Monday, March 21, 2011

I bet Magna means here's some and Laude means eat it and that makes Magna cum Laude finally make sense and you're welcome (welcum)

I've been spending my times in writing a new children's book called The Boy Who Sneezed Cum but it's not gross because he doesn't eat it, just sneezes it and probably wipes it on his jeans or something.

It could be a girl, too, but that seems too unbelievable.

I haven't quite written it, that much is true and I'm still shopping the concept around to the various people who buy such things.  To be honest, I just have the title and I'm not sure if it's a children's book or a romance, I can see it living in both fields reasonably well; perhaps I'll write two versions.

I'll probably start drawing the pictures this weekend unless the scotch store has run out of scotch and I'm thinking of doing it in charcoals or cray paws, whatever they are.

At this point, it's a cautionary tale about a boy growing up in the streets of Chicago.  The mean streets like Cabrini Greens or wherever the gangs are, these days.  But he's not black.  I have a hard time drawing blacks, frankly, they come out as blobs but that's not racist, it's just true.  Whites I can draw because they have firm outlines and pale white skin between the black of the lines on their faces and clothes.  Plus when I run for office I want to use this site as a testament to my tolerance which is profound and evident.

Secondarily, it's to be a cautionary tale and it's kind of rude how you thought he'd have to be black just because he was from the mean streets of Chicago ... as if white kids can't be poor.  Shame on you, sir.


Anyway, I copied the title (let this be between us) from the Girl who Picked the Hornet's nest but instead of picking and hornets it's sneezing cum because how awful would that be.  It's bad enough when it gets in your mouth and he's all waiting for you to pretend that it's a peach cobbler and you're a cum gobbler and you're all... wow, that's ... delicious... but instead of that it's all over your hands and everyone is looking at you and you're all cummy.

Like normal.

Monday, February 21, 2011

You have poop on your fingers and I think that's how you like it

I had to move to deacon three because the Chinese found out about the top secret award gave me for being a poppit master genius and all and getting almost every balloon popped at near light speed.  I once got down to four balloons and they were so impressed they sent me a medal via Fed Ex to space, where I live.

The Chinese are so mad and jealous.  They're gnashing their tiny hands and rolling their slitty eyes around and you can see foam on their lips and they hiss when they get like this.  I don't know how they found out about the medal, it's safe in my trunk unless you fucking told them which I'm sure now that you did.  You never did like me to have any glory and you've always wanted to be a poppit master.

I had to go to deacon four even up here in space, where I live.

You can basically tell a dog is similar and basically equal to a Mexican in most every way.  I've figured out the formulae to explain it to people, not that you fucking care.  You never were very nice to me, innerness.

For one thing, they all have brown eyes.  Like Mexicans.  I've never seen a blue eyed Mexican and that's not being racist, it's just true.  Dogs and Mexicans have brown eyes.

Another fact is they like to dig.  Dogs love to dig and get under my fence and then tear around in low riders in my neighborhood.  Well, not my neighborhood… my neighborhood is well patrolled so they stay in the south of town, which is probably best.

For 3, they are ruining the health care system.  They come up in packs and then go to our hospitals and ruin it.  It's ruinous.

Another thing is they sleep all day.  All fucking day.  When they're not clogging the hospital or digging under my fence or staring at me with devil brown hate eyes, they're sleeping on my couch where I told them not to sleep.

Mexicans are like dogs.

The end.  

Friday, October 15, 2010

if i was a Sleestak, I'd be the one in the bad mask with the 3 fingered glove that was allergic to bright lights

The best part about being married is that everyone is as miserable as I am.  It's a misery-loves-company-fuck-fest where nobody's getting fucked and the only sounds you hear are arguments about money and how to discipline the kids.

Life is pretty delicious, though, and it's Friday and if not for the 40 extra pounds I believe I could fly but that's neither here nor there.

Marriage is like being in an oncology office and you're looking around and everyone has cancer including you.  The newlyweds have easy cancers like pre-cancerous cells that the oncologist just blows on and they drift away.  My neighbor who's been married for a gazillion decades must have inoperable brain tumors all the way into space he's so married.  He's gonna die of it and it's gonna be soon.  To be fair, he is quite old and I seen him with a walker and that can't be a good sign.  If you're tooling about on a walker then watch your step and count your days, my friend.

The nice thing about cancer is it doesn't discriminate on body parts.  It'll eat the skin, the lungs, noses like what Micheal Jackson had, it goes for the pancreas like Steve Jobs had (has) (and did you ever wonder if he sold his soul to satan to get the stock price to 300 and all it cost him was his pancreas?), cancer will even eat your toes; it's an equal opportunity disaster.

Someone told me Bob Marley had to cancer which is pretty hard to believe but I guess I believe it about as much as that Rod Steward passed out and they had to pump his stomach and guess what it had 3 gallons of cum in it.

That's a lot of cum.  I'm not sure you could suck enough dicks to get that much cum.  You'd really have to save it up and then drink it but I'm not sure it'd make you pass out.

I like the Rod Stewart cum story because I don't particularly like Rod Stewart.  His music was ok for its time but his hair is really too poofy to like much.  Anyone with that poofy of hair you can see him guzzling 3 gallons of cum.

But the toe cancer is pretty retarded and you have to laugh at a guy who succumbs to it, even if it's the worst case of toe cancer anyone ever saw it's still pretty gay.  Plus all that weed, you'd think he'd go and get some good old fashioned lung cancer.

I don't smoke weed but it should be legal.

Anyway, I guess even old Achilles was brought down by a gay old toe wound.  Heel really but it's basically the same.

Where'd it get you, Achilles?

The heel...

Oh, you'll surv...

I suppose everyone is invulnerable until they're not.

Life's funny that way.

Monday, October 11, 2010

chicken enchiladas for dinner! omgomglol!!!! isn't it wonderful!!!>>>

I think I've figured out an objective argument against gay marriage which is nigh-unassailable from the god-forsaken left winger nut jubs who love Obama and hate America and want to tear it down and build in its place Taxutopia.  

Today is gay brainwash-all-your-kids-into-becoming-gay-pride-day, so-called grainwash or gainwash... or fuck it, I can't think of a good name to mock it, OK?  But consider it mocked if just not well-mocked.  

It's all over the facegooks.  People are saying gay this, gay that and it's almost more than I can stand.  I go there so I can see what people I barely know made their kids this weekend and milquetoast quotes from Einstein, and meaningless tests which tell me my personality type is a Virgo -- not more gay propaganda trying to turn me and my children (and especially your children) gay.  

That's not why I go there.  

To the facegooks.  

I go for boring status updates and sometimes Mafia Wars though I'm not sure why Mafia Wars because it's terrible, I guess I've just fallen into a bit of online rut, you know?  Pay for status refills?  Are you fucking nuts?  What jobber does that?  Who has the time let alone the money?  Right?

As well on some news site, some old fat dude in New York also says he didn't march in the gay parade and I'm pretty sure he didn't because he looks like he spit out a plug of chaw before he done the interview.

Too, he's apparently a builder and I'd be the last to say the gays can't build but... let's just say this guy isn't building lime-puce condos in soho, whatever that means (it means nothing cause I don't know what a soho is and I don't want to know what a soho is (except it sounds pretty gay, if you asked me which is why I will not go there. (ever. (lolj/k, it's a chic neighborhood in NYC which is expensive but has lovely art and exquisite, if highly expensive, real estate.  (So-called gaytopia.))))).  

Anywho, on that train of thought I said to myself... I can end this gay debate once and for all and I can use logic which is basically irrefutable except by religion and magic.  Sometimes you can let logic and magic and religion work together if the religion agrees with the logic... in that way you can have logic inside of religion.

It's like this... let's say I have a logic that says, Man in hat, earth is flat... and then I point to a man wearing a hat... in that way logic works with religion and magic (magic is very different from religion) because it accentuates the truth.

Now, follow me through this... it's not quite I think therefore I am (which makes no damn sense because who gives a fuck about that guy? (Cogito ergo sum?  WTF is that nonsense?  Quick question... English... learn it)).  

It's not quite like that at all... not nearly so meaningful but it bears some concentration like that Pythagoras theorem...

The crux of my argument is this... If god had meant for there to be gays he would have made Adam and STEVE, not Adam and Eve!  Now if we start from there, we can safely go here... did god create Adam and Steve?  No, he did not.  Therefore, no gay marriage.  Solved.

Not convinced?

Fine, look at it another way.  Are there gay Hindus?  No, there are not.  

Not enough proof?


What about the Chinese... no gay Chinese...  I think it's technically illegal even though they don't exist.  Except maybe B.D. Wong... I think he might be gay...  Probably because nothing rhymes with B.D. Wong.

With some branches of logic, rhymes are very important.  Adam and Steve works in this case because Steve rhymes with Eve... Had it been Adam and Carol?  Less of an impact.  Espesh cause Carol could be a man or a woman.  It's ambiguous and it doesn't rhyme, see?  It's one of those names created by the gays to confuse us.  Carol is.  Not ambiguous, though it's not an easy word.   

Picture this, you're jackin it to a Carol (mmmmmmmmm sweet, sweet Carol Brady) and suddenly you find out that IT'S A MAN (that guy who played Archie Bunker who later went crazy and murdered that drug dealer but who cares, just a dead dealer)!!!!!

That's confusing to a young mind.

Let me sum up with this... Gay marriage?  disproved.

Plus, only jack it to solid girl names.

And you'll be safe and sane.

Wednesday, October 06, 2010

i'm pretty sure i spelled a lot wrong in this but the god damn machine isn't reporting errors

I seen you at the mini mall the other day.

I had my head buried in a magazine and my back was to the people as I looked at the magazines.  I was wearing that old green army trench coat and my disco shorts that you love so well and I had my head buried in a new magazine of Us even though I have a subscription to Us Magazine.

It was buried in the US magazine and it was the Snooki Upskirt special and I didn't even know what there was a Snooki but sure I took a peep just for posterity that I seen what there is to be seen and I must tell you that I've never been so glad to look away from an upskirt special as I was that day when I seen you in the gabardine jumpsuit you were wearing. 

Fine, I'll admit that I had seen a Snooki earlier in some magazine or in some site if that makes you happy.  She's technically a midget though she's not all squatty like most midgets but I think she'd have a good career in midget mud wrestling or maybe the hottest midget pron star since the 8th century.

She's a whorrid abhoration and I loathe looking at her.  If we were stuck on a deserted island, even a nice one, I would use her for tallow.

You looked ravishing, in your way.  The color of gaberdine really flares off your eyes and the jumpsuit style is rocketing back like the ever exanding speed of space, or faster.

Faster, that's how fast your jumpsuit is going to be cool again.

Jauntily slung over your jump was your beige or a light beige cashmiere sweater.  Perhaps it was a modest taupe.  I couldn't tell if you were going for an ironic off beige but it looked pretty good.  It would have looked better in a whore house but you done fine with it, don't fret.

I knew it was you because you was picking your nose out in public like you like to do, like nobody can see you but I saw you as I gazed out of the Upskirt issue using my all-seeing eye which is located just beneath my left eye but when I look at my face in the mirror I always imagine it's the right side.  It could be on account of a brain tumor which I'm suspecting has been growing on the right side of my brain in a small hollow where grand thoughts are created.  I can feel a hollow and when I close my left eye I can almost see strands of tumor.  It's directly behind my right eye.  I've looked it up on the innernest and it's a diagnosed fact.

I try not to use the all-seeing eye because it gives me acne when I do and I typically choose beauty over knowledge any day of the week, particularly when it comes to me and mine.

Anyway, I seen you and I know it was you on account of the nose pick and you didn't think anyone noticed but I did.  You approached it as you always do, like you have a small itch on the rim of your nostril and then you went shockingly deep, thumb diving down like you were trying to rescue miners in a busted up mine and I'll be a liar if I wasn't shocked (at your bravery and skill) and that there was an actual booger on the tip of the retrieval with a comet-like tail of streaming comet snot trailing behind like it was in orbit.

I seen you eye it with some satisfaction and I can appreciate that, it was a job well done if a queer spot to do such shenanigans and then your arm dropped subtly to your jumper and I have to tell you that you wiped the boogs on the gaberdine jump suit and I'd wash it if I were you before I wore that again.

Wednesday, September 01, 2010

i want to reassure you that i don't own a belt made of vulvas. a so-called vulva belt. or a vulva yammicka but i want one. (birthday idea)

I've never been able to tell the difference between Jack Nicklaus and Jack Nicholson, that much of the truth is true.  And besides I wouldn't lie about things like that, it doesn't really matter anyway.

It has been a source of long embarrassment to me that I confuse the two men.  I never talk about the golfing one, who gives a shit about golf and who's a good golfer.  Golf is a faggy effite sport that faggy effites do and rub dicks about.  Nobody cares.  

That much is true.

Plus what kind of sport is good when it's a low score?  Other than golf?  Soccer?  Fuck golf and soccer, sports that made the Incas die.

The only thing that's good about golf was watching Tiger Woods' life implode in a sparky fury of dirty vaj-filled infidelity.  Had I known that being a famous golfer would be auto entry into every despoiled rain forest of prony vaginas then I may have considered it as a career.  Maybe not as the first choice but in junior high I may have listed it behind doctor as a close second.

And that much is true, it seemed that a doctor would be a good career but fuck that.  Do you know how much doctors work?  That would have cut into my me time.  Fuck that.

Plus, everyone was all, omg, his wife is so hot!  She's not that hot.  Plus she's a terrorist from Norway or some such country.  Point is she's not that hot and she's not an American.

That much is true.

But that's neither here nor there, I can guarantee you.  I can guarantee that I've spoken the truth, too.  Elin is not that hot and I can't differentiate between Nicklaus and Nicholson.

Not that it really matters.  About the name thing.  Tiger's pale white wife also doesn't matter.  But I'm talking about the names.  Nicklaus and Nicholson.

It always comes up that I'm talking about a movie and he's in one of them and I say, god, it's that movie with Jack Nicklaus in it and he's a crazy guy...

Always some asshole cracks like it's the funniest thing he's ever said, DO YOU MEAN JACK NICHOLSON?

Always it's in caps and sure to be followed by guffaws and my grinding jaw.

What can I do about this?  I'm confused and that's just the way it is, their names are far too similar.  And if the jokes that came after were funny I simply wouldn't mind.

That's true.

I think it would be fair if we made Jack Nicklaus cut his nipples off.

That would be the only fair way to treat this situation we have with him.  He probably makes the same mistakes, in fact.  At least that situation would be funnier because that would mean he was an old man making the long slide into insanity and nobody would mention that he got his own name wrong but just look around sheepishly hoping they were in his will.

That would be fine and just.

So he's getting pretty old and I think if he would allow us to cut his nipples off that it would be a pneumonic that we could all master and avoid that mistake and it might even help him.

Plus he's not using his nipples, I'll bet.  Sure, maybe as a young man...  But he's almost dead as old as he is and now the nipples just hang there in a forest of gray hair and they weep at the sag and rememberance of better days and they'd cut themselves off if they could.

So if we could say in our heads when talking about one of the Jacks it would be easy enough to say, Jack Nicklaus cut his nipples off.

And that rhyme would solve a lot of today's problems.

And that much is true.

Friday, May 28, 2010

if i could take a zip line to hell i'd probly do it because it would be fun for awhile. until you got to hell. that's when the sucking would start.

Several things and I guess it wouldn't hurt to launch right into them.

The one is one that can't be said enough and already has been said too much and no, it ain't the god damn oil spill.  Enough about the oil spill we all know Obama done it and he done it to ruin our economy and steal the freedoms.  Just like I warned you, I didn't predict specifically an oil spill but I did warn you.

Can't be said enough but that the little prince Gary Coleman finally gave up the ghost and went back to his lonely planet to care for his flower and I'm pretty sad about that, he was cute back in his day.

And what with him trying to finally get his life together after he was struck by the madness of Hollywood, the pornography and the sex and the drugs and everyone's all, I like midgets, don't believe what they say in encyclopedias, I really like midgets.

Then the rape charges and such.  I'm sure they were drummed up, I don't think he could hold anyone down except some other midget.  Which maybe that was the case against him, I'm not up to speed on his felonies, I like to accept the good in him, not the rapes.

It's a damn shame because he was starting to come out of it.

Living in Provo, Utah and I understand he was going to become the first black member of the Ldsers.  Well, the first living black member, they baptize for the dead which makes sense.  I understand they don't baptize all the blacks, but they got some of the important ones to show on their books that they're not racists at all.

Othello, for one.

I can't think of any more but there probly at least five more including Gary.  Poor dead Gary, you seemed creepy but when you said whatchoo talkin bout very fast like you done, we all fell in love. 

Second thing is I'll bet that guy from Wham, the one who didn't go on to blow dudes in parks (and make it on the news about the fact that he was blowing dudes in parks (because believe me, he was at the parks))--I bet that guy sits around and people say, have you met so and so, he used to be in Wham.

Then he gets a smug grin on his scruffy face and waits for the cooing and awing and what they really wanted to say was he was the failure from Wham.

But that's ok because that's as close to a famous friend as they'll get and so they glint a bit from his tiny glimmer.

But they don't disparage and nor would I, I'd feel bad about hurting his feelings like that. 

I just can't believe about Gary Coleman.  Who's next, Kimberly?  Cory Haim?

All my childhood friends are dying, it seems.

And John Travolta is having another baby and you know that's not going to end well.  I think he used alien DNA or something because his wife is ancient.

If I had one retard baby who just suddenly died in the Bahamas for no reason you can be sure I'd stop at one.

Plus, fuck the Bahamas.  It's dirty and you die there.

That retard Travolta.

That fat girl from Guess jeans.

That one girl who was killed by that Dutch guy who finally admitted it.

Ponce de Leon.

Bermuda triangle.

I wish Heidi and Spencer would go there.

Fuck the Bahamas.