Friday, August 17, 2007

To Answer Stupid Questions and Bid a Fond Farewell

It’s a well-known fact that I have an encyclopedic knowledge of painfully useless crap (for example, SPAM is made from ground pork shoulder, not porcine rectal tumors and gelatinized chicken sperm as some people have suggested). My capacity for asinine information and brilliant problem-solving abilities are so well known that I sometimes get random e-mails from people, asking me stupid questions. Since I’m really busy preparing to move across the state for a job and have no time to write something new, I figured I would share a few stupid questions I’ve received, along with my cordial responses. One thing I don’t know, however, is why all these slack-jawed, mouth-breathing retards keep e-mailing me their questions when they could just as easily look this shit up for themselves online. I don’t want to enable people to continue being lazy, but it’s just my nature to help others.

Dude, what’s the deal with Chairman Kaga from Iron Chef? Is he, like, a real guy, or just acting and shit?

Jack M. Duly


Yes, Chairman Kaga is a real guy. He became a Japanese celebrity when his Elton John impersonation and lipsynced musical act was featured on the variety show Super Lucky Happy Fun Time Smiling Sparkling Go-Go Bonanza. This moderate amount of fame led Kaga to become the ultra-cool spokesperson for the “Bedazzler” in Japan. His amazing, sparkly outfits helped increase the Bedazzler’s sales in Tokyo by 3000%. Seeking further artistic freedom, he resigned as spokesperson and was replaced by an effeminate bulimic man in a raccoon costume. This gave Kaga the time to become Japan’s number one Liberace impersonator, which is how he made the bulk of his massive fortune.

At the height of his success, he was so wealthy he had a home custom built for him on the top of Mt. Fuji. This home is legendary for having its own bank (dubbed “Rotta Money Kaga Roomaru Bring-Bring Banku Desu” by the media in Japan). This life of solitude and insufficient flamboyance prompted Kaga to build Kitchen Stadium and start the magnificent television show, Iron Chef. The rest, as the cliché goes, is history.

Unfortunately, when Iron Chef ended in Japan, it was due to Kaga’s liver--rich and bloated after 300-plus episodes of eating fancy food on the show--being mistaken for the theme ingredient and cooked into a three-course French meal by Iron Chef Sakai on the final unaired episode of the show, not diminished ratings.

Kaga’s legacy has been carried on by his nephew on Iron Chef America. On this new version of the show, Kaga’s nephew (who is only one-sixteenth Japanese and previously stared in the big-budget Hollywood hit movie, Double Dragon) honors his uncle by eating a bunch of rich food and backflipping around like a ninja squirrel on amphetamines.

Mr. Mordread Lycanthrope,

Someone told me one time that alcohol played an important part of history. You seem to drink a lot, so is that true? The history thing I mean. Thanks.

Skippy Putnam

Well, first of all, alcohol has played an important role in my personal history. Ever since my dad got a sexy nurse to put Manischewitz wine on my freshly circumcised baby pecker, alcohol has been my guide on the road to badass. When I was teething, my mother put bourbon in my bottle to shut me up—that’s when I grew my first chest hair. I learned how to drink heavily in junior high, and by my first year of high school, I was guzzling American whiskey and beating up the football team. In fact, if it weren’t for alcohol, I never would have gotten drunk enough to kick my drunken father’s ass. (Editor’s Note: This happened shortly before Morb’s father burned the house down trying to sear his cheating wife’s lady lunchmeat [see: vagina] shut with a superheated machete blade.)

Secondly, people around the world have been drinking various kinds of booze for thousands of years. It goes without saying that the consumption of alcohol has changed history countless times. For example, the Great Pyramid was supposed to be a cube, but the architect got all messed up on Nile Bill’s Wild-Crocodile Brew and screwed up the blueprints; this led to the creation of one of mankind’s greatest architectural achievements.

Alcohol has always been at least partially responsible for men standing up, throwing caution to the wind, and accomplishing great things. I believe it was George Washington who, after polishing off his sixth mug of ale, said, “Buuuurrrrrpppp! Hey, guys! England’s being a dick, let’s kick his ass!” He then sketched out a crude drawing of his butt and sent it to the king of England, starting the American War of Independence.

If my neighbor Scooter hadn’t gotten so drunk on cigarette-butt-filtered Jacuzzi gin, he never would have tried to blow out the fire his meth lab started when it exploded (R.I.P. Scooter). And if it weren’t for alcohol, Bill Fool never would have attempted to take a piss on Lars Ulrich from Metallica at a bar in Houston. Anyway, that’s the short answer. If you want a more in-depth response, send a case of Evan Williams Kentucky Whiskey to my cave, and pray that I don’t get drunk and try to kick your ass for asking questions in a lispy, nancy-boy voice.

Hey asshole! I think ur the guy that fucked up my car. Was it you? What the hell u fuckin prick?

Name Withheld

It wasn’t me, dude. Why would I run around in the middle of the night, wearing a ninja costume with a superman cape, kicking in people’s windshields, and leaving animal carcasses piled up in the passenger seats? That’s just not something I would do. I also wouldn’t drop my lucky Hello Kitty cigarette lighter in your backseat when I wasn’t throwing up in one of your cup holders. Incidentally, I’d be willing to take any Hello Kitty cigarette lighters you may have found on your property.

Hiya Morb,

My parents are making me see a shrink because I keep teabagging the cat. I’m nervous about it. What happens to you when you see a shrink?

Love,
Timmy Sanchez VIII

Basically, you have to lay on a couch like a gay Roman while some jackass in a tweed vest draws pictures of you naked on his legal pad. I had a psychology class in college, and, yes, that’s all shrinks actually do.

Hey, Morb, tell him that psychologists and psychiatrists can help you face your problems. Tell him that they’re just there to help you in any way they can, without judging you.

Shut the fuck up, Magnanimous Misanthrope, you wuss.

But, Morb, Timmy has reached out to you. The least you could do is reassure him a little.

I’m not here to make timid little perverts feel better about getting brainraped by educated perverts because their parents are tired of paying to abort the housecat’s human/feline-hybrids. And what the hell are you even doing here? I thought Murderous Misanthrope cut your guts out with a butterfly knife.

He did, and it really hurt. But Miraculous Misanthrope brought me back.

That holier-than-thou douchebag brought you back again? Jeez, I will be so thrilled when I figure out a way to get rid of all you idiots.

Hi y’all

I done everything I could to get attention. I shaved my head, had some kids, did some stupid shit with those kids, flashed my vadge a few times, et al y’all. No one cares any more tho. What can I do to get people to pay attention to me forever y’all?

xxxooo
B.S.

I tell you the same goddamn thing every time you send me this question.

There you have it, folks. I may not be as wise as King Solomon or Al Bundy, but I think I did alright answering those questions anyway.

As I mentioned earlier, I’m in the process of relocating in order to take a sweet new job. Since I have to start the job before I'm able to find a place to live, I’ll be staying in a motel for a few weeks. It’s not the fanciest motel, but they’re giving me a really good deal because I’m the first person ever to stay there without paying by the hour. That reminds me, I better cover that room in, like, three layers of plastic tarp. I’ll probably be blogging even less than usual, but I’ll be back once I’m living in a place with an internet connection instead of a heart-shaped bed and matching Spanish Fly dispenser.

Also, since I’ve lived in San Diego all my life, moving 500 miles away makes me feel a little sentimental (until I remember how much I hate every person in this town). Throughout history, people have commemorated such journeys by breaking champagne bottles on ships and reciting poetry that someone else wrote. I don’t care much for poetry, and the boat I bought from a crackhead for three dollars caught on fire the other night. I will now end this, the final post from my hometown, with a completely unrelated, translated haiku by the totally awesome Japanese poet Basho.

O bush warblers!
Now you’ve shit all over
my rice cake on the porch

13 comments:

badgerbob said...

You know you fucked up my car! Why don't you just admit it?

morbid misanthrope said...

badgerbob -- Dude, it was a piss-yellow Ford Probe with a twenty-dollar body kit. That car was fucked up before I got there.

NewYorkMoments said...

So, what you're saying is that Chairman Kaga is a huge fucking Woofter?

Prunella Jones said...

Did you get my email? I sent you the biggest secret from Oprah's "The Secret." It should come in handy for your sweet new job.

badgerbob said...

It' piss yellow, because Willow made a habit of pissing on it, every time she slithered by. Hsssss!
And what's wrong with a Ford?(Found on road dead)

If there is even the slightest hint that you may be an Oprah fan, well.... enough said?
She has made a multi-billion dollar industry, playing mindfuck games with housewives, who thought they had it pretty good, until she told them otherwise.
She ranks right up there with that other weasil, Rosie, and her loyal following of Ro-bots.

morbid misanthrope said...

newyorkmoments -- If by "woofter" you mean homosexual, then, no. Kaga was quite the ladies' man in his day. After scoring with countless hot women from all corners of the globe, he settled down with the top spokesmodel for Todo, the maker of those fancy Japanese toilets. They lived happily together for many years with their adopted Jewish daughter, Sarah. After Sarah turned 16, however, Kaga announced to the media that they were lovers. Everything eventually worked out ok just like it did for Woody Allen's family.

prunella jones -- Thanks for the thought, Pru, but my e-mail automatically filters out anything Oprah-related. I don't know what Oprah's big secret is, but I doubt it could help me with my new job.

I'm now working as an ad designer/advertorial writer/ninja hitman for a newspaper. They thought I was kidding when I listed "stealthy assassin with a thirst for blood and cruelty" to the skills section of my resume, so it's a good thing the HR department discovered I really am a ninja for hire when they did my background check or I'd be making a lot less money and they would never have given me the key to the building's industrial-sized trash compactor (you know, for getting rid of corpses).

I start Monday, and my first assignment is to "get rid of" a rival publication's ad sales team. Wish me luck.

badgerbob -- Well, in that case, I can understand why your car is the color it is. What I don't understand, though, is why you have a six-foot-tall balsa-wood spoiler taped to the car's trunk? Have you been street racing ten-year-old skaters for pink slips or something?

I agree with you completely about Oprah and Rosie. Someone really ought to put those two in a sack and huck them into a river. Or better yet, decapitate them in order to steal their ancient, evil lifeforces.

Beefcake Almighty said...

On the next Iron Chef, Chairman Kaga will be the secret ingredient.

Prunella Jones said...

Oh okay, now I understand why my email was returned. I guess it's just as well, as I had mistakenly included several nude pictures of myself that were meant to go to ratemyrack.com.

I don't need to wish you luck as you already have mad nunchuck and bowhunting skills, which are stastically proven to be 8% better than mere luck.

morbid misanthrope said...

beefcake almighty -- I think the next secret ingredient will actually be fermented duck tumors. I hear they're delicious once you get past their taste.

prunella jones -- I don’t know what kind of hairstyle you’re rocking right now, but if you happen to have a mullet, you could kill two birds with one stone and send those pictures to ratemysweetmulletandalsomybarechestwhileyouareatit.com. It’s not as popular as ratemyrack.com, but the people who frequent that site understand there is more to a woman than her “rack.” They also “love the hell outta’ that there sassy mullet action,” according to the website’s owner, Jerry “Jim-Jim” Cheddarwood.

I do ok with a bow and ‘chucks, but my preferred weapon is anything really pointy and jagged. I often use weapons that are so dangerous they’re not even safe to hold. For example, I have a six-bladed machete with a handle made out of knife blades I glued together and pounded a bunch of rusty nails through. All that danger is really unnecessary, but I really love my work (and if I get three more Tetanus shots this month, I'll get a free travel-sized bottle of Brut from the hospital gift shop).

neko said...

japanese poetry rox..

except.. that haiku's format is all wrong..

probly the translation.

BD said...

I can see the likeness to Elton John there...

Plus, Brut is masculinity in its purest bottled form - splashing some behind my ears makes me want to put on tight stonewash jeans, a pressed white vest and a leather jacket. I bet that's what the Hoff wears...

Zoning Out Again said...

Damn it! I'm always late.
Thanks to a conversation I was having with Captain S, I'd been meaning to get over here and check you out.
NOW YOU'RE LEAVING! Hmf!
Well I suppose by the time I get caught up on my reading here,
you may be back and blogging again.
As a fellow ex-San Diegan now transplanted in NY, take my advice and DON'T RENT A BUDGET TRUCK to move to where ever it is that you're moving to unless it's only an hour away.

I still have to write a post about how we rented a truck to move to NY, broke down in every state, almost lost our lives in a Tennessee ghetto, my husband cried 2ce, set his hair on fire, (just for a few minutes though), we were almost evicted from our rental into a hotel parking lot during one of the hottest days in August and then broke down a few more times before we made it home.
So.....Don't rent a moving truck.

morbid misanthrope said...

neko -- Yes, it's the translation that threw off the whole haiku 5/7/5 format. I could have posted it in the original Japanese, but then only Japanese-speaking people could have read it. Basho kicks ass, even in English.

bd -- The only thing manlier than Brut is possibly Old Spice after it's had time to age in an old bottle of Colt 45. That's pretty damn manly—especially when you apply it by drinking enough of it so that its odor oozes out of your pores.

zoning out again -- Thanks for the tip. I won't be moving across the country like you did. I just moved about 500 miles upstate. I won't be using a moving truck, either. I've attached everything I own to courier pigeons—furniture and all. On a predetermined date, one of my ninja associates in San Diego will release the pigeons, and they will fly to my new apartment with all of my stuff in tow. I just hope my ninja associate remembers to feed the winged bastards until it’s time to let them go.

Anyway, thanks for stopping by. I’ll be back to posting semi-regularly once I get into my new apartment and have a real computer again. The laptop I’m using in this motel room is really old and powered by lamp oil from the 1800s. Needless to say, the thing barely runs fast enough to get online, which makes posting anything rather difficult. Also, if I stop killing the hordes of invading roaches long enough to post something new, I probably won’t survive another night here.