Candy-Coated Evil (aka Mmm… tastes like… FUCKING OW!?!)

In a previous blog , I described myself as “Morbidly Stick-Like”. Allow me to give out the details for emphasis. I’m roughly 5’4″ and weigh 105 if I’m lucky. And that is really being generous most days.

However, the thing is: my sugar intake is obscene. I love cakes and pies and cookies and candy. Oh candy. I’d have a sexual affair with candy if such a thing was legal in states other than Arkansas.

And what better holiday for this near-fetish love than Halloween? A holiday where, as a young lad, I could go door to door and people would just GIVE me candy!

GIVE IT TO YOU FOR FUCKING FREE!!!

If anything in this mortal realm gave me faith in a higher power, it was that. Ok, not really. But you get the point.

Ever been to a candy website? Those are like porn sites to me. I sit around rubbing my belly. The skittles website? HOLY SHIT! “Mmm… look at the S’s on those Tropical ones…”

However, as a child, I was warned of something awful. Quite possibly the worst atrocity ever to be commited on the human species. Something on a level of evil that I never thought possible. It’s as if a hole opened in the ground and Satan himself comes up to commit these disgusting acts.

I’m of course talking about tainting candy with things like razor blades.

It happens. It’s not just some twisted urban legend. It actually makes me shake with anger and cry with bitter sadness at the exact same time. I can’t even begin to describe how terrible this act is.

Children’s safety? Oh fuck the children. I’m concerned about the CANDY! These mother fuckers are destorying perfectly good candy bars, and for what… just to hurt a couple shithead kids? You could easily just do that with a quick acceleration with your car when they’re in the crosswalk. But the CANDY! Don’t use innocent Snicker’s bars for your evil half-assed schemes!

And they are half-assed schemes! I’m sorry, I know a lot of kids are bloody DUMB these days, but how in the hell do you ACCIDENTALLY bite into a razorblade?! Sure, when I get a Fun-Sized candy bar, I cram the entire thing in my mouth without thinking anything of it. The damn things are just slightly bigger than a quarter anyway! I like to eat them as if they were going to run away if I didn’t dispose of them quick. However, even I would probably notice SOMETHING is askew.

Let’s take a step back, let’s figure out what this’ll actually achieve. Let’s say you manage to get a child to nom on a slicer. What then? He fucks up his soft palate? What is the goal here? You can’t KILL a kid with a razorblade unless the lil’ shit actually managed to SWALLOW the fuck-damn thing. Look, I’m really hoping the kid notices that there is a sharp piece of metal in the candybar BEFORE he pushes it down his throat.

“Hey… peanuts… caramel… nugget… metal? That’s not on the wrapper…”

So, the only way it could really be FATAL is if they managed to swallow it. So assuming they can’t do that, all that it does is cuts up their mouth and gives them a shitty day.

Alright, so you want to harm children. But you can’t SEE the results. No gratification for our crazy ass bad guy. Do you just leave it up to chance that your plan is a success? That’s pretty sad. You could do so much better Mr. Kid Hater. Seriously.

So, you’re going to go ahead and screw with MY candy, just to push an agenda that really serves zero purpose. Congratulations, Mr. Kid Hater, you’ve made my shit list for eternity. Lucky for you it’s a pretty big list, and it’s crowded near the top, so the odds of me getting to you during my revenge binge are pretty slim.

Listen folks, if you’ve learned one thing from me today, let it be this:

Candy is serious business. Please don’t use it for evil schemes. It’s blasphemous, and it’s wrong. Please? I asked nicely…

Consider It Dung

Halloween is fast approaching, and in the spirit of the holiday, I have decided to dedicate this week to Halloween-based blogs. Exciting, I know.

And to begin this week of frights and delights, I shall regale you with an enthralling tale of terror and dismay. This is beyond your grandfather’s sissy-pansy foo-foo bedtime nightmare stories. This is way beyond the lame campfire ghost stories from your youth spent at Camp Homosexual Experience. This is a true story of horror that will leave you quivering where you sit. Forget stories of ghosts and goblins, vampires and demons. This is a story of something FAR more frightening: Poopie!!!

This story takes place in the not-too-distant past. My past. That’s right, today we discuss something that happened to me. I will begin with a background of the setting and why I have been placed into this predicament of life-altering fear.

I used to work at a grocery store. Simple as that. I started as a minimum-wage paid “Courtesy” member. Courtesy was a fancy way of saying I was everyones bitch. And as such, I was often times on “Clean Up On Aisle Four” duty. And sometime I was on DOODIE duty.

This is one such situation. A crappy one to say the least.

I was enjoying my time shoving carts into the store when I was called over by another member of the grocery team. This particular meeting was to bring to my attention the fact that someone had gotten a little bit of a mess in the bathroom. He informed me this very delicately.

“Dude, someone got shit all over the bathroom!”

Such tact. Such grace.

Little did I know that “Shit all over the bathroom” was a WEE bit of an understatement.

Now, a typical human being would respond to this as follows: Walk into the bathroom with some cleaning supplies in tow, and proceed to glance at the toilet. One would assume if there is poo in the bathroom, a good place to look would be the toilet. In fact, it should be the only place to look. I took this path of logical thinking, and it let me down. Big time.

Oh sure, it STARTED at the toilet. But that was just the beginning.

The human eye has something known as peripheral vision. And in my peripheral, I witnessed something that is beyond explanation. Well, I guess I can give it a shot: SOMEONE DONE ‘SPLODED POOPIES ON THE WALL!

Not just a dabble. It appeared as if an entire load was expended on the wall. And not just idly either, this was done with conviction! And what did I then notice on the way from the crap pot to the wall, but my own personal trail of tears. If you cried doo-doo that is.

I like to consider myself a logical person. Someone who can look at a situation and figure out what happened, how it happened, without much difficulty. This, however, had me flabbergasted. It was as if I had stumbled upon a bizarre murder scene, and I was the Detective.

The old phrase “No shit Sherlock” came to mind, only in this case there was plenty of shit.

After I stopped sobbing, I began to analyze this situation in my mind. Deconstructing and reconstructing the events that could have possibly unfolded in the men’s room. Now, I do know there are times when you have an “Emergency Situation” on your hands. We’ve all been there. But this was beyond just a case of the matter-splatters. This was the equivalent of a fecal nuclear holocaust. Devestation as far as the eye could see. As if someone had actually morphed into a giant ball of The Brown, and then proceeded to explode, like a Poo Super Nova.

The best way I could describe it… it’s as if I had stumbled upon the lair of that chocolate fudge monster from the old children’s boardgame Candy Land:

Gloppy? That sounds like a good word to describe it, yes...

How does this NOT look like a giant pile of human feces? And wearing a tie no less. As if he has an important meeting to attend. Poop with an agenda. A scary thought, if I do say so myself.

Perhaps this wasn’t an accident! This was the next thought to cross my mind. It hadn’t come to me before, because I didn’t think a human being was capable of such horrendous acts of bio-terrorism. What if someone actually INTENTIONALLY rubbed crap on the wall!
The sobbing began again at this point. I had to take a step outside, calm myself down. The terror was settling in so deep into my very being. Physically, I was a wreck. Sweating, vomiting, crying, shaking, I do believe I even broke out in hives. I’m actually quite positive I had an out-of-body experience for a moment. Looking down at me, looking down at a colon catastrophy.

I returned with reknewed vigor, hell bent on figuring out what happened. I began to imagine the situation as a crisis. As if the Colon and Brain had a conversation, much like a General would a troop during an epic battle.

Colon: Brain! Brain, it’s me Colon, got a second?

Brain: Yeah, what’s up Colon?

Colon: Well sir, we have the payload ready to drop, but we seem to have hit a bit of a snag.

Brain: What’s the situation?

Colon: It would seem that the load has become too much for us to bear, and we must drop now.

Brain: What? You can’t be serious, can’t we wait until we’re somewhere safe!

Colon: Sorry sir, we’ve discussed this with Anal Sphincter, and he see’s no way we can contain the blast.

Brain: But if we drop now, there may be civilian casualties!

Colon: I know, but we don’t have a choice!

Brain: My God!

Colon: Can you provide us with any assistant at all?!

Brain: The best I can do now is send the hands your way, at least we can remove the pants before the situation reaches critical overload.

Colon: Sir… we may not make it out of this alive. But I have to say, it has been an honor holding back waste for all these years under your service. Tell stomach I love her!

I can only imagine the panic that had overcome our victim. And it is fair to say this person was probably just as big a victim as myself. You don’t lose control of your butt that badly and enjoy it. This was probably not a thrilling situation for this poor fellow to be in. Stuck in a grocery store, tummy a little rumbly. And then the pressure. Oh the pressure. As if someone had turned out a shit-valve all up in this dude. And all he could do was run, frantically to the nearest place of Piss-ness. Tearing his pants from his waste, and struggling against the laws of physics themselves as his rectum slowly turned itself inside-out. I even considered searching for a corpse nearby. The energy expended to produce such a disaster alone would be enough to kill a man twice the size of myself. Not to mention the sudden drop in body mass!

This was what I told myself, so I didn’t go homicidal and hunt down the Pooprit (thats Poop and Culprit, if you didn’t catch that) and rip his throat clean out of his shit-shooting body. It was not his fault.

“But he didn’t clean up after himself, that’s pretty fucked up!”

Ah, my genteel co-worker has returned, to throw fuel on my rage-fire. The stress came back in waves. I actually went through the same five stages that you go through in death.

I began to apply the Kübler-Ross model to my situation.

Stage One – Denial: Nope. There is no way this is physically possible. No human body could possible have done this. This has to be a mistake. I’m tired, seeing things. I should go lie down, it’ll all be fine after a short nap. This happens to other people, in other places, not to me!

Stage Two – Anger: Alright, let’s say this is happening. Who the FUCK is responsible for this shit! Hah, “responsible for this shit!”. Wait! That’s not funny! I’m going to find this mother fucker and rip them to pieces. I’ll rip their large intestine out and strangle them with it!

Stage Three – Bargaining: I’ll give someone my entire paycheck to clean this up for me? Hmm? No. How about the next TWO paychecks? Fine. I’ll ask God. Dear God, I know I’ve said some pretty awful things in the past, but I promise I will be a devoted Christian if you were to impliment some Diving Intervention here. Please? I’ll forever dedicate myself to you!

Stage Four – Depression: I… I can’t believe this. Why me? Am I being punished? Haven’t I been a good grocery employee. I… I… just, I can’t do this. It’s as if my life no longer has meaning. I feel like I am failing myself. I can’t face this alone. Dear God, why! I just can’t!

Stage Five – Acceptance: You know something. Fuck it. This isn’t THAT bad. It’s not like there is a pile of dead babies in front of me. Even if it smells like a pile of dead babies, it isn’t! This is not the worst that could happen. It’s not like I have to pick it up with my hands, I have giant gloves. And a MOP! With a handle! I can approach this from a distance. HAH. This is nothing! I can do this!

And it was taken care of. I turned back to my opposition with new found faith. Not in God, but in Mr. Clean. In my back-up team of Scrubbing Bubbles. Surely they, and myself armed with a mop, can push back the enemy forces. Push them into the watery grave they deserve! I can remove this horror from the planet, and make the whole world a better place!

I began to mop the wall. A thought that, until now, had never occured to me. A mop, which should be for a floor, being used to clean up a mess that happens to be VERTICAL! It defies logic, but sometimes you have to think outside the toilet… er, box.

Needless to say, I walked out the other side of this all a better man inside. I survived, but the remnants of that day still ring in my memory. As if it was my brain that was covered in dookie.

But beware, faithful readers. For someday you too may be staring down the barrel of this smoking gun. You may wander, unsuspecting, into a restroom. Perhaps at a mall? Maybe in the airport. And when you least expect it, you will glance over. And there it will be. A butt-gravy Spin Art. Left behind by…

THE PHANTOM POOPER!

DUH DUH DUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUH!

Hitler Did Something Right

As I dodge the lightening bolts sent down from the Heavens to punish me for that title, allow me to emphasis WHAT it is I’m talking about.

Hitler. Most of us aren’t going to be clicking “I’m A Fan” on his Facebook anytime soon. Neo-Nazi’s, Holocaust conspiracy nuts, and other various assheads aside, we all pretty much agree he was a bastard.

But we do owe him SOME gratitude for something. Making it so NOBODY, anywhere is allowed to wear that ugly tiny mustache. The “Hitler” Mustache as it’s come to be known. You can’t wear that mustache without someone coming up to you and screaming “NAZI!” at you. And good riddance. It was a stupid looking mustache, and because he made it his own, we no longer have to worry about a new trend to come up.

So, with that in mind, I have come up with a new theory. It’s my “Evil Dictator Stupid Things Removal Service”. I know, the name’s a bit wordy, but it’s a work in progress.

We can use this to our advantage, people. Let’s work on getting rid of all the stupid hair choices our eyeballs have to suffer through on a daily basis in public. Sure, just make sure an globally-hated person has that hair style. Perhaps we can get Kim Jong-Il to sport a mullet? Mass genocide by someone with a giant, purple, spiked mohawk? Perhaps the evil Generals in those wars in Africa can dye their hair blonde? I’m also thinking a white guy with an afro becomes a serial killer.

Why stop with stupid hair? Let’s get rid of ALL fashion faux pas. Perhaps we let someone mass-kill a school full of children while wearing a “Who Farted?” hat? Or how about a man ripes the intestines out of an entire species of animal sporting socks with sandals?

Hell, let’s go even BEYOND physical things. Let’s attack ALL annoyances and attach them to evil-doers. Perhaps if we got a sado-masochistic sociopath to sing a Celion Dion song while he eats his parents, her music will forever be banned from the airwaves? Yeah, sure, let’s get a crazed maniac who drives a truck full of bombs into a hospital for mentally handicapped children to do so while he is watcing an episode of American Idol?! Who would want that show to be on the air after it caused THAT kind of horrible act!?

I suppose the real issue comes from what I mentioned early: Those people that actually still SUPPORT Hitler. People that think he was right in his actions. Those would then exist for everything I talked about. We’d have an evil group of confused teenagers dressed in “Who Farted?” hats and singing that Titanic theme while they kill black people or light children on fire, or whatever those evil Neo-Nazis do.

All I’m saying is, the Native American Indians have a motto: Leave no part of the animal un-used. Perhaps we can use the knowledge of using everything to our advantage, and use it in regards to our horrible events.

I’m also a big fan of doing the opposite. Let’s get someone to do something amazingly great, and have him do it while wearing something weird. That way, we can start new trends. Kinda like Ghandi did with being extremely scrawny. That’s right, I said it. Ghandi was a trend-setter. It started with Ghandi, and now it continues with Kate Moss.

Only I could make a connection between Ghandi and Kate Moss make sense. I take great pride in that, actually.

I’m going to make one final push for this to be put into action. If anyone here reading wants to help a brother out, here’s my idea:

Grow out a mullet. Make a habit of always wearing a Cowboy hat. Some clothing annoyance. Make it YOURS. Then go out and kill thousands of people with automatic firearms. And do it all while making sure to bring great attention to your sleeveless t-shirt or your capri pants. Make sure you do something HORRIBLE. I’m talking Genocidal-sized bad deed. Then, you can go down in history as the hero who got rid of one of our annoyances. Well, you’ll actually go down in history as Satan, but hey… you’ll have a special place in MY heart. And really that’s all that matters.

Cut It Out (aka Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow)

“Bob, you got a haircut”

Thanks for fuckin’ letting me know, asshole.

I know this may come as a shock to you, but when I get a haircut – I am THERE at the time it’s happening. I know, weird. I am actually present to my own hair getting cut.

I have no idea why people insist on making such a huge deal out of something so trivial and pointless, but it really goes to show that human beings have to comment on everything and anything that they can. It’s some gut instinct to reach deep down within themselves, and pull out a useless comment for just about anything.

“Wow, nice shirt”

Go fuck yourself.

It wouldn’t bother me so much, if it wasn’t for the fact that it’s so phony. You don’t care about my hair. Hell, I don’t care about my hair. And it’s MY FUCKING HAIR!

Everyone, as if surprised I was capable of going to a barber, has to make that comment: You got a haircut.

This goes beyond Captain Obvious. This is going straight to Admiral No-Shit.

It gets worse than this though. Let me put it this way, folks. It was over a year since I last got my hair cut. And I got a good deal of it cut down. It was a massive change. And yet, still, people insist on phrasing their pointless hair comment as such: “Did you get a haircut?”

No, fucker. I’m molting. I often shed 4 inches of hair during the Fall. It’s part of my winter hibernation ritual. First I shed my hair, then my tail falls off. Then I hit you with a brick for being an obnoxious ass.

I appreciate compliments, don’t get me wrong, but they’re really mundane when it comes to something so trivial as hair. “Nice haircut”. Thanks, I’ll be sure to let the beauty-school graduate who cut it know. She only does dozens of these a day. I could have saved the 15 bucks and had my mom do it, but she lives farther away.

Human beings have a fascination with haircuts that I fail to understand. We don’t do this for many of those other features. “Hey, you popped that huge zit today!”

Listen, I’m not trying to be a dick about it, but you need to keep these kinds of comments at a minimum. They’re annoying small talk at best. I could go off on a rant about how I hate small-talk comments like this, but I’d probably get myself so worked up I’d end up ripping out whats left of my hair.

Hair is just hair. It’s nothing special. Getting a haircut is not an achievement that needs to be focused on in conversation. It’s a change, just like any other physical appearance change you can take on. No one makes comments when you come in the next day with a new shirt on: “Wow, you changed your shirt last night!”. So why make a comment about hair? Hair is just your bodies head-shirt.

By the way, you can go ahead and make all the comments you want about how ass-backwards it is that I grew my hair out all summer, only to cut it right around the time Minnesota cold kicks in.

You could say it was one HAIR away from being completely idiotic! You could say that these comments are HAIR raising. You could say that people that don’t make haircut comments are a CUT above the rest. Or, you could shut the fuck up and go about your day as usual, without giving into the temptation of bothering me.

The Federal Government Pot Luck

Democracy.

A word that is iron-clad. A representation of all that we, as Americans, stand for. Not just a type of Government, but an ideal that is almost as real and tangible an idol for Freedom as the Eagle that soars ever-so-high above us.

Since it’s such a cool thing, why the fuck can’t we get it RIGHT?!?!

How come, everytime I read a news article, and the word “Legislature” comes up, I find the rest of the article to be full of bullshit?

The most recent article-debacle that I’ve put myself through? One on medical marijuana! Because I like to spend my time reading up on the important things that matter to you.

Now, I’m not a pot smoker. However, I do believe we need to legalize it. Why? Because I want both sides of the argument to SHUT THE MOTHER SHIT UP!!!

On one side, we have the whiny-ass anti-marijuana people. They come up with some of the most twisted, inane reasons why it should be illegal. It’s a “Gateway” drug? It leads to other, more dangerous drugs. Sure, if you consider cookie dough and cheese whiz to be leathal (which they kinda are, but that’s not the point!).

Then, on the other side, we have us the stoner crowd. Pot probably would be legal, but the stoner crowd is a rather unmotivated group, and can’t get anything done without having to stop and take a nap.

So, knowing these facts about these people, it’s simple to see which political party they tend to be affiliated with. The ridiculously-false fact spewing, hate-mongering morons are the Republicans. And the lazy, silly-sounding, Can’t-get-anything-done-even-though-we’re-on-the-winning-side people have to be the Democrats.

The debate is getting old. And today a shift was made in favor of the pot-enthusiasts. Medical Weed. An interesting concept really. Scientifically proven (Cold, Irrefutiable Facts?! EWWW!) to help certain medical cases, medical marijuana is legal in some states. The law, however, was messed up on a level like no other. It was legal to carry Medical Marijuana with you. But it was not legal to sell it or distribute it in any way.

Did you get that? It’s legal to HAVE, but not legal to GET! How the fuck does that work?! A medical professional cannot market this medication to his patients, but if the Pot-Fairy comes and leaves you a fatty in your pocket, it’s totally alright. Of course, the Pot-Fairy may go to prison for it, and you’ve seen Oz, you know what they do to fairies in prison!

However, just recently, the Federal Government (who I believe in to protect me about as much as the fuckin’ Mighty Morphin’ Power Rangers) stepped in. They are pushing for a law that allows the medical marijuana to be sold, as long as it stays under the limit set by Government law. Alright, that makes sense.

Seems alright. No need to pull out my emergency raw-hide and put it in my mouth yet. No anger-seizure for Bob. But wait, the article continues!

They talk about how that they, the Mighty Morphin’ Power Government, will prosecute anyone who is selling beyond the legal limits, or using it to front another crime.

Imagine that. Our law enforcement is going to… Enforce the law?! How the fuck is THAT something that was necessary to mention?! You’re telling me that you will allow people to do the legal stuff, and are going to CRACK DOWN on the illegal stuff?! ISN’T THAT YOUR FUCKING JOB, YOU SHIT HEADS!!!

They then went on to say, that just because it WAS legal now, doesn’t mean that they can’t prosecute even the law-abidding people if they see fit. Ok, now let me get this straight. You are now LEGALLY allowed to sell the medical marijuana, as long as you follow the Government rules, but if Captain Justice happens to decide to be a prick that day, you can STILL go to prison for doing things LEGALLY?!

I don’t know a lot. But I do know that that… is fucking MENTAL!

Over the years, my Government has said things to me that have made me black-out pissed. They’ve said things that have literally made me wish death on my fellow man. They have said things that I, as an educated human being, just flat out didn’t comprehend. But this… wow. This is a contridiction cluster-fuck like no other. If this made any less sense… it’d be the gay marriage debate.

I struggled to figure out a way to describe to people what I hear when I hear my government talk. And I finally figured it out. It sounds like they speak in Dr. Seuss rhymes. Simple as that.

It goes something… like this:

Red Fish, Blue Fish, White Fish, YOU Fish!
By The Mighty Morphin’ Power Government

You can’t bring that shampoo on this plane!
You cannot use those stem cells to fix your brain!

Two men in love? They cannot wed!
Osama Bin Laden… eh… at least Saddam is dead…

Our economy? It’ll bounce right back!
Did we mention, our President is BLACK!

We’re in Iraq to spread Democracy around!
It has NOTHING to do with that oil in the ground…

Our children’s safety! That’s reason to shout!
Your bank is in trouble? Can you say BAIL OUT!

Right to bear firearms, I don’t see why not.
As long as we don’t legalize something really dangerous… like pot!

Foreign Policy? Other countries are okay,
As long as they don’t fuck with the U S of A!

Terrorists want to test our resolve, well these colors don’t run!
And as far as energy is concerned… we just don’t UNDERSTAND the sun.

Unemployment is rising, but we’re on the ball,
and we know it’s the Mexicans, we’ll put up a wall!

Democrats and Republicans, working together to get us back on track soon,
by allowing NASA to bury 79 million into the moon!

I know times are tough, but we will not slack!
And in case you forgot… OUR PRESIDENT IS BLACK!!!

Can I get an AMEN!

The Complaint Department: Volume 1

Attempting a new feature here at FiS. A blog dedicated to smaller pieces and pet peeves I don’t want to flesh out into full blogs. Exciting, I know. Here’s how it’s done…

—

I would like to file a complaint against…

-People here in Minnesota who, during the colder months, wear sweatshirts and shorts – I’m not talking in general. I mean AT THE SAME FUCKING TIME! You look like a crack addict, stop that.

I would like to file a complaint against…

-People who use the handicap door button when they are perfectly able-bodied – If you’re carrying something super heavy that takes up both hands, I’ll give you a free pass. However, if you are not, then you are just being a lazy d-bag! If you’d like, I can take a lead pipe to both your knee caps and give you a legit reason to use the button, assclown!

I would like to file a complaint against…

-People who still leave their brights on when it’s no longer necessary – We’re in a brightly lit parking lot, you twit. There is no need to burn out my retinas at this time. You know what else could provide a lot of light? Fire. Why don’t I come over and install THAT to the front of your truck!

I would like to file a complaint against…

-Garbage Water – No matter how secure and undamaged the bag may be, you always find a way to stealth your way onto my pants! Also. why is it that no matter what I throw away, you always smell exactly the same? One of this planet’s natural phenomena.

I would like to file a complaint against…

-Single-Ply Toilet Paper – Anyone ever made the cataclysmic error in judgment that is purchasing this Satan-sent product? It’s like wiping your ass with air! Not only can you see through it, but if you hold it up to the light, it actually appears to vanish completely. You make me feel like I’m five again, as I stand their with my pants around my ankles and two whole rolls balled up in my hands like a pre-teen girl getting set to stuff her bra!

I would like to file a complaint against…

-The “End Now” Window On My Computer – When I click you, you most certainly DO NOT end now! Why don’t you just come out and say what you really mean to say: END WHENEVER THE FUCK I FEEL LIKE IT!!!. Life has even tossed me this curve ball: An End Now window to close down an END NOW WINDOW! Are you fucking kidding me?! My brain can’t cope with that!

I would like to file a complaint against…

-Grapefruit – You are delicious and nutritious, but more dangerous to eat than a cheap hooker. Plunging a spoon into you has to be handled with the same tact as brain surgery. One false move, and it’s all over. However delicate I may be, I always end up leaving breakfast with one less eye than I came.

I would like to file a complaint against…

-Boxer Shorts – More specifically that little hatch in the front. Sometimes, Captain Trinket makes a daring escape through you at an uncomfortable and improper time. It leads to awkward social situations, and the need to adjust myself while in public. Thanks for making it look like I’m playing with myself!

I would like to file a complaint against…

-Umbrellas – Sure, when it rains, you are fantastic. Keeping me high and dry… that is unless their is even the SLIGHTEST gust of wind. Then you are completely useless.

I would like to file a complaint against…

-People who make really shitty movies look really good in the trailers – Because of you guys, I saw “The Happening”. Because of this, you must all perish. All of you.

I would like to file a complaint against…

-Anyone who refers to Wednesday as “Hump Day” – My mind immediately makes me think the wrong definition of “Hump”, and the lack of editing equipment in my brain makes me say something about it out loud. This usually leads to people giving me weird looks. Because of you and your cute rhetoric, I now look like a pervert!

/end

Pure, Unimaginable Evil

The Universe.

Needless to say, it’s pretty damn big. Filled with many different sights, sounds, sensations. Many of these are highly terrifying. The vicious attacks of sharks. The venomous bite of the snake. The mauling strikes of the savage bear. Don Knox. Horrible things exist, just on our little corner of the ‘verse.

However, all of this pales in comparison to what I was shown early today: The Krispy Kreme Bacon Cheeseburger!

The HORROR!!!

People have even gone on to make these at home: With a TON of fuckin’ meat!

Faith in a just God? Not after seeing this…

Now, not too long ago, I wrote a blog addressing this nation’s obsession with hamburgers. This, however, takes the cake donut.

Already, tons of blogs have been written about this product. The reviews seem to be quite unanimous. This thing is a frightening disaster. Basically, the root of all evil lies in the Krispy Kreme Bacon Cheeseburger.

I would like to take it a step further. I do believe that this epic failure in common sense may very well be the end of life as we know it. I’ve always thought that “Obesity Epidemic” was a bit of a grandiose term for a whole country full of fat fucks who like to eat. But now I do believe they may have a point. This whole thing is like a plague. A nation that would actually cram a bacon cheeseburger, already super high in fat, inbetween two of the most dangerous donuts we have ever created. All that is left is to actually cover the thing in fatback and lard and call it a day.

I am not a food prude, I would like to make that known now. I don’t scoff at many food items. I’ll eat almost anything once, even if it originally doesn’t sound appealing. This, however, is where even I must draw the line. In fact, simply upon reading about this product, I had to reach deep down within my happy place and pull out an extra rainbow of delight JUST to keep myself from going genocidal on my home country and killing everyone.

Alright, I suppose someone, somewhere wants to eat this. Well, let me provide a nice reason why you shouldn’t: It’s 1,500-calories!

If you take that into mind, if you ate JUST this tiny burger, you would fulfill your entire day’s intake based on this diet! That’s right. It is actually an entire day’s recommended intake of calories. And it’s yucky looking as well!

You know what this means, right? And this is where the universe is slowly creeping to it’s end. This means that the creative team over at Krispy Kreme not only thought of this idea, but went with it. A board meeting took place, where an idea-man pitched this to a room full of expensive suits. They applauded him for taken advantage of the nation’s desire to cram everything into their gullet at once. They probably gave him a raise. And now he is a millionaire simply because he understands that fat people don’t worry about common sense anymore.

Human Stupidity on a world-altering level. Fat Assery that goes beyond imagination. These things, teamed up together, have created an end game. Get on your knees and find your God now, because it’s all over.

I’m actually weeping right now. Tears, gushing from my face. I am now dead inside. Thanks Krispy Kreme. Thanks a lot. When you decide to cram an entire pizza between two jelly-filled’s then cover it in gravy, give me a call before hand so I can blow my own brains out before discovering it’s existance. It’s the least you can do.

Talk about food for thoughtlessness…

Titty For Tat

I’m known for being a rather classy individual. Upper-crust type stuff. Perhaps even an aristocrat? That is why today I would like to talk a little about something that is important to society. A relevant topic. Something that matters to the people of this so-called “World Wide Web”.

I’m, of course, talking about boobies!

Now, I’m not speaking of boobies ON the internet. That’s… well, if you know how to use Google, you can see boobies-aplenty. A smorgasbord of chesticles. No no, I’m going to be discussing a hypocrisy that exists in other visual medias.

For those who know me, I am clearly unedited myself. That is why I am in constant disarray over the existance of the Constitution-Defying FCC, or Federal Communications Commision. Or as I like to call them: The “I have to buy HBO to hear the word FUCK?! Police”.

The FCC has somehow, in some board meeting, at sometime, deemed a females nipples indecent.

But not a man’s nipples?

We’ll dial this back, to Pre-Birth, and discuss this on a scientific level first. Why do men have nipples in the first place? Believe it or not, they are most likely NOT a sexually-linked characteristic (you can link them with your MOUTH sexually, but that’s not the link I mean). They are actually a secondary autosome characteristic. This means they are on everyone, due to the fact they are somehow “Created” if you will by one of the 22 sets of Chromosomes that do not determine sex, aka the autosomes (Relax, we’ll go back to titty jokes in a second!). During the gender-creation process, the nipples are then either made functional, or not so much functional, by the hormones. And this, friends, is a possible reason why men have ta-tas.

Alright, that was way too much science. Let me now return to the Complaint Department.

Take Baywatch, for example. I know, best show ever right? The plot was so intricate, wooven from the first episode to the last in a giant web of twists and turns, action and drama. I do believe that the show 24 simply stole it’s epic, character-driven depth from the writers of Baywatch. The show had some of the most deep characters in television history. A show that had so many mysterious aspects to it it made LOST look like Barney the Dinosaur.

The premise, in case you haven’t seen this Golden-Globe worthy masterpeice is as follows: Big-Breasted Ladies running on the beach.

There you have it! It’s genius, isn’t it. They somehow managed to make softcore porn for network tv. And you thought Stephen Hawkins had the smarts! Not even he is genius enough to make an entire tv show based around bouncing can-cans.

However, this is where the FCC’s hypocrisy kicks in. David Hasselhoff looked like THIS during the program:

The Hoff, is clearly displaying his man-nipples.

However, Yasmine Bleeth looked like this:

No nipples to speak of! Something is afoul with this.

This can really only mean one thing: A man’s nipples are considered decent, but a female’s are not. Why is that? It’s the same body part, right? We now know that it is placed their prior to the decieding of a gender. So really, it’s no different than an arm or leg in that aspect. Is it because (some) women’s nipples are somehow extended from their body by breasts? If it’s the entire breast that is indecent, than how is it that you can see almost the entire breast except the nipple? That has to mean they consider the nipple the indecent part simply because it’s farther out from the body than a man’s (in some cases, I do know men with bigger breasts than women, and yet they can still take their shirt off in public. Which isn’t cool with me).

Alright, so we’ve determined that this hypocrisy exists, but now we have to figure out why. I may need to get Stephen Hawkin back on the phone and let him redeem himself. There is a blackhole of logic here. Sucking up any sense that I can make of this mindset the FCC has about nipples on female’s being different than male nipples. Is that really the part that turns you on, guys? Nipples? That strikes me as odd, since so many men complain about “flat chested women”. Well, after extensive research and a few tissues wasted, I have come to find out that flat chested women indeed have nipples too. Somehow, this proves to me that men do not think the nipple in and of itself is the sexy part of the breast. Yasmine Bleeth’s chest is devoid of nipples in that photo, and yet, a lot of you are adjusting your pants right now. It’s the breast part that is attractive to the male senses.

The FCC somehow has this logic backwards. A breast is completely alright to show on television up until the nipple? But the nipple isn’t the part that causes indecent, sexual thought. That’s kind of like saying you can show all of the penis EXCEPT for the head.

Who’s the black (or white) private dick that’s a sex machine to all the ladies (and should be allowed on television)? SHAFT! You’re damn right! Can you dig it? I’m only talkin’ ’bout The Shaft.

Is it because breasts contain milk? Is that it, FCC people? That’s the function that causes them to become breasts and not just idle nipples. The function of a breast is to feed children milk when they are young. That function is created by milk glands.

So, in summary, I have come up with this:

The FCC considers Milk indecent.

Oh yeah…. OOOOOOH YEAH. That’s so HOT. GAH, I may need a few more tissues…

This clearly isn’t the biggest load of crap the FCC has produced for us. However, it is a good showing of the sheer Absurd-titty (hah, how’s that for a stupid pun!) of the FCC in general.

I guess what I’m trying to say in all of this is… FUCK THE FCC, YOU STUPID PIECES OF SHIT. You can’t censor the interwebs, so I’m free to say what I want, and show things like THIS all day long:

Sexy Time With Kitchen Appliances

Here’s a news story for you. This is completely true, also. I couldn’t make this up if I tried, I’m just not that clever.

So, here’s the deal. A couple is at home playing Truth or Dare. Why? Because they’re obviously exciting fucking people, that’s why! I mean… maybe it was some kind of sexy Truth or Dare? “I dare you to lick my balls”. That kind of thing… but still.

Now, apparently it was the guys “turn”. And he apparently went with a Dare. So, the girl, and really this shows just how freakin’ MENTAL she is, came up with this.

She dared him to put his penis into a FOOD PROCESSOR. Got that? Food fuck Processor. A device built for slicing and dicing food products of all kinds, and she tells him to insert his junk into it.

The guy, not wanting to be a poor sport – DID IT.

Some of you are seeing where this story is going. Try not to get too far ahead and ruin it for the others!

Alright, I can’t say that I’ve ever tried this at home. Nor have I ever really considered it, but even I would do at least two things before I did this…

Number one? UNPLUG THE FUCKING THING! It’s that simple. Grab the cord and PULL. Detach it from the power source so that it, oh I don’t know, DOESN’T POWER UP?!?!

And number two? DON’T, under any circumstance, rest your hands on the BUTTON CONSOLE while doing this! Don’t do anything to PROVOKE the slicing/dicing device to turn ON while your cock is inside it!

Well, now comes the kicker. It DOES turn on. And it does… well… you fill in the blanks.

I, being the concerned citizen that I am, decided it was time to research deeper into this story. So I checked out a picture of the culprit. Not… the guys penis, the machine. It was quite simple, because they had a picture of it right in the article, just in case you wanted one. Just walk on into your local appliance store and simply ask “Hey, by any chance, do you wonderful people carry that castration food processor?”

Here’s the thing about the picture. The tube that you put the produce into was really long. The blades were way down there. This means one of two things. Either this guy is packing a MASSIVE dick, even limp. Or, for some strange reason – he was erect at the time. Which is weird in and of itself. Was he turned on by the potential prospect of turning his cock into coleslaw? Is this some kind of S&M thing I’m not privy to? Maybe it’s just his thing. Kitchen appliances.

If that’s the case, than I’m pretty sure I don’t want to be his friend. I don’t want him coming over to my place

“Hey, man.”

“Hey… saaaaayyyyy…. New toaster?!?!”

“Uh yeah…”

“…Is she seein’ anyone…”

“What… No… what…”

“OH man… I would FUCK that toaster, turn that bitch all the way to DARK. You know what I’m sayin’ YEAH!”

So, back to the story at hand. This dude takes his girlfriends Dare, jams his frank into the food processor, accidentally triggers it, and slices up his happy. Now… if it was me… and my girlfriend told me to do this…

“Yeah… I think I’ll go ahead and take a chicken on that one, hun… in fact… I think we should see other people… eh… I think your other person should be a shrink, actually…”

You guys are missing the point here… well, I guess HE is missing the point but that’s… no, don’t laugh at that! That’s not an ok pun to laugh at!

The point that this raises though, is this: How do you explain this lil’ domestic accident to the emergency room? You can’t play it off like an accident.

“Funny story, you see… I was in the kitchen, making a delicious nutritious carrot juice, and what do you know?!?! BOOM! My penis just sorta WHOOPS, into the blades. It could happen to anyone…”

That’s not an option. You’d have to go with the truth. You don’t really have to worry about a lack of dignity, because any chance of that goes out the window when you walk in with your pecker lying in a bloody heap on a ice pack.

I have no idea how they went about repairing his prick, but you know this probably lead to a lawsuit. That’s just how shit like this happens in this country these days. He probably went on to sue Kenmore “Hey! You didn’t put a cock-guard on the juicer!” NO! Screw that. You’re an idiot, and you deserve to have your junk puréed off to prevent you from reproducing!

The Space Race

Just when I thought I was going to run out of things to rant about… NASA goes and blows up the fuckin’ MOON!

It actually happened, folks. After all the studies, after all the exploraton, the “genuises” at NASA finally snapped and went after a giant rock in space with a vengence. They fired a rocket right AT the son of a bitch. And they didn’t even ask me first! All I’m asking is maybe a phone call?

“Hey Bob, it’s NASA. So, here’s the deal. We’re gonna blow up the moon and… is that ok with you?”

“FUCKING NO IT’S NOT OK YOU SOCIOPATH! It’s the damn MOON! WE NEED THAT you dimwit!!!”

I don’t know if NASA knew this, but the Moon serves a purpose. It’s not just a hunk of rock sitting their without purpose. It’s not Utah.

NASA did it without warning. Not even a letter or anything. Just popped up one day and said “Well, guess we’ll shoot shit at the moon now”. They could have at least dropped a mass email or something. I mean, blowing up the moon is a fairly BIG FUCKING DECISION!

And what if it fucked up? I half expect to walk out of my house this evening and see a large chunk of the moon floating away from the rest of it. I could imagine the big-wig nerds up in NASA walking into a press conference:

“Yeah um… we used a little TOO much power behind those rockets. Yeah, it turns out 1.5 tons of TNT worth of pressure was a BIT of an overkill. We accidently broke the moon. And the piece is actually heading straight for us. We’ll all be blown to smithereens in a few days. Sorry about that. We’ll take full blame for that one. But the good news is… the fuckin’ Russians didn’t get to blow up the moon first! HAHA Take that you Commie bastards!”

They even attempted to film the whole thing. They wanted a big fireworks show to show off their epic strength. The issue was: They fucked up filming it. Nothing exciting happened at all. One member of the viewing team even described it as “Anticlimatic”. Saying, “I was hoping for a big flare or flash or something”. That’s NASA, always professional. I kinda get the feeling that they did this just to see what it would look like to viciously murder a moon. I can’t even believe they did it!

But they damn well did do it. And their justification? It may have water! WATER! That’s right folks, we, the Water-Fuck-Planet want to jack the moon’s water supply. I guess being made up of 71% of it just wasn’t enough. We need the moon’s water for important things. Like filling up Aquafina bottles, or building new wave pools in Wisconsin Dells.

The actual reason is obvious: Extended space stays. That’s right, my Earth-Grounded friends, we’re colonizing outer space,and we’re jackin’ the Moon’s liquid to do it. It’s mainly ice that we’re looking for. And if I’m not mistaken, mining ice from a rock is actually a plot from Battlestar Galactica. Once we colonize a giant space station out there, we will actually be LIVING the damn show!

Now, let me take a step back. When I say WE are going to be able to stay in space, I don’t mean WE as in you and me. Not us, the lower-middle class. No no, I mean WE as in rich white people. That’s who will get to go into space. That’s probably what this is about. Making space liveable so that rich white people have a place to go once the shit hits the fan down here. That’s it, the title of the blog. White people are the space race. The privilaged ones who will get to colonize outer space when the planet becomes unliveable. Or more unliveable…er than it is now.

We’re going to use the moon to sustain our Rich Pricks in Space program. Isn’t that just friggin’ dandy?! Once we build our self-sustaining space stations, we can start providing Rich Pricks with the essential services they needed and enjoyed here on Earth. Golf Course. Cigar Clubs. Saunas for “business transactions”*. And of course Space Hookers… er… I mean “Space Escorts”

*This may or may not be code for “awkward homosexual experiences involving tiny towls on fat white guy genitals”

I’m starting to believe that the world will actually end in 2012 like predicted. Why? Because by 2011 we’ll have that Rich Prick haven orbiting Mother Gaia, and all the trash spewed out of it will fill up our atmosphere and block out the sun, hence killing all us poor fucks and minorities.

It’s a shame that the next frontier will be wasted on the Rich Pricks. I have a theory on who we SHOULD send into space. Athiests. And the gays. That’s right. No one wants them down here, since this planet is slowly being over-run by religious nutbags. So why not send all their enemies up into space, away from them. They can enjoy the Earth. You know, the Earth where man walked around, mounted on their Dinosaur steed. Give space to the Anti-Christs of the world. Open up giant galactic abortion clinics in space, using the Moon’s resources as a means to wash off the blood. How about big gay civil union stations, where gays can peaceful get married to each other and love each other for ever… far the fuck away from where they can cause horrible devestation to the American family on Earth. Maybe a giant Satanist club where Earth sends us goats every day to sacrifice to fulfill our heathen desires.

Or perhaps we can just turn it into a giant amusement park. A George Lucas theme, of course. In fact, why don’t we just build all this shit on his dime. Yeah, he’s just a big enough egomaniac to build a space station in his name. And who could possibly be a better representative of the Rich White Pricks Who Want To Live In Space demographic? George Lucas could be the Rich Prick President of The Moon!

Now I know what you’re thinking: “Bob, you sure are a sexy bitch.” You may also be thinking: “Bob, you’re blowing this way out of proportion. It’s not like they actually blew UP the moon, just made a lil’ crater or two in the name of science!” Perhaps you’re right, perhaps you’re weird for calling me a sexy bitch, either way, it’s still fun to think of the possibilities this endeavor opens up for us as a people.

I’d like to end this with a quote taken from one of the articles about what NASA is calling the “Moon Pwning Expedition”. While discussing where the ice may or may not be on the moon, Michael Bicay, director of science at Ames, had this awkward statement to make:

“We may have hit a dry hole rather than a wet hole”

I’ll allow YOU to read the sexual innuendo there, because I am far too busy laughing and crying at the same time.

Alright, that’s enough on this. Don’t want to get TOO topical. Besides, my networth just went up, meaning I’m now a Rich Prick. See you on the Space Station Waste Of 79 Million Dollars! We’ll get a Space Escort and have a “business transaction” in the sauna. And it’ll all be at the Moon’s expense! YAY!