I'm sorry, but this shit is just funny. Also, I'm well aware that "masterbate" is misspelled, but I didn't make the damn thing, so I'm not going to fucking change it. Enjoy; at least until I have the time to post something original...
Saturday, April 22, 2006
Stupid is Funny
I'm sorry, but this shit is just funny. Also, I'm well aware that "masterbate" is misspelled, but I didn't make the damn thing, so I'm not going to fucking change it. Enjoy; at least until I have the time to post something original...
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
I Want My Country Back
The following is an excellent rant by 760 KFMB's Rick Roberts. It's a lot more succinct and a lot less vulgar than anything I would write. For example, I would have called this speech "I Want My Country Back, Motherfuckers," and it would have been peppered with lots of filthy words like "dicktard" and "orally stimulated spasming assgasm" to describe certain people and organizations. Anyway, it's a good rant, and if you agree with it, you can go here, sign an online petition, and get an "I Want My Country Back" bumper sticker.
"I Want My Country Back"
Rick Roberts
I don’t mean to go off on a rant here, but here’s the bottom line, I want my country back.
I want my kids to be able to walk to the store or walk to school without being abducted by some 3-time convicted child molester. And the politically correct powers that be in this country just can’t seem to get over themselves with “CAN’T WE JUST HELP THIS PERSON!” No! You can’t. But they’re let loose to prey on more children.
I want my kids back. I want my country back.
I don’t agree with everything this President does. I’ve never agreed with anything 100% that any President has done or said.
You know, I was very young during the Vietnam War. So I probably missed that thing by a hair. I don’t know whether I would have agreed with that or not at the time. I was too stupid to have an opinion at that point and time even though I thought I did.
I want my country back.
I want some semblance of respect for authority, whether I agree with it all or not.
I want the Boy Scouts to be “boy” scouts, not boy and “we think she’s a girl” scouts. I want Girl Scouts to be “girl” scouts not Girl Scouts and “Bruce.”
I want my country back.
I want to be able to wake up in the morning knowing that I can walk outside without some gang-banger on parole taking my life.
Or being able to go down and purchase a car without having to worry about you know 90% of the parts being made overseas in some sweatshop.
I want my politicians, when they finally do get my vote, to do what the hell they said they were going to do in the first place.
I want the Abramoff’s of the world to be labeled what they…nothing more than organized crime in a better suit.
I want the Hollywood elite to make movies to entertain me. Not use their celebrity to sway me politically one way or the other.
Quite honestly, if you’re a has-been-pseudo-celebrity I want you to go away quietly, so that I can remember you fondly through your “artiste work” that’s left in the archives.
I want people to say something and when they say something look at me in the eye. And mean what they say. Not say what they think I want to hear. And then do what they want to later politically or any other way.
I want to be able to go out and work and make a decent wage and buy a home. Half the people that are listening to me right now can’t even afford to buy a house unless they’re working three jobs.
And I want America to be America. All of those opportunities, all of those things that made her great, I want those returned to the forefront. If you want to come to this country we welcome you with open arms. We simply ask that you abide by our laws. I don’t want you to snub your nose at our laws, then take advantage of our opportunities, and then cling to the constitution most of which you can’t even read because you don’t speak the language.
I want us to secure our borders because the country is worth securing. The people that live here are worth protecting.
I want my country back. I want my children back.
I want some semblance of what this country used to be.
It’s worth protecting. It’s worth defending.
I don’t recognize this country anymore.
Not politically, not philosophically, not spiritually.
Whether you like it or whether you don’t God was a part of building this great nation. To remove him is to take away the very foundation of what this country was all about.
I don’t care about your political correctness!
I don’t want to know your sexual preference!
I could care less about all of that. Stop making it the headline of the day!
That’s not America.
I want my country back!
And the only way I’m ever going to be able to get this country back is if I reach out to the brothers and the sisters that all feel the same way and we say “Hell No! You can’t have our country.”
It’s not for sale! Take the price tag off this country!
Take the price tag off the heads of our children!
Stop it already!
The politically-correct-psychobabble-hug-a-tree-experts ; You are not qualified to release sex offenders back into our neighborhoods.
The southern border, more than any other border, needs to be secured tomorrow. For all those that wish to come to this country to take advantage of her opportunity, to live under a constitution a living document that breathes in and out just like you do, this country is not for sale.
I should know. I’m one of the owners. You can’t sell it without my permission.
I want my country back!
"I Want My Country Back"
Rick Roberts
I don’t mean to go off on a rant here, but here’s the bottom line, I want my country back.
I want my kids to be able to walk to the store or walk to school without being abducted by some 3-time convicted child molester. And the politically correct powers that be in this country just can’t seem to get over themselves with “CAN’T WE JUST HELP THIS PERSON!” No! You can’t. But they’re let loose to prey on more children.
I want my kids back. I want my country back.
I don’t agree with everything this President does. I’ve never agreed with anything 100% that any President has done or said.
You know, I was very young during the Vietnam War. So I probably missed that thing by a hair. I don’t know whether I would have agreed with that or not at the time. I was too stupid to have an opinion at that point and time even though I thought I did.
I want my country back.
I want some semblance of respect for authority, whether I agree with it all or not.
I want the Boy Scouts to be “boy” scouts, not boy and “we think she’s a girl” scouts. I want Girl Scouts to be “girl” scouts not Girl Scouts and “Bruce.”
I want my country back.
I want to be able to wake up in the morning knowing that I can walk outside without some gang-banger on parole taking my life.
Or being able to go down and purchase a car without having to worry about you know 90% of the parts being made overseas in some sweatshop.
I want my politicians, when they finally do get my vote, to do what the hell they said they were going to do in the first place.
I want the Abramoff’s of the world to be labeled what they…nothing more than organized crime in a better suit.
I want the Hollywood elite to make movies to entertain me. Not use their celebrity to sway me politically one way or the other.
Quite honestly, if you’re a has-been-pseudo-celebrity I want you to go away quietly, so that I can remember you fondly through your “artiste work” that’s left in the archives.
I want people to say something and when they say something look at me in the eye. And mean what they say. Not say what they think I want to hear. And then do what they want to later politically or any other way.
I want to be able to go out and work and make a decent wage and buy a home. Half the people that are listening to me right now can’t even afford to buy a house unless they’re working three jobs.
And I want America to be America. All of those opportunities, all of those things that made her great, I want those returned to the forefront. If you want to come to this country we welcome you with open arms. We simply ask that you abide by our laws. I don’t want you to snub your nose at our laws, then take advantage of our opportunities, and then cling to the constitution most of which you can’t even read because you don’t speak the language.
I want us to secure our borders because the country is worth securing. The people that live here are worth protecting.
I want my country back. I want my children back.
I want some semblance of what this country used to be.
It’s worth protecting. It’s worth defending.
I don’t recognize this country anymore.
Not politically, not philosophically, not spiritually.
Whether you like it or whether you don’t God was a part of building this great nation. To remove him is to take away the very foundation of what this country was all about.
I don’t care about your political correctness!
I don’t want to know your sexual preference!
I could care less about all of that. Stop making it the headline of the day!
That’s not America.
I want my country back!
And the only way I’m ever going to be able to get this country back is if I reach out to the brothers and the sisters that all feel the same way and we say “Hell No! You can’t have our country.”
It’s not for sale! Take the price tag off this country!
Take the price tag off the heads of our children!
Stop it already!
The politically-correct-psychobabble-hug-a-tree-experts ; You are not qualified to release sex offenders back into our neighborhoods.
The southern border, more than any other border, needs to be secured tomorrow. For all those that wish to come to this country to take advantage of her opportunity, to live under a constitution a living document that breathes in and out just like you do, this country is not for sale.
I should know. I’m one of the owners. You can’t sell it without my permission.
I want my country back!
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
Saturday, April 01, 2006
I've Been Tagged
Okay, I’ve been tagged by polyman2. Where I come from, tagging means someone spray-painted their name on you, but in the blogosphere it means I get to answer some nifty questions about myself. At first I wasn’t going to do it – I’ve never been a team player – but since I had whiskey for breakfast, I think I can manage. I probably won’t remember any of this shit later, so it really doesn’t matter anyway.
Accent: You know, it depends, really. Sometimes I’ll be like, “Fuck a mutated monkey cunt, you dick!” Other times I’ll say, “Fuck a mutated monkey cunt, you dick!” I suppose it really depends on my mood.
Booze of choice: I have quite an affinity for scotch – particularly Glenfiddich; however, my usual drink is good ‘ol American whiskey. I would wager I drink over a gallon of Evan Williams in two weekends. I’ll also drink vodka, gin, tequilia, rum, or even appletini-infused blood from a freshly murdered Girls Gone Wild video slut. When you have an addiction, you do what it takes to satiate the monkey on your back. Don’t fucking judge me. By the way, I really like absinthe, but that’s another story all together.
Chore I hate: Living.
Dog or cat: Depends on if you plan on making chow-mein or tamales.
Essential electronics: My electronically controlled cyber kidney/liver. Without it, I wouldn’t be able to piss or live or something – I don’t know.
Favorite cologne: The one on the Rhine River, north of Bonn. Duh.
Gold or silver: I takes what I can gets.
Hometown: The third circle of Dante’s hell.
Insomnia?: Only when I can’t sleep, but that could be caused by all the random ninja attacks.
Job Title: Commander-in-Chief and sole member of the misanthropic army. I also write articles for and edit ****** * ****** Magazine with a few advertising/graphic design jobs on the side. When I really need some money – usually for buying alcohol – I dispose of the corpses of elderly folks that died in nursing homes. Another completely unrelated job I have is providing chili meat to inner-city schools … completely unrelated.
Kids: Haha! Like a virgin could ever have a kid! Um, forget I said anything.
Living arrangement: Between jail time and rehab, I usually live behind a liquor store.
Most admired trait(s): None that I can think of.
Number of sexual partners: Again, none that I can think of.
Overnight hospital stays: None. I fix my own problems. Like, one time, I broke my thumb, so I watched a bunch of old martial arts movies and learned how to pop the bone back into place. I guess I did it wrong, though, because now, on my right hand, I have two thumbs.
Phobia: My greatest fear is that, one day, all the crappy songs I hear at work – like Dirty Little Secret by All-American Assholes, or whatever they’re called – will grow on me until I actually like them … Fuck, that’ll never happen: I have good taste.
Quote(s): “The best defense against usurpatory government is an assertive citizenry.”
– William F. Buckley Jr.
“What’s the story with your face, son?”
– Jimmy James (if you get this reference, you get five cool points)
Religion: Does alcoholism count as a religion if you worship an empty bottle of Evan Williams wiskey with a picture of Jim Varney on top of it?
Siblings: One younger brother. But he looks older than me, and people actually like him.
Time I wake up: Depends on what day it is and how much alcohol I drank the night before.
Unusual talent/skill: I totally know all my ABCs, and I can almost count to 100.
Vegetable I refuse to eat: Aborted fetuses.
Worst habit: Being prefect in every way and never making misstakes.
X-Rays: Once, at the dentist’s when I got x-rays, they forgot to put the lead bib on me, so I grew a third head and jumped out of the window.
Yummy foods I make: The only thing I can make is a shot of whiskey. And for the record, I would never call anything “yummy.”
Zodiac sign:
Accent: You know, it depends, really. Sometimes I’ll be like, “Fuck a mutated monkey cunt, you dick!” Other times I’ll say, “Fuck a mutated monkey cunt, you dick!” I suppose it really depends on my mood.
Booze of choice: I have quite an affinity for scotch – particularly Glenfiddich; however, my usual drink is good ‘ol American whiskey. I would wager I drink over a gallon of Evan Williams in two weekends. I’ll also drink vodka, gin, tequilia, rum, or even appletini-infused blood from a freshly murdered Girls Gone Wild video slut. When you have an addiction, you do what it takes to satiate the monkey on your back. Don’t fucking judge me. By the way, I really like absinthe, but that’s another story all together.
Chore I hate: Living.
Dog or cat: Depends on if you plan on making chow-mein or tamales.
Essential electronics: My electronically controlled cyber kidney/liver. Without it, I wouldn’t be able to piss or live or something – I don’t know.
Favorite cologne: The one on the Rhine River, north of Bonn. Duh.
Gold or silver: I takes what I can gets.
Hometown: The third circle of Dante’s hell.
Insomnia?: Only when I can’t sleep, but that could be caused by all the random ninja attacks.
Job Title: Commander-in-Chief and sole member of the misanthropic army. I also write articles for and edit ****** * ****** Magazine with a few advertising/graphic design jobs on the side. When I really need some money – usually for buying alcohol – I dispose of the corpses of elderly folks that died in nursing homes. Another completely unrelated job I have is providing chili meat to inner-city schools … completely unrelated.
Kids: Haha! Like a virgin could ever have a kid! Um, forget I said anything.
Living arrangement: Between jail time and rehab, I usually live behind a liquor store.
Most admired trait(s): None that I can think of.
Number of sexual partners: Again, none that I can think of.
Overnight hospital stays: None. I fix my own problems. Like, one time, I broke my thumb, so I watched a bunch of old martial arts movies and learned how to pop the bone back into place. I guess I did it wrong, though, because now, on my right hand, I have two thumbs.
Phobia: My greatest fear is that, one day, all the crappy songs I hear at work – like Dirty Little Secret by All-American Assholes, or whatever they’re called – will grow on me until I actually like them … Fuck, that’ll never happen: I have good taste.
Quote(s): “The best defense against usurpatory government is an assertive citizenry.”
– William F. Buckley Jr.
“What’s the story with your face, son?”
– Jimmy James (if you get this reference, you get five cool points)
Religion: Does alcoholism count as a religion if you worship an empty bottle of Evan Williams wiskey with a picture of Jim Varney on top of it?
Siblings: One younger brother. But he looks older than me, and people actually like him.
Time I wake up: Depends on what day it is and how much alcohol I drank the night before.
Unusual talent/skill: I totally know all my ABCs, and I can almost count to 100.
Vegetable I refuse to eat: Aborted fetuses.
Worst habit: Being prefect in every way and never making misstakes.
X-Rays: Once, at the dentist’s when I got x-rays, they forgot to put the lead bib on me, so I grew a third head and jumped out of the window.
Yummy foods I make: The only thing I can make is a shot of whiskey. And for the record, I would never call anything “yummy.”
Zodiac sign:
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