Wednesday, May 31, 2006


Good news.

I had my first gay affair at work the other day and it wasn't so bad.

I'm sure you're curious about how it came to be that I had a gay affair and I'm going to tell you.

So there I was, in the bathroom where these things often take place.

I was pooping and someone came into the bathroom and picked the stall right next to mine, instead of like the other five hundred open stalls.

So I'm all pissed off thinking to myself, hey, asshole, why did you need to poop so close to me?

That's when it happens. Ho, he says, how's that such and such project coming?

ZOMG, I say to myself, in my head. He's talking to me while I'm pooping in a public restroom. I'M HAVING A HOMOSEXUAL AFFAIR.

Good, I say. You have to know I'm scared. I didn't know what to do. It was my first time. I just kept thinking, I hope I don't screw this one up.

Then he starts going on and on about his project and all I can do is say, uh huh. Over and over again, and I'm sweating and my legs are all sticking to the seat.

Uh! Huh!

Like that.

So toward the end I'm weak and tired and he says, Well, back to work! And just laughs like he'd said something funny.

I staggered out and washed my dirty, gay hands.

I hope my wife doesn't find out that I'm now on the down low.

Tuesday, May 30, 2006

If Irony could fly she would be Flyrony. But she can't

If I were a rabbit or some kind of vole or skunk or oppossum I would wish to be invulnerable to all forms of attack by tooth and claw and rake and all forms of garden implements and also traps what those hillbillies use in Kentucky.

Then I'd pretty much be king of the voles.

Friday, May 26, 2006

Eat it, eat it, eat it or beat it

I have found a picture of you and your date on prom night. You were wise to use your virginity card that night. I'd have done the same and maybe I did but who can blame me.

Regarding the baby slide made out of a cheese grater. Enough with the emails. It's not like it's the setting that pulls big chunks. It's the setting that pulls baby nibbles.

What sickens me the most about all the mail is this: What do you expect the Jews to eat? They NEED baby flesh. It's like a vampire, but in Jew form and instead of blood, it's hunks of baby. NEED it. Your selfishness sickens and disturbs me.

You should adopt a dwarf. There are plenty available. If you want the url, send me an email.

I masturbate so furiously I often cauterize my semen to the pee hole. The very s-called vertical slant eyed snake charmer.

Continuation of the tale of The Basedow

Upon the eigth day following the formations
of the cliffs and mountans and deserts
did Fonzi, the smallest of the seven sons of Sallza
regarded the Basedow and he was in a green
state of base jealousy and cried unto Sallza

Why build a man far prettier than I, father?
Who is this Basedow which wanders among the flocks
and all of the sheeps of the deserts and plains
and the fine painted women and men of the earth
when these were all promised to be mine?

Whereupon Sallza went unto Basedow and
did threaten him with great violence
and nearly did strike him down with barely warning
and all the flocks of the earth and lambs of the ewes
did beat their chests and smote their weepy eyes
with blue eyeshadow and very fine powders

The Basdow removed shirt and said,
Be not so fast to show violence unto man
for I am John Basedow and these are eight minute abs
and Sallza did tremble and yearned to reach out
to touch these so-called abs of eight and was thus pleased
Though the Basedow said, touch not immortal finger upon
the Basedow pack of eight for they are holy and
will cause unto you mighty burn and consternation
Whereupon did Sallza return unto heaven with excercize video
and a self-loathing that would stain into the very earth

Thursday, May 25, 2006

Cletus stole my fetus now I'm left with just the aids

This is you in my dreams:

But in girl-form with smaller lips, uglier and a small limp from carrying all of my heavy baggage (willingly). Plus more naked and aching to know where I was all night. Just aching.

This is me but without the metal claws (mine are suede):

Here is the Tale of The Basedow

In thick summer's heat did The Baze
decide the ocean called such
plaintive songs that could not he resist
and borrowed without knowledge
the very goat of heaven Vaashnu

Gently the drunken goat did ride
The Baze unto the very shores of
Phucket oer the very waves of the
mighty gentle ocean's far waters
beyond the caves beyond the caves

Mighty Zaal did notice the missing Vaashnu
and raged he did upon the very earth
Where Vaashnu? Where Basedow?
The thunder of his massive thighs
inflamed the very seas of the earth
and up did raise the tidal fury

Basedow took yon bow and did let loose
a fury into the waves
which was moot and pointless
and he did flee.
The mighty Basedow did flee
for his very life

Poor dead Vaashnu we weep for you
A tool of Basedow. A tool of Zaal.
A goat taco, a tote bag.
A wooly warm and gentle soul.
The very drowned stinking goat
of heaven.

Wednesday, May 24, 2006

Zip zap rap, I love crap

So, bad news

This was reported today on CNN and I thought you should hear it here from me, before your mom called and told you. I'm just gonna quote the cnn article, I'm too broken up to paraphrase:

LOS ANGELES, California (AP) -- The on-off-on-again relationship between Nicole Richie and her ex-fiance, Adam Goldstein, is off again.

"We are confirming that we have amicably separated," the pair said in a statement released Monday by Richie's publicist, Cindy Guagenti. They did not provide any details.

Richie, 24, and Goldstein, a professional club DJ who goes by the name DJ AM, called off their nine-month engagement in December.

So what most people don't know about Ho is that he's actually a professional club DJ who goes by the name DJ AM, which really means D-Jam. On account of how I kick it old school.

I'm pretty shook up about the breakup.

I figure I'm just gonna get lost in my music. Well, not my music, technically. But other people's music that I play which is a small distinction I feel compelled to point out.

DJing should not be underestimated. It's hard. Picking songs...playing them...picking more songs... It's not just a job, it's my life, bitches.

Monday, May 22, 2006

Your medicine just isn't working

flexican flexican
one lifts weights
and one's a pill

So anyway, saw that Brokeback which is what all the people is talking about and it reminds me why I don't ever go a-campin: turns you queer. I seen it on television and I therefore declare it truth.

Here's a rap song for you.

Rabba rabba rap music
I'm a rap star
when you blink your lights
I'll shoot your car
cause i'm a wigger
and i'm in a gang
a rill bad one in Compton.
but not really
My bitches hit switches.
I gots 7 gold blings on my 8 good teefs
Rabba rabba rap music
and I'm turn to crows
one claw foot and a beedy black beak
with a bright gold fro
and i curse a blue streak
and when you turn your back
i'll sneak a peek
at your stanky g-string
twixt ur grind muffins
one claw foot and a beedy black beak
one claw foot and a beedy black beak
and yo, bitch, i'm sleek

Ok, so that sucked, I'm sorry. We can't all be Eminems.

Thursday, May 18, 2006

Vote for me on erection day

I wish women had boobs on their backs instead of their fronts. So I could stare at them without getting caught.

I also wish I had a nipple erecting/wet t-shirt ray with an attached camera-straight-to-the-net device.

But they don't so I get caught in my leerish side-long gazes most of the day long.

Secondarily, I suppose Paul is getting a big divorce. I think I know the reason. He was sick of hearing that one legged wife of his hopping all over the fucking house. STOMP, STOMP, STOMP, STOMP, FALL.

Maybe not. I can also picture this: "Honey, can you get the baby, she's crying."

"Oh, sure, why don't you ask the woman with only ONE LEG to do everything." HOP, HOP, HOP, HOP, HOP, STOMP, CRASH.

More likely.

Wednesday, May 17, 2006

Grandmother, grandmother why do I call you mom

I think if I could take a pill that would turn me gay I certainly wood. Then at night I would study and research historical documents like the Bible and find passages that show why the gays are going to go to hell, then I would write up pages and pages of vitriol decrying the Gay Agenda and put them on the innernet at

I would get a truck bigger than most other vehicles and I would cover it in Yellow magnetic stickers begging for the safe return of our troops, both men and women, not just the young, strong boys.

I would go to revival meetings and marry ex-liesbains.

We would have bad sex and I would masturbate to Just For Men shaving commercials while she would take extra long tennis lessons from the local tennis place.

I would learn to eat overcooked liver without ketchup or onions.

I would take long swims in the ocean and try to drown.

I would await my day when I could proudly walk into heaven and say, I fought the fight for you, Oh Lord and I fought it with fists and words and never pulled no punches.

Tuesday, May 16, 2006


Well, I figured out how to stop the Xicans from coming over the border.

I was listening to that speech, last night which came on the radio and I said to myself..."If we were only to outsource border security to Mexico...We could pay them like fifty cents an hour and they would then have jobs keeping themselves from the very border we're trying to protect."

PS: I don't know how to tell you this, but the pretty, dumb girl who always got my order wrong has been replaced by the fat mean girl who never smiles. I'm sorry, but this is just the fact and there's nothing you or I or even that ex-fattie Jared can do about it. It's up to the Blimpe management to get their shit together, I'm afraid.

Monday, May 15, 2006

466, 466, human males can have big dicks

The best thing about ice cream cakes is that when your daughter comes to you and is all, "But dad, I said i wanted ice cream...and you brought cake!" and then she starts crying, then you shame her--which is a process whereby the adult mind makes the child really feel like what they wanted is painful to you and that their wants are bad and you're fake crying and saying I work and I slave and I made this cake with my bare hands and you don't appreciate me...and then she does eat it because she's all guilty about being a bitch...and then there's ice cream! Suddenly who's the hero? That's right. Me.

Friday, May 12, 2006

She likes it up front she says to me and I bet she does but I bet it's been awhile

I have discovered why gay people turn from the path of righteousness to the path of the gays.

Some people assume, as once I did, that it's genetic. That we can no more choose a gender than we may get a hairy asshole clean from all debris. Others feel that the gays are deliberately sinning against Our Lord Jesus Christ. Even the gay Jews.

Well, I now have proof that it's a choice to be gay and I'm prepared to present it to you, today.

Here's the proof: they're quitters. All of them. Gays can't see a project through without quitting.

Getting a girl to have sex with you is very difficult. I'm out there every day, begging, cajoling, giving the wry smile and rare subtle wink--basically doing whatever it takes to score one for the team--for the man team--Team Man (of which I'm the captain). It's work. But listen to me gays, it's worth it. Don't settle and don't give up.

Thursday, May 11, 2006

John Brown was fucking insane; please make a top selling rap song about that idea

I was busy last night creating this web site:

I'm tired but I think it turned out ok. My best article I think was the sex column advice. I didn't mention your name specifically but it's only because I can't spell whore very well when the pressure is on. Feel free to read it for historical satisfaction:

Now that that's said I need to make an addenda... ZOMG really means ZOH MY GOSH. Even when you type it, you need to type with the right intent. You must know in your heart and in your mind and in your soul that you're not taking the Lord's name (God) in vein.

Finally, I want to reassure everyone that I don't mind it that my life is slowly being sucked from me by various vampires and various jobs, it's the suck spot that I mind. Please, life suckers, move to the penis area. That way you can get a sup and I can get a suck and we'll both be happy.

It's so hard for vampires to find comprimise, I find.

Wednesday, May 10, 2006

What I lack in pursonality I make up for in spelling

Apparently the new online lingo is ZOMG. I'm deep into figuring out what it actually means via the spy network AOL online and so far I'm here to tell you it stands for ZOH MY GOD. In case the people type ZOMG to you, you now know. For free you got this information. I gave it away.

Also, I just want everyone to know that if I'm ever captured as some hot woman's sex slave...I just want everyone to know that I may or may not require that she buy me condoms.

You know, the safe part of me don't know where this tramp has been, but the better part says, but it feels so nice.

So probly I won't require that I wear them, upon kidnapping, but I can't say definitely that I will not in some way require them.

As a parting shot I wanted everyone to know how it feels crossing an event horizon at the speed of light. This will be displayed to you via ascii art:


Tuesday, May 09, 2006

Work is a game without the fun parts

I think a bad job is to be the foreman of a maggot factory. Perhaps even worse is a quality control manager for that maggot factory. People calling all the time about bad maggots. I bet you just get home at the end of the day and drink. I bet your wife hears all the time, "If I never see another lazy maggot in my life it'll be too soon."

I bet resting on your laurels feels real good. If I ever win anything I'm gonna go straight to the laurels.

I bet when you're a midget and you can't afford something and you have to ask for help paying... you say, "Can you help me out? I'm a little short." I bet that either goes over very well or not at all. Because some people don't get midget humor. Me? I love it.

As a final thought, I was reading the wikipedia for truf and I found this site: which makes me angry because I don't see any of those crazy Indian ones on there. Like that elephant guy and crazy knife toofed chick and sixarmeligan. What's up with that? Please do me a favor and update the list on the pedia. It'll take awhile but I'm very busy puting out the fires that threaten to destroy your very lives.

Monday, May 08, 2006

Bloody Poop Stains on my Poontangs

I had a good idea, this weekend. I want to be the premier seller of thongs on the internet. I have a web site picked out and it will be

My motto will be, "The Amazon of thongs."

All I need are this:

1.) The domain registered in my name.
2.) Big, fat bj.
3.) Startup money to support my barbaric salary.

Note: This list is in no way ordered by priority.

Secondarily, the best part of being married is knowing that one day I'll die.

The third item is that I love people who smile at me without provocation because I can tell that they were malnurtured by a rough hand and that I could crush them with the smallest of six words if I were of more base a metal.

Thursday, May 04, 2006

Slug Bug Jew

If penises looked more like boobs I'd sure suck more of them. A lot more. Twenty four more. Even the small ones.

I would have figured out e=mc^2 eventually.

I deserve some kind of award. You should start a foundation and hand out awards.

This is to inform you that if I made playground equipment I would make slides but use cheese grater parts on it. Kids love wearing colorful bandages. They just love it.

I would also put some kind of collection tray underneath for the baby and child meat that falls through. Then I'd sell that to the Jews. They love it. I'm told they make guh felt uh fish out of it.

Wednesday, May 03, 2006

Clovis is a land of plenty and lovely and rich in resources

I'm saving up all the slug bugs for when I see you next. It's gonna be quite a sock.

Secondarily, Ireland? IRL now stands for In Real Life, not Ireland.

I'm sorry.

The English changed it.

They asked me, "Do you think Ireland is gonna be pissed off if we change IRL from Ireland to In Real Life?"

I was all, "I don't know, England...that's kinda sneaky and stupid. I'd be ticked if I were Ireland."

Then they just laughed and showed me their circumsized pee pees and I knew it was personal.

Finally, to the guy I transferred my hangover to using my mind powers. You totally deserved it.

Tuesday, May 02, 2006

Yeah, I kick a little ass

I think a bad job would be the one where you bring coffee into everyone's work. Every day stocking coffee, making chit-chat about Yuban and shitty Folgers about how well roasted it is and how fast they use coffee and filters and how the coffee machine has a slow leak from that torrential heat spigot and you say, yes, I'll fix it.

Continually refilling the cups of mediocrity. Fueling it, even--being a main contributor. That would be a bad job.

Probly when you came in to refill and referred to yourself as a fueler of mediocrity ... people would look at you funny. Maybe even attack you with paperclips and such. Maybe a stapler, who knows. Maybe one of those big paper machine cutters that people use to pwnt their very digits.

Secondarily, I have renamed the word taco on account of this felon sitchy. New word is Freedom Meat Unit. They will be rolled in either a delicate freedom corn or flour cake. I prefer freedom flour but you may of course choose corn if you're a big fat homo.

Secondarily, if I had a mind control ray or device or even salve or balm I'd use it on myself and convince my very own brain that work is fun. I think that would add a color of rouge to the complexion of my days.

Don't you?

Monday, May 01, 2006

Million Mexican March

So I guess all the Xicans are running around like madmen protesting something or other about the felonies, or something. I don't really turn the sound up when I watch the news, just watch her pretty mouth when it's her turn to speak.

The thing is, it would be such a good time for INS to capture them all.

All they would need is like 5000 paddy waggons and some stun guns. Shoot em, bag em, drive em down to Juarez or San Diego and just let em all free. Oh, and tattoo em so next time you can give them a stern warning.

But the INS never listens to me.

Secondarily I think a neat invention would be a sex memory ray gun. It would work like covertly point the ray gun at someone you want to have sex with (everyone) and you receive a memory implant of the actual event and also avoid the hiv and the hiv-related the aids.

Then if he or she caught you they'd naturally say, "Was I good?"

Then you'd say, "You know it, baby."

Then they'd want to have real sex with you, probly. I haven't quite worked it all out.