Do You Want To Take A Shower?

Heeeeey there, do you want to take a shower?  It's pipin' hot and wonderful!  I promise that your showering experience with me will be some of the finest showering you've ever had!  I have been showering all my life and I think I could teach you a thing or two.  I could scrub you up and you could soap me down, it's all part of the shower game. 

We'll have such fun!  No hanky panky, I promise.  I am in it only for the showering.  Getting clean, know what I mean? Heh heh... 

But you know.... sometimes things happen.  Soapy penises slip into the strangest of places.  One time I found mine inside a box of Cheerios's.  I was like "What are you doing, penis?"  Boy, did we ever laugh. 

Yes, my penis laughs.  Well, not really laughing as much as clapping it's distended urethra together like a salty little clam.  I was in a coma for a few years and that catheter gave my dick lips!  Still, I like to think of it as my giggling little pal.

So are you in or not?  I've got Mr. Bubble and No Tears Shampoo.  Do you want to know a secret?... This shower has benches!  We could sit and chat while we gets sudsy!  I can already tell that you are going to be my new Scrubbin' Buddy.

I come from a long line of Showerers.  I know all the old Bathing Tales.  The old stories my ancestors used to tell each other around the shower head.  I can spin a steamy yarn like it's nobodies business.  You ever hear the one about the naked bathing man with very firm hands?  No?  Well, come on in and I'll tell it to you.  You are not going to regret this.


-

One Sided Omegle

I tried. I got drunk and went on omegle in pursuit of hilarious conversations with the mix of pedophiles, date rapists, and overall depressing bastards. But alas, I had very few people willing to play ball with me and ended up just scaring away several people. Maybe next time I will pretend to be a 16 year old girl and count the skype requests. As always, the green text represents my end of the conversation, as if that weren't obvious by what was written.

 

 

 

 

Oily Taintz, Empress of the Birth Brigade

You set liars afire, that's what I've always said!  We've got scores of traitors and un-american bastards running wild in our country, willy nilly!  Foreigners rushing our borders, creating fake documents and infiltrating the highest levels of our government.

Barack HUSSEIN Obama, our current "President", is the biggest perpetrator of these crimes.  I know the truth about that tyrant!  I know who he really is and what he really wants!  Barack HUSSEIN is the worlds most successful Somali pirate.

I know, right?  Shocking but true!  Barack worked his way up from cabin boy to scallywag, constantly climbing the ladder of African Piracy.  Eventually he obtained the title of "RapeMaster" and given his own ship and crew.  Instead of continuing his piracy, he steered the boat through the Indian ocean, across the Pacific, until he reached Hawaii.  That was 20 years ago.

Do you really want a Somali Pirate as your president?  Do you!?  HUSSEIN may be our biggest problem, but there are so many more illegal aliens, and they are not all liberals!!  We must be on our guard, we must be vigilant!

I have proof of many more of these traitors in our government.  Who?  Well, lets see...  Jesse Jackson, Cory Booker, Herman Cain, Michael Steele, Jesse Jackson Jr, Maxine Walters, Condoleeza Rice, Allen West, I could go on and on!

It's terrible, the stain these people have smeared on us True Americans.  I'll continue the fight!  There is no way a person like Barack HUSSEIN Obama was legally elected president, neither!  I cry conspiracy!!

-

The Maury Povich Generation

 

 

I work as a supervisor in a facility of between 700 - 1000 people, most in "no previous experience required" positions with liberal allowances for educational qualifications. This attracts a large number of people that are from a generation younger than me, born in the 90's and raised in the socially disconnected world of technology. And while this makes them proficient in typing and navigating the various programs that make up the core of their job, it puts them at a severe disadvantage in their communication skills. This is usually most apparent in their terrible spelling, leading to written messages like "I fore got to punch out for lunch today" sitting on my desk, looking as if it should be scrawled in red crayon on construction paper.

 

So far in the two months I have been employed there I have witnessed several exchanges that have led me to believe that we are in an age of social regression that will have us devolve into technologically-dependent neanderthals that will use the same decision making skills to wield the might of tomorrow's armies as they are using now to amass a legion of fatherless babies that they proudly display as toddlers with whore-like makeup in photograph form at their desks.

 

And I recognize the "grumpy old man" tone I am taking, but the anecdotal evidence is backing me up here. I have one young lady on my team that now has to be escorted to the front of the building to pick up her paycheck because she nearly got into a fistfight with another young woman that works there. After interrogation about the incident she admitted that the two of them have "the same baby daddy". Another young man who seems to have committed himself to entry-level employment (as evidenced by his decision to decorate himself with no fewer that three facial tattoos) recently resigned from work. His reason for entering the world of the unemployed? His newborn baby has been in and out of the hospital since it's birth and he needs time off to "take care of" his family. Apparently this can be done better with good ol' elbow grease than with a steady paycheck and medical benefits. Another young lady seems perfectly good-mannered and polite until the site director decides to treat everyone to breakfast but fails to make a special menu of gluten-free items... which prompts her to cry so hard that she falls to the floor in a seizure-like fit of rage that leads to an ambulance being called. Apparently she was home schooled and has never been able to socialize with anyone that is not a blood relative.

 

The other evidence is there, usually in the form of someone roughly twenty years old that has more children than teeth, or the group of five guys that were reunited in the workplace after all serving juvenile sentences together for various felony convictions. But there is a greater point to my rant about the worthlessness of today's youth, and that is in the recognition that for every loudmouth, annoying, undereducated misfit there is an equally intelligent and dedicated young person to work alongside them. The difference is in their breeding. The foul is spreading at a birth rate of five-to-one, and the age of idiocy by way of numerical domination is at hand. So if we want to build a bridge over the cliff of social regression, or at least turn the sheer drop into a gradual decline, then we have to either figure out a way to sterilize the uncivil or encourage more fucking among the intelligent. I vote for both.

 

Here is a Gif....That is all. - Wookalar

Oh fuck!  Did Tim Conway and Don Knotts just get murdered by a Wookalar!?   You'll need to watch the 1980 classic "The Private Eyes", and find out!

That is all.



-

Diary Of A Degenerate 31

When you are approaching the US-Mexico border you can tell by the dramatic cultural changes from street to street. The houses go from earthy shades to flashy neon colors, late model cars transform into battered pickup trucks, and the chain restaurants are replaced by snack cart vendors and food trucks with handwritten spanish only signs promising some two day old organ meat swimming in a spicy broth.

 

But even the busy background is going totally unnoticed by me, because all I can think of is how I am going to get past the checkpoint without being identified, robbed, or shot. And to settle my nerves a bit I decided to sit in a nearby dive bar and drink a bit, eat a ham on rye, and visit the rest room before staggering into the daylight and staring south across the border toward my salvation. The beer was good and cold, but if you ever get a chance to pass on using a public toilet near the border, jump on it. I got into the car and got in line to cross the border.

 

I don't know if it was the heat beating down on my non air-conditioned car, or the squeeze of the booze that was making the sweat drip down my forehead and into my eyes, but I was getting anxious. And after what seemed like hours of sitting stationary surrounded by ten lanes of parked cars I locked eyes with a ballsy little shit of a kid who had his face plastered to the rear window of his mother's suburban. He was making stupid faces and motioning the universal gesture for jacking off. I watched it for a few minutes before I lost it and just grabbed Vanessa's bag off the seat next to me and got out of the car. In a stupor I just turned and walked past the endless line of American tourists and Mexican nationals that were waiting for their turn to be counted and filed through the line like cattle, and made my way back to American terra-firma. The car sat with the driver's door open, engine running, and I never looked back.

 

Standing on the porch of a restaurant and drinking deeply from a fresh bottle of whiskey (which I had to pay a ridiculous amount for) I could see the chaos I had made. The border crossing was visible from here, now with cars facing all different directions and honking like a motherfucker. I could see my car sitting there, with a tow truck trapped among the protesting mass of automobiles, no one able to make an inch of progress now that they had deviated from their neatly organized rows and found themselves entangled in a hellish gridlock. It was most entertaining, and held my attention for several minutes before the conversation of the three men sitting at a table nearby caught my ear. One of them was visibly shook, but the other two were laughing. "Why are you so worried? The US guards don't fucking care if you swim the river over to the mexican side! And the Mexican guards are so fucking lazy that they wouldn't waste their time chasing you down. But for getting back, you're gonna need some help..."

 

I hadn't been swimming since I was a kid. Shit, I haven't even taken a bath for at least a decade! But I liked my odds a lot better than trying to explain myself to the authorities with my freedom on the line. So I walked back out of the restaurant and walked into the first shithole that looked like it might be a motel.

 

.

Men Love Me

Back in college, I was in desperate need of money.  To relieve my financial burden, I volunteered for a medical study.  It was a study in pheromones and how they affect the human brain.  I didn't care much about the experiments and I willfully participated in dozens of different tests.

That's where everything changed.  One day they had me take some pills.  They said they re-sequenced something in my DNA.  I was a bit concerned, but they offered me double pay and I accepted.  I felt totally fine, but a few hours later, strange things started to happen.

One of the research scientists started to get very flush in the face and began making "bedroom eyes" at me.  It was very out of character of him.  He was usually a very restrained and extremely smart guy.  Suddenly, he leaped from his chair and started groping and kissing me all over.  It took several minutes for the other scientists to pry him off of me.  It was ..... awkward.

He was completely irrational and had a raging erection.  The other scientists dragged him from the room and as quickly as it started it stopped.  Once he was a couple of rooms away from me and regained his sanity.  He was very confused and extremely embarrassed.  He says it was like he completely blacked out.  He retained no memory of his attack.

The four other scientists working on the project were at a complete loss.  What had triggered the strange behavior in their coworker.  They knew that they had scrambled my DNA and made my pheromones all funky, but they could not determine why it only affected that one guy. 

When I was walking home from the lab that night, I passed a frat party.  There were a good dozen of the bros on the front porch drinking beer.  I know a few of them, they are cool guys.  They offered me a beer and when I approached to take one, two heads jerked up, eyes fixed on my face.  The two guys bolted from their seats, dropping their beers.  They then proceeded to tackle and passionately dry hump me on the front lawn.  The bros, thinking it was a joke, started laughing.  The laughter slowly died down when they realized that their friends weren't kidding and weren't stopping. 

They pulled the guys off of me and I started to sprint back to the lab.  Running hurt because my legs and butt were covered in dick bruises.  I made the mistake of taking a short cut through the musical theater department.

Suddenly, I had a baker's dozen of thin, scarf wearing men sprinting after me, boners exposed.  I made it to the lab and slammed the large glass doors.  I grabbed a chair and rammed it against the doors.  The men started to pound on the glass, but with me no longer sharing their air, there lustful looks faded and looks of confusion took over.

The scientists have not yet been able to find a way to fix me.  To prevent my future unintentional rape, I have to wear a pressure suit whenever I leave the house.  Hmmmmmm...  It's the fault of science that all gay men need to fuck me.

-

How Much I Hate You

You make me sick. The thought of you is affecting me in irrational and alarming ways. When you are near I can smell the stink of your sweat, and my mind races while I try to understand why everyone else doesn't feel the same urge to rid you of the odor by forcefully drowning your pathetic, kicking frame in the nearest stagnant gutter.

I hope your mother knows how much worse the world is with you in it. I hope she walks into the path of some slow-moving farm equipment with the full realization that the backseat display of obese lust with an anonymous vagrant all those years ago was her greatest mistake. A problem that would have been best solved by falling down a few flights of stairs during the third trimester.

Sometimes I daydream about watching you die. But not in any grand, dramatic, or cruel ways. Just embarrassing and pathetic ones. I think about your family finding your corpse hanging in a closet after a cut-corners auto-erotic session with your tiny, limp penis in hand. I think about how devastated they would be when the coroner's photographs are leaked to the public and become a particularly popular internet meme, complete with cheap, mass produced t-shirts and even an award-winning iphone app. And how your wife and kids would be so ashamed that they would change their names and deny your existence for the rest of their lives, making sure that your memory would be completely extinguished.

I want to be there when you fail. But not the gradual path of poor decisions and bad luck that lead you to a final state of disgrace and despair, but only after achieving great success. I hope you get everything you ever wanted, professionally and personally, then lose everything after a false accusation of being a particularly prolific child molester. I want you watch it all slip away and go from the happiest you have ever been to suicide in a matter of weeks. And after making that dark decision to put a final end to your suffering by slobbering on the end of a shotgun, I hope you fail at suicide. I hope you wake up disfigured but mentally acute. I want your recently estranged family to be forced to pay for the cripplingly-expensive medical care so they grow to add contempt to the short list of feelings they have for you, just after shame and pity.

Fuck you.


.

Dead Anything

You know that show "The Walking Dead"?  Yeah!?  Well, they have a free app for the Iphone that makes you all zombied and shit!  It's called "Dead Yourself".  Because you make yourself look dead.  Because I already look like a fetid corpse, I'll bypass posting a zombied picture of myself.  But so many other things can be zombied!  Fuck!  It's Zombie Peck the Cat!

Aw Shit!!  zombie hotdog!?  Watch the fuck out, this hotdog bites back!

Welcome to the Hidden Valley of the Undead Ranch.  Ranch dressing is fucking disgusting.

This is actually a bit terrifying.  A zombie chimpanzee?  Those fuckers are terrifying in the first place.  As adults they are excessively stronger than humans and have absolutely no moral code.  They will rip your face off and eat your genitals.  They are fucking monsters.  If I didn't make the picture, I'd assume it was real.  Our closest descendants are horrible fucking monsters!!

Sweet Jesus!  It's the zombie Kingsford Matchlight Charcoal Briquettes!  No! Nooo!!!  Fire only makes them stronger!!

Holy Demon Cunts!  It's a zombie Ikea catalog office chair!  Only 59.99!

Aw shit!  zombie Baron the Dog is badass!  He will fuck your teeth hole!  You see how I gave him body armor?  Motherfucking badass!

AAAAHH!!  A zombie dog must have zombie dog toys!  Not you Gingerbread Squeaky Toy!  Not you too!!!

Zombie breakfast is delicious.  Zombie Bacon, Zombie Scrambled Eggs, Zombie Sausage.  Mmmm, all of the Zombie food groups. 

Zombie Blue Screen of Death, you piece of shit!

Now, why don't you go make yourself dead!?  I don't mean using the app either.  Do it, you pussy!  You know who you are!  End it!

-

My Retarded Baby

Do you ever wish you had the perfect ice-breaker for those awkward social interactions? Or have you ever been passed over for a promotion at work because you just can't get yourself noticed? Maybe you could use a little extra cash from the government for doing ABSOLUTELY NOTHING! Well, it sounds like you should be introduced to... My Retarded Baby!


My Retarded Baby is the first service of it's kind, providing private consumers all the benefits of having a "special needs" child with none of the financially and emotionally-crippling disadvantages! Just call our toll free line to get pricing options and you are on your way to a new public image of selfless, altruistic, and good-natured spirit that will revolutionize your lifestyle! You will receive dozens of framed photographs and wallet sized shots of one of our thousands of adorable retarded babies specially selected for their ability to tug at the heart strings, along with all the documentation necessary to make the new addition to your family legally "alive". Now wallpaper your cubicle at work with your My Retarded Baby photos, make up a few endearing stories about how close your bond is, then reap the professional and social rewards!

The benefits are endless!

In your personal life: Got your eye on a certain special someone? What better way to prove you are a trustworthy, reliable, and loving person than to tell them about your dear child that is in constant danger of aimlessly wandering into potentially fatal situations? After all, a little sympathy never hurt anyone...
In your professional life: Imagine there is a big new opportunity for advancement in the company, and the executives are all deciding who to consider for promotion. You know who deserves a break? That guy down in accounting with the pictures of the kid who is so severely retarded that it's obvious even at a peripheral glance, that's who!

Other benefits include the possibilities of government aid (at your own risk, of course), and having that perfect "anytime" excuse. For instance, do you want to skip that office meeting and hit the bars? Well, guess who's retarded baby's back in the hospital? Yours! And can you explain your whereabouts on the night in question, Mr. Defendant? Why, yes I can! I was teaching My Retarded Baby how to stop accidentally stabbing himself. He does struggle to simply make it through every day, Mr. Prosecutor, sir.

And don't forget to ask about our premium My Retarded Baby services, which include a personal My Retarded Baby agent to act as social worker, doctor, caregiver, or family member whenever your story needs a little backing up! Or do you want this ruse to extend into your family life, where adoption papers and backstory may prove useful? Because do you know what kind of person adopts a retarded child? A fucking SAINT, that's who.

That's right. We here at My Retarded Baby have your back for all your sympathy fishing and deceptive needs. Give us a call today!

.

EEEEEEEK!

EEEEEEK!! I got's the filthies!  I done touched it!  I done touched it!  EEEEEEK!!  I can't get it off!  The filthies!  EEEEEEEK!!  It's all all over my fingers!  Noo!  It's climbing up my hand further!  It's melting me!!  EEEEEK!  I can feel it eating between my knuckle bones!!

Why did I touch that meteor?  I thought it would be full of space diamonds or superhero powers but it's just full of hungry slime!  My daddy was right, I shouldn't have gone to prom with that Johansonson boy.  He was trying to talk me into "doing it" and he ran away as soon as he saw that the slime was digesting me.  This is genuinely unpleasant.  Tonight was supposed to be magical!  I was not supposed to get devoured!

Well there, it's now past my elbow.  Wonderful.  It doesn't seem to hurt as much now.  I guess it has a natural numbing agent built into it's slimy core.  Hmmmm.  It is quite curious, in fact, that I find myself being less afraid the further it climbs up my arm.

So that's what it feels like to have one's eyes dissolved.  Very interesting.  That last splash of prismatic color was quite a delightful surprise.  Ah,  I feel that it has reached my brain.  HA!  What a tickle!  Tee hee!

This is quite fortuitous.  I feel my intellect mingling with the Hyper Intelligent Pseudo Mucous.  Well, thank you Mucous, I like you as well.  Mucous has informed me that we are combining our essences to form the perfect amalgam of a mortal prey drive and and deep space hyper intellect.  My species is just what it required to fulfill it's mission.  We are one.  We are great.  We are all.  We are hungry.

We are delighted to see that our prom dress was not digested.  We will wear it now.  We will have our magical prom night after all.  We will find the Johansonson boy and finish our date.  He said he wanted to be inside us on prom night.  Now he can.  Now he will.  All will join us.  We are hungry.

-

Dead Rat Distilleries

Well, pickle my titties and call me Susan!  If it ain't another customer!  Settle down there city boy, 'cause I an't sellin' no corner store swill here.  I have only the best toilet-bowl homebrew straight from the backwood stills, JEN-U-WINE Dead Rat Distilleries products!  Before you turn tilly and get stumpin' on down the road give ol' Uncle Pricklepeach a listen.


You see, we got here a full stock of all the local delights.  Consider Leechwater Bourbon, brewed from stagnant creek tailings then aged six days in a possum-skin canteen on my own personal tin roof, with every bit as much paint thinner as the premium homebrewed bourbon, but at half the price for the easygoing drinker that doesn't mind a little hair in the glass.  Or perhaps some Budget Backwash Blend, with a "bit of the bunch" squeegeed fresh every morning off the bathroom floor, an inexpensive and intoxicating alternative to sampling our entire selection individually!


Or perhaps a little VEE-NO is more your style?  I knew it when I saw you, you got culture, sir!  Give a try to our Five-Finger Pixie Stick Wine, consisting of a so-fist-icated pairing of grape juice concentrate and lime flavored pixie sticks, fermented until all five fingers are standing up on the heavy rubber glove.  Or is it a more formal occasion?  Well you can't go wrong with Shameful Sibling's Baby Brew, the only wine in the nearest four counties to guarantee a miscarriage!  That's right, don't let a night's mistake last for 18 years... Just "leggo that preggo" with a bottle of Shameful Sib's!


But make sure you don't miss out on our flagship spirit, the juice that started off three generations of artisanal distilling, Dead Rat Whiskey!  Painstakingly crafted over a six hour burn, Dead Rat Whiskey is collected in a drum with a LIVE RAT in the bottom.  And only when the whiskey is potent enough to kill the varmint is it ready to bottle!  And remember to drink slowly to sift out the tiny teeth... they're good luck!!!


And as always, consume responsibly and remember our commitment to the buyer...  We will always distill our liquors over a decades-old tire fire to a blistering 180 prewf before filtering through a gymsock.  And for the rich folks that can afford them, Dead Rat Distilleries makes only products that won't dissolve your dentures!  So call in sick to your probation appointment, unscrew a bottle, and tuck into some Delicious Dead Rat!

.

Soup Whore - Progresso Traditional Chicken Cheese Enchilada Flavor

Fuck me sideways, I could barely contain my engorged loins when I saw this tasty treat in the soup aisle.  Who the fuck would not want to eat this soup?  Sweet Christmas!  It is packed with so many things I love!  Chicken!  Cheese!  Enchilada!  Flavor!!!  Fucking shit holes, that sounds amazing!!

Let's crack this little fuck open and get to heatin'!  I can't wait to have this hot mess pouring down my lips, chin, back and ass.
 

People who microwave soup are retarded assholes.  Yeah!  You heard me!  RE-TAR-DED!  Everyone knows that microwave radiation destroys specific delicious soup particles.  I'd slide my rusty pucker down a barbed wire baseball bat before eating microwaved soup!

There is nothing better than the slop slop slop sound of a can of soup getting poured into a saucepan.  It reminds me of every sexual experience I've ever had.

Ah shit!  That is almost hot enough.  Just a few more minutes of simmering and I'll be ready to get my body pumped full of hot cheesey flavor!

Just look at those chunks of chicken!  Also, a special guest, Tomatoes!  Wonderful!  They've just been sitting there swimming in cheese.  Fuck!

That was incredibly delicious.  It was cheesy and zesty with a hint of spicy!  The chicken was tender and didnt have any of those weird cartilagey bits mixed in with it.  I would highly reccomend this soup to anyone who likes things that are fucking delicious, or anyone who desires pseudo-mexican flavored soups.  I'm glad I have a second can.  I am almost ready for a second round of hot sloppy soup action.  I give it 9/10 Clean Licked Soup Bowls.


-

What The Fuck, Jesus!?

Horus The Original "Son of God"

What the fuck, Jesus!?  Seriously, what the fuck!?  I stop paying attention to current events and this motherfucker starts coppin' my game!  ........What's that?  Where the fuck have I been these last 5000 years?  The sun is still coming up, ain't it?  ......Then shut the fuck up!

I don't know how this guy has been getting away with it for so long.  Haven't you people ever heard of me?  Do you all just listen to him and just accept his bullshit?  Why didn't anyone say "Heeeey, isn't that Horus' fucking life story?"  Motherfucking Theological Plagiarism!

Jesus "Milli Vanilli" Christ, you lying sack of shit.  I really just can't believe it......  What the fuck am I talking about?  Well, listen up fucko!

Let's see, first my birthday is on December 25th. I know, I know, shit-tons of people were born on December 25th.  Well, what about MY motherfucking Virgin birth on December 25th?  That shit sound familiar?  Ah fuck!  Do you know what my virgin mother's name was?  MERI!  Mother Meri!  HA!  What about my step-dad?  I'm glad you asked.  His name was Jo-Seph.  Oh, sure, coincidence...

Not good enough, OK.  Hmmm.  My birth was also announced by angels, witnessed by shepherds and visited by 3 Solar Deities.  Wise men, anyone? After I was born, a king named Herut tried to have my shit murdered.  Doesn't that sound like what Herod supposedly tried to do to Jesus THOUSANDS of years later?  All coincidences you say?  I call bullshit!

There are parts of Jesus' life that are unknown.  They don't know anything about him from between the ages of 12 and 30.  That wouldn't be a big deal if people didn't know that same shit about me!  What the fuck!?  We both got baptised when we were 30.  I was baptized by my homey Anup the Baptizer. Jesus got his shit bapted up by John the Baptist.  Do you know what else is weird?  Anup and John were both beheaded!  Shiiiiiit!

I had 12 disciples, he had 12 disciples.  We both fix blind people, walk on motherfucking water, have healy touchy powers and banish demons and shit.  There is so much other shit, but here is the big one.  We were both crucified next to 2 thieves and both buried in tombs.  Then guess what!  We both came back to life 3 days later our resurrections being announced by women!  I fucking know, right!? 

If somebody ain't plagiarizing my shit, then I don't know what the fuck is going on!  Maybe if people tried thinking for themselves they wouldn't have to rely on stealing someones biography to make themselves feel better about their own bullshit!  Bullshit!!  I guess I'll go back to battling Set and keeping the sun rising.  You are fucking welcome!    


-

Lord Winston Duke Of The Pooh

Framing Tigger for Christopher Robin's mauling was simple.  The 100 Acre Wood has rich petroleum reserves and taking the Robins out of the picture was just my first step to acquiring ownership.  Very little wood actually stands now.  Actually, it is currently the site of the 100 acre refinery.  Sure, the other residents of the wood put up a fight.  They almost stopped me too.  All it took was a match and a strong breeze and I had nothing more to worry about from Rabbit and his like.  The roast Rabbit was delicious but the tastiest thing of all was the Honey Glazed Ham.  Oh bother, I just farted into my tiger skin rug.  It's nothing money can't fix.  

-

Diary Of A Degenerate 30

I was back in the car again, drunk for the last twenty-plus hours. Despite having pulled over twice to be violently ill, some spraying out of my nose, I could still smell the soft remains of Vanessa's perfume. The car was almost empty now, with just my wasting frame and the few things I saw fit to gather into the back seat before abandoning the motel and Vanessa's body with it, and now I was completely lost. Not just on the road, you see. I spent most of my drunk driving days wandering across lanes of traffic in directions that I didn't fully understand at the time, with my destination a mere afterthought compared to the urgency of escaping. There was little hope now. Now I was just a murderer with no one to stick up for my actions. Vanessa could have pleaded my case for me, something that I would be unable to do for myself with any kind of chance of succeeding.

 

The police would look at the case and see a former lover from a seemingly abusive relationship returning to plead with his lost love only to be confronted by her protective father, a man of means and social status no less, who, after an unseen struggle, fires his heavy revolver through the patriarch's face and kidnaps the grieving and terrified young woman. They would never know the years of sexual molestation she endured at the hands of that man, or that the abuse in the relationship always originated from her side of the equation. Soon I would be caught and exposed as a sexually deranged murderer and thrown into prison with the rest of the dregs of society.

 

These thoughts traveled through my head as barreled down the highway at some unknown and unmonitored speed. I suppose I was secretly hoping to make my way into oncoming traffic and die as I had lived, drunken and desperate. But it was not to be. By sheer fucking luck I was aimed directly southeast toward the mexico border. A destination that was the only option for a man running from justice, a place that featured towns where being a murderer helped you blend into the crowd, and asking questions about someone's past would earn you either contempt or a thorough stabbing. But long before I realized my good luck I pulled off the road and took a four hour nap, still gripping the steering wheel.

 

When I woke up there were birds circling overhead. They were most certainly magpies or something, but they should have been vultures. I had been in steady decline for the last decade or so, and no one would fault the birds for their mistaken judgement concerning my likelihood of immediate survival. It was amazing that I hadn't been hassled by the highway patrol in the night, as I was stone drunk with my driver's side door open wide to facilitate the emergency evacuation of my ulcer-plagued guts. I had always held my liquor without a problem since I became a regular drinker at the age of about seventeen, but in the last three years or so the retching began. Now I vomited almost out of routine rather than because it caused me any relief, but I seldom complained about it due to some sense of guilt that had me convinced I deserved it. Besides, any signs of the advancing reaper was welcome at this point.

 

.

Keyhole Confessionals

I just can't help myself.  I'm am insatiably curious minx.  Just the other day I was in Garden Moor Apartments, peeping through a keyhole, and I saw a man eat an entire goose.  It looked greasy and delicious.  He worked on it for 45 minutes until there was nothing but bone and an incredibly greasy beard.  He really enjoyed it.  The joy on his face fed my nearly empty happy hole.  I feed on others dandy happiness. 

That night I went to the Rutherford Arms Tavern.  If'n you sneak upstairs when Bruno the bartender ain't looking, and creep down the hall, the third door on the right's keyhole contains an amazing sight.  Bruno's senile Uncle Larry is locked in there.  He spends his time making the most glorious paintings, with his own homemade paint.......  Brown paint.  His canvass?  Anything and everything.  He is a genius.

I don't always peep in keyholes, I'm not some freak.  Sometimes I peep out.  I have watched the same homeless man defecate in front of my door step every night for the last 37 months.  Whether he knows it or not, we have a relationship.  A really nice relationship.  Hosing his waste into the gutter has become a welcome and regular daily ritual for me.

Night before last I was down Trumble Ave, when I saw a sliver of light beaming from a tiny keyhole.  I couldn't help myself, I slammed my bare knees onto the pavement and stared salivating into the tiny glistening pit.  I was not disappointed, there was a man in there, working his sausage like a pro.  His hands gripping a seemingly insurmountable girth of meat.  I couldn't tear my eyes away.  I reached my hand slowly to my pants.  I slipped my hand into my pocket and pulled out my wallet.  I just have to have that man's meat in my mouth.  I fucking love a good length of Sausage and Maroni's Butcher makes the best.  Watch out though, that Maroni guy is kinda creepy.  

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Films For Fiends: Shogun's Sadism Part 1

Recently I have been having a difficult time finding suitably cruel and horrific films to review for this series, but I am delighted that at least I can always count on the japanese to come through. Tonight I watched Shogun's Sadism, also known as The Joy of Torture 2: Oxen-Split Torturing. No matter the title, the cinematic intent is pretty clear. This movie consists of two short stories, the first of which I will discuss here. My hopes are high for a romp through the high grass of offensive asian shock cinema.

The setting is Edo in the Shogun era, when christians were being persecuted and killed in a variety of inventive ways. The film opens with a woman being boiled alive, then another hanged before being sliced in two at the waist by a katana. The plot is almost nonexistent, with a thin storyline involving a forbidden love between a traditional young man named Lori and a christian woman after their chance meeting at a riverside snake bite incident. Then the persecution of the christians is detailed in a few scenes of rape, men being burned inside a cauldron, and a man's foot being battered into pulp by a giant hammer to the point that his bones are neatly pulled from a mass of torn flesh. Classy stuff.


Predictably, the lovestruck boy is torn by his feelings for the young girl after she is discovered and subjected to awful sexual abuse, eventually made into the shogun's personal concubine after a rather crude test of her virginity. First impressions are: There is a disturbing amount of rape in this movie, and in true japanese fashion, the penetration is blurred to prevent any, you know... obscenity from tainting the frequent depictions of forcible sexual violation amid a chorus of female screams. It also seems ambiguous whether the intent of the film is to depict a shameful period of cruelty in japanese history, or just to make a lighthearted casual flick about the "good old days". You can never be sure with japanese cinema.


The troubled young concubine is ultimately made to betray the identities of her fellow christians in a desperate move to stop the torture of her younger sister, whose eyes are burned out with a red hot poker, and she is made to watch them all face the fitting end of being crucified and pierced with a long spear. Then more torture and rape. lather, rinse, repeat.


Eventually Lori becomes disillusioned with his master's horrible ways and is banished after suffering humiliation in the form of having his hair sliced off (shocking, I know), and vows to rescue his love to prevent any further abuse. He is able to intercept her from her captors during transport, granting him a night alone with her. Unfortunately they are discovered in the morning and Lori is unceremoniously cut down in a brief sword fight. But once again we see that men had it much easier than women in those times, as the christian girl is sentenced to die by having her legs torn in opposite directions by an elaborate system of pulleys and oxen. And credits roll on the first short story as we are informed that the shogun is later promoted to minister of religion. How fitting.


My final conclusions are lukewarm here, as I was turned off by the misogynistic imagery and frequent rape scenes. I counted about nine acts of rape and sexual abuse in around 40 minutes, putting it far in the running for most tasteless film yet. The special effects are decent, save the cut aways that spare the viewer from seeing the awkward transition from unmarred human flesh to tattered raw pork shots, but the real disappointment is in the final ox splitting scene. The young girl's lower torso is clearly hidden through a hole in the platform, sloppily masked by white rags as her legs are torn asunder. Not that I was hoping for any real depiction of violence. I mean, only a real sicko would seek THAT stuff out.


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Slekim Du Nogo is King of Sea.

Hello, long time no talk.  It me, Slekim Du Nogo!  I bet you miss you old pal Slek.  Where have Slek been these last 17 fuggin months?  Slekim been in Australian prison, of course.  When Slek began "Slekim International Head Hunt", Slekim did not expect such a disappointing Australian welcome.

All Slek did was saw head off one Australian cork hat man to cause massive shit storm.  Do you know it illegal to saw head off deserving man?  It do.  So Slekim's great adventure cut drastically short.  Slek called murderer and put in dark cold place.  Australian prison nothing like Central Mountain of Papua New Guinea where Slekim from.  Vegemite taste like dog salt.

Slekim thought he never get out of Australian prison.  That all change now.  Prisoner transfer hard when Slekim is so crafty.  All it take is one guard not paying attention.  Slekim make hongoia knife in prison kitchen.  It not cassowary bird, but it chop you fuggin head off.  Guard look at pretty lady when moving Slekim, Slekim pull out hongia and SAW STAB CHOP CHOP SAW STAB RIP TEAR PULL SAW CHOP PULL and POP!  Off come the guard head.

That when it happen.  Slekim get the head lust.  Once Slekim get going, it hard to stop.  It all go red and Slekim chop and saw, so many heads.  When Slekim vision clear, Slekim in control of Australian battleship.  Slekim now Captain of HMAS Ballarat.  Somehow Slekim decapitate his way through Australian prison guard, Australian police force and part of Australian Navy.

HMAS Ballarat much better than Slekim old tree boat.  Slekim King of fuggin sea!  Slekim going now, Slekim need recruit crew of brigands and scallywags to help Slekim on "Slekim International Head Hunt 2013"!!  Maybe Slekim see you soon, maybe Slekim saw you fuggin head off?

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The Broncos Lost

The broncos lost a heartbreaking game tonight, so I have been drinking and stewing in anger. Am I going to ever forget the (at least) five plays that were bullshit calls for the ravens? No. Am I going to forget the 70 yard touchdown pass to tie the game with seconds remaining? No. So I would like to take a moment to list some things I fucking hate.

I hate children. People tell me "Oh, but Hamtackle, the children are the only innocent humans on earth! They are guilty of nothing, and represent the purity of human nature before the corrupting influences of society!" Exactly. That's why I hate them. How fucking boring are children? The have zero insight and are single-minded and selfish. Besides the fact the our faults and mistakes are the only thing that distinguishes us from each other and makes us interesting. Tell a story about the most altruistic thing you have done, or the greatest temptation that you were able to overcome, and watch the room empty. Now tell a fucked up story about when you set you dick on fire during a coke binge. Mr. Popular.


I hate the people I work with. I hate the ones who try to relate to me and be my friend. I hate the ones who try to impress me with their knowledge about work-related subjects. I hate the ones who hate me back, and only wipe the mean look off their faces when they want me to approve time off or help with their time card. And I hate the ones that are always pleasant, who smile and greet me at 6 AM and ask me how my morning is going, the same ones who would judge me if they ever heard five seconds of thought running through my head, even when I am sleeping.


And I hate good weather. I hate the brightness of the sun, the warmth and fresh breezes. I hate how they remind me how much time I spend trapped in rooms that I would rather burn down than continue existing within, but am too cowardly to lite the matches myself. I hate how much others enjoy it, and the way they can't stop talking about it like it somehow enhances their lives when they spend just as much time as I do baking under the florescent bulbs, rotting away in front of a monitor.


And I hate the Baltimore Ravens, the Broncos, and the NFL. Until next season.


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A One Legged Vagrant's Guide To The Oscars

It's me, Frisky Pete. I guess it's bin a real long time sense my last internet letter about movies and it is real good to be back in a shelter that has a nearby unprotected wyfy channel. I am writing all you people from my new galaxy tablet that I got from a stranger when he was hit by a bus and got all tangled in the wheels. It is cracked in the corner but it works real good for my 2 favorite things internet and porno. And boy do we have a lot to talk about now, sense they just told us the movies that are fighting each other for the oscar statues! I will give you my picks for a few of the rewards sense I saw so many of the movies.

For best picture I am going to guess that the movie that will win is going to be Lincoln. I saw this one and was scared at all the scary men with wigs and all the talking about politics. I saw it in a good movie house that even sold beer! I got a couple handfulls of the tasty beer to sip from the trashcan and had to yell at a lady that told me to stop digging in their trash. The tall skinny guy was a real good guy, and he gets killed in the head at the end after the war was finished. Ultimately the pairing of directorial hall-of-famer Stephen Spielberg and powerhouse character actor Daniel Day-Lewis made for an engaging and exciting exposé of the inner workings of our national politics at a time when they were under a strain greater than ever before, or indeed, ever since.


For best actor I would guess that the person that should win the little statue is wolverine for the Miserable movie. I just thought that it must have bin real hard for wolverine to not use his claws to kill people that were real mean to him in the movie. And there was a lot of music in the movie that helped me sleep off the tail end of a meth bender that I had bin on. But I was asked to leave because my stinky foot was on the seat in front of me and I guess I was snoring and throwing in in my sleep. The real triumph of Hugh Jackman's performance lies not in his beyond capable portrayal of the beloved Jean Valjean, but in the way he captures the emotion to match the grand scale of his settings, and in his ability to reproduce some of the most iconic musical pieces ever to grace broadway.


For the best woman actor in a movie for the year I have to say I didn't see any of the movies the people were in. I thought maybe the lady that killed Osama Bin Laden in a knife fight should win, but in the end I am pulling for a write-in vote for Bunny Summers in the "Two Holes, Two Poles" porno movie. She was real good at making it seem like she was enjoying stuff that looked like it must have really hurt a lot. And the movie theater I saw it in didn't even care that I was beating off the whole time! I get thrown out and the police are called on me whenever I do that in the other movie rooms at other theaters. Bunny's uncommonly abundant physique and lustful gazes give the viewer an affinity for her that is rarely achieved in the genre. Pornography fanboys and misogynists alike find themselves emotionally attached to her, and share the joy of her shuddering release.


There you have it, internet people. My choices for the winners of the oscars awards. I have to finish my typing now because I need to get over to McDonalds in time to charge my new internet tablet before they close and I run out of power. I need it to watch my sexy movies at night, so I better git a bunch of napkins too. Bye!


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Rent A Friend

Hello, hi, pardon me... Yeah hi, my name is Tory and you look like you could use a friend.  I mean you look really down in the dumps.  Is something wrong?  I bet you would love to have an nonjudgmental ear to spill your sorrows into.  Somebody who cares only about your well-being and really wants to see you happy.  Somebody to grab your hand and pull you away from that self destructive precipice.  Somebody to help you see the good side of life and maybe even provide a bit of direction? 

I could be that person you know.  I could be that new friend, that new pal.  We could really form a great friendship.  What do you think?  Should we go grab a beer, pal?  Yeah?!  Well alright, my rates run around $250 an hour, it's a double rate on weekends.  I do have a punch card, if you spend more than $50000, you get a whole hour free. 

What!?  Why are you so mad? ........ It's not fucked up!.....  What do you mean friendship isn't a service to be rented?  This is fucking America buddy!  I am an entrepreneur, a businessman, a trail blazer.  I am the fucking American dream!  There are people in need and I provide a service.  I am currently the best friend of 207 clients.  I am a damn good friend!

I tell the opposite sex how great my clients are.  I am a devilishly generous wing-man.  I am the embodiment of persuasiveness.  I could talk a "10" into giving you a blumpkin in a Fast Food Bathroom and she would love you for it.  I could help you tell your insanely religious father that you are gay, so well, that he comes out to you!    I am that fucking good!

My friendship has created legends.  You ever hear of a little bitch named Ryan Seacrest?  Best fucking friends since 1993!  What about Lady Gaga?  Poker Face is about me!  You ever hear of a little President of the United States George W. Bush?  Me and G-Dubs are bro bros.

I have been providing retail friendship since childhood.  I would hang out with kids after school in exchange for their pudding cups and fruit role-ups.  I could make any situation fun.  A kid's dad is beating his ass?  Didn't matter when he was hanging out with me.  I chased all the troubles away.  I still do.  I am the immaculate conception of best friendedness!  

Oh, now you are interested in my friendship?  Why the fuck would I want to be friends with you?  You're a dick!


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Whiskey Solves Everything!

There is a reason that the irish called the sweet intoxicating nectar that has dominated their lives for centuries "whiskey", or "water of life" in gaelic. It is because this fluid has the miraculous capacity to make almost everything we love in life like a thousand times better! And unlike that fraudulent gutter-piss they call "holy water", you don't even need to waste your sundays listening to old men lie to you for it to work! So let's take a moment to review some of the wonderful and useful benefits of whiskey that led to the age-old expression "a bottle a day keeps the reaper away"!

 

Whiskey makes you more attractive to the opposite sex, and makes YOU more attractive to them! That's right, sexual magnetism is 99% confidence, and when are you more confident than when you are slobbering drunk? And combine those effects with the loosening standards that come with drunkenness and you have a perfect storm of baby makin'! Just make sure the object of your desire is likewise imbibing copious amounts of drink or you might find yourself in forcible rape territory. Don't say I didn't warn you.

 

Whiskey boosts your intelligence to near superhuman levels! Have you ever met a sage individual that was able to add relevance and insight into the most convoluted subject matter with seemingly absent-minded ease? Chances are, that person was blind drunk on whiskey. It is for this reason that I make a concerted effort to drink at least six shots before attending a business meeting, job interview, or parole hearing. Nothing leaves an impression like drunken ramblings.

 

Whiskey What about medical issues? The public has been misinformed about the health effects of regular whiskey consumption by a campaign from big businesses like the soft drink leaders Coca Cola and Pepsi. Does soda cure your withdrawal symptoms, personality disorders, and halitosis? I think not. Can a liter of Sprite cure a young woman of an unwanted pregnancy? Surely the answer is a resounding "no". Score another point for whiskey.

 

Whiskey helps you make more sound and well-informed decisions! If there is one thing I could teach all the children that will grow up to be tomorrow's world leaders, it would be "If you are ever faced with a problem that holds you money, relationships, or life in the balance, just resolve to drink on it for a while!" You basically can't go wrong with this advice. Without whiskey we would be without the kind of thinking that ended the second world war, brought on the industrial age, and gave us... Chappaquiddick.

 

So keep these things in mind before condemning the binge drinking of whiskey that is going on all around you. After all, if it wasn't for whiskey your mother and father might not have ever created you in the back seat of a rusted out buick. And you might not have that lazy eye that gives you so much character!

My personal collection

 

 

Sweetums!

My baby!!  Sweetums!!  Hug him!!

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Diary Of A Degenerate 29

It hadn't been but thirty minutes or so. There had been no argument, disagreement, or cruel one-way verbal abuse that was so common between us. In fact, when Vanessa shut the door to the bathroom and started running the water the only abnormal thing about it was the door itself, which she so often left unabashedly open to the point that I was certain she would attract a predator other than myself to do her harm, her perfect nudity like blood in the water to dangerous men.

So when the water didn't stop running the bathroom door took on a sinister look that betrayed her wicked plan, and by the time I kicked it in I wasn't surprised to find her dangling there, tip toeing on the tile floor with bent legs like a ballerina frozen in time. She was nude, her dark hair covering her face at the awkward angle that the belt imposed on her neck, and her hands were held together in front of her with elbows bent in a mock prayer that was unnatural looking even to someone that didn't know she discarded her faith as a child. Her pale skin reminded me of my widowed aunt Grace's wedding dress, which hung alone in the guest closet for decades until she passed away. It was even more beautiful there in the darkness, where it's useless futility made the grand garment seem sickeningly sad.

I grabbed her body around the waist and lifted her up, unlatching the belt from the grate in the ceiling, and carried her into the bedroom where I laid her out on the bed. I knew some CPR and had even tried it out on a few drug addict friends when they went bad, but I could tell it was hopeless. She had put on her makeup so carefully, but her lips still seemed dark and blue through the red lipstick, and the shit smeared across my arm proved she had already vacated her bowels. She wouldn't have liked that. She was so clean, and her appearance meant so much to her. There was little doubt that she was very much dead.

I didn't panic. I didn't start wailing and crying, making a racket. People rarely do when there is no one around to impress by it, they just stare silently in mute contemplation. After a couple minutes I went into the bathroom to wash up and I saw it. Vanessa had written in dramatic cliche style in lipstick on the mirror "I am happy". It made me flash back to the first angry message she scrawled across a broken mirror in my old apartment, a distinct contrast to how she had evolved emotionally from when I met her, before I knew her secrets, and long before I slew her demons and took her with me on this long run from our responsibility. She was damaged and volatile then, but became dependent on me in recent months to an extreme that made me feel guilty for fucking her.

In retrospect it was bound to happen. But it still seemed cosmically unfair for her beauty and fragility to be outlasted by my rigid foulness. She rarely drank to excess, almost never swore, and tended to get along with strangers more often than not. And now the only good that was left in my life had slipped through my fingers, leaving the unstompable cockroach to carry on in the filthy gutters alone. I took the time to dress her in one of her favorite cocktail dresses, at least the one I thought she looked best in, but couldn't make it fit right. No doubt they would assume I killed her, and would probably think I kidnapped her after murdering her father. But I was okay with that. She would be exonerated in death, and I would once again shoulder her burdens. I started to pack my things.

 

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Phoning It In

I am on my couch watching tv. The computer is in the other room. Shit me sideways, I am feeling fucking lazy. I have received many emails recently accusing me of "phoning in" my posts. In the spirit of that, I am going to construct this entire post with my phone. Something I have never tried. Hmmm. Lets see....

I just bought this phone recently and have very few photos. I am far too lazy to type something of quality with one finger.

Hmmm. I have a photo of a recent breakfast at work. My dog, cat and my current view from the couch. You get to learn a little bit about me. Amazing, I know.

This blogger app is a piece of shit. I have no idea what order my photos will display, i cant change the size and there are no other options for media manipulation. Fudgums!! I guess I will just click "publish" and be done with this mess.

Steaming Pile o' Tekkit - Episode 28

Hamtackle's rage leads to arson!  Everyone's favorite shitty wooden house pays the price!  Terlet dies valiantly battling the blaze!  But what about the Creepers!?  All this and more in the season finale of Steaming Pile!  Exclamation point!

Want that Texture?:  http://www.minecraftforum.net/topic/513093-32x16x142-dokucraft-the-saga-continues/


Music by Kevin MacLeod  http://incompetech.com/music/royalty-free/



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Omegle Revisited... Again

Just another drunken romp through the anonymous chat services on the internet. As always, my responses are in green. First I decided to test the boundaries of decency by challenging a stranger's threshold for offensive commentary. Always a good ice breaker.

 

 

 

Ok. That was a decent start. Next I decided to engage the strangers in a bit of role playing, where I offered some creative punishments for their personal enemies.

 

 

 

So that went... Pretty well I guess. At least I am getting some participation from the online community of lonely drunkards and shut-ins. Finally I got a little vigilante streak and called out a probable internet liar by demanding contextual responses in real time. The results were satisfying.

 

 

There you have it, folks. Another hastily and lazily produced post of improvisational comedy with strangers. Hope to see you online! Oh yea, if you do frequent these sites, never start a conversation with "asl" because it makes you seem like a pedophile trolling for children to harass. Unless you ARE such a pedophile, in which case proceed, I guess.

 

Steaming Pile o' Tekkit - Episode 27

Terlet and Hamtackle make some jetpacks and Hamtackle gets his feelers hurted.  Gunfights and taunting ensue.  Continued classiness.

 

Want that Texture?:  http://www.minecraftforum.net/topic/513093-32x16x142-dokucraft-the-saga-continues/


Music by Kevin MacLeod  http://incompetech.com/music/royalty-free/



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Popular Irony Visits Omegle: Fail Edition

Every once in a while we decide to make some friends on the interwebs, but sometimes it is difficult to establish a genuine human connection. Here are a few failed conversations that demonstrate this problem. As always, we are represented by the green text.