Plus this

Evil is me

I guess if I was a dark jedi my name would be Darth Blog Ho. Or just Darth Ho.

Penal Servitude

I think the next big thing in the prison world is tantric anal rape. Sting was on this weeks cover of Anal Rape Monthly...in case you missed it.

Work Friend

So there's someone at work who wants me to kill him and I'm not sure what to do about it. No, he hasn't actually asked me to kill him, but he's leaving me clues.

First clue was that he pats me on the back and calls me Buddy, which is not my nom-de-guerre nor my real name. Pat my ass and we're solid, pat my back and I'll know it's a sign you want me to kill you.

Second clue was a nose whistle. The cunt has a near constant nose whistle. I'm sure it was surgically implanted.

Third clue is that he rounds me up for meetings I was trying to intentionally skip. "Come on, Buddy, the non-mandatory-pep-week-meeting is about to start, you wouldn't want to miss that." Then stands there until I get up to make sure I'm really going, this time.

I don't want to kill him, he's a nice guy. What should I do?

Peep Show

I know you guys have all been waiting for this. Some have asked, some begged...all through e-mail, of course. I receive thousands of e-mails a day. I get so many that yahoo has accused me of being an inverse spammer whatever that means. I don't mean to brag, but I am pretty cool.

Most people have lists of 100, and that's pretty cute. My list has 100 million things. I'm not going to list them all out at once though, because I don't want anyone to feel bad about how cool my list is. Plus it's hard to think of them all at the same time. But I will need someone to kinda keep track of how many I've gone through. Maybe set up a web page for me...set up a Crystal Report that's emailed to my yahoo address weekly with a monthly summary. That would be sweet.

So on to the things. The first thing that people want to know is how many testicles I have. The short answer is three. The long answer is that one is made of and amalgam of iron and gold and heats up to a super temperature which makes my nut sack glow a hot, hot heat that can be seen from the moon when I'm naked, which is usually.

The three testicles create so much testosterone that my dog licked my balls once and got sick...just like Rod Stewart did...on stage...remember that? I caused that, too. Gallons of cum. Ladies, when I go I really go. And men, too. Men and ladies should know that about me. They had to pump his stomach, if you recall. He (Rod) told me later that it was worth all of it and he'd do it again, if I let him. I said no.

They (the man) saved the semen because it sparkled and started to form another life form...like in that movie with David Duchovney...remember that one? It eventually formed into the statue of David before it evaporated into a minty mist that invigorated everyone who caught a wiff of the fragrant haze.

I want to create an award and give it to my fellow bloggers. The name of the award will be....Paragon of Tarragon. The words will go in an arch above a pot leaf because I'm not sure what Tarragon looks like, though I have seen pot before. This has nothing to do with the three testicles. Totally unrelated. I tried to make the image today, but I'm a retard. Being a retard seriously hampers my day to day activities, but I do get by.

I'm kind of tired of revealing my secrets for now. I'm not sure how many of the 100 million this is because I can't count...past three, of course.

Now then. Take care of each other, and a word of advice I learned in the navy is to hold the person's hair when they are giving you a blow job, because blowing in someone's hair is two things: 1.) Usually not appreciated and 2.) Shit, I lost track of two. I think it was a warning, though. If I remember, I'll rectify it.

I love you. Especially you.

VJ Day

If I had a vagina I'd probably store just about everything in it.

Morality Lesson Number Six

roses are red
outside's a blizzard
my friend is a ninja
and I am a wizard

20th level. Fireball and magic missle! 20 d4 with no saving throw. Sweet.

Sipping Coffee

Well, vacation was nice. I attended a giant birthday party in the sunny confines of San Diego. It was there that I realized I am wasting my life. Now, now, don't try and assuage my feelings, don't try to defuse the bitter pill I've been nursing, it's there and I cannot deny it.

Then I was walking in the airport and this guy said to me, or someone near me, Dude, you coulda been a contendah. And I was like, Yes! An epiphany driven by an offhand inanity. So I said to the guy, I've never tried! And I shook him by the fucking lapel and spit little flecks of spit in his face and slowly enunciated each word...independently I....Never....Tried…. I....Never....Tried. As If I was uttering six separate sentences. Then I told him that he had misquoted because he had.

Then this commercial came on about adult ADD and I was like, Fuck, I have this, and it had a website that I could go to for more information which I've forgotten, but it was something long that no ADD person in their right minds would ever remember. Shit, where was I? (Sorry, sometimes the obvious joke pushes me ass up and forces itself upon me.)

So it's then that I realize that I am that guy who is measuring his life in coffee spoons. I'm that fucking guy. Then it dawns on me, that's what that poem is about. Jesus. Eureka! Insight fifteen years too late. I wish I could call that English professor and explain to him that I was more interested in alcohol and sex...and that I still am, but that I just didn't have the life experience to understand--and ask for a better grade.

So it's not good enough anymore to be the eighth best heterosexual programmer in my company, no. I need to find a new job that is creative, fun, self-actualizing, self-fulfilling, self-fucking-fan-tastic and...cool. Business software is many things but it's not cool. Nor is it sexy. But it does pay well.

I'm back

I guess the good thing about being a Catholic is that I can visit you in hell. I know the mormons think that they're the ones bound for heaven. But that's false. Sorry.

I may be away

It's possible that I'm on vacation for 3 to 5 days. I love you.

Three Simple Rhymes

To my gay friend
Roses are red
Violets are runts
you like the penis
I like the cunts.

To my wife, may she never read it
Roses are red
your mom is a demon
I think you're pretty
when you swallow my semen.

To my hetero friend
Roses are red
the queen is regina
you ride the penis
and I the vagina.

I am gay, are you?

So the news is in, I'm 99% gay. Yep. I don't know if this is good news or bad news, but it is news...to me, anyway.

I started to suspect something was awry when I became fascinated with Queer Eye for the Straight Guy. I started to predict what the gay guys were going to do and even say, and I smiled at the antics of Carson, and feeling jealous about all of the attention Jai received just for being a wuss.

Then I wanted to live with the five of them, because surely they all share a nice flat somewhere in Manhattan where they sit around and critique straight men and sip frufru drinks. And we'd all poke fun of people and sip drinks and at night I'd go to my bedroom and they would go have an orgy.

I grew worried that I was turning all gay, so I went to the doctor.

My doctor is gorgeous. I went in and told her my fear, I'm turning gay, is there something you can do to help me? I am matching sock colors to shirt colors, I'm making little tsk noises with my mouth, I'm the first to clear the foam off of a bottle of beer. Then I burst into tears.

My doctor was calm and understanding. She let me finish crying and told me that she could give me a shot and that it might hurt, but it might help.

I sighed and said, "I'm afraid of needles."

She looked at me and said, "I am too, unless they're great big stiff noodles like yours."

After we made hot, sweet love, passionate w/ ass spanking and also tender she told me my prognosis.

"You are 99% gay, but gay in a good way."

I paid my copay and left feeling much relieved.

If I were an island

I would be an island with a giant volcano in the middle and every day at 8am and 9pm sharp I would erupt into a quiet bay nearby. No, make that a set of 8 bays that surround my island, and I would rotate. My island would be called Fosaj^o Insulo (which is Esperanto for Cunt Island, of course). Only certain people would be spared from the lava flow.

Are you with me?

If I had to invade a country it would probably be Liechtenstein. I think I could take it, it's pretty tiny. I'd rename it to Hotown, though because Liechtenstein is so hard to spell.

Every summer we'd have a Hotown Hodown. I'll bet they don't have those in Liechtenstein.

Greeting Card #2

Background is an older man holding the hand of a young child. They are walking in a park, or by a lake, something serene. The child is talking and the man is listening and both are smiling. In golden, cursive letters reads:

at 10 you were spry
at 20 so golden
at 30 were wise
at 40 emboldened

by business success
and personal pleasure
long bouts of work
and short bouts of leisure

at 50 were graying
but very well-read
enjoy your 60s
for you soon will be dead

Wherefore Art Thou?

I guess if Eminem was in Romeo and Juliet he would play the role of Mercutio, because I saw this video yesterday where he was singing about all these crazy rap wars where they go around and shoot each other, and that's what Mercutio said, too. He said, yo, Romeo, --then a bunch of other stuff that I can't remember. But the point is, Mercutio is Eminem.

And I guess Lil Kim would be Juliet because she's the only woman wrapper I know. It may come down to boy rappers dressing up as women like they used to do in the old days, but those boy rappers are very sensitive about dressing drag. Maybe we could use Christina Aguilera.

I'd be one of the guys in the audience throwing ripe tomatoes because, damn, when is rap going to go away?

After I got kicked out I'd go watch bear baiting which is much more manly. I'd see my friends there and they'd ask me where my wife is, and if she made me leave my dick at home. I would never tire of this joke because then I could punch his ugly face.

After I got kicked out I guess I'd go to the pub, because there are pubs all over the place in England, I guess. Then a cop would harrass me on the way over. He'd say, Oy! Because those English always say Oy to start conversations. Oy, young sir, he'd say. Oy, I have a ticket for thee for crashing thine truck into yonder garbage truck.

At this point my carnal fury would explode and I'd say, Oy, pig! Take thine own tickets and stuff them into thine own cunt because that's what you are. A cunt.

Then I'd run. English cops don't carry guns but they do have sticks and they run fast, but not as fast as me.

At the inn I'd have what they call "a pint" in England, or maybe two and I'd eat "shank" and tell my tales to the locals, but I'd leave out the cop part.

Battlestar Myasstickah

If I was an alien from another world, I'd be the slutty kind. And I'd travel only with gay aliens so they wouldn't interfere with my play.

When we landed on planets I would stoically say, "On my planet the visitee shakes the visitors probe vigorously for several minutes." Earthlings are so simple, they'd do it every time. And if they were hot, I'd say that it was a great honor to take a probe into the mouth. It is, I swear.

Probably the gay aliens would hit on me. I get that a lot. They're all, you have such strong muscles, do you work out? Then I'm all, mostly arm pumps and I give them a wink. It's flattering and all, but it can get a little tiring.

So....Bad News

Yep. I was in a car accident yesterday. Oh, yes, yes, I'm fine. My back hurts a bit. Dr. says I have spasms which let my wife say that she's known I was a spaz all along. I just hate it when someone with zero humor brings me so low so quickly. My wife....but I digress.

This is a true story. Really, it is. I know the lie is more interesting, but I wanted to get this out there because how often do you get real true stories about a person's day that don't involve talks with mom and trips to the store? So if you fear banality turn your head now because this path is slick with banal (not anal) banana ... peels.

So there I was. Wait. First let me say that I live in Nebraska where the weather is un-fucking forgiving. And, I'd move but I have friends here, and my family loves it and I fear most things, particularly change. So the roads are icy slick. But I have a four wheel drive. Yes, I am un-fucking stoppable. I think you see what I'm saying.

So there I was, three cars back behind a garbage truck (hereby referred to as GT). The garbage truck was crawling along. Stop, get out, pick up garbage, sit there and smoke, crawl 10 feet. Maddening. No one goes anywhere in this town. They all just...nevermind.

As with most stories, there is an asshole, and this story has two of them. Well, three. Well, three and a concerned citizen which has asshole qualities. There's this asshole directly behind GT who was peeking out, pretending like he was going to pass then hopping back. Peeking out, hopping back. Repeat until anger explodes in head.

I'm three cars back and a tiny thought occurs to me. I'll show these cunts. Sitting here waiting for this asshole to go past like fucking sheep. Jesus. So into oncoming traffic I fly (the lane was clear, of course) and I'm rippin down past these sheep and GT when GT starts to move, so I accelerate because there's a car now in my fucking lane. The nerve.

Well, then GT makes an ill-advised left hand turn. Smash. Broadside. If I was a pirate I'd have boarded her and sacked her booty...if you...know what I mean. Of course I mean sex here, but I love the obvious so I had to say it.

Suddenly I realize that I'm the asshole who you see on the road that you think, I hope that asshole gets a ticket, or...I hope that asshole gets in a small accident. Oh, hubris. Hubris is a stinky cunt of a friend. I'll introduce you one day.

So I get out all humbled and meek. Are you ok, I ask the garbage lady...the lady was driving, and it's then that I notice she digs me. Rubs my chest, kinda pats my ass, you know. Invites me back into the truck for a little post-wreck car wreck of our own, and I'm seriously tempted when I realize that I'm in my best bus. casual and...who wants to ruin that? Not me.

And so, yeah, all of that last paragraph was a lie. Except I was humbled and meek gearing up for the cop--yes, the 3rd asshole in the story. I had to lie, I'm sorry, I have a problem with that. Except I do think she dug me. But I think that about everyone. Really.

So all kinds of boring shit happened in this section of the story. You're saying to yourself, but Ho, you've bored us silly so far, why stop? Why not just stake us in the fucking heart with boredom like you're buffy the fucking vampire slayer and vampires kill with boredom instead of sharp teeth...which, speaking of...this show was on, last night...Bon Jovi was a vampire slayer. Un Bee Lee Vable. It was stinky.

Arrive cop. He's short and it was then that I knew I was fucked. I should have just handed him my insurance card and my anus and got on with it, but I humbled myself like his bitch hoping for leniency. I tower over this guy. And if you're reading this (and why wouldn't you be?) you, sir, are a cunt. And I mean that in the worse way possible.

So yeah, he tickets Ho for unsafe driving, unsafe passing, and all kinds of unsafe things and I have to go to fucking court to clear it up. What kind of state makes you go to court every time you hit a fucking garbage truck? Jesus.

Thank you for being so patient and I'm sorry if you came here for a bit of cheap bawdy humor and found this instead.

Also? I love you. Like a brother, or a father or a lover. Whatever you need.

Ho.

Get Well Card to my Diabetic Friend

roses are red
the violets a-glow
I thought it was funny
when they cut off your toe

Movie of the Week #37

A Laker's Girl dancer with a heart of gold overcomes archaic, so-called-dancer-player-fraternization-labor-laws that forbid dancers from dating players on the team. And by dating I mean sleeping with/whoring it up with.

The magical moment comes when dancer girl invites a player to her house where dancer girl has a sick child who throws up on the couple while they are breaking the rules and necking on the couch. (Note: this will be a bit of a rip-off from that one movie w/ the cranky gay-hating Jack N. and the waitress with the sick child).

The 7 foot basketball player picks up the child and carries him to bed and sings him lullabyes until he finally falls asleep. Then the dancer and the player get it on...big time. I'm talking anal/caramel-action and everything.

The team finds out and they threaten to fire dancer girl, but player boy quickly becomes a lawyer and rewrites the bylaws forbidding the love making between dancers and players.

The two wed and player boy finds the cure to cancer and cures son. He also gets several tripple doubles.

To end with mid court embrace between dancer girl and player boy with the son running to meet them.

Alternate Lifetime Movie Ending--Kobe enters and rapes all of them, including player boy and the son because as he likes to say, "A hole is ahole, am I right?" After raping everyone, he goes on to score a triple double because in spite of being a sadistic rapist he's a very good basketball player and a personal hero of mine.

Laker Girls

If I danced in the NBA--like the ones who dance around during commercial breaks and at halftime--I'd be the one that tried to snag an NBA player for a husband so that I could retire in a mansion instead of my shitty apartment downtown.

Cold

Shit. I have a cold. And I'm cranky.

Someone's been shooting me with Receding Hair Ray. It was cute at first. Now it's just annoying. I must go to the workshop to retaliate. Maybe a hemorrhoid ray. Those hurt. Really hurt. You gotta soak em. Or get them taken out. The doctor cuts them off of your asshole--that's the clinical term. It's really the sphincter, or the rectum or the...anus? I'm not sure. Before cutting them out, though the doctor deadens the skin w/ a shot of novicaine. I've seen it done. A sharp poke in a sensitive spot. I hate to get all anal, but I'd worry I wiped properly. Obsess about it, probably. Some jobs you can't do yourself, I guess.

Which reminds me...if ass tasted more like caramel, I'll bet that people would eat a lot more ass, E Coli, or no E Coli. Who doesn't love caramel?

Cartoon Idea Number 372

In which Licky-Licky-Balls-So-Sticky has to be put down because he's rabid. No, no, that's not it at all, that will be the opening dream sequence of Mexican boy and he'll wake up and realize that life is fleeting and he'd better love Licky while he still has him.

Actually, this one's about how Licky-Licky-Balls-So-Sticky has to travel to The Forest Of Marraige Counseling because his cunt wife Easy-Easy-Lemon-Squeezy (All the boys all call me sleazy) washes the whites in cold in spite of repeated warnings by Licky.

Typically, Therapist takes Easy's (Easies?) side of things and Licky is forced to trample Therapist to death. Licky feels robbed when paying the twenty-dollar co-pay.

The moral of the story as Mexican boy rides off into the sunset on Licky will be that washing whites in hot or warm is really the best policy.

VWS

So, bad news. I have it. Vaginal Withdrawal Syndrome. I have all the classic symptoms. Crankiness. I'm...grumpy. Near constant fantasizing of strangers and nudity. I hope I don't suffer.

In the Valley of the Blind the Man with the Seeing Eye Dog is Prince

Now, I hate to stereotype, but what is it with blind chicks, are they hot, or what? I just saw that movie The Village and there's this blind woman in it and she is sexy as hell.

I think I'll add to my list of resolutions to fuck more blind women or...blindies as I now call them IN MY MIND.

And sensitive? Oh, yes. All blind women are very sensitive. That's how they get by on extra feeling, so to woo them you have to have a good personality, have to have a good heart cause they can sense it. That's the drawback.

I'll need to invite someone with a good heart to help me woo them, then I'll take them to the bedroom where I will lie to them about all kinds of things. Yes, darling, my penis is fifteen inches, or whatever.

If there are any blind babes reading this (I'm sorry, but I HAD TO) please know I have a pretty clean heart and possibly a fifteen incher, or an A Bomb as we call them "in the trade."

Love, Ho.

Job Hunting

I think my next job will be working for the President of the West Wing, Jed or Jeb something...I'm not really sure what his name is, but his son is Emelio Estevez. How cool would it be to have the frickin president as your dad? My dad's a salesman for Christ's sake (and I mean that in the most biblical way).

So this new job would require me to move to D.C. which would put a crimp in my family life, but if they loved me they'd let me go, right? Right. Follow my dream, and all that...

I'm thinking I could be one of those guys that gets all the cool lines, all of the clever comebacks against the alien Republican foe. Because Jeb or Jed is a Democrat and as we all know...Democrats hate Republicans. And with good reason. Republicans poop in their pants. Little known fact. Except my friend Kitty. She's very clean, she has cats. And you, if you're a Republican, I really thought you were clean from the moment we met. None of my friends poop their pants on accident. It's the other guys. They. Them.

So I've been working on my lines, because I feel like I should be prepared, and I thought I'd give you a little preview.

I imagine myself walking up to one of my foes and saying, "There's a new man in town and he's armed with the "C" word. Do you know what that means?"

And then he'd say, "Committee?"

And then I'd point my pointer finger at him and cock my thumb back and make a little shooting motion and at the same time say, "That's right, cunt." Oh, and then I'd laugh.

And in the financial meetings I'd look at charts and say, "What did you do this on, an Etch-a-Sketch?" Then I'd throw the paper in their faces, and if really trying to get a point across, I'd yell, "Face!" When I threw papers into their faces.

I could also say to someone, "Hey, nice tie, did your mom pick that out?" Republicans hate to have their moms brought into it. Democrats do too, might I add.

Bartlett! That's is last name. Jeb or Jed Bartlett! Odd that it's not Estivez, though.

And if Bartlett ever fired me I could say, "You were a pretty good President, for a pear!" Or if he ever needed a motivational speech I could say, "Are you a man or a pear!" Things like that. Pear jokes go a long way in DC. Or so I suspect.

I hope I get a good salary.

The First Play

If I ever wrote a play I would call it, A Play on Words...because it's a play and play...will...be in the title.

The actors will wear giant shoes with words on them, probably swear words and a couple conjuctions, or...cuntjunctions. And one adverb--maybe humpingly. And a gerund (cunting).

The object of the play will be for the players to line up w/ their giant clogs and make clever sentences. If the players don't make it interesting...maybe the audience will throw rocks, I haven't quite worked that out, yet.

Anyone want to try out? I'll pay in saliva.

Chevre

If I was a goat in France and someone said the word "chevre" around me, I would pinch them with my cloven hoof and shout out, "Chevre this!"

Drat #1

Bad news. I had to kill the paper boy. He wasn't actually my paper boy, but a 40 year old ninja who'd been throwing ninja stars at my front door for weeks. It was a tough fight, but I got him with my Gay Ray.

Look at my Pretty Ribbons

I didn't want to say anything before, but I can't hold back anymore. I am an award winner. Several, in fact. First, 8zero8 gave me one of his prestigious awards, that of "Best Blog Ever". He said, and I quote, "Blog Ho's blog is cunting great. I read it (his blog) cuntly (sic) and then I want to follow a new religion, the religion of Hodom."

I was really quite humbled by this and I wanted to tell everyone that he was nominated for an award too, a certain bob award (whatever that is). Best New Blog. Not quite as cool as the one I got, but please don't tell him that. He's tender. But vote for him. Please. Normally I would talk about his mom or his wife or girlfriend, but I see me as being in a better spot than him, so I'll refrain....this time.

I also won a little...oh, what would we call it in the biz...cash award, maybe? Yes, that's it. I submitted a pome here and I won. My plan was to publish ten thousand poems and overwhelm the site with my own stuff so that I...would win. And, well, that pretty much worked.

I want everyone to know that this will not be going to my head. If you need to get in touch with me, though, go through AB, he's officially my under-secretary--or Wyatt, either way, they're both me as it turns out. Ha! Take that, fuckers!

My First Invention

Once I invented a fecal ray but I later destroyed it, because really...who needs a fecal ray?

Resolutions

Take my break dance lessons extra seriously so that I can act out You Got Served at the mall.

Practice saying, "I can smell your cunt" until it flows, and I mean really flows.

Swear less.

Fuck more Asian people. Are they hot, or what?

Tell my wife and kids that I love them every day.

Stop trying to kill the paper boy.

Sniff glue--or "huff" as the homies say it.

Try to work in the word cunt in every conversation I have with a stranger.

Make more real friends.

Eat kosher other than dill pickles, not because I'm Jewish, but so that people will think I am and then when I say, Merry Xmas, Jew no one can say anything to me.

Start carrying around a bag of peanuts and ask all the cute ladies I know, "Do you want to eat my penis?" If they seem shocked, quickly whip out the peanuts to show what a sweet man I am. Score.

Tell my wife and kids that I love them every day. Because really? I do. Also? Do you want to eat my penis?