn’t include mopping up DNA.

4.) Dude, my girlfriend is cheating on me.

What finally gave it away? Was it her 24 hour-a-day dick breath? Her mangled and overused genitals? Or did you catch her screwing the entire million man march? Regardless, now that you know what the rest of the world knows, kick her ass out and get yourself checked for STDs immediately. Wait… Nevermind. You were dating her; therefore you were the only person she wasn’t fucking. You should be clean.

5.) This guy has been picking on me at the mall. It’s really humiliating. What should I do?

What’s really humiliating is you turning tail and running away like a Frenchman. The next time some asshole with an inferiority complex is making himself feel better by making you feel terrible, look him right in the eyes and punch him in the throat the second he moves. Feel free to piss on him while he writhes around on the ground, desperately trying to breathe. If his ditsy cunt of a girlfriend ever laughed at you, punch her in the mouth for good measure. Congratulations, you now have balls.

6.) My girlfriend won’t let me hang out with the guys anymore.

She won’t LET you? I suggest you get your balls out of that jar your girlfriend is keeping them in, smack her around a bit, and we’ll just see if she tries to stop you from drinking with the guys next time.

7.) I’m so out of shape.


8.) I need a girlfriend.

You might as well just wish for a 130 lb. tumor that you have to take everywhere you go.

9.) I really like this one guy, but I can’t get him to notice me. What should I do? (a girl asked me this question).

He didn’t notice you because he’s a strung out gutter punk passed out in the grass at the park. About the only thing he’d notice in his condition is a singing, dancing syringe full of horse. Stop being such a moron.

10.) These three guys invited me to their house for a party. Should I go? (Another dumb question from another dumb girl).

If you want to get raped by three strangers simultaneously, go for it.

11.) I found the answers for the test. Should I cheat?

You’d only be cheating yourself.

These are just a few morsels of my infinite wisdom. If you have a problem and you don’t know what to do, quit being all whiney and indecisive and punch someone. It may not be a permanent solution, but at least it gets the ball rolling.

Tuesday, July 19, 2005

Don’t You Want a Fat Lip?

Until recently, if someone were to ask me if I wanted a Fanta, I would have been mildly confused, and possibly curious enough to ask the question, “What the fuck is a Fanta anyway?” Now that I’ve seen Fanta’s terrible TV spots, if anyone asks me if I want a Fanta I’m going to respond by punching them in the mouth.

That is how mind-numbingly bad the Fanta commercials are. The commercials are so obnoxious that they literally force me to commit violent acts. Granted, it doesn’t take much to convince me to act violently, but these ads are so abhorrent if I don’t kick someone’s ass I throw up.

I went to an advertising college for four years and saw more half-assed, last-minute, bullshit, student campaigns presented by brainless, drooling peons than anyone should ever have to, yet with the exception of a few infinitely horrible student projects, the Fanta ads are worse.

Whatever ad firm is responsible for this crap should be ashamed. Some might say, “Well, the ad agency was just creating a campaign based on the drink’s target market.” Well, maybe, but people these commercials would appeal to don’t have access to television sets because they’re either locked up in padded rooms or so brain damaged they can’t open their eyes.

I can’t even imagine what the creative meeting where this awful concept was born could have been like.

Ad Guy 1: Let’s see…it’s a Mexican fruit drink…What words would you associate with a Mexican fruit drink?

Ad Guy 2: For some reason I’m getting the word lava…no, wait, is it lava when it’s molten rock underground?

Ad Guy 1: Um, no technically while underground it’s called magma. It becomes lava after it reaches the surface.

Ad Guy 2: Damn, I always get the two mixed up.

Ad Guy 3: That’s ok. I have the same problem with stalactite and stalagmite.

Ad Guy 2: How funny.

Ad Guy 1: Lava…magma…Hmmmmm…what about mushrooms. For some reason I’m getting mushrooms.

Ad guy 3: Well, I’m not getting any words, but what if the slogan was something like, In Mexico, don’t drink the water, drink Fanta!

Ad Guy 2: You’re getting too far ahead there guy, but write that down anyway.

Ad Guy 1: Crap! This is hard.

Ad Guy 3: Yeah! Can we just go to lunch.

Ad Guy 2: What about the deadline?

Ad Guy 1: You know what, fuck it. I’ll get Jim down in the music department to write a really annoying, repetitive jingle, and then we’ll just play it over footage of some hot Mexican broads dancing around…maybe throw in a jet ski or something.

Ad Guy 2: That’s why you’re the boss…Anyway, I’m in the mood for Thai food. What about you guys?

Ad Guy 3: I’d rather get Sushi.

Ad Guy 1: I’m just going to my car to drink lighter fluid and Pepto Bismol until lunch is over.

Regardless of how they came to be, these commercials are advertising at its worst. Never ceasing to be obnoxious, the ads are so radioactively colorful you get tumors in your retinas from prolonged exposure. The “Don’t you want a Fanta” jingle is excruciating. The sound of Roseanne on helium having violent sex with Megan Mullally in a flock of geese would sound less revolting.

I could just change the channel, but that doesn’t do anything to vent my righteous fury. Violence is the only solution to the problem, and I’m fine with that.

Opeth Owns

I just heard “The Grand Conjuration” off of Opeth’s upcoming (August 30) CD Ghost Reveries. Holy-Buddha buttfucked upside down that song kicks ass. All I can say is, Opeth owns.

Monday, July 18, 2005

Morgan Spurlock's Latest Revelation

Here’s the latest news regarding filmmaker Morgan Spurlock’s next documentary. I might have read it somewhere, but I’m 99.9% certain I made it all up.

Morgan Spurlock, the filmmaker known for blowing the lid off of the dangers of overeating fast-food in his film Supersize me and promoting liberal propaganda on his show 30 Days, recently announced the topic of his next documentary. The press conference was held in the back yard of multi-millionaire and fellow filmmaker Michael Moore.

Morgan Spurlock took the podium while Michael Moore greased himself up with sun block and floated on an inner tube in his bejeweled swimming pool. Mr. Spurlock started by thanking the press for coming. “Thank you all for coming here in search of the truth; the truth THEY don’t want you to hear. In my first documentary I sacrificed my health and risked my life to reveal secrets about fast food THEY hide from you so you become fat and complacent. But I have blown away the myth that eating supersized fast food three times a day is a healthy practice. In my show 30 Days, I took ignorant, often racist people and made them see the error of their ways. For example, I took this stupid, gun-toting, Christian, redneck, and proved to him that the Muslims in the country suffer far more every day, than any American suffered in the terrorist attacks of 9/11. It was because of me that David Stacy learned Islam is a religion of peace. Unfortunately, on the last day of filming he handled the Koran in a way one Muslim deemed offensive and was beheaded. Cough, Cough…Anyway, I’m making stupid, closed-minded, conservative yahoos see the light, my truth, the only truth.”

After a standing ovation from the press and after Michael Moore consumed another bucket of cheese whiz, Spurlock continued by revealing some of the details concerning his upcoming movie Malnourish Me. “This documentary is the other side of my groundbreaking movie Supersize Me. In this documentary, I plan to prove that if a person eats nothing but barnyard animal semen ten times a day for a month, that person will actually become malnourished and possibly die. This is another big secret THEY don’t want you to know and I’m once again risking life and limb to make this information public. This information will most likely surprise the nation because crooked, rich, white businessmen who profit from the consumption of mass quantities of animal DNA have gone out of their way to hide the truth. They know for a fact that this unhealthy diet is responsible for the terrible physical shape millions of Americans are in yet they keep the public in the dark to sell more product. It’s despicable, unscrupulous behavior, and my movie will be another step towards putting an end to it.”

Everyone attending the press conference was stunned by this shocking new information. Many reporters stood completely stunned, jaws, dropped in total silence. After a few awkward seconds Michael Moore barked, “Clap you motherfuckers” spitting bits of bacon and cheese whiz all over his jowls and man tits. The audience clapped out of fear that they would be charged by an enraged fat man covered with slimy sun screen and dairy byproduct.

Shortly thereafter, Morgan Spurlock announced he would be taking questions from the press and graciously awaited questioning. A nervous looking reporter from the New York Times approached the microphone and after a few moments of stuttering and hesitation asked a question. Below is a transcript of some of the Q & A section of the press release.

“So, Mr. Spurlock, my question is this: You’re planning on consuming nothing but, ahem, animal DNA for a month to prove that it’s unsafe to do so?”

“That’s correct. I’m going to shock the world much like I did when I proved eating fast food thee times a day could make a person gain weight.”

“Well, um yeah, that was quite a revelation…for some people, but I’m not really sure that malnutrition caused by only eating animal semen is something most people would ever have to worry about.”

“I don’t quite understand what you’re saying.”

“I don’t think most people eat animal semen, not to mention ONLY animal semen for extended periods of time.”

“You’re kidding right? It’s been well documented that 35% of minority children grow up eating nothing but animal semen because the corporations spend millions of dollars marketing animal semen to them to keep them unemployed.”

“Riiigghhhttt. Could you please let me know your source for that figure?”

“Michael Moore told me. He provided me with all kinds of information while I was preparing to make this movie. The rest of my facts, percentages, and research I put together myself. I’m a reporter and a documentary maker after all.”

Michael Moore and Morgan Spurlock then abruptly ended the Q & A. I was later sent a memo from the documentary making duo which informed me of some other upcoming Spurlock projects: Suffocate Me, Morgan Spurlock proves the shocking truth about breathing underwater – it can kill you. Microwave Me, which proves beyond the shadow of a doubt, microwaving your head is unhealthy. And finally, Poison Me, the shocking truth about shooting cyanide into your eyes every day for a month – it’s bad for you.

Thursday, July 14, 2005

Religion of Peace My Ball Bag

I’ve said it a million times. Islam is not a religion of peace. ( and All these stupid politically correct retards keep saying that Islam is a peaceful religion while every day more and more evidence surfaces to prove otherwise.

Unless you’ve had your head up your ass for the last few months, which many of you have apparently, you’ve heard about the brutal murder of filmmaker and distant relative on Vincent Van Gogh, Theo Von Gogh. When I say brutal murder, I don’t mean a cute murder like a strangulation or a driveby shooting, I mean the poor bastard was shot and nearly beheaded. Does that sound like something someone practicing a peaceful religion would do? I know a lot of Christians and I can’t remember the last time one of them carved up a nonbeliever like a Christmas ham.

Muslims on the other hand seem to make beheadings and bombing innocent civilians such common practice that sort of behavior doesn’t even surprise me any more. As I’ve said before, the Koran (Qur’an however the fuck you want to spell it) specifically commands Muslims to behead infidels. Obviously the fact that beheadings are commanded in the sacred Islamic text isn’t proof enough for all the dickheads out there that Islam is a peaceful religion like a great white feeding frenzy is a dinner party.

So why take it from me, many other legitimate authors, and the Koran itself? If you want to know about the religion, ask someone in the know right? Well in the paper today, Mohammed Bouyeri, the man who butchered Theo Van Gogh for his involvement in the film “Submission” pretty much confirmed that Islam is not a peaceful religion at all. Here are a few interesting things he had to say at his trial. Enjoy.

To Van Gogh’s mother: “I have to admit I don’t have any sympathy for you. I can’t feel for you because I think you’re a nonbeliever.”

There’s plenty more: “What moved me to do what I did was purely my faith…I was motivated by the law that commands me to cut off the head of anyone who insults Allah and his prophet.”

At least he’s remorseful: “If I were released and would have the chance to do it again…I would do exactly the same thing.”

Is that good enough for you assholes? Are you finally ready to admit that Islam is not the peaceful religion everyone seems to think it is. Fuckin’ A people, the guy openly admitted he killed Van Gogh because of his religion. He admitted the Koran commanded him to do it. He even made it clear that non-Muslims were, to him (and other Muslims) less than human. If you’re not a Muslim, you might as well be killed. If you’re not insulted and outraged by this shit you’re a buffoon.

So the next time someone tries to tell you that Islam is a religion of peace, do what I do: Kick them so hard their dick (or vagina if that’s the case) falls off.

If you want more proof that Islam is not a religion of peace go to this site. They do way more research than I do. www.thereligion

Wednesday, July 13, 2005

You Call This Slop Food?

There are a lot of disgusting foods out there. Oftentimes swill is passed off as a delicacy, but I’m not dumb enough to fall for that shit. Somewhere in the world I’m sure there are people that consider fermented goat dingleberries the finest of cuisine. Sorry you back-asswards retards, I’m not playing along. Food is often a cultural thing, for example that one African tribe that eats mud, and most likely my taste will offend some people. If your culture includes eating something nasty, national relations take second place to good taste.

And then there’s the whole trend factor. Sometimes high society deems something gross as the newest hot food for people in the know. I don’t care how much chicken tumors are lauded as haute cuisine, in reality it’s medical waste and you can’t do anything to convince me that I should eat it. If I go to a restaurant and they want to charge me ungodly amounts of money for some food that was choked down on Fear Factor the night before, I’m going to call bullshit even if some uppity dick-weed turns his pointy nose up at me. Here’s some shit I’ll never eat because I have enough sense not to ingest garbage.

Caviar: This shit has been considered fine cuisine for years. I’ve never understood why people willingly pay good money for fish eggs. Have you tasted this shit? It tastes and smells like fish pussy (or whatever genitals those slimy bastards have). Hey buddy, smear this filth on a cracker and enjoy. Who started this trend? This stuff is near excrement and it costs more than my life is worth. I’m insulted.

Sushi: I’ve got nothing against the Japanese. They’re a very hardworking people that will kill themselves if they fart in front of their boss. I like some Japanese food and I love sake, but I hate sushi. Sushi is ultra hip in California. It’s all the rage to head to a sushi bar to spend tons of money on raw fish. Sorry if I prefer fish sticks, but there’s something about eating raw fish that turns my stomach.

Roe: Again, fish eggs. Salmon roe, mullet roe, uni, it’s all gross. In this day and age, don’t we have enough shit to eat that we needn’t resort to eating roe?

Soft Roe: Fish jizz. There’s no excuse for eating this crap if you know what it is.

Tripe: Not that tripe is particularly bad tasting, but I had it in menudo one drunken night and it was absolutely flavorless. I just can’t see eating something so weird if it doesn’t at least taste great. Save yourself some time and just gnaw on some rubber tubing.

Escargot: When I was younger I knew a kid who would lick snails for attention. He was a dirty little sumbitch and I cannot justify spending money on a food that weird kids lick to make friends.

Rocky Mountain Oysters: Enjoy your bull nads Liberace, I am heterosexual and therefore do not need to put testicles in my mouth.

Foie Gras: French for bloated goose liver. It’s rare that I see a liver in a worse state than my own, and I certainly don’t want to eat one.

Whale Tongue: I’ve never eaten this before and I never will. All I know is it was so heinous it actually made one of the tasters on Iron Chef uncomfortable. When something can nauseate a taster on Iron Chef, I know I shouldn’t eat it.

Balut: A fertilized egg with a partially developed duckling. How this ever became a legitimate food I’ll never know. All I can say at this point is, fucking foreigners.

Bugs: People eat all kinds of varmints but I refuse to. I’m not eating crickets, caterpillars, spiders, scorpions, roaches, worms, beetles, or any other bullshit. That’s frog food. People say stupid shit like “It tastes like chicken.” My response, eat a fucking chicken asshead. Resorting to eating bugs is fine if you have no choice, but I can go to the corner and get a burger for 99 cents; looks like Jimminy Cricket is going to live another day.

Roadkill: This food is fine for some people and I have no problem with that. When your name is Cletus and you’re married to your cousin, roadkill is good eats. When you’re an educated city boy, roadkill is pretty much out of the question. I’m not saying I’m better than rednecks, I just prefer food killed with an air hammer over food killed by a pickup truck.

Nasty Cheese: I’ve tasted Limburger and I’m ashamed that I have. Eating Limburger cheese is like licking the armpit of the fattest, nastiest, sweatiest fat chick you can find. Some people might go for that but I am disgusted by it. I’ve had more appetizing crud growing on the underside of my nutsack. I even saw a cheese on TV that has maggots in it. Yeah, that’s the cheese I want, the one with little shitbags writhing around in it. If you don’t have enough sense to know that eating something with maggots all over it is gross, you might as well just kill yourself now because sooner or later you’re probably going to eat something so horrible it will kill you.

Blood Anything: People eat blood pudding, blood sausage, and there are even people that drink cow blood fresh from the cow (You’ll have to excuse them, they’re African). I’d rather lick Scott Weiland’s trail marks than eat any of that rubbish.

There you have it; a list of foods that I hate. If you want to impress me at a dinner party (I’ll be honest here, I’ve never been invited to a dinner party) make sure you have plenty of booze. Chances are I wouldn’t eat anyway. To impress me, have a couple of 40s of Old English in the fridge – that’s a classy drink, much better than fish DNA. After that, have some Evan Williams whiskey or Everclear 151 handy and I’ll be impressed. If you want to impress the hell out of me, get ahold of some authentic, high gravity, moonshine that’s reasonably safe (I don’t want to go blind thanks).

Wednesday, July 06, 2005

Mind of Mencia

I just watched the Mind of Mencia on Comedy Central. It was mildly entertaining, somewhat like a Mexican version of Chapelle’s Show. Also, Carlos Mencia looks like an ethnic, out of shape Joe Rogan.