An Interview with Rosie

Max Bojo, Associated Press

Rosie O’Donnell is famous for many things: having a voice grating enough to make even Fran Drescher suck a bullet out of a gun barrel; the ability to strip the meat off a roasted camel leg in one slobbery, toothy, obstreperous bite; sexually stimulating only the most self-loathing, most horrifyingly masculine, suicidal bulldykes; and having an understanding of complicated social and political issues which rivals that of history’s greatest minds. Yes, Rosie is a quite a woman (technically).

Due to her outrageous feud with “The Donald” and various incendiary comments she’s made on television’s most intellectual show, The View, Rosie has been all over the news. Rosie’s tumescent face has been on television so often as of late, the national revulsion rate has increased by thirty-eight percent. In fact, one disgusted viewer polled said, “If I had a penny for every time I seen that sow on TV in the last month, I’d be able to pay a limousine driver to run me over. To, you know, get her fuckin’ image outta’ my head.” Love her or hate her, Rosie isn’t going anywhere (without the help of a flatbed truck, anyway).

Rosie O’Donnell’s recent comments regarding terrorist leader/butcher/tick bait, Khalid Sheikh Mohammed, have angered sensible people everywhere (fortunately for Rosie’s career, sensible people generally avoid The View like Democratic presidential candidates avoid debates on Fox News). On the other hand, people without the common sense necessary to keep them from ingesting their own waste don’t know what all the fuss is about. In fact, many of these people actually claim they learned something from Rosie.

“Well, I was at home, and I had accidentally started eating my own poop again, when all of a sudden, The View came on. Rosie and the gals—that’s what I call them because I feel like I know them—were talking about this guy named Kally Momed and how the government imprisoned him for no reason at that compound by Guam Bay. It’s really terrible what they did to the poor man. They made him wear a funny hat or something, and, well, you should see his picture. He’s all dirty and hairy. If it weren’t for Rosie and the gals, I just wouldn’t be aware of the world around me. Ooops, I’m eating poop again! Oh well—at least I’m recycling!”

Rosie O’Donnell has once again proven to be nothing if not polarizing (and, physiologically speaking, two-fifths pork gravy). As an important and well-regarded member of the press, I was able to meet with Rosie in her dressing room on the set of The View to get some answers from her.

As I entered the doorway leading to Rosie’s dressing room, her assistant gave me gas mask. I began to ask her what it was for, but before I could finish three words I began to gag. The smell emanating from Rosie’s dark dressing room was reminiscent of what a ranch for cattle with leprosy might smell like if it were bombed with overstuffed toilets from a Tijuana Taco Bell. As a hot blast of reeking air blasted past my newly protected face, I could hear Rosie guffawing violently, obviously very entertained by and enamored with her own flatulence. As I entered the room, she noticed me and waved me over, spitting what looked like a warthog skeleton on the floor.

Max Bojo: Good afternoon, Rosie. I’m here to ask you about some of the comments you made recently about Khalid Sheikh Mohammed.

Rosie O’Donnell: Oh yeah. Another victim of President Bush’s torture squad. I suppose all those filthy conservatives are mad that I shed some light on their evil plans.

MB: Actually, many people, not just conservatives, are rather upset that you are sympathetic to Khalid Sheikh Mohammed (KSM), the man who helped plan the 9/11 attacks and personally beheaded Daniel Pearl.

RO’D: First of all, KSM only admitted those things because our government tortured him.

MB: So you’re saying KSM is completely innocent?

RO’D: I’m saying our government tortured him to get him to admit he did things our government is responsible for. Our government blew up the towers. Duh!

MB: Wow, there is so much wrong with that statement, I don’t even know where to begin. Um … my head sort of hurts right now. Sorry. How do you explain this quote from KSM, then?

“I decapitated with my blessed right hand the head of the American Jew, Daniel Pearl, in the city of Karachi, Pakistan. For those who would like to confirm it, there are pictures of me on the Internet holding his head.”

RO’D: Torture, obviously.

MB: But the pictures KSM described exist.

RO’D: More government trickery. I mean, there are pictures supposedly of me on the internet with an entire raw horse’s head in my mouth.

MB: Those are real, though. In fact, before this interview you sent me an autographed copy of one of those pictures.

RO’D: Well, goddammit, just because you call a man a terrorist he’s no longer human? That gives the government the right to torture him all they want? Have you seen the picture of KSM, all disheveled and ragged? That is evidence of torture.

MB: Surely you’re aware that picture is nearly four years old and was taken when our troops captured KSM—not a recent photo taken of him after he was “tortured.”

RO’D: The Government is evil! Bush is evil! 9/11 was an inside job perpetrated by our government and the Jews that control the entire country! I’m so depressed about Columbine that I have to take antidepressants and hang upside down just to keep the sorrow at bay! Donald trump can suck my black dick! Christians are evil! Allahu-fucking-akbar! I’m three times the woman Nathan Lane is!

At this point of the interview, Rosie’s assistants entered the room and began pouring buckets of iced fish in Rosie’s mouth and brushing her tongue with a large brush. While Rosie couldn’t say much right then, her gesturing made it quite clear that our interview was over.

Random Shit Pissing Me Off

New Shows on Adult Swim
I was a loyal Adult Swim viewer until shows like Tom Goes to the Mayor started stinking up the AS lineup. The awful shows AS continued to air and debut were numerous and more disappointing than a BJ from a hooker with cottonmouth (so I’ve been told). For example, The Boondocks, 12 oz. Mouse, Squidbillies, and Moral Orel: These shows are so bad, when I first saw them they made me doubt the existence of a divine being. Countless times throughout the centuries, philosophers have asked “If there is a god, how can he let such terrible things happen?” Usually because it’s funny. This time, though, it wasn’t funny. These shows stunk more than a ten-year-old trunk full of used porno magazines in a hobo encampment.

As with everything else in life, things just got worse. AS’s latest batch of shit cookies—i.e., new shows—are possibly the worst yet.

Tim and Eric of Tom Goes to the Mayor infamy return with Tim and Eric Awesome Show Great Job. Who the fuck keeps giving these assholes TV shows? Tim and Eric suck harder than a desperate junky trying to fellate a fix out of Kurt Cobain’s corpse. And, as always, anyone who doesn’t like the show just “doesn’t get it.” Bullshit. The show is an insult to anyone with a sense of humor. Although, if I ever have a shaman high on jungle drugs remove a large portion of brain through my nose with a chicken bone, I’m sure I’ll suddenly think the show is hilarious. At that point, I just hope I’m able to laugh like an imbecile without drowning in my own drool.

Saul of the Mole Men is a new show about as appealing as a fat baby with pinkeye. Overall plot: A boneheaded, mustachioed, Midwestern geologist ends up at the center of the earth (or something). He walks around for a while. There’s a queer Brit with a tambourine in there somewhere. The geologist fucks around with some retarded muppets. The viewer feels like a schmuck for watching and contemplates sending a box of dog turds to Adult Swim headquarters for revenge.

Assy McGee is about a talking ass that is also a cop…. Watching this show will give you Down Syndrome.

X-Treme Products/Marketing for Kids
“Hey, kids! Look at the sick packaging on our latest product! We used so many bright colors it could give a colorblind dyslexic a goddamn seizure! Can you read the text we used? Shit yeah, you can! It’s so big even a dumb kid like you can read it! Sound it out, stupid! Now get on your radical skateboard and ollie like a motherfucker over your baby brother! Hey! You know what’s really cool? Sucking the shit out of an electric eel’s ass! Hey! You know what else? If you eat food that can’t be crammed down your throat hole on the go, you’re obviously a little faggot on his way to fat-ass town! Now, squeeze the yogurt out of this tube, put on the latest Kidz Bop CD to hear the ‘kid friendly’ version of your favorite Good Charlotte song, and tempt fate by streaking through public restrooms in bad areas of town! Extreme! Killer, bro!”

Anna Nicole Smith-Related “News”
Am I the only one that finds it just a bit ironic—or stupid, I’m not quite sure which—that more people want Anna Nicole Smith’s body now that she’s dead? Sure, her life was like three train wrecks getting blown up by a dirty bomb, but I still don’t care what they do with her corpse. They could trebuchet the motherfucker into the ocean and it wouldn’t change my life in any conceivable way. I’ll just be glad when the E! network is the only channel covering the aftermath of Anna Nicole’s passing, and all trials related to her are consigned to special episodes of The People’s Court.

Britney Spears
It’s obvious she shaved her head so her hair couldn’t be tested for traces of drugs she smoked out of a round, glass pipe, but if she wanted more attention, she should have just posed naked for something. You know, do some classy pictorials to make up for her low-brow beaver flashing. Trailer Trash Ass magazine probably would have featured her. It’s no Playboy or anything, but it did wonders for the career of Missy Burke. Missy was a poor girl from a poor family in Alabama, but after she posed for Trailer Trash Ass, her confidence was boosted so much she finally had the guts to start stripping. She was a smash hit and made enough money to trade up from a meth addiction to a classy cocaine addiction. She then had a number of operations to fix her many physical flaws. After some additional dental work and a lot of recovery time, Missy was ready for Hollywood. She auditioned for every role in Hollywood. She did a few “art films” and then had to take some time off to let her jaw heal after an embarrassing accident during a casting session. Shortly thereafter she was picked to star in a little movie by the name of Fast Times in Ridgemont High. That movie launched her illustrious Hollywood career. Of course, now you know her by her new name: Sean Penn.

(Insert Ethnicity Here) Time
I’ve heard myriad tardy-due-to-ethnicity excuses in my day: people on Brazilian time, Indian time, Filipino time, Mexican time, Pygmy time, Hobbit time, etc. Here’s an example:

Me: “Dude, why are you so late?”
Person in Alternate Time Zone: “I’m not late. I’m on Mexican time.”

That’s really cute and all well and good, but I’m on white time, i.e., on time (because, apparently, we crackers don’t know any better). I’m sick of showing up to events unusually early because I was unaware the host expected everyone attending to be running on Inca time or some shit. Unbeknownst to me, the last event I attended was scheduled in Mongol time; I was so early, they hadn’t even tuned the Morin Khurrs and the Airag wasn’t fully fermented. I looked like such an ass.

So for fuck’s sake, on the invitation specify which time we’re going by so I can synchronize my watch with the sundial on the Temple of the Sun in Machu Picchu … or wherever these ethnically esoteric time zones have their origin.

Who am I kidding? I never get invited to shit, so this really isn’t a problem for me.

Reggae
I swear to Odin, the next time I hear the lyrics “legalize it” accompanied by repetitive, wah-pedal-tinged guitar strumming, I’m punching an irie motherfucker in the throat.

The Academy Awards
Wow, a bunch of pea-brained celebrities blowing ego loads all over each other. It’s even worse than all of those geriatric orgies Susan Sarandon throws in the bushes by the big Hollywood sign on Mt. Lee.

Crappy Cell Phone Ringtones
When I worked at ****** & ****** Magazine one of the ad sales girls had a ringtone of a baby laughing. Who the fuck intentionally picks a ringtone of a baby laughing? That’s creepy as hell. This particular girl would often leave the office for long periods of time and forget her cell phone. So every time one of her equally stupid friends would call her at work to talk about how many teachers they had to fuck to get through high school, it sounded like someone was tickling an infant in the other room. Not that I advocate violence against women, but I wouldn’t have been upset if someone crammed that cell phone up the bitch’s uterus and kicked her out a window.

Kick Ass Friday Videos

These videos aren't new, but I saw them for the first time recently. This guy takes songs (usually songs he hates) and rewrites the lyrics to what they sound like, pairing them up with fitting imagery. It's one of the funniest things I've ever seen.
He has several more on his YouTube profile, but I just picked my two favorite…

For a band and song that suck:



(Trivium does suck. Opeth, on the other hand, kicks ass.)

For a band and song that kick ass:

Surprise, Surprise

If you're more perceptive than a sun-damaged garden hose, you called this shit. I know I did.

UPDATE

"Hell Yeah, Bitches!"

(Make sure to watch this video with sound.)

The Superbowl is Stupid

Shit, football is stupid all on its own. Then some moron came up with the idea to give football a special day for everyone to revel in all of its pointless, ass-slapping anti-action. Every time something happens on the field, they stop the game. It’s like watching a severe narcoleptic strangling a baby seal. Even the athletes know football is stupid; it’s just something they do when they’re not taking drugs and slapping around their girlfriends. About the only good thing about football is that it confuses foreigners who think football is another word for soccer. So while the rest of the country is whipped into a foamy frenzy during the Superbowl, for the players involved it’s just another work day full of plenty of ball handling and homoerotic poses, tackles, and celebratory jock strap sniffing.

Even though I hate the Superbowl, I must admit it is good for the economy. Every year, multitudes of excited football fans buy big-screen, high-def televisions for the big game. Unfortunately, to pay for these unnecessarily large TVs, superfans usually end up whoring their children to the clergy. “Sorry, son. Best Buy has a shitty return policy, so you’ll be spending some time camping with Father Smith.”

Superbowl Sunday is also the biggest day of the year for pizza delivery and strippers, proving once again that nothing goes better with greasy food than greasy women. Although I imagine it might be hard to watch the game while the gyrating piece of damaged goods tells you about how her stepfather took her virginity when she was 12. Remember, gents, playing connect the dots with the striper’s trail marks costs extra. Speaking of greasy strippers, I’m just thrilled to hear that Paris Hilton has herpes. There is a God after all.

A lot of people like to bet on which team will win the Superbowl. If you’re planning on making some bets, go with a sure thing: the Superbowl sucks and I hate it. And don’t give me any shit about only watching it for the advertisements. I’m in the ad biz and even I don’t give a shit about the commercials. A 30-second spot during the Superbowl costs over 2 million dollars. Do you really think any commercial can live up to that? I love funny monkeys too, but is any monkey truly 2.6 million dollars funny? Not even that one on the internet that pisses in its own mouth. “Oh, but this year Kevin Federline will be in a commercial!” Fuck K-Fed. Unless they’re shooting the son of a bitch full of poisonous cancer I’m not watching.

And until they start executing criminals with wild apes wielding chainsaws during the halftime show, that’s a waste of time too.

This year I’ll be watching something a million times better than the Superbowl: the neighborhood retard chasing his imaginary tail in circles for six hours. Every time he gets dizzy and throws up I toss breadcrumbs at him. That makes him quack like a duck and struggle with his leash until he remembers he has a tail to catch.

Fun with Anime Catch Phrases: Naruto

Another Article of Interest

More of the Same: Outrage in the Muslim Community
By Max Bojo, Associated Press

Not long ago, more controversy erupted as a group of Muslims were not permitted on an international flight because they were late. The Muslims, as they are prone to doing, claimed they were kept off the flight due to religious discrimination.

“It’s another clear-cut case of attempting to ‘fly while Muslim.’ Well I’ll tell you something: I’m furious! This discrimination makes me so mad I could cut the heads off the airline infidels, shove bombs down their necks, and praise Allah as they are blown to bits!” said one of the grounded Muslims shortly before he popped Islamic wood and ran around in circles screaming “Allahu Akbar.”

Although Muslims and Muslim groups everywhere are crying foul, airline officials insist that they were just following airline protocol for late passengers attempting to board an international flight. We spoke to one of the airline officials present when the incident occurred. He wished to remain anonymous.

“It’s a very simple matter. We require all passengers of international flights to be present one hour before takeoff. These Muslim jokers showed up, like, twenty minutes before takeoff demanding to be let on board before anyone even told them they were late. It was like they showed up outraged. Then they start bitching about discrimination. God, it was incessant. They didn’t let up for one second, even when I pointed to a couple of drunken businessmen who weren’t allowed on the plane either. They never said why they were late, but I think it was because it took them longer than they planned to sneak their bombs through security. Wait! I didn’t say that! Shit….”

Due to pressure from such Muslim groups as CAIR (Crazy Arabs Inciting Riots), the airline has since issued an apology and caved in to Muslim demands. Not only will the grounded Muslims fly free for a year, but several airline employees will have to lick a sacred Islamic camel’s nuts in order to make their tongues halal so they can speak to Muslims without insulting them. CAIR founder Bosama bin Baden is encouraged by this victory and is urging Muslims everywhere to fight discrimination the same way the grounded Muslims did. Needless to say, Muslims everywhere are now brutally fighting discrimination.

In Palo Alto, California, Abu Hibjab sued a McDonald’s for discrimination after employees refused to serve him breakfast at 3:23 pm. The court awarded him 3.6 million dollars. When asked what he was going to do with his winnings, he said “I’m going to flight school!”

A group of Muslims in North Carolina are suing Home Depot for discrimination because when they attempted to enter the store well after midnight, they were kept outside by locked doors.

“The lights were off and the doors were locked. It’s obvious the store’s employees saw us coming and closed because we were Muslims!” said alleged discrimination victim Tariq al Karzai. “All we wanted was a few bags of fertilizer, some gasoline, maybe a few gallons of pesticide, and some propane, but those bigots kept us out. I think we will be vindicated in court. Praise Allah for the American legal system.”

All over the country Muslims are now actively and relentlessly fighting discrimination no matter how imaginary it may be. From the Muslim in Texas suing his cell phone company for charging him more during peak hours to the Imam in Maine suing his cable provider for charging him for pay-per-view porn, American Muslims will no longer be discriminated against.

Sorry for the Wait

Morbid Misanthrope had a serious health problem—probably having something to do with a ninja attack—and has been in the hospital since December 28th. He almost died (seriously) but is now out of the hospital continuing his recovery. When he is well enough he will continue posting whenever he gets a chance. We apologize for the holdup. Thank you for your patience.

--The Management

Merry Christmas

Way to Go, Bonaduce. Kick Ass.

Perhaps the funniest thing about these anti-American government wingnuts is that they’re so paranoid, full of shit, and unhinged they even mistrust people from their own ranks. For example, if you search google video for “Danny Bonaduce,” another version of this video comes up, created by some other crazed conspiracy rimjob, claiming:

John Conner is obnoxiously rude, and hinders the propagation of truth; I believe intentionally. He’s promoting mind controlling Christianity, promoting one of the worst 911 documentaries, and perpetuating the stereotypical image of a whack-job conspiracy theorist.

Riiiggghhhtt…. And you’re not adding to the problem by espousing even more far-fetched beliefs. (By the way, this guy’s website—www.opposingdigits.com—has interesting topics such as “The Holohoax,” “Master List of Jewish Influence,” and “David Duke on the Holocaust Conference CNN.” Need I really explain why these people are screwballs?)

How do you fucktards get your ideas? I swear there’s a conspiracy nut somewhere in the country right now with his head in the microwave, his dick in a jar of chunky peanut better, and his greasy thumb jammed up his ass dreaming up the latest clusterfuck of an anti-Bush, anti-America, anti-Jew conspiracy theory. I hope these lunatics bleed to death trying to cut off their own fingerprints or have some sort of electrical accident involving a tinfoil condom and a light socket.

Rest Stop, EXPLAINED!

I saw the movie Rest Stop a few weeks ago. It was pretty cool and kind of weird, so I decided to hit up the ol' http://www.imdb.com/ to see what other people were saying about it. Unsurprisingly, many people were rather flummoxed by the movie. At any rate, I did my good deed for the day and explained the possible meanings of the movie and some symbology hidden in the film to the folks on the imdb message boards. Hopefully this will help some of the confused. I would like to complain, however, that imdb censors profanity on their boards. What kind of bullshit juvenile nonsense is that?

Spoilers Ahead

So who was KZL?
By goodrem-delta

Of all the theories:

1. she was dreaming
2. it was the ranger
3. it was the mobile home old man that proclaimed the angel of death

who was it?

soo confused

what a random movie, im currently planning a horror movie night and this is definitly in the no pile. altho we might watch it drunk, that wud make a whole lotta sense to see it then lol

thx

So who was KZL?
By morbid_misanthrope

In the DVD extras, there's a clip of the father of the religious freakshow burying the trucker, talking about taking that secret to the grave. There's also a scene where the trucker kills the religious family while they enjoy a picnic (the fucked up midget with the camera seems to be spared). Of course, there was also a scene of the twins jerking off in a dark room, so who knows what the hell any of this clusterfuck of a movie is supposed to mean. Here are a few possibilities:

1.) KZL 303 was the trucker's license plate number because KILL666 was already taken by Glen Benton from Deicide.

2.) The identity of the trucker is none other than Azazel, the fallen angel of iniquity, over-aggressive driving, and plot holes (which, interestingly, he can drive his truck through).

3.) Everyone in the entire movie was really just dead and fucking around the whole time--even the cameraman was dead, as were the director, writer, three producers, and the key grip guy who kept making "grip my dick" jokes during production.

4.) The whiskey the girl was drinking in the ranger station was 31% pee.

5.) O.J. Simpson says he totally had nothing to do with the killing, but he has a few suggestions for the trucker.

6.) The whole point of the movie was to make Christians from the South look bad by exaggerating stereotypes. The director felt it was a little too obviously a jab at religious types, so he added the trucker, the girl, her boyfriend, and Joey Lawrence. He also deleted a scene where the family whips each other with handfuls of rattlesnakes while Mel Gibson's "Passion of the Christ" plays from a projector.

Anyway, I'm no expert, but I believe I was drunk enough while watching this movie to catch all the hints the director left to reveal the terrible truths in the film. If none of those explanations work for you, feel free to consider the whole movie one long advertisement for Southwest Airlines. "Southwest Airlines: If you would have flown with us, that crazy bastard in the yellow truck wouldn't have stuck a drill in your leg and cut your tongue out."

A Statement from One of the Followers of the Religion of Peace

From www.abcnews.go.com:

Dec. 8, 2006 — ABC News has learned a Chicago-area man has been charged with plotting a terrorist attack at a Rockford mall during the holiday shopping season.

Derrick Shareef, of Rockford, Ill was arrested Wednesday by the Joint Terrorism Task Force when he met an undercover agent to trade hand grenades and a 9-millimeter handgun for a set of stereo speakers.

Shareef is accused of planning to use firearms and explosives to attack the CherryVale shopping mall in Rockford. The alleged plan was to target the 130-store mall on the Friday before Christmas.

In September, Shareef became acquainted with a confidential witness who was cooperating with the FBI and confided to him that he wanted to commit acts of violent jihad against civilians.

On December 2, Shareef and the confidential source made video tapes of their last wills and testament.

On the video, Shareef again mentions jihad and says, "This is a warning to those who disbelieve, that we are here for you and I am ready to give my life."

From Shareef’s affidavit (from www.michellemalkin.com):

7. A few minutes after SHAREEF and the CS discussed shaving their body hair and meditating, SHAREEF stated: “I’m ready, man, these kafirs [a term translated as “infidel”] don’t give a damn about us, niggers don’t care what happens to the Umma [an Arabic word meaning community or nation that is commonly used to mean the collective nation of Islamic states], about sisters getting raped, about brothers losing their (UI). They don’t care, man. All they care about is (UI)… I probably would have eventually ended up just stabbing the shit out of some Jews or something. Just stabbing them niggers with a steak knife. Dude, I ain’t gonna lie. Because during that war with Hezbolla, man, I had already started to look at synagogues out here in the DeKalb area and everything. I was looking at synagogues, I was doing mapquest…. One of them was down the block from the masjid [mosque], I knew they do their thing on Saturdays, right. I was like, I’m gonna lay low out here, I’m gonna camp out overnight, be out there on Friday night after jumma [Friday prayer] or Saturday morning about 12:00 or 1:00 o’clock. I be there. And as soon as I see them fools going in the building, I had planned on trying to grab one, depending on how it was, niggers trying to run in the building all at once and open up shop, I was just going to go over there and shank one or two of them.” A few minutes later, SHAREEF stated: “They definitely gonna know that this shit ain’t over and they not as safe as they thought.”

Wow. Somebody get this guy a Nobel Peace Prize.

Just for the Halibut

I just saw a commercial for Britney Spears perfume. Because of the recent underoo-free pictures of Britney, I have decided not to make any obvious jokes about the perfume or what it might smell like … I’ll just suggest that retailers stock it in the seafood section.

Sweet Mental Powers

I’ve posited previously that my life would be vastly more enjoyable if I had the power to make people’s hearts explode with crazy mind powers. To that I would like to add that it would be pretty sweet if I could make people catch on fire with thought. And while I’m at it, I’d give myself the power to give people cancer shaped like ninja stars. Why the fuck not? Presumably, if I possessed one supernatural power, many others would also be possible. At any rate, I wish I had those powers. It’d be like “Damn. The liquor store is full of illegal aliens cashing their checks; it’ll take, like, twenty minutes to buy my whiskey. I don’t want to wait that long to get drunk. Oh, wait a minute, I can move to the front of line because everyone else in the store is on fire.” Or when I’m renting a movie and some peon is blocking the fucking aisle—yammering into her cell phone and staring into space like a wild turkey drowning in the rain—I wouldn’t have to punch her. Instead, I would tap her on the shoulder and say, “Ma’am, you need to get yourself to a hospital because you now have brain cancer shaped like a ninja star. So, please, get the fuck out of my way.” Every day would be like Christmas morning.

I can think of at least eighty-three times I would have used those badass powers today. While waiting in line to buy alcohol, this smelly old lady was in line behind me. Well, not so much behind me as practically on me. She was so close behind me I felt like I was visiting Barney Frank’s house. As you might imagine, I was displeased. So, politely, I said, “Shit, lady, do you really think you’re going to get to the register any faster with your finger up my ass?” She didn’t say anything or back up at all. She just kept scowling at me and breathing old lady pill breath on me. I thought that perhaps she didn’t hear me, but I know the lady at the register did, because after I said it she made a face like she threw up a little or something. There I stood, getting breathed on by the Grim Reaper’s 5:30 appointment, imagining how sweet it would be if I could make her heart explode like an overstuffed haggis in the microwave.

At that point, I began to wonder why it was taking so goddamned long to get to the register. It turns out the old lady in front of me was fucking around, holding up the line. I don’t know exactly what she was doing, but there were two employees ringing her up. I guess she was using coupons from the store’s newspaper inserts—she had a pile of them and was tearing out one coupon from each. Being the asshole that I am, I have to assume she was using the same cat food coupon from each insert because she’s poor and has to eat discount Frisky Feast (it’s a well-known fact that 93% of old people are forced to eat cat food because they blew all of their money on telemarketing scams). One, I don’t care; two, she’s still holding up the line with this bullshit and writing a check for seven dollars and thirty-two cents. You can bet I was wishing for some old lady flambé.

Just so you don’t think all of my anger is directed at old ladies, there was this little kid I saw that deserved some cancer. This little shit was one of about twelve of Pedro and Maria’s brood of illegal refugee children, probably all of them from some South American country I’ve never heard of, ruled by a small-prick dictator who has people shot for catching malaria. This future criminal, certainly no older than three, purposely knocked over a big display in the video rental store. While the one employee present at the time cleaned up the mess, that little shit stole a bunch of candy and walked out of the store. (I wonder if he’s related to those fuckers who keep stealing my trashcans.) His mother caught him a few minutes later and tried to make him apologize, but he didn’t. Maybe he hadn’t learned to talk yet or, more likely, he didn’t speak any English. At first, I was thinking immolation or cancer, but then I decided drop-kicking the kid into traffic would be more hilarious.

With my amazing powers, I would also dispatch Britney Spears. I may never have met her, but I’m sick of hearing about her worn-out twazzer. Honestly, if I gave two shits about Britney’s pooter, I’d pay K-Fed the two dollars he charges to smell his fingers. I’m serious—he’s standing on the median at a busy intersection near my house; he has a cardboard sign and everything. “Smell my Brit-Rich Fingers. Two Bucks.” He may not be a good rapper, but he’s a great entrepreneur. Anyway, Spears, Hilton, Lohan, Federline: flaming, ninja star-shaped cancer for all of them. The same goes for Madonna. I’ll take care of Gwyneth Paltrow while I’m at it. We’ll call it a twofer.

And this is just the tip of the asshole iceberg. I’d get rid of so many people, commies like Lenin and Stalin would look like failures. At least I’d have a good reason for killing everyone: they pissed me off. If I ever do develop these powers, I’m sure you’ll see it on the news … unless, of course, you pissed me off.

I Can Be Poetic, Too: Goodbyes

Existence is merely a prelude to eternity.

--I don’t know where I read that.

From My Home to Yours: Happy Thanksgiving

Morbid Misanthrope's Drunken Safety Tip for the Weekend

You can't fall in the shower if you wash yourself in the sink.

California Court Rules Arresting Criminals Discrimination

I haven't posted much lately, because I'm very busy; however, I read this story on the internet and figured I'd post it.

California Court Rules Arresting Criminals Discrimination
By Max Bojo, AP

In a move that shocked many Americans who don’t pay attention, a California court ruled today that arresting criminals is discriminatory and therefore unconstitutional.

In the case of De Santos v. McKinney, presiding Justice Sandra J. Pelosenstein ruled in favor of De Santos, a man accused of breaking into the McKinney’s house and murdering the family of six in their sleep.

According to the police, Juan De Santos smoked several ounces of what he believed to be homemade crystal meth (further tests show it was really just crushed mothballs mixed with bobcat urine), wandered the neighborhood the McKinneys lived in, and scaled the side of their two-story home. Police reports say that De Santos then proceeded to bludgeon the entire McKinney family to death with an old shovel.

De Santos then tried to make the murders look like suicides by emptying several bottles of Tylenol around the slain bodies, apparently unaware that no investigator in his right mind would mistake six brutal murders for a group pain-killer overdose. The poorly written suicide note De Santos left, written in Spanish and signed “not Juan De Santos,” also made a group suicide look less than likely.

When asked by detectives why he killed the McKinneys he said, “I was having a bad day,” and “I think they may have looked at me funny or something.”

Although the police have called this “the most open-and-shut case of our time,” the Justices decided to take the trial in another direction. After a long deliberation that surprised myriad reporters waiting to report the outcome of the trial, the Justices emerged with a long statement and decision.

“It seems obvious to me,” read Justice Pelosenstein, “that punishing this man simply because he broke the law is both unfair and illegal. Punishing people for breaking the law does nothing but single out an entire group of people to be treated less fairly than others. It’s a clear-cut case of discrimination; and just because existing laws permit it, that doesn’t make it right. Oh yes, and boodely-doodely, whickety-wackity Gondwanaland.”

In addition to ruling that putting criminals in jail is an unlawful act of discrimination, the court also ruled that criminals already serving time in prison must be released within twenty-four hours. Legal analysts are already predicting thousands of lawsuits filed by prisoners who, thanks to the court’s newest ruling, were imprisoned unfairly. And, they claim, that's the least of Californians' worries.

“Goddammit!” said Tobias James, a legal analyst interviewed by Fox News. “Do you know what this means? I mean, do you have any idea? On my way home from this interview, I’m stocking up on attack dogs, rape whistles, and automatic weapons. I’m outta here, bitches!”

Legal analysts are also predicting that laws keeping felons from voting will be changed in light of the court’s latest ruling. Ideally, these new laws would be put on an emergency ballot and voted on by Californians, but Justice Pelosenstein sees things differently. “It’s allowing people to vote on such matters that led to the discrimination of thousands of innocent criminals. We’re judges. It’s our job to make sure things are being run the way we see fit. And I run things the way the disembodied voice in my closet tells me to. Sometimes he’s very nice and sings nursery rhymes, other times he says he’s the devil.”

This decision hardly shocked many of the more politically observant members of society. In the most recent election, Jessica’s law was supported overwhelmingly by voters, yet Judges overturned the passing of the law. “Just because over seventy percent of Californians voted to discriminate against innocent child molesters doesn’t mean it’s the right thing to do,” said another judge who wished to remain anonymous. “Let’s face it: we’re judges. We know better than everyone else. If anyone disagrees with me, I’ll just pass some law to have them locked away in a small cave. See? I made a map to the cave with my crayons and this Starbucks napkin. All aboard! Chuggah-chuggah, chuggah chuggah, choo-choo!”

As the denizens of the state of California lock their doors, stockpile weapons, and prepare for what could be the end of life as they know it, only one thing is certain: Judge Pelosenstein has stripped naked, climbed up a tree, and gorging herself on tree bark, speaking what sounds like a mix of Tagalog and Klingon.

A Guest Post

In order to reach less literate readers, the good folks at A Moment Shared asked me to do a guest post. At least I think they asked me to do a guest post. I once thought Jesus told me to go to Bartender College, but that was just a bearded guy at a Cannibal Corpse show. Anyway, the afore-mentioned guest post can be found here.

Little-Known Halloween Trivia

Another year, another pointless holiday I hate: Halloween. I’ve written about how much I hate Halloween before, so I don’t feel the need to do so now; besides, I’m really busy and I’d like to get trashed tonight—it’s Friday, after all. But, before I check out from my usual reality and enter Bingedrinkingville (population me), I figured I’d note some interesting facts about Halloween.

Contrary to popular belief, Halloween is not Satan’s Birthday. It’s actually the anniversary of the first time he speared one of the damned in the ass with his hell-spork. That’s right, Satan doesn’t use a pitchfork. It’s really a humorously oversized, fire-retardant spork.

Kids don’t really trick-or-treat just for the free candy, or at least that wasn’t the original intent of the Halloween tradition. Back in the early days of Halloween, parents would send their kids door to door to collect goodies to test their luck for the following year. You see, if the kids were given poisoned food, stuff with razor blades or glass shards in it, or excrement wrapped in cellophane baggies, they’d know their luck was shitty because their kids would die. If their kids lived, they knew their luck was tits, and they’d let their children play with the family groundhog.

Sacrificing small animals to the dark lord on Halloween makes your offerings no more effective than they would be any other night of the year; except, of course, for Christmas Eve. Satan digs it when people pay more attention to him than the Baby Jesus (Although, Baby Jesus doesn’t give a damn).

Druids and witches only celebrate the solstice, or what-the-fuck-ever, on Halloween because any other time of the year, they’d get their asses kicked for walking around in public, looking like lunatics and performing stupid, gay rituals.

Jack-o-lanterns used to be made out of turnips because it was harder for thugs to break them on Halloween night. Unfortunately, as dumb as common thugs are, they still figured out turnips were perfect for throwing through windows. After that, people tried making their Jack-o-lanterns out of bear traps baited with little bottles of Cinnamon Aftershock to fuck with the thugs. Again, however, even with their unusually low IQs, the thugs used trick-or-treaters and unlucky raccoons to trip the traps and take the booze. That’s when the mayor of some New Hampshire town was heard to say, “Aw, fuck it.” The next day he signed a local law that required all Jack-o-lanterns to be made of pumpkins. Word spread around the country, and Jack-o-lanterns have been made from pumpkins ever since.

People toilet paper houses because they think it’s a mean prank, when in all reality it’s a grand, albeit wasteful, tribute to America. This papery prank was started by Pierre Jacques Pierre of the French Bidet Company of Paris during the 1900s in order to make Americans switch to bidets from good ol’ TP. In a resourceful act of American kickassery, the toilet paper manufacturer Johnny “Tabula Raza” Smith paid Steven Seagal to go to Paris and throw bidets at all the cafés and ass-flatten every pastry he could sit on. Soon, a large number of Parisians switched to TP, and Americans everywhere scoffed at the idea of water spraying their asses and used toilet paper instead. Houses are still toilet papered today in honor of Johnny “Tabula Raza” Smith.

According to most State Constitutions (check your own to see if your state is included), killing people in scary costumes on Halloween is self-defense. Here’s the clause in my state’s constitution: “…and because on the darkest and blackest of nights known to man, any spectre, goblin, hobgoblin, Dracula, undead, member of the legions of hell, witch, or the occasional mummy may be indeed what it appears to be, slay them with sticks, torches, arms, or whatever you may possess, lest you should fall into evil’s meaty fists. Should the apparition be merely a costumed citizen, the maximum fine faced by the murderer shall be one dollar seventy-five because he murdered in terrified self-defense. Beside the point, grim reapers are spooky, and anyone dressed as one deserves whatever he gets. Bastards.” Last year, I had a pile of little dead Power Rangers, Spongebobs, pirates, and ballerinas three feet tall stinking up my front lawn.

Speaking of shitty costumes, I’ve noticed a severe lack of creativity in Halloween costumes as of late. Granted, dressing up like anything—unless you’re undercover, possess super powers, or have a severe yet hilarious mental disability—is stupid. At any rate, in order to encourage people to look less idiotic in their Halloween costumes, here are a few interesting costumes.

1. Anti-Bush/Iraq War protester with a protest sign absent of obvious typos.

2. The guy who plays “PC” in the Mac commercials beating the shit out of the guy that plays “Mac.”

3. A Muslim that doesn’t get pissed off if you insult Allah.

4. A predominantly black 11x17 printout on high-gloss paper that doesn’t just look really, really dark green.

5. Barak Obama Bin Laden.

6. A famous hip-hop mogul/rapper drinking tea and reading feminist poetry.

7. That fucked-up-looking midget in the red hood and cape that kills Donald Sutherland in Don’t Look Now.

8. A starving, AIDS-infested African child, recently adopted by a rich, Hollywood celebrity.

Fuck Proposition 86

In the state of California, people will soon have the chance to vote whether or not they want to piss me off. No, this doesn’t refer to the jury of The State of California v Morbid Misanthrope, which, by the way, doesn’t even go to trial until next year. And no matter what the media says, the state of California deserved it.

Regardless of my innocence or so-called guilt, the vote to which I’m referring is the upcoming general election. This election is full of new propositions—much like Rosie O’Donnell’s boxer-briefs are full of critters of indeterminate species—that the dumbass masses get to embrace or reject. While several of the propositions anger me in ways I can’t even begin to describe coherently, the one that’s really proverbially kicking my proverbial bull in the proverbial nuts is proposition 86.

Proposition 86, Initiative Constitutional Amendment and Statute, is basically ANOTHER tax on cigarettes. Currently, every pack of cigarettes sold in California is taxed 87 cents. The money collected from these excise taxes goes to fund a variety of things I don’t give two shits about: early childhood development programs, tobacco education and disease-research programs, and health-care services for uninsured people, etc. So not only am I paying for my own insurance, but if I want to smoke I’m paying for uninsured fuckers, too. Goddamn socialism. I mean, what the hell is this, Nazi China?

87 cents per pack is bad enough, but proposition 86 would enact a 13-cents-per-cigarette tax in California. And although my math is almost as bad as my language, I can tell with little difficulty that this bullshit proposition will cost smokers an additional $2.60 per pack. That’s like getting prison raped and shanked at the same time while a rabid vampire prison guard drinks the blood.

The reason they want to tax the hell out of cigarettes (and tobacco products) is, again, to give that “extra” money—$2.2 billion annually, for the first year, anyway—to causes I don’t care about. Basically, most of that money will go to hospital corporations and HMOs, not to mention that section 9 of the proposition gives hospitals exemption to antitrust laws.

If the dickasses behind this proposition would just walk up to people, kick them in the nuts, take their wallets, and rape their beloved housecats and other various comically undersized pets, at least everyone would know what they were up to. But proposition 86 is being paraded as a means to keep people (especially those poor, misguided minors) from smoking. Presumably, if cigarettes cost enough to finance a medium-sized expedition to South America to find the lost city of gold, people won’t buy them anymore. Bullshit. I know people who would use their genitals as wolverine bait to get a cigarette. People are going to keep smoking, they’ll just be more pissed off and have another reason to kickstart a politician’s head up his/her ass. And if minors want cigarettes, high prices aren’t going to stop them either.

These assholes are acting like they’re doing smokers a favor by trying to get this proposition passed.

“You poor, poor fools—we’re doing this for your own good. This will help you quit or keep you from starting.”

Wipe the single tear off your face and shut the fuck up. You seeping anal boils know people are going to keep buying smokes, and you’re drooling like retards over all the money you’re going to rake in. Shit, smokers are already killing themselves. Don’t try to bankrupt them, too. If you’re a Californian, go here to learn more about proposition 86.

Why is it whenever more tax money is needed in this state, they tax alcohol and/or tobacco? I have to work three jobs and mortgage my DVD collection just to buy a bottle of rotgut and a pack of smokes. I’m not running for any political office, but if I were my platform would be …



That’s right: tax porn. I knew people that would spend over 40 bucks for a porn tape (tape, not DVD) on a regular basis. Do you really think these wrist-ready perverts, so eager to prime the rhino they’ll pay anything for porn, are going to care or even notice an extra tax on their smut? Probably not, but even if they did, it’s time for the government to tax a vice other than alcohol and tobacco. If they don’t want to pay the porn tax, they can resort to the internet; however, I can’t have a virtual drink or smoke. Besides, isn’t it time these porn-buying self-manipulators actually get fucked by someone else?

Super-Happy, Feelgood, Power Metal Video of the Weekend

This has to be the coolest music video I've ever seen. Everything about it is so over the top it's simply amazing. The band, Dragonforce, has claimed they're so metal they'll melt your face off (or something to that effect, anyway). They didn't melt my face off, but they warmed my heart with their insane power metal posturing and posing. I usually never listen to this kind of music, usually because of the cheese factor and the squealing vocals, but after watching the mind-boggling dueling solo at the end of the video I was sold. Holy Merlin's pointy hat, if I could play like that I wouldn't have to sit in front of a computer all day. Instead, I'd be touring the country in a frilly blouse, twirling a pointy guitar around my dragon-slaying sword. This song is so hilariously uplifting, it could cheer up Edgar Allan Poe's depressed corpse. I mean, the guy's playing a keytar for shit's sake. And he's actually rocking it! These guys obviously don't take themselves too seriously and are just being goofy. What's not to love? Anyway, enjoy the video--especially the dueling solos near the end. J Holden (oneunknownman.blogspot.com), I hope this cheers you up a bit. It couldn't hurt.

A Story Worth Mentioning

As has been happening quite frequently lately, Muslims around the world are furious and fucking shit up like retarded toddlers throwing temper tantrums. While many experts believe these “protests”—and all around bad behavior—were caused by Koran-sanctioned man panties riding up cracks simultaneously throughout the Middle East, others claim the pope is to blame. His holiness under the silly hat made statements that many Muslims consider offensive, incendiary, or at the very least, historically accurate.

In all his mighty popeitude, the leader of the Catholic Church quoted an earlier Byzantine pope—Pope John James Dingus the Mellow—who had the following to say about Muslims:

“These crazy fuckers, man. I swear, I’m just sittin’ here, lookin’ at this sweet painting of Jesus I commissioned, and all of a sudden there are, like, thousands of these sheep-shit-smelling bastards cutting people’s heads off. Yeah, I know, what a bunch of dicks, right? Anyway, then they start saying Jesus was a messenger of Allah, when all of us educated types know Jesus was a white guy.

“You know, I’m a merciful fellow, completely willing to let bygones be bygones, but Joe Blow Hibjab-al Shamar won’t be happy until he kills all the infidels; which, I’m told, is me and all my holy homies. Plus, my friend Mike says he saw one of those barbarians shitting on a cross. I mean, not only is that gross, it’s fucked up.

“They start offing all my followers, so I realize something has to be done. I make this sweet decree about their [Muslims] ‘spreading Islam with the sword,’ ‘being afraid of pigs,’ and generally ‘smelling of beefy curry farts.’ That last part is really just my opinion, but, hell, I’m the pope and therefore infallible and totally sweet. Bottom line: these fuckers are loonier than a whorehouse full of possessed lepers on fire. It’s like they pop wood when they behead someone. By god, I’m going to put a stop to it.”

Pope Benedict XVI quoted snippets of this historical speech which instantly angered Muslims all over the place. It is worth mentioning, however, that even Muslims who don’t speak any English were furious with the pope before they even knew what he said. While thousands of rabid, foaming-at-the-mouth protesters struggled to find the words to express their animalistic ire, the three literate Muslims in the Middle East made protest signs for everyone else.

After a short time, angry protesters began burning effigies of the pope, American flags, and, just so people don’t forget how much Muslims hate the Jews, Israeli flags.

When Pope Benedict XVI was asked to comment or apologize for what he said, he mumbled something in German which sounded suspiciously like Rammstein lyrics, sighed deeply, and said:

“I never meant to offend anyone. I was simply making an observation about the behavior of Muslim extremists today and the conquering Muslim armies of the past. It’s not like secret information or anything. You can read all about it in books at your local library or even on the internet. In fact, I’ll be posting some relevant links on my MySpace page later this evening after the Sex and the City marathon. Also, way to prove my point, Jerks; you know, with the violence, rioting, and church vandalism. Take a chill pill already. Sheesh!”

The pope’s comments led to more anger in the Muslim community for several reasons, according to Ali Shabaz, a Muslim scholar who is admittedly hooked on phonics.

“Well, for one, the pope is an infidel and will burn in Allah’s hell,” Shabaz said while spitting on the floor. “Secondly, the women in Sex and the City are infidel whores with their genitals intact. The fact that the pope believes women should be allowed to keep their clitorises in order to derive pleasure from fornication shows he is just as decadent as Americans.” Shabaz then went on a lengthy rant about the internet being evil and the sanctity of throwing rocks. The pope is expected to respond after he finishes watching TV.

It has been reported that some Muslims became so angry during the riots their heads exploded. This has terrified the Department of Homeland Security, because Muslims exploding without actual bombs can’t possibly be a good thing. During the last Muslim riots—caused by Danish cartoons of Muhammad reading a book and being conscious of personal hygiene—Muslims were angry enough to melt, but no head explosions were reported.

Bjorn Viking, a noted Scandinavian scientist, has calculated that Muslims are getting madder and madder at smaller and smaller offenses to Islam. The mathematical formula M + MM @ SSOI = OHSHIT proves that Muslim indignation leading to stupid violence and endless media coverage is becoming more common and completely inevitable. Viking believes that in the near future, almost anything will cause Muslims to riot. For example, Viking predicts that soon anyone singing “Old MacDonald had a Farm” containing the verse where the pig goes “Oink, Oink,” clean-shaven men, various foods supposedly bearing the image of Muhammad, buildings made from anything other than sand, and the use of toilet paper will be enough to cause Muslims to riot.

Since the pope has not yet apologized for his comments, the violence continues. An alarming number of protesters and rioters believe that, with his comments, the pope has started another crusade against Islam. The pope’s friends and underlings in silly outfits have repeatedly pointed out that there is no crusade in the works. Rioters say they are calling “bullshit” on the pope and will continue to cause trouble until the pope apologizes and converts to Islam. “It’s a simple compromise,” Shabaz said grinning. “Just conform to our beliefs, our way of life, and our sacred laws and we will stop making a fuss. It’s as easy as pie.”

Deicide's New Logo

Deicide, a band fronted by Glen Benton that has been pissing off Jesus and the Virgin Mary for several years, has finally released their new music video along with their new and spectacular logo. Since this band is so anti-Christian and therefore terribly terrifying, I’ve decided to post their new logo.

A Few Facts About Deicide:

It’s a little known fact that Glen Benton is so Satanic, he actually had Anton Lavey and the devil himself in the form of an anti-Christian mosquito light their collective cock rings on fire to brand an upside-down cross on his forehead. When asked why he went with an upside-down cross instead of 666, Glen Benton said, “Because 666 is for posers. Besides, Crowley couldn’t make it to the forehead branding.”

Glen Benton is a fat, drunken slob with dorky, yet Satanic, facial hair.

The true meaning of 666 for all the true believers in the know, according to Benton, is “69ing with Satan, which makes Satanic sense because the Devil is a double inverted dyslexic.”

The stupid but utterly Satanic BMX “armor” Benton used to wear on stage was actually made from Asian Baphomet plastic crystals mined in South Africa. Thusly, it was ultra blasphemous.

Jack Owen kicks ass.

When Deicide played a show in my hometown a few years back, one of the guitar players—who left the band with his brother recently—was wearing a leather S&M mask with the zipper shut. When asked why he wore that mask on stage he replied, “I’m tired of Benton making me lick the ass of a plastic effigy of Satan before every show. This was my protest. You know, like those guys in China who licked tank treads a few years ago.”

When Deicide played in Las Vegas a few years back, Glen Benton told me candidly that “My wiener is the handle and my ass is the slot machine. I hope Satan pulls my handle and hits the jackpot.”

As Glen Benton gets older, he seems to have a larger and larger bald spot. This, he says, is where Satan and Satan’s pope rest their nuts when they give him lyrics for new Deicide songs.

The song “Dead by Dawn” is about Glen Benton’s ill-fated sea monkeys.

There you have it, Deicide’s new logo and a few little-known facts about the band itself. Don’t forget to buy the band’s new CD, The Stench of Redemption, which got its name from the smell of Benton’s unwashed, Satanic leather pants after Deicide’s last tour.

P.S. "Homage for Satan" is improperly titled. It should be "Homage to Satan." This just goes to show that Satan sucks at speaking English. I think he's too used to speaking backwards Latin. I mean, grow the fuck up already, right?

The Feelgood Music Video of the Weekend

yalla ya Nasrallah - song from Israel It's not death metal, but it has great visuals and hilarious lyrics. Right on, Israel! Take that, you terrorist dickberries!

The End of Dissection: What a shame

Story
Official Statement (It’s pretty hard to argue with that; it makes little to no sense.)
Update
Update, Aug. 23

It’s a pity that I never got to see them live. Stupid Luciferian fire, dark gods, and wrathful chaos. I blame them for this shit.

Slayer, What the Hell?

Slayer has been around forever. They’ve kicked ass around the world and released some of the best thrash metal albums in history (not THE best in my opinion, but that’s hardly here nor there). In fact, Slayer has become so synonymous with metal you can’t even go to a metal concert without someone screaming “Ssssslllllaaaaaayyyyyeeeeerrrr!” Granted, it’s usually some shirtless drunk guy with shitty tattoos hanging from the balcony trying to take his pants off, but at every metal show someone has to pay screaming homage to Slayer.

I remember being a little morbid misanthrope, drinking cheap beer and whiskey (much like I do today), thrashing around in my room, blasting Slayer’s Reign in Blood. Hell, one of the best concerts I’ve ever been to was a Slayer show—they played with Morbid Angel and Pantera. When Slayer played “Angel of Death” the crowd went so red-assed-baboon crazy people were being carried out on stretchers every few minutes.

My point is Slayer has quite a reputation for ass kickery; however, their last album, God Hates Us All, was kind of catchy but also a bit of a letdown to a lot of fans. I’ll admit I still listened to it quite a bit, but its nu-metal elements really started to piss me off. If I wanted to listen to nu-metal, I’d put on a Slipknot CD, but than I’d have to kill myself because for being a pussy.

Slayer’s lyrics have never been awe-inspiring, but some of the lyrics on God Hates Us All were so butt-fucking, ball-slappingly retarded even the kid that came in last place in the nose-picking event of the Special Olympics would be insulted by them. Here’s an example:

I keep the bible in a pool of blood so that none of its lies can affect me!

I don’t understand how that would help. I mean, if you don’t like the bible, throw it away. Or even easier, just don’t read it. I can’t help but picture an inflatable kiddy pool with a little blood in it. For this to work, you’d need access to fresh blood twenty-four hours a day to refill the kiddy pool as the old blood congealed. After all, congealed blood is hardly an adequate “pool of blood.” I think they were just trying to be overly blasphemous to the point where it became silly; you know, like Deicide.

Perhaps I’m being overly critical. But I’m just in a shitty “what the fuck, Slayer?” mood after hearing one of the songs off their soon-to-be-released CD. It’s been five years since Slayer released a new CD, and after hearing “Cult” on www.slayer.net, I’m rather disappointed. I know I should hear the whole album before passing judgment, but “Cult” was so weak I doubt I’ll buy the CD. Shit, I feel like a traitor for saying that. I’m going against the rules of metal by criticizing Slayer, but I never liked Black Sabbath so I don’t think the rules apply to me anyway. I’m such a rebel it’s adorable.

Slayer’s new CD, Christ Illusion, lost points with me as soon as I saw the cover. Slayer’s covers are notoriously scary, blasphemous, etc., but much like the lyrics I mentioned earlier, this cover is just trying so hard it becomes goofy. Also, one reviewer said the Jesus on the cover looks like a pirate. I’d have to agree.

The lyrics for the song “Cult” are silly, too. “Grrrrr, we don’t like Jesus! Religion is for stupid heads! 666! Wheeeee!” I’m obviously not the most mature person alive, and most of the music I listen to has goofy lyrics, but these lyrics are beyond laughable (especially the lines about the war, but I needn’t get into that right now). Maybe on their own they wouldn’t crack me up so much, but combined with the song itself … it’s just dumb.

I’ve always kind of laughed at Slayer’s guitar solos. I think pretty much everyone has. The solos on “Cult,” however, are so bad it’s hard to put into words. Some solos sound like someone is ball-fucking the whammy bar and flossing with the guitar strings, while other solos sound like a hoarse banshee drowning a cat afflicted with feline Tourette’s Syndrome. The song itself is pretty boring, although I must say Dave Lombardo’s drumming is pretty fucking good. Some nu-metal elements are present again, which makes me want to go to Hot Topic and punch all the customers. And aside from all that, the song is the same old same old but worse. Dammit….

My brother has likened Slayer’s direction over the last few years to “watching your dad fall down in the shower.” Sad to say, it seems to make sense. FYI, Metallica’s direction over the past few years is like watching your grandmother fall off the toilet.

Could it simply be that I’ve outgrown Slayer? No, couldn’t be. I still like their old stuff, and they still rule live. Besides, they’re Slayer.

I suppose I have to hear the entire album before I come to any real conclusions.

Don't Hassel the Hoff

I ... I just don't know what to say. Is David Hasselhoff the reason black folks think white folks can’t dance? I mean, I’ve seen meth-addicted Parkinson's disease patients pogo-sticking down steep cobblestone hills with more rhythm than Hasselhoff. There’s so much to make fun of in this video—from the come-hither looks Hasselhoff shoots the camera, to the “special effects” and editing that look like they were done by a guy with cerebral palsy having a seizure—my sense of humor has literally just been overloaded. I can’t get the song or images out of my head, either. I’d be worried if I weren’t going to be numbing my senses with cheap booze in a few hours. Have a great weekend, all. Cheers.

Great Obituary, Great Fellow I Never Met

Frederic Arthur (Fred) Clark, who had tired of reading obituaries noting other's courageous battles with this or that disease, wanted it known that he lost his battle as a result of an automobile accident on June 18, 2006. True to Fred's personal style, his final hours were spent joking with medical personnel while he whimpered, cussed, begged for narcotics and bargained with God to look over his wife and kids. He loved his family. His heart beat faster when his wife of 37 years Alice Rennie Clark entered the room and saddened a little when she left. His legacy was the good works performed by his sons, Frederic Arthur Clark III and Andrew Douglas Clark MD, PhD., along with Andy's wife, Sara Morgan Clark. Fred's back straightened and chest puffed out when he heard the Star Spangled Banner and his eyes teared when he heard Amazing Grace. He wouldn't abide self important tight *censored*. Always an interested observer of politics, particularly what the process does to its participants, he was amused by politician's outrage when we lie to them and amazed at what the voters would tolerate. His final wishes were "throw the bums out and don't elect lawyers" (though it seems to make little difference). During his life he excelled at mediocrity. He loved to hear and tell jokes, especially short ones due to his limited attention span. He had a life long love affair with bacon, butter, cigars and bourbon. You always knew what Fred was thinking much to the dismay of his friend and family. His sons said of Fred, "he was often wrong, but never in doubt". When his family was asked what they remembered about Fred, they fondly recalled how Fred never peed in the shower - on purpose. He died at MCV Hospital and sadly was deprived of his final wish which was to be run over by a beer truck on the way to the liquor store to buy booze for a double date to include his wife, Rush Limbaugh and Ann Coulter to crash an ACLU cocktail party. In lieu of flowers, Fred asks that you make a sizable purchase at your local ABC store or Virginia winery (please, nothing French - the *censored*) and get rip roaring drunk at home with someone you love or hope to make love to. Word of caution though, don't go out in public to drink because of the alcohol related laws our elected officials have passed due to their inexplicable terror at the sight of a MADD lobbyist and overwhelming compulsion to meddle in our lives. No funeral or service is planned. However, a party will be held to celebrate Fred's life. It will be held in Midlothian, Va. Email fredsmemory@yahoo.com for more information. Fred's ashes will be fired from his favorite cannon at a private party on the Great Wicomico River where he had a home for 25 years. Additionally, all of Fred's friend (sic) will be asked to gather in a phone booth, to be designated in the future, to have a drink and wonder, "Fred who?"

Needless to say, I'll be drinking more than a few glasses of whiskey for Mr. Clark tonight.

His personality reminds me of a poem by Moriya Sen'an:

Bury me when I die
beneath a wine barrel
in a tavern.
With luck
the cask will leak.

Of course, we all know it's better to drink at home.

Richmond Times-Dispatch obituary.

Religion of Peace?

Q: How many Imams does it take to beat the ever-lovin’ shit out of a six-year-old girl?

A: One … provided she accidentally steps on his prayer rug.

Those crazy Muslims! Always doing funny stuff like this. Now I feel silly for questioning the whole religion of peace claim. My bad!
Brief story here.

New angry post about something stupid on the way.

Happy Independence Day, America!

A Cause That Matters

The world is a messed up place. A lot of people need help, and there are a lot of good causes that need monetary support. I know what everyone is thinking. “I’m just one person. What can I do to help?”

Well, there are plenty of things you can do to make a difference. For example, organizations like PETA are always looking for members and volunteers to go out and blow animals. They hate it when animals suffer, so they send out dedicated, loving people to suck animal genitals. It shows the animals that they are loved and equal in value to human beings.

If animals aren’t your thing, certainly you’re willing to do everything you can to save the environment. I mean, if you don’t care about the environment, you’re a fucking monster and that’s all there is to it. There are many SUV-burning organizations you could support with your hard-earned money. Or, just to help the environment yourself, you could shit in paper bags instead of wasting water crapping in the toilet like a human being. Just burry all those bags in your garden—instant fertilizer!

Even though Hurricane Katrina happened quite a while back, and even though the federal government and caring people everywhere gave New Orleans billions of dollars to repair their mismanaged, destroyed city, they still need your help. You can always send money to help the Katrina victims. In fact, Mayor Nagin lost a game of dice last night and needs some pocket money. Please, people, give till it hurts.

You see, there are plenty of ways to make a difference. Whether it’s taking a face full of animal DNA; covering your property in bags full of your own shit; or drinking ten gallons of water a day so when global warming melts all the ice on the entire planet, maybe, just maybe the water levels will be slightly lower, everyone can help.

While these causes are all worthy of support in their own way, a new cause has come to my attention that is possibly the most worthy cause of all.

Dustin Diamond, Saved by the Bell’s Screech, needs our help. Unless he is able to raise $250,000 he is going to lose his house. As someone who was entertained by Screech’s wacky antics for years, hell, and still is to this day, I want to do my part to help this American treasure. In the past I posted Saved by the Bell haikus I wrote while drunk in Las Vegas. Today, I have written a special haiku for Dustin Diamond:

Screech is fucking cool
Dustin really needs our help
We can save his home

While this humble haiku won’t help Mr. Diamond directly, I think it will help people understand the severity of his situation. I know there are a lot of other charities out there, but this is Screech, people! Motherfucking Screech from Saved by the Bell! He had a robot and was fascinated by bugs and shit. Regardless of what anyone else ever says, Screech owned Bayside; not crafty Zach, not mullet-headed Slater—Screech was the man.

Like, remember the time Screech was helping Kelly out with science so she would pass the big test? Godamn right you do. Or how about the time he got struck by lightning and could see the future? And, of course, we all remember the time that Screech beat that fucking commie Russian at the big chess tournament. It’s simply a fact: Screech is the man.

Unlike all those other chintzy charities, when you help Dustin Diamond—also a talented stand-up comedian—you don’t come away empty handed. To help save Dustin’s home and give back to the man that brought Screech to life, all you have to do is buy a shirt. And let me tell you: It’s a sweet fucking shirt. Not only is the shirt cool as hell, it also shows that you support Dustin Diamond’s right to live in a house. Plus, it’s only $15.00! But wait, there’s more! For an extra five bucks, Dustin Diamond, a.k.a. Screech, will sign the shirt!

It’s only $20.00, folks. I have a drinking problem and even I can afford this killer shirt. If you’re like me, you’d punch a nun in the mouth and kick a baby in the head to help Screech. Unfortunately, that won’t do any good right now, but getting a shirt will. To help Dustin Diamond keep his house, please click on the "Save Screech's House" banner in my links section. Thank you, and God bless America.

Oh Boy! Another Movie I Won't See

I was watching Attack of the Show yesterday, much like I do Monday through Thursday, when, unfortunately, I was exposed to some of the “plot” from The Fast and the Furious: Tokyo Drift. Lately, the movie has been getting plenty of hype from AOTS. Thanks to such thorough coverage, I now know what drifting is; in turn, I also now know that I don’t give a shit about drifting.

Making an entire movie about drifting is like trying to make a two-hour epic about something you coughed up a week after you quit smoking: It may look cool, but it’s not nearly interesting enough to make a movie about. Well, that’s what I thought until I was bombarded with Tokyo Drift’s storyline. I didn’t bother watching most of G4’s coverage, but I’ll give you the gist of what I heard.

Some American guy gets shipped off to Tokyo to avoid jail time for illegal street racing. Great idea, brainiacs! Sending an illegal street racer to Japan—where a lot of this modified car racing got started—is like sending a baby rapist to the maternity ward.

Needless to say, he gets involved in the underground racing scene. Except the racing is different than what he’s used to. In Japan, drifting is all the rage, and that shit’s hardcore, yo!

As I understand it, the American guy thinks he’s hot shit, so he challenges a guy to a drift-off (or whatever the fuck they call it). I’m guessing the American guy loses and some rice rockets get all smashed up. Not only does he lose the race, he also makes a powerful enemy: D.K., short for Drift King (god help us, I’m not making this shit up). And like everyone else in Japan, Drift King has ties to the Yakuza (Oh snap, dog! Gaijin done fucked up now).

At this point, I realized that watching Tokyo Drift will make your brain commit suicide unless you take a break to read a book halfway through.

I’m guessing the movie is a whole mess of drifting until the end of the film, at which point the two rivals—American guy and Drift King—have to either drift race each other or someone else to avoid getting killed by the Yakuza. I think the Yakuza boss is also Drift King’s uncle or something. There might be a love triangle involved, too; I don’t know. This movie looks even worse than the first two films, which, in all fairness, I admit I never saw, either.

These movies just aren’t aimed at my demographic. These movies are made for the Asian kids in sideways hats who hang out at the open-all-night Mexican restaurant by my house saying shit like, “V-Tech, Dog. V-Tech. Let’s race, bitch. I’ll take you out!” These creatures of the night eat burritos and compare spoilers in the parking lot, talking plenty of shit and trying to organize illegal street races. I’m not sure that any of these kids ever actually race or not, but I’m pretty sure they’ll all see this movie…three times. I, on the other hand, will not see this movie because it looks more retarded than a flipper baby with a hairlip and a snaggletooth.

Fuck Yeah!

Story Here.

Viva Las Vegas

Much to my readers’ disappointment—yeah, I’m real sure—I haven’t posted anything for a while; fact is, I’ve been out of town.

After quitting a job I would compare to shoveling flaming sand on sodomites in the inner ring of the seventh circle of Dante’s hell (and, of course, instead of being guided by Virgil, I was bossed around by a yappy, incompetent Frenchman) I decided to head to Las Vegas. Las Vegas is the perfect place for someone like me for a number of reasons.

For one, you can drink and smoke damn near anywhere. This always amazes me, because in California people are so anti-smoking, they literally walk around in bands of four or five, waiting to crucify anyone who lights up—bastards.

And don’t even get me started on the anti-alcohol fascism in California. The last time I was at the beach—where a new law had just been passed prohibiting alcohol consumption on said beach—I witnessed a policeman giving a homeless man a ticket for drinking a beer. That’s right. They were fining a homeless guy. In Las Vegas, however, I spent most of my time walking around swilling Wild Turkey, and no one looked at me twice. Even playing Metal Slug in the Luxor arcade while as drunk as a Massachusetts senator didn’t phase anyone.

I must admit, I have quite an affinity for video poker. Sure, most guys play poker at the tables, but I try to avoid human contact as much as possible. Besides, I won over two-hundred bucks playing video poker while enjoying six or seven double scotches. It doesn’t get much better than that.

It was a great and highly successful trip, and I’ll try to post something angry and virulent soon. In the meantime: viva Las Vegas.

I Totally Fell

It’s not often that I write about my personal life on the ol’ blog. In fact, you’re more likely to see a chupacabra butt-fucking Bigfoot on the side of the extraterrestrial highway than to read anything about my personal life on this blog. If I wanted people to ask me how my day was when I got home from work, I’d get married, let my wife’s sister move in, and beat the shit out of both of them for asking stupid questions every night.

Anyway, over the weekend I did what many uninformed people would consider pathetic. I, however, strive for greatness in everything I do; so I was quite proud when I got so drunk, I fell down and hurt myself.

Let me just preface this by saying I barely remember anything that happened. I remember doing my absolute best to drink enough alcohol to black out a blue whale, and I remember mental snapshots of what it looked like to fall over while being drunk enough to make Ted Kennedy look like a straight-edge kid.

Thankfully, a buddy of mine was there to try and help me stand up. I mean, I think he was. I guess I can’t really be sure. For all I know it could have been a raccoon. I must again state that I was drunk enough to have the belligerent balls to challenge an entire country to a fight—I’m talking to you, Venezuela.

The point is, I like to drink. And I damn near outdid myself over the weekend. Of course, by “outdid” I mean nearly killed myself. It began with Steel Reserve and ended with the better part of a sixty-four-ounce bottle of Early Times whiskey. I don’t say it often, but, dude, I kick ass.

At what point did I realize I was too drunk to smoke a cigarette and stand at the same time? About the same time I hit the ground and nearly broke every bone on the right side of my body. I’m not even joking when I say the entire right side of my body is black and blue. This includes the side of my head, which, very possibly, was quite concussed the night in question. I could have had a car battery attached to my left nut, shocking the hell out of me, and I still wouldn’t have been able to stay awake. Fuck, I was practically embalmed.

I wasn’t the only casualty of excessive drinking that night. When I fell, I broke a chair. From what I remember, it was pretty funny. I certainly remember laughing. I think my friend tried several times to help me off the ground before finally succeeding. I can’t be sure, though. I’m lucky I remember my own name.

Writing this (Editor’s Note: 5-21-06), I’m still pretty drunk. I look like Dante’s hell, left-over, frozen, thawed, and microwaved. Do I regret it? Fuck, no! I only wish I would have been sober enough to use my breathalyzer to see just how drunk I was. I think I would have short-circuited the damn thing.

It’s rare that I get that drunk even though I drink all the time, and I’m quite proud of it. Even though I’m in pain—everything from my ankle to my earlobe is cut and scabby—I’m pretty proud of myself. I know I only fell over, even though it looks more like I ran, jumped, and then slid on the ground for twenty feet. “Achieving greatness in drinking” is probably what my tombstone will say. Then again, I’ll probably just be cremated. God knows I won’t have a difficult time burning.

To the People of New Orleans:

Congratulations, you stupid, butt-fucking retards. You re-elected one of the most incompetent jackasses in history. Do you morons want to die? You deserve whatever happens to you from now on. And I, for one, will not donate one cent to save you from whatever disaster Nagin does nothing to protect you ingrates from. Enjoy your chocolate city. Fuck you.

Cordially,

Morbid Misanthrope

The Da Vinci Code

The Da Vinci Code isn’t even out in theaters yet, but religious types—Catholics in particular—are already pissed off about it. Many Catholic leaders in silly outfits are urging their respective flocks to avoid the blasphemous (or heretical depending on who you ask) movie like the French avoid bathing and manners.

Speaking of the French, they’re hardly raving about The Da Vinci Code at the Cannes Film Festival. Most of the Frenchies who saw the movie were blasé about the film at best. Clearly, the French are not impressed. The movie must not have contained any mimes or anti-American snootiness.

While all the brouhaha the movie is generating is mildly irritating, I am more irritated by the dumb-fucks out there who believe all the claims the book/movie makes. Yeah, it’s kind of an interesting idea, but it’s a fictional story for fuck’s sake. It’s a made-up story based on stuff that kinda’ sorta’ happened but not really. And, of course, the rest is purely conjecture, or as I call it in this case, fiction.

I remember when the book first came out. Many of the brainless simpletons I had to go to college with were saying stupid shit like, “Ohmygod! I can’t believe this. Jesus was married and had a kid!” and “Well, I knew all along that the Catholic Church was hiding shit from the rest of us.” If you’re referring to pedophilia, you’re right. If, on the other hand, you’re referring to a bloodline started with Jesus and Mary Magdalene, you’re probably nuttier than Elton John’s breath.

A lot of the stuff in the book is bullshit. For example, The Dossiers Secrets, which supposedly contain a genealogy of Merovingian royalty and a whole mess of secret information about the Priory of Sion, are phonier than a Bill Clinton apology. Pierre Plantard, an anti-semitic, French wingnut who believed he was the true king of France, made it all up (with the documented help of a few other people). The Dossiers Secrets was a major source of information for the book Holy Blood, Holy Grail, which, in turn, was one of Dan Brown’s sources when he wrote The Da Vinci Code.

Don’t even get me started on Da Vinci’s The Last Supper. Mary Magdalene is not in the painting. Anyone who has taken even a remedial art history class can tell you the figure in the painting is John; he is often portrayed looking more feminine than Boy George on heavy doses of estrogen (see Fra Angelico's The Last Supper). And all that claptrap about the “V” or “sacred feminine” between Jesus and “Mary Magdalene” in the painting is rubbish only female scholars desperate to validate their silly feminist views through “strong women” in history would blather about.

I appreciate conspiracy theories as much as if not more than the next guy, but I’ve read about alien abductions and Chupacabra attacks with more credible evidence than The Da Vinci Code. It’s a work of fiction. There’s no mystery about it.

And while there is plenty of evidence to prove this, many people—probably because they’re jackasses—still hold on to the idea that The Da Vinci Code reveals some great secret that has been covered up by the Catholic Church for thousands of years. All in all, The Da Vinci Code holds about as much water as a broken dime-store quirtgun.

But for all the doubting Thomases out there that still think The Da Vinci Code is more than a work of fiction, I went to the source and asked Jesus if He married and conceieved a child with Mary Magdalene. Here’s what He had to say: