Pong, Mario, Halo, Rape.

One of these things is not like the other. Or is it?

Allow me to say ahead of time, this will probably end up one of my most graphic and upsetting blogs yet. I’m actually proud of that. And I haven’t even written it yet! The credit goes to my friend, who will now be refered to as “The Guru of Vulgar”.

The Guru of Vulgar brought to my attention one of the more interesting things ever to come out of Japan. And, of course, like most things coming out of Japan, it’s porn. Not real porn. But porny. Child porny. Not real child porny. Animated Child Porny. The term is “Hentai” in case you’re wondering.

Please, take the time to head over to CNN and watch the video about the next great thing in electronic entertainment: RapeLay!

That’s right. It’s a rape game! How fun! This is right up there with that baby shaking application they had on the iPhone for all of twenty two seconds. Or perhaps Columbine RPG, where you got to play out Columbine. I think we’ve pegged down the five things kids love to roleplay in video games: Pirates, Rape, Ninjas, Child Abuse, And Punching Mike Tyson. You know, happy fun times!

And how can this game not be fun? Just look at this classy cover art:

Check out the grope-hands! Seriously. I don’t know a lot about rape, or how to rape, but I’m pretty sure he’s doing it wrong. Unless he’s Frankenstein’s monster, in which case the outstretched grabby hands would work. And that would make the game even more epic, now that I think about it. Frankenstein’s rapist!

Alright, let’s get right down to business and start cracking some inappropriate jokes, piss some people off, then attempt to come up with some kind of legitimate point and fail miserably. Here we go!

The game is simple. You’re in a subway, and there is a little girl. 12 years of age. Oh so sweet and innocent. Not if you have anything to say about it! It’s time to start molesting! You know, just like any good video game, they have to ease you into the hard parts (oops, accidental pun.). A little bit of a training tutorial, give you just the rudimentary skills first. You have to EARN the face-punching and nipple-biting! You only start out with the simple skills, like skirt-lifting and booby rubbing. But don’t worry, things are about to get a whole lot rapier (NOT a French sword…).

Where do we go from there? Well, you stalk her onto the train, naturally.

“The game begins with a teenage girl on a subway platform. She notices you are looking at her and asks, “Can I help you with something?”

That is when you, the player, can choose your method of assault.

With the click of your mouse, you can grope her and lift her skirt. Then you can follow her aboard the train, assaulting her sister and her mother.”

Aww, the game promotes family bonding! Or family bondage as the case may be. The good news is, it’s just her, her mother, and her sister. All females! At least this isn’t a fag child rape game! That would just be wrong, ain’t I right Catholic Church? Catholic Church? Hello! I’m talking to you. Oh, you’re ignoring everything. Sorry, I forgot.

“As you continue to play, “friends” join in and in a series of graphic, interactive scenes, you can corner the women, rape them again and again. “

It’s good to have friendship in your life, right? Except, I’m a little worried about the word “Friends” being in quotations. What’s with that? They’re not your REAL friends, just your rape buddies? Rape Buddy… that may be the worst term anyone has ever come up with. Well, there WAS “Bromance”. So, second worst…

However, it’s the next part of the article that is the crown-taker. A favorite of both me and the Guru of Vulgar.

“The game allows you to even impregnate a girl and urge her to have an abortion. The reason behind your assault, explains the game, is that the teenage girl has accused you of molesting her on the train. The motive is revenge.”

What game is complete without abortion! It sure worked wonders for Space Invaders. Something has invaded your space, and you have to abort it. Makes sense to me.

Not to mention, who gets revenge for being accused of raping someone… by raping them? Isn’t that Double Jeopardy or something? That’s right, Alex Trebek, I’m on to you and your vengeful rape ways!

Anyway, the thing that gets me is how they begin to talk about how “this kind of thing has been in Japan for a long time, but it’s usually just stayed over there”. Oh, so now that it’s over HERE it’s an outrage? I see how it is. As long as it isn’t rich white kids pretending to rape people, everything is peachy fuckin’ keen.

And it’s only rich white kids too. If it was a black-kids only game, the news probably wouldn’t make such a big deal about it. Hell, even if it was poor white kids, it would maybe get a press release and that’s it. But as soon as Todd, the cricket team captain at Harvard gets to wank his 3 inch willy to a drawing of a Japanese girl getting mouth-fucked, it’s bad news.

Oh man I hate white people. I’m not saying that it’s right, I’m saying that it’s true. The media won’t get involved on this level until it’s spoiled white kids getting wronged.

The thing I’ll give the game credit for, no matter how tasteless and fucked up it may seem: At least it’s fuckin’ straight forward. I mean, the game is called RapeLay! RAPE. LAY. RAPELAY. RAPE FUCK LAY! You really can’t play the “I had no idea” card on this one.

“I had NO IDEA it was THIS kind of game!”

“…really? The title is RapeLay? That didn’t give it away? I mean… what else could that mean?”

“I don’t know… I thought maybe Rapelay was the name of a cute animal mascot that you get to run around as and jump on the heads of unsuspecting baddies”

“No, no cute animal mascots. Mostly just rape.”

I love that the CNN report than proceeds to Skype connect to some overweight English girl and her extremely creepy boyfriend. At least I hope it’s a friend. Playing a rape game with a brother or cousin only amplifies the fucked-upedness. She goes on to tell us “I just wanted to try it, see what it was about”.

Again: RAPELAY! It’s about RAPE! Did I not JUST SAY you can’t play that card?! Who plays a rape game just ’cause they’re curious. I mean, this isn’t like other things you can do just because you’re curious. You know, like perhaps stabbing a dude?

I also love the creepy guy that’s with her. Her brother or whatever. He totally looks like the type who’d get his rocks off playing something like this.

“Oh that’s right, you like it when I move my tiny hand-cursor over your poorly designed polygon titties, don’t you little girl!”

So, obviously this kind of stuff is pretty fucked up and morally objectionable. Well, to people who AREN’T big rape enthusiasts. And as you all know, I hate the word “enthusiasts”, so if I use it, I mean business. But what is the Japanese government doing about this? Not answering the phone, that’s what! And you’re surprised? Of course they aren’t taking your calls. They’re probably all busy playing RapeLay! Or maybe even RapeLay II’s beta release, since they are higher-ups and can pull strings and get in on that action. I wouldn’t be surprised if Hentai was federally funded over there. It might as well just be on the flag. A big breasted Japanese teenager. Land of the Rising Boner.

They do let us know what kinds of laws are in place though. Apparently, the genitalia (awful word, may get added to my list of hated words) are OBSCURED! They’re blurred out! Are you fuckin’ RapeLayin’ me?! You can gang-rape a child and her family, repeatedly, but fuck forbid they show the graphical representation of a vagina! I’m glad to see they have their priorities straight over there. I’m starting to feel less and less sorry about that whole Hiroshima thing…

I guess I just don’t understand this whole thing. Who actually gets off on this kind of thing? I’m a pretty perverted dude myself, but even I’m not exactly into video game sex. I mean, even if it was consensual, I wouldn’t really be jumping on it. There is a much better way to have sex using your hands, it’s called JERKING OFF.

Ultimately, the whole thing is hilarious to me. But I do think it should be allowed. Perhaps I’m not saying post giant billboards and take out television ads. Maybe just keep it in the smut shop with all the other smut. But it shouldn’t be banned. It really boils down to freedom of expression and the right of a game designer as an artist. Because they are. As much as people refuse to believe that, game designers are artists. That game, sadly enough, is his piece of art.

And if hand-cuffing a 12 year old Japanese girl to a bathroom sink and sticking a penis icon in her ear is his masterpiece, who am I to take that away from him? It’s not like he’s ACTUALLY sticking his penis in a girl’s ear in a bathroom. It’s not like anyone is actually being raped.

Seriously, I stood up for the baby shaking application. I stood up for the Columbine RPG. And I stand up for this. If tomorrow, a game comes out that is just you driving a catapult around shooting flaming infants at old women and bitch slapping retards, I’d be all for it. And would probably buy it. I love flaming baby catapults!

Listen. Rape is wrong. Alright? This isn’t rape. No one is being raped. It’s a game. It’s a stupid, gimmicky game for a few perverts to wank off to in the privacy of their own parent’s basement while trying to keep the cat from eating their Cheetos with their other hand. That’s all.

I’d like to leave you with someone elses view on this. Someone I respect, a one Penn Jillette. I find this video very good and informational, and he raises a lot of good points. Enjoy!

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m about to go play my favorite game: Ass-Fisting II: Revenge of the Colon Puncher! I better get my HD tv out for this one! I really want to see the shit stains on my characters knuckles!

Hitler + Time Machines = The Worst Awesome Blog Idea Of All Time

Let it be known that I had to google “Time Machine” to see if it was one word or two. It’s two. Thanks Google and Wikipedia for doing all my thinking for me.

Anyway, once again the title of my blog has a positive word (awesome) and a mention of Mr. Hitler. Again. One more and my blog becomes the leading source of Pro-Hitler propaganda. And as such, I’d like to once again state that Hitler = Not Good, Jews = Totally Good. Just like to make sure that’s plenty clear. As I did in my previous Yay-Hitler style blog.

This is going to be a slightly different blog. Instead of talking about things that actually happened or exist, or at least things I pretend actually happened or exist in order to make it more funny, I’m going to try something different. Today’s FiS is a creative-writing project that was sparked by a conversation between me and “Teh Co-worker” the other day. Yes, it was a conversation about Hitler. Time Machines were brought up. By me. Because I’m just that fucked in the head.

This piece of beautiful, one-of-a-kind art that I’m about to present to you today is dedicated to my high school guidance counselor. The one who said “He’s creative and very bright, but he just doesn’t apply himself”. Bitch, consider my creative brightitude APPLIED!

It all started with a simple question: What if Hitler had a time machine? And of course, I decided to answer my own question. This was after convincing “Teh Co-worker” to put the phone down and not have me committed to an institution. And believe me, he’s considered it quite a few times. And for good reasons. Like willingly putting Vegemite in my mouth. I was lucky not to be dragged out with a straight jacket on for that one. Or after that one.

Anyway, onto the answer to my rather pressing Time Travelling Hitler questions. I believe the whole scenario would play out like this:

*cue cool smokey dream fade out sequence*

The Beginning

“The American’s are coming, Hitler! And they seem sorta pissed about something. Could be the whole taking over Europe by force and killing a bunch of Jewish people. It’s sorta unclear.”

“They’ll kill me for sure! Quick, to the TIME MACHINE!”

“Why do you have a time machine. And why are we speaking English?”

“Gift from Japan. Obviously. Who else would have Time machines? And Bob’s too lazy to try and write in German. Just shut up and play along.”

So, Hitler, on the run from American ass-kickers and a few English tag-alongs, rushed to his time machine. And just started slamming buttons. This, of course, accidentally takes him to…

THE FUTURE!!!!!!!!!!!!11111111111111oneoneoneoneoneone

Chapter 1: Hitler’s Tale

2010. Somewhere in California. A retarded former actor is Governor. Paris Hilton hasn’t been executed for the good of the country. Marijuana is legal… sorta. And a time machine, mistaken as a prop, is stored in a Hollywood set-piece warehouse. Our hero… er… villain, Adolph emerges. He has escaped death. And found himself in much worse peril – He is in Cali-fuckin-fornia. Could be worse, could be Detroit…

Oh no, Hitler has been spotted. Not by security, not by the army, but by the only thing worse than Nazi’s – Hollywood Producers.

“There you are! We’re about to begin filming!”

“Film…ing? Ah, yes. I’m an actor. I’m here to act.”

“Well, he certainly seems air-headed enough to work in American television. Alright, you’re going to play the lead in our new soap opera.”

“Of course I am!”

And just like that, Dolph Hitz (a clever stage name) takes control of television. Surely from here, he can come up with some new, evil plan to take over zee VORLD! One fat, middle-aged house wife at a time!

And the show is a hit! Because, if we’ve learned anything from Jersey Shore and Dancing With The Stars: American’s will watch anything, no matter how fucking dumb it is. And what do you know, all of Hitler’s co-stars and big, blonde, blue-eyed numbskulls. In other words – THEY ARE PERFECT! And just like that, Hitler begins to build his new Storm Trooper army: A bunch of b-rate actors. The world is now in trouble!

Chapter 2: FDR’s Tale

Back in the 40s, the American forces have discovered the time machine. And it’s up to FDR to head into our time and stop Hitler from destroying the future. Luckily, the time machine’s back then were very politically correct and had a wheel chair ramp.

FDR arrives in 2010, to discover that Hitler is now a successful super-star. He even gets his latte’s HALF OFF! Do you believe that! Only 11 dollars! That’s a fuckin’ steal!

Frankie realizes that the only way to put an end to Hitler, is to stop the show. And as such, he sets out to start his own show. He gathers up a crack team of writers. Interestingly enough, they’re all Jews. Go Figure.

And thus, the battle for our world has begun!

Chapter 3: Whoever The Fuck Was Leading Japan During WWII’s Tale

Oh shut up, you don’t know the dude’s name either!

Anyway, Mr. Japan-guy has come to Germany to check on his wonderous invention. He isn’t alone, of course. He’s come with his best friend Mussolini. Or “The Moose” as he was probably not called by his friends.

So The Moose and… Mr. Japan-guy have travelled to our time as well, to aid Dolph in his battles. The Moose decided to help Dolph train his men. Luckily, right next door there was a Yoga Studio for sale! I mean, this IS Pretentious-Liberal California after all. There are Yoga Studios every like… half a foot.

As the dumb blonde, blue-eyed Storm Troopers began their Lotus Position exercises, that… Japan-guy (now shortened to Jappy), was putting his plan into motion: Working on creating all the weapons needed. And what better way to do this than to open up a tiny electronics shop.

Within a week, the superior Japanese electronics put all the American stores out of business. Within two weeks, Jappy owned the monopoly on Electronics, building a force of stores capable of over-throwing our government. We’ll call it “Wel-Murt”.

Dolph’s successful show, The Asian-Sounding Hipster-Named Yoga Studio, and “Wel-Murt” were an unstoppable force. FDR and his new talk show/cooking show/sketch comedy hour just couldn’t hold enough viewers to stop them. So, he sent a message back. It was time to assembly the MUTHA FUCKIN’ ALLIES!

Chapter 4: Mutha Fuckin’ Stalin’s Tale

Here comes big, bad Joey Stalin. A mobster mentality and a taste for really awful liquor. He was tasked with bringing Jappy to the ground. The only way we knew how: Blowing them to itty-bitty pieces.

But how? How do you stop an electronics store? Well, this is land of he yuppy arrogant bastards, so we must adhere to their electronics tastes. And thus, Stalin started working at the Apple store.

That’s right. I’m on to you Steve Jobs. You fuckin’ Communist douchebag.

It only took a week of working at the “Genius Bar” (seriously, that’s what they call their fuckin’ help desk. How’s that for an ego?) to let Stalin know one thing: All American’s were unworthy of life.

“Note To Self: When I return home, start building nuclear weapons and blow America up in a Cold War.”

It figures the source of the Cold War was Apple. I knew it! Damn you, Steve Jobs. You Red Peckerhead!

Stalin began working on a new weapon. One capable of taking Japan down in a single blast. And it also holds upwards to 3000 of your favorite songs. But it’s programmed to blow up and kill you immediately if you put any Jonas Brothers on it. I think all iPods are. Anyway, the weapon? It was called…

The iBomb!

DUH DUH DUUUUUUUUUUUUUUH.

*pause for dramatic effect*

Chapter 5: Churchill’s Tale

It was going to take more than over-priced gadgets to stop Dolph. So FDR called Mr. Chill himself! And the shit, or in this case the English Cooking (same difference), was about to hit the fan!

Mr. Chill had to find an army. But where could he find foot soldiers, and fast? Well, Los Angeles is right there…

Mr. Chill had to find some people willing to off a bunch of dumb-ass white people. That is when he discovered LA’s greatest business minds – The Bloods and The Crips.

But there was a problem. They were at war with each other. Mr. Chill couldn’t have his future Warriors of Justice and General Good-Doings fighting each other. He had to step in and mediate.

And wouldn’t you know it! The Crips and The Bloods, at war for quite awhile, were best friends in just 23 minutes. That’s how fuckin’ B.A. Winston fuckin’ Churchill was. Seriously. The fucker could talk a meteor out of crashing into Earth he was so bitchin’.

And thus, the armies were built.

Chapter 6: World War 2.5

Ratings wars. A bunch of drive-bys. A Radiohead song followed by a massive mushroom cloud-causing explosion. Mussolini running away and hiding like the pansy ass he was. The war was fierce. And of course, filmed and broadcasted on Television by exploitive news reporters.

Who won? That’s up to you and your imagination my friends. I just can’t do everything for you.

The End.

Or is it…

 

Fat Cats No More

Nothing could possibly hurt more than being called the countries most obese state. I’m sure Mississippi isn’t a stranger to being the leader in many of America’s worst-of lists. But now it has to carry the rather heavy burden of being the most robust, fat-ass state in the union. Bummer.

However, we’re about to discover that the Government doesn’t like fatties. In recent “news”, Fattest state’s lawmakers shed pounds, fried stuff.

That’s right. The movers and the earth-shakers in the Mississippi government have decided to prove a point. Meet State Representative John Hines. Our Democrat from the South has decided to slim up to make a statement. And it’s not only him:

“Hines and 71 fellow lawmakers, 19 members of the governor’s staff — though not the portly governor himself — and 21 “civilians” have been working out several days a week since January to promote healthful living in a culture that prizes its sweet tea and fried food.”

This article was written by a one Emily Wagster Pettus from the Associated Press. Emily, my love, if you’re reading this: Welcome to my hero list. You just called the governor of Mississippi “portly” in a national news article. You should have just taken it a step farther. Say what you mean to say, Emily my dear:

“19 members of the governor’s staff – though not that fat-fuck douchebag that runs the state himself”

Maybe that’ll get him onto a treadmill.

“They’ve shed more than 1,300 pounds collectively, giving new meaning to cutting the fat out of state government.”

And now you’ve fallen out of my favor. Did you need to throw in the silly pun? Leave the stupid wordplays to me, you take care of the calling government officials tubby. This is how our relationship will work, ok?

I have to admit, that’s a pretty interesting and surprisingly intelligent move on the part of Mr. Hines. If we do the math here, that’s roughly 1300 pounds from 112 people for an average of 11 and a half pounds per person in only a few months. If you want to look at it in another way, they managed to get rid of 13 me’s in three months or so. That’s a lot of me’s!

“Hines, a 6-foot-1-inch Democrat, said he started at “well over 300 pounds,” though he declined to give a specific number. The 43-year-old has dropped 73 pounds — about one-fifth of his entire weight — through the pre-dawn workouts and can now wear a suit that’s been too tight for two years.”

If we play with the math, we can assume he was roughly 365, give or take. So he may have declined, but the numbers tell the tales he refuses to. He almost lost an entire me by himself! That’s impressive, Mr. Hines. I applaud the fact that you’re now just “thick” and not “fat as shit”. I would say you’re “fluffy”, but that would sound obscenely gay.

” ‘I didn’t know I had a self-esteem problem, but my self-esteem has really improved,’ Hines said. ‘My endurance is wonderful now. I feel good about myself.’ ”

You had a self-esteem problem only because after losing that weight, you realized that you were part of the fattest fat fuck state in the fat fuckiest country in all of this fat-fuck planet. We called you fat, and until you lost that weight, you really didn’t notice. The only people that care that fat people are fat, are skinny people. Because we’re jealous. And full of scrawny rage.

“Mississippi has the highest obesity rate in the nation, at 32.8 percent in 2008, the most recent figure available from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Gov. Haley Barbour admits he struggles with weight and recently tried to deflect questions about a possible run for the presidency in 2012 by joking: ‘If you see me losing 40 pounds that means I’m either running or have cancer.’ “

Centers for Disease Control and Prevention? Obesity is now a disease. You’re all diseased! Everything is a disease now. Alcoholism is a disease. Obesity is a disease. Liking “Dancing With The Stars” is a disease. It’s terrible!

So, I assume that Haley is our “portly” lazy-bastard that Emily wishes was impaled by a sword, correct? Lazy bastard. He can’t show up for the exercise regiments, but he has plenty of time for telling cancer jokes to the press. Classy guy, that Mississippi leader.

I suppose you’re all wondering how to lose a few me’s yourself? Well, this is the Mr. Hines and his crew of chubby law makers work out:

“Legislators go to Millsaps College, a private school a couple of miles north of the Capitol, to run sprints, lift weights and tackle football blocking dummies. They do mixed martial arts and jog stairs.”

Private school in Mississippi. Sounds like a winner. I do love that they threw in “mixed martial arts” into the equation. I wish this stuff was around back in the Bush administration. We could have charged admission to Dick Cheney’s workout and balanced the budget! Wouldn’t you like to see ol’ Dick try and do a Chuck Norris spin-kick? Fuckin’ hell, that’s some pay-per-view level entertainment right there!

“The 12-week workout program has drawn together participants across party, race, gender and age boundaries. It costs $600, but participants in the legislative program aren’t paying. Corporate sponsors are picking up the tab — something that’s not prohibited by state ethics rules. Weekly weight-loss winners receive cash prizes that they donate to schools.”

I love that they had to quick throw in that this was not a prohibited thing. Just in case you guys thought it was ethically wrong that they were working out on a corporate sponsors dime. I know that’s a big worry for all of you. It’s number two on your list, right about health care and education. Number one, at least on my list, is making sure no government official wears socks with fuckin’ sandals.

“The workouts change each day, and none of the exercises is for wimps.”

Oh, Emily my sweetness, you done raped that sentence hardcore style. “The Exercises Is”? The educations isn’t for dumb people either in Mississippi.

What are you implying about wimps though? I’m a pretty huge wimp myself. I mean, I sit here behind a computer and threaten to kick people’s asses and bitch and piss and moan, but ultimately, I’m a total fuckin’ pansy ass wuss boy. But I’m pretty sure I can still do an excercises.

” ‘Pump it up! Pump it up! Keep working! Keep working,’ weightlifting coach Ryan Jones yelled over rock music blaring in the gym during a recent 6 a.m. session. The music was so loud that only the pulsing beat, and not the tune, could be distinguished.

As colleagues did situps and pumped weights, Rep. Mary Coleman of Jackson, a 63-year-old Democrat, stepped up onto a machine to do chinups. She hesitated a few seconds, so Ryan got in her face and yelled, ‘Pull up! Pull up!’

‘I’m trying,’ Coleman said, sweaty and exasperated but renewing her effort. “

I’m undecided about this Ryan Jones guy. I mean, he sounds like a total douche, but anyone that gets up in the face of a 63 year old woman and demands she does pull-ups immediately, is my kinda total douche. It takes a doucheking among douchemen to verbally assault grandma into lifting her chin-wrinkles above that little metal bar.

I’m making a rule: When you reach your 60′s, you’re allowed to be fat. Why the hell bother being thin now? What’s the point? You no longer have to attract people, and you sure as hell have no reason to get more healthy so you can live longer. 60s are the age for experimentation and destruction. I’m fully in support of legalizing street drugs for people that age. And I think to top off the shrooms Granny is taking, she should be able to eat a box of Twinkies. It’s only fair. Let her die her own way!

“The main coach for the workout program is 35-year-old Paul Lacoste, who was a linebacker at Mississippi State University and briefly played pro ball. He goes to the Capitol once a week to report to each chamber how their members are doing. The leading chamber each week gets to keep a marble trophy shaped like the state of Mississippi.”

Oh snap! A marble trophy shaped like Mississippi. That would probably motivate me to… do absolutely nothing. How about you give away something politicians really enjoy down south? Like a free night with a call girl?

“Nadglowski, with the Obesity Action Coalition, said the key for the Mississippi officials will be avoiding a return to their fried foods and sedentary habits when the 12-week program is over. “

“Obesity Action Coalition”. Oh, I simply MUST google that one!

Here we are, the OAC website.

“The OAC was formed to bring together individuals who are facing the often life-long struggle with obesity. Whether you are beginning to address your weight issues, you have been fighting the battle for a long-time, or you have 30 pounds or 300 pounds to lose, you are not alone in this journey.”

I don’t think it’s safe to bring these people together. If you get too many in one spot, you may throw the Earth off it’s axis or shift the pull of gravity. Be careful when toying with weight distribution on a large scale. Also, I think when they reach the term “obesity”, we can’t really call them “individuals” anymore. They’re several people at this point. That’s why we charge them twice for airplane seats.

They apparently throw something called the “Walk For Obesity”. Which, as I’d imagine, is a rather slow walk. To the Burger King down the street. And by walk, they mean “motorized scooter race”.

Anyway, back to the article:

” ‘You talk to a lot of the people who are doing this and they’ve changed so much about their lives,’ Lacoste said. ‘They’re not going out. They’re staying away from the lobbyists’ liquor.’ “

Lobbyist’s liquor?! I’m laughing both because that’s funny and because it makes me lose even less faith in our government. And I had no faith in them to begin with. I now have less than no faith.

That explains entirely too much about this country, if you think about it.. You need a law passed? Get the lawmakers drunk and fat, and they’ll bend over backwards for you. Well, maybe not bend over backwards, but they’ll… lean slightly to the left and wheeze for you.

However, the last words of the article perhaps put the icing on this cake, so to speak:

“Hines, who represents the Mississippi River town of Greenville, said he hasn’t touched alcohol since January. He said his mother is making fewer fried foods and more green vegetables for Sunday dinners, and his family is fully behind his new fitness plan: ‘My daughter said I’m getting sexier by the day.’ “

Only in Mississippi…

Two Words: Chili Grenade

Move over mustard bomb, the geniuses in the Indian military (that’s red-dot Indians, not don’t-hit-on-20 Indians) have decided to turn peppers into weapons.

Don’t believe me? See for yourself: Indian military to weaponize world’s hottest chili.

It just makes me want to cry. And for once, not tears of disappointment. Tears of joy. Joy for the fact that such an idea came up.

“The Indian military has a new weapon against terrorism: the world’s hottest chili.”

I wasn’t actually aware India had a military. Nor did I really consider them much of a partner in the war against Terrorism. But hey, maybe they take all of Al-Qaeda’s customer service phone calls and cause them all to die of brain aneurysms? Wow, they really are top notch military intellectuals.

“After conducting tests, the military has decided to use the thumb-sized “bhut jolokia,” or “ghost chili,” to make tear gas-like hand grenades to immobilize suspects, defense officials said Tuesday.”

Tests? Did those by any chance include the “turkey club sandwich” test and the “green pepper and olive pizza” test?

And wow “Ghost Chili” ! That’s some serious shit right there. Ghost Chili is pretty hardcore, but I feel like we could make it even more intimidating. Why don’t they just call it the “It’ll Fuckin’ Kill You Chili”. Killi? The “Rape Your Mom Chili”? I don’t know.

“The bhut jolokia was accepted by Guinness World Records in 2007 as the world’s spiciest chili. It is grown and eaten in India’s northeast for its taste, as a cure for stomach troubles and a way to fight the crippling summer heat.”

Hmm, a CURE for stomach troubles? I’ve had some pretty spicy chilis in my time, and none of them IMPROVED my stomach condition. Most gave me acid shits. Which, also, doesn’t help beat the heat either. It just caused me to sweat more. Partially out of fear that I was about to pass my own colon out of my ass. You know what else beats the summer heat? Shade. And shade doesn’t kill your taste buds for a week.

“It has more than 1,000,000 Scoville units, the scientific measurement of a chili’s spiciness. Classic Tabasco sauce ranges from 2,500 to 5,000 Scoville units, while jalapeno peppers measure anywhere from 2,500 to 8,000.”

Hey, hi, um… excuse me one second please. SCIENTIFIC MEASUREMENT OF A CHILI’S SPICINESS?! Really?! We have a unit of measurement for SPICINESS?! Does that alarm anyone else? Why would you need that? Science, you’ve once again proved my theory about the Smartards.

Essentially, they’re going to use it as a gas bomb. The sheer heat of the pepper is going to choke terrorists out of their holes. The “chili grenade” is only one use. They also want to make pepper spray for women to fend off attackers. So maybe I should change my suggested name to the “DON’T Rape Your Mom Chili”.

I like this idea. I’m all for delicious foodstuffs being turned into vicious weapons. In fact, I’d like to offer up a few of my own suggestions for other foods we can turn into objects of destruction.

Fruit Cake - Sure, why not? Instead of using battering rams to break down doors, we just load this rock-solid bad boy into a launcher and fire it at the door. Not only will the door come down, but then everything will smell like glazed kiwi fruit. Delicious, and destructive.

Ramen Noodles – Cheap, easy to get a lot of, and a great netting to slow someone down. You’re after a fugitive, and he’s out-running your over-weight out of shape police force? No problem. Just fly over and drop a ton and a half of Ramen Noodles over him. Blanket him in the shit. Let’s see him try to run with thirty pounds of Beef Ramen weighing him down. Plus, we can follow the trail of brown salty liquid to his hiding place.

And perhaps the most deadly of all:Vegemite

Seriously, does that one even NEED an explanation? Think of all the ways you could use it. You could sneak it into their food supply, and while they’re gagging, you could bust in and kick their ass. You could spray it on them, and the heavy sticky qualities would pin them in place. Or you could simply hide all the jars in their caves, and tell the Australians they stole it. No one wants to fuck with an army of rioting, hungry Aussies.

You know what’s wonderful about a bomb made of food? We can use the ol’ phrase “EAT THIS!” more often. And who doesn’t want to see soldiers screaming “EAT THIS!” while bombing the hell out of brown people?

I would like to leave you with a military name for our Chili Grenades: Weapons of Mass Consumption. OM NOM NOoooooOOOOOWWWWW that’s hot!

Death Benefits (aka Health Carry-On)

So obviously some shit went down yesterday. Something happened with our President and an abortion or something, I wasn’t really paying attention. But it seems to have everyone in an uproar about health care and the future of our well-being as human beings.

I want in on this action! No, I’m not going to look at the existing health care systems and plans that are being put in place. This isn’t going to be a CNN-style analytical approach to looking at the new plans, with pros and cons and all that wonderful stuff. Instead, I’m going to offer up my own health care plan. Currently, it’s simple known as the Death Initiative.

I know what you’re thinking, death is a bad thing, isn’t it? Would you believe me if I said it absolutely was not. Case and point: One of the few things that is universally shared? Death. It’s one of those very select few things that all living organisms share. We all die. And as such, it shouldn’t be looked at as bad. In fact, not only is death helpful, but it can occasionally be fun!

Before I begin looking at the points to my new plan to save this planet and all that dwell upon it, I want to take a brief moment to leave a will of sorts. Since we’re talking about death, I’d like to have it documented what I’d like to happen to my ruggedly handsome corpse after I push off from this living realm.

I do not want to be buried. I don’t want to be cremated. Nothing like that. That stuff costs money. Money that no one is going to be willing to pay for my ass. Instead, I want my body to be used. Give me to necrophiliacs, let them bust a few nuts all up in me, then find some fun way to send me off.

Perhaps use me for a practical joke? Why not? I don’t need my hands anymore, so cut them off and leave them in the potato salad at your next family reunion. That’ll teach your Uncle to molest you! He wanted to get all handsie with you, he should have been more specific.

Or how about an awesome publicity stunt? Sure, strap my corpse to some rocket skates and shoot me off a ramp. Perhaps over a canyon or piles of flaming spikes. For added use, tie a giant banner to me. I can be used for advertisement. If I time my death right, and we keep me prepared, we could do this at the halftime at the next Super Bowl. Genius! My corpse, dressed in red, white, and blue, flying over the head of the next washed up super-old band that plays the show (Mr. Mister is comin’ back for the Super Bowl, baby! TAAAAAKE THESE BROKEN WINGS!) with a banner on it that reads “Only Cool Dudes Drink Pepsi”. Get it… cool dudes. ’cause I’m dead! Annnnnd I over explained that one.

Anyway, let’s move on to the main topic of this delightful post about death. The Death Initiative.

What problems do we face, as a nation. No, as a planet. Over-population, which leads to a lack of food and proper health care. It’s a big issue that pretty much everyone can agree is in dire need of being overhauled and fixed up. The Death Initiative, or “Dea-In” (pronounced “Dyin’) will change the way we look at things.

It all starts out with flat-out denying health care. Instead of trying to get everyone health care, we need to make it HARDER to achieve. Why? So that we can let people die off. Population problem solved! Sure, why not? If you can’t afford health care, and you get sick: Good luck. You get to fend for yourself. We already self-medicate for most things, so why not kidney failure and HIV?

But we can’t let EVERYONE go without health care. So, I suggest a selective government-funded health care system. We provide it only to the people that will benefit society. If you shop at Wal-Mart, no health care for you!

We need to keep the stupid and the useless from reproducing, and since they are the ones that reproduce the most, this will be difficult. It begins with denying them places to go to deliver their sixth crack-baby into the world. We keep them away from health care, and when they accidentally shoot themselves in the liver with a 12 gage, they have no way of healing up to return to the fun next week. I know it sounds callous, but it’s time we invoke Darwinism and let the stupid die off! Only the intelligent are going to be funded for health care.

However, I’m not talking about the traditional concept of “Intelligent”. I don’t care if you’re great at math or can solve a Rubik’s Cube in a few minutes, you need to be truly intelligent. I have a steep scale for what I consider intelligent. If you willingly follow an organized religion, believe in a invisible higher power and a zombie savior, chances are your ass isn’t going to be here when shit hits the fan. I’m sorry, but most of the source issues of society today are linked to you people, so I just can’t allow you to continue your ways. It’s for the better of the human race!

Also, obesity is not a handicap unless you were BORN huge and have attempted to get healthy. You got diabetes and need to get your foot sawed off? I hope you have a hack saw, ’cause you’re on your own Hershey-Blood. We need to weed out those that are physically unfit to be that productive to society.

Now obviously, with the loss of people to illness and accidents, we’re going to need to re-evaluate our business plans. Jobs have been opened up now, so you can’t bitch about that, but perhaps we need to look at what jobs people take up. Maybe it’s not that important to have thirteen people working at any given time at Starbucks? Maybe one will cut it now that we’ve eliminated a good chunk of their customer base. Let’s face it, we’ve all been in a Starbucks and wondered how most of these people got their pants on correctly that morning. Now we won’t have to, ’cause they’ll all have died. Oh joy!

This will also take care of those “risk seekers” that do crazy crap for attention. If you get injured in a skateboarding accident, you better learn to ollie with a broken ankle, or fix that bitch up yourself, ’cause you’re not worth the time.

Dea-In offers a “earned insurance” system that is based on various degrees of common sense. This, of course, will be the hardest part to practice at first, since most of the movers and the shakers lack any form of common sense. If you can prove to us that you serve a purpose on this planet, can provide some essential service or make fantastic waffles, you may be allowed to get our court ordered “earned insurance”.

Of course, this also applies to those judges in the court. If you suck ass at serving up justice, you’re not qualified. If you think a pot smoker deserves to be locked up, while a child molester goes free after a few months, you better pray you don’t get sick or injured, ’cause the law isn’t on your side.

So that’s it, Dea-In is about let ‘em die mentality, true evolution of the human species, and an “earned insurance” system based on actual need. Welfare is gone. Medicare is only given to those on an earned basis. And basically, if you’re a worthless sack of crap, you’re gonna die! Nice knowin’ you (not really).

Now comes the next difficulty: What do we do with all those dead people! If we’re letting only the stupid die, there are going to be a TON of corpses within the first few years. We clearly can’t dispose of them in a traditional way. Graveyards are old school. We have no need for burying people anymore, it takes up space. Instead, we go back to my will and begin applying that to everyone. We use those bodies to keep the rest of us amused inbetween work shifts. I mean, all the tv stars and sports heroes are all going to die because they’re useless to society, and no longer covered. We’ll need the entertainment!

And after we’re done, we burn their bodies and use the ashes to fertilize farmland to feed the rest of us. And by feed I mean with real food. McDonald’s will go out of business without idiots to exploit, and Twinkies disqualify you from the “earned insurance” system. So we’ll actually eat healthy, not only because thats all thats left to eat, but also because of all the risks to our health that eating junk food and fast food would cause. You’ll think twice before eating that Krispy Creme Bacon Cheeseburger if you knew it could actually be the death of you!

Ultimately, this plan probably wouldn’t actually work. Instead, we’re just going to do what is obviously the best solution: Help everyone live longer and have more babies, that way we can have SO many people on this planet, that it’s impossible to feed everyone and provide them with proper health care, and most of the human race dies off. Sounds like the best solution, now that I think of it.

So, yes, give us health care, so we can continue to make our dumb-ass decisions and get away without a scratch or sniffle to show for it. Let us feed our twelve kids piles of lard every morning for breakfast, just as long as the government pays to have their heart medication refilled. Let’s go ahead and make stupid YouTube videos involving fireworks and our rectum, because hey: We can get that intestinal replacement surgery done and be right back out their playing with fire tomorrow!

My point is this: We’re responsible for our health before the government is. You want universal health care, affordable insurance, and better overall well being? Then take control of your own health, don’t be a fucker, and eat a god damn salad once and awhile!

Now if you’ll excuse me, we’re currently about to duct tape my dead friend’s head to the front of a car and drive around in front of a school scaring children. He would have wanted it that way…

Date a Cougar NOW!

Demanding, aren’t you sidebar ads! Jesus, fine. I’ll go looking for a Cougar to date.

That’s what greeted me this morning when I logged onto the ol’ Facial Tome. Since I have “single” listed as my relationship status, FT has apparently taken it upon itself to find me a mate. “Bob, seriously… you need to get laid…”  Go fuck yourself, Facial Tome.

However, these side bar ads are at least a source of constant amusement. So I, being Curious Bob, decided to take a little gander. The link took me to the wonderous world of Cougar Life! It’s a web site for those of you who are looking for women who are “a little more experienced”. “A Little More Experienced” of course meaning: Has had more cocks in her than a chicken coop.

Right there on the front page, I’m greeted with a wonderful summary of what a Cougar and, get this, a “Cub” are:

“Cougars are women in their PRIME: independent, sexy and wildly successful. They enjoy men who are youthful, fit with the same zest for life. Cougars are classy, confident women that already possess many of the finer things in life – but now want the young, hot guy to go with it.”

If you please direct your attention to underneath your seat, you will find a convenient little barf bag. You’re welcome. Anyway, let’s analyze this epic failure of a paragraph, shall we? We’ll begin with “Wildly Successful”.

What does that mean? I know what “Wildly” means. I know what “Successful” means. But for some reason, these two words don’t seem to click when pushed together. It’s the same response I get when I see someone write “Dane Cook is Funny”. The two just seem to not work at all together. I’m concerned that I’m missing something.

Wildly to me seems to imply a lack of control. A wild animal is that which is free and without control. It’s something that could go loco at any moment and tear you into pieces. Success seems to be something that needs a deep grasp of control of ones life. You need to be in control of yourself, and everything you do, in order to become successful. So, one can only assume that it is their SUCCESS which is wild. Their success is beyond their control and could rip this planet a new one. You know who else was “wildly successful”? Hitler.

And unfortunately, not even that odd combo of words was enough to distract me from the use of the word “zest”. That pretty much lands on the top 25 Dumb-Fuck Words list. It’s right under “Synergy” and “Enthusiast”. Words that no human being should let stumble out of their mouths, else be raped by badgers in punishment. Yes, you heard me correct: badgers, plural. A whole pack of them.

“I am a boating enthusiast, I enjoy sailing the ocean with a zest that is only rivaled by my profession of trying to make office places work with a true synerg… OOOOOWWWW A BADGER JUST STUCK IT’S COCK IN MY ASS?!”

Until I gain the powers to control an army of badgers, you are safe. But someday… oh someday…

Anyway, let’s return to our regularly scheduled rant. When we last left the Counter Culture Clown, he was glancing down, below the Cougar explanation, and reading about this new term: Cub.

“To snare a true cougar a man needs to be youthful, fit, unintimidated, and of course sexually driven! These men can range from athletes to intellectuals, and from technologists to entrepreneurs and all points in-between; they can come in all shapes and sizes, but one thing they have in common is the desire to possess a sexually charged older woman.”

And I thought the cougar explanation was bad. Let’s start with “a true cougar.”. None of those fake cougars! Really, are there old women out there PRETENDING to be cougars? I’m pretty sure the only true cougar, is this lovely right here:

Dude, she’s totally winking at you!

Just a side note, athletes aren’t interested in old women trying to relive their youth. An athlete becomes an athlete basically for one reason. No, not the heart of competition or any of that crap, I’m talking about 18 year old big-breasted bimbos who’ll give blowjobs to whoever throws the winning touchdown. Just ask Tony Romo.

Also, I’d like to call bullshit on a particular passage of that explanation: “They come in all shapes and sizes”. No, they don’t. You already said they have to be fit, so I’m pretty sure a 22 year old, 325-pound guy who wears a Star Trek t-shirt, smells like Funions, and lives in his parents basement probably isn’t getting in your seasoned panties. And guess what: A lot of those very people are “technologists”. If you count being Guild Leader in World of Warcraft as “technologist”.

It says on the bottom of the site that you have the chance to join the “#1 Dating site of it’s kind!” Oh crap, that means there are more than one?! They’re spreading! Much like the legs of these 40-somethings looking for one last beef injection before the tanning beds give them face cancer and the hair dyes cause them to look like Danny Devito.

Luckily, the site provides us skeptics with a whole slew of informational links to check into things a bit more. Like the information on the CEO & Founder of the site.

Meet Claudia Opdenkelder. A proud cougar and the creator of this site. I have her to thank for introducing me to the prospect of dating someone that’ll die when I’m only in my 40s.

“So what are you waiting for? You don’t have to be Demi Moore or Madonna to land a cute cub (young man).”

Yes. You do have to be Demi Moore or Madonna. They have money. And plastic surgeons on call 24/7. Oh, and they’re FUCKING DEMI MOORE AND MADONNA! And let’s face it, Demi Moore is fucking Ashton Kutcher, that isn’t exactly a win for ol’ Demi-Goddess.

It gets worse though:

“Whether you’re recently divorced, never married or just one yummy mummy; I promise you will find what you’re looking for at CougarLife.com – your personal playground where you can lose your inhibitions, play the field or even find someone special. “

If you are down south right now, you probably have a gun pretty close at hand. Please pick it up, and get on the next plane my way. I require your services. You see, my brain has gone rabid, and we need to put it down.

YUMMY MUMMY?! I wish I didn’t speak English, and couldn’t understand what I just read. But alas, I can speak English, and I did understand. Fuckin’ hell. I’m all for single mothers looking for mates, but calling yourself a “Yummy Mummy” is epic gag-worthy. It sounds like a fuckin’ Halloween-themed Ben & Jerry’s flavor for shit-sake.

The site is a playground. A playground. A place that used to be all fun and games and innocent. Not a place where you can “lose your inhibitions”. You know losing your inhibitions at a playground is? Using the fireman’s pole as a stripper pole. Which I’m assuming is something these chicks would be into. Plenty of strapping young lads at the playground.

I love that it ends with “or even find someone special”. So this site’s LAST priority is to actually find you a meaningful relationship. Go figure.

Uh, I have some questions for Cougar Life. Luckily, they provide a nice FAQ for those of us who have a few more inquiries. Do you think “WTF?!” is covered in the FAQ?

Alright, look. I have no real problem with people dating people younger or older or whatever. You love who you love, but this site makes it all a little creepy. A cougar is a wild animal that would probably take a cub and tear it into shreds and eat it’s guts for sustenance. That’s really not what I’m looking for in a woman. If I was, I’d go to a vampire dating site or something.

I wonder if they have “Cougar Vampires” looking for “Young Blood” sites? If they don’t, I may have found my way to make millions! I too could be a young, unintimidated entrepreneur who could attract a woman my mom’s age! Or I could not do that, and use the money to buy a gun so I don’t have to rely on you southern peeps to blow my gray-matter out of my skull every time I trip and fall into one of these sites.

Either way, I think we may be on to something here… quick, we need a spokesperson. Who’s the oldest vampire woman you know?!

Um… maybe I better go back to the drawing board…

The Out Of Context Collective

Let’s play around with my blog a bit, shall we? Today, I am going to go through every blog I’ve done so far, and take one line or piece of every one of them that I consider funny. I’m going to just put them here, in a list, with no context. We’ll see if things are more funny, or less, with nothing else to go on.

This also makes up for my lack of wanting to do a real blog today. Here we go.

How many times has the world ended in my lifetime now… five… six?

My Liberal Arts degree will no longer be impossible to achieve.

Keepin’ JIZZ OUT OF YOU!

Then just look at them with meat-juices pouring down my face, and smile.

But when a grown man talks about how one time he “ripped a big one while we were in the elevator, and it brought tears to his eyes”… I have a tendency to quiver a little bit.

He lines the halls of his mansions with your douche-baggety pictures of you pulling your shirt up and showing your abs.

I am no less a man because of the fact I can play my rib cage like a Xylophone.

So your baby was born without a head, your sister has a 300-pound tumor growing out of her 400-pound tumor, and your war-veteran brother-in-law has a piece of shrapnel in his left testicle that looks oddly like Ned Beatty.

A bus is a giant metal device filled with assholes, idiots, weirdos, cripples, old people, cheap businessmen, hippie college students, and a lot of guys named “Stewart”.

How in the name of Fuckity F. U. Fuckworth are those supposed to pierce the necks of unsuspecting villagers in the middle of the night?

I’m all for women’s rights, African American rights, Latina rights, Minority Female rights, Gay rights, Czech Transexuals rights, Half-Woman/Half-Echidna rights, hell, I’ll even support Invisible Skinned Peoples Rights!

That’s a potato with a ton of nails sticking out of is!

Not to mention the fact that I could finally use the little horsey ride outside of Wal-Mart without waiting in line!

If we drained just Rosie O’Donnell we could run a 747 to Europe.

A Hamburger with some 2-week old Seasame Chicken on top, and some of what we BELIEVE was that cassarole from last March. Tuna, perhaps?

Like hideous footwear, and things to stab into our faces to end the pain.

I have to be CAREFUL while removing the film, or else the trapped souls will escape.

It’s a human appendage going up your poop chute like some twisted Jim Henson porn video.

You want to be covered in I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter and have twenty six midgets in little dominatrix outfits lick it off?

Then you introduced me to mental stimuli and erections, and things got awkward for awhile.

And can that little guy stop peeing on things already?

And of course Space Hookers… er… I mean “Space Escorts”

OH man… I would FUCK that toaster, turn that bitch all the way to DARK.

The Hoff, is clearly displaying his man-nipples.

All that is left is to actually cover the thing in fatback and lard and call it a day.

You are delicious and nutritious, but more dangerous to eat than a cheap hooker.

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!

This is going straight to Admiral No-Shit.

Ghandi was a trend-setter.

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

Don’t use innocent Snicker’s bars for your evil half-assed schemes!

Sexy Professional Bowler.

Skip the cream cheese, and add some crack!

Please send me more pictures of your fuckin’ chicken.

I’d give my whole paycheck to watch a gang of lil’ 14 year old kids bring that dude to the ground!

And you spelt “Cuntface” with a K, you dumb ass.

Don’t tell me the Detroit Roman Catholics condone eating HIM

Now why don’t you get on your knees and let me put these scissors in your face.

I’m sleeping with your publicity stunt sheep

So here, from the bottom of my heart, I have given to you a Stuffed Squirrel Torso.

It’s as if they carved a statue of your face, then beat you with it repeatadle until shards of your own face stuck in your face.

Maybe I’m wrong, maybe that’s what the Queen of England calls her breasts.

So now I’m sticking charcoal in my pants?

You see, they are forced to trudge forever through a vile pile of their own fecal matter.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go light one of my makeup artists on fire for warmth.

The thought of something so beautiful and delicious like cream cheese being mixed with something that closely resembles the black pus that came out of the victims of the Bubonic Plague sends me into a dark place.

Then they have to spend the rest of the “ride” butt-scooting the way down while a fat kid leaps in and kicks them square in the back.

Giant mounds of butts on every corner, on every street.

I’m shocked we haven’t just started BOMBING the homeless.

I.O.U. one mentally-crippling fact that’ll leave you weeping like that did to me.

In fact, if a dude mouths off on his 18th birthday, feel free to kick him straight in the spine.

I saw Mommy doing something to Santa that involved beads and two of his reindeer

Perhaps they have their guts ripped out for eternity while wearing silly hats?

Just once I’d like to see a vasectomy on the sidewalk.

It wasn’t a picture of someone going up inside a girl with a coat hanger and repeatedly stabbing it in the head and tearing it out like a dead squirrel in a rain gutter.

Even Mr. Christ would have to kiss his Holy ass goodbye if a nuke came his way.

Unless it went something like “Hallelujah…. TORPEDO!”

I better get out of the bottom of the ocean or I’ll miss Ugly Betty

It ranks just under “having a pickle shoved in my anus”

Eat my frozen ass with a spoon you wimp!

Sometimes it’s just a giant purple foot sticking out of a toilet.

Toasters are better technology than the human brain.

I’m really surprised it wasn’t a Nazi Condom.

You’d never guess he was the type to invent a robot sex slave, would you?

It’s supposed to be like ExLax for your crotch

She is here today, wearing a vagina emblem on her helmet as a special homeage to her mother and her disorder.

I do not want Green Eggs & Ham, I do not want them Sam I Am. I’d rather have fried chicken and watermelon because I’m a negro, I am I am.

NO LIGHTBULBS FOR YOU!

I think I speak on behalf of handicapped ducks everywhere when I say that you are less useful than a duck that is lame, so it’s a little late for that.

I have this boil on my vagina that is shaped like President Hoover.

I thought maybe he was talking about that one time I ate some bad Mexican food, and I “went Green” for like a week, if you know what I mean.

Squirrels being swallowed up by a black hole is the definition of hillarious.

Well, out of context that all makes me sound like a psychopath. In context… it makes me sound like a psychopath. So, is this stuff more funny or less funny without anything else? And what the hell is your favorite? Not that I care, just askin’ to be nice. Now piss off.

The (Epic) Fight For Mediocra-City

I’m going to switch it up today. Sorry,  no unnecessary dick jokes, too much swearing, or zero relevance to daily life. Today, we’re going to try a comparative essay of sorts. A contrast and compare look at two different ideals. Good Vs. Evil. The side of Justive Vs. A criminal Mastermind.

Today, I will be comparing my personal favorite super hero and my personal favorite super villian. This is all inspired, as most of my weirdest blogs are, by random wikipedia-surfing with “Teh Co-worker”.

Let’s meet the contestants shall we.

In the Blue Corner, our hero. Or heroine as the case may be:

Squirrel Girl!

And in the Red Corner, the side of EVIL. The true face of terror and devestation. A criminal mastermind who makes all other ne’erdowells quiver in fear:

Kite Man!

Let the battle-royale for mankind’s soul begin! We’ll begin by analyzing each side’s abilities and weaknesses.

Squirrel Girl

Strengths:

• A big bushy tail
• Enhanced agility and jumping abilites
• Tree-climbing expert
• Sharp claws and big teeth
• “Knuckle Spikes” for enhanced face-punchery
• Squirrel army! Including the powerful Tippy-Toe, Monkey Joe, Slippy Pete, Mr. Freckle, and Nutso. (Apparently, in the comic books, the majority of her army, except for Tippy-Toe were sucked into a singularity and killed by the evil Maelstrom. If you’re not laughing at this, you have no sense of humor. Squirrels being swallowed up by a black hole is the definition of hillarious.)

Weaknesses:

• Dogs and cats
• The lack of any actual super powers or anything even remotely useful
• Tooth aches

Kite Man

Strengths:

• He can fly. Well, glide…
• There is… um… well no, that’s about it.

Weaknesses:

• Lack of a breeze
• Getting caught in trees
• Holes being punctured in his wings
• Being over-all a total lame-ass

Let it be known that kite man is actually killed in one of the Batman comics by… wait for it… BEING EATEN BY A DUDE!

“He is captured alongside Sewer King, Dawson, Lamelle, The Squid and Mirage. As with the other prisoners, Kiteman is killed and eaten by Bruno Mannheim. Bruno is a powerful man in Intergang, an underworld criminal orginization trying to take over Gotham City.”

One last hillarious paragraph from wikipedia sure to make you crap yourself laughing (like my blog usually does, hopefully you veteren readers are wearing rubber underpants or diapers by now).

“Kite Man is featured in Batman: The Brave and the Bold voiced by Jeffrey Combs. As a boy, he was obsessed with Benjamin Franklin and attempted to recreate his famous kite-flying electrical experiment. However, he failed to take adequate safety precautions, wore metal braces, and stood in a bucket of water. The subsequent electrical shock psychologically traumatized him and forced him into a life of kite-centric crime.”

Kite-centric crime? OH SHIT?! That’s almost as threatening as… being attacked by someone flicking rubber bands at you.

So now, the vote. Who do YOU think would win the struggle between Squirrel Girl and Kite Man? Vote now, and maybe the creators of these two amazing characters will bring this fight to the silver screen. Or straight to dvd in the discount bins at Wal-Mart. Either way:

My God help us all if Kite Man wins, he would then be unstoppable. Unless you have a gun and could just shoot him in his stupid face. But until they invent guns, we’ll just have to rely on Squirrel Girl and her… fluffy tail of justice.

My Money Is On Demon Possession

Earth.

That blue-green spherical mass that resides in the vast unknown that is outer space. Circulating around the beautiful ball of fire, the Sun. With it’s beautiful moon (or at least what’s LEFT OF IT) afloat above it, ever so loving. It’s a rock, that’s all. But it’s our home. And it’s dying.

Al Gore has brought to our attention the need to “Go Green”. I wasn’t sure what that meant at first. I thought maybe he was talking about that one time I ate some bad Mexican food, and I “went Green” for like a week, if you know what I mean. I also “went wet” and “went frequently”. Very frequently, and oh so wet. So very very wet.

But diarrhea is not the point I’m trying to get across with this post (sorry) and so I must move on. In our efforts to “Go Green”, we have come up with many inventions. Now sure, most of them are stupid trends to get dumb hippies to give you money. And the best of these is the ever-wonderful “Hybrid Car”. You might ask yourself: What is it a hybrid of? Well, it’s half-car, half-ugly piece of crap. And that’s what brings me to the Prius. You shouldn’t get one, because apparently they can go sentient on a whim.

Today, I must discuss this story that I saw in the news about the “Runaway Prius”. I have a feeling it may have just been running away from all the bigger, cooler cars making fun of it.

“The federal government said Monday it cannot explain a reported incident of sudden, high-speed acceleration in a Toyota Prius on a San Diego freeway and acknowledged it may not be able to solve the mystery of what happened to the hybrid.”

I don’t know about you, but I think the federal government has more important shit to worry about. Like, you know, finding Osama Bin Laden. Balancing that “budget”. Bringing aid to the peoples of Haiti and Chili. And of course, most important of all, making sure that Celine Dion stays the fuck in Canada! I’m highly suggesting building a wall and putting a tracking chip in that obnoxious assweed.

Apparently, Mr. James Sikes, the poor sap that owns the Prius, was involved in a little high-speed display.

“Sikes called 911 last Monday to report losing control of his Prius as the hybrid reached speeds of 94 mph. A highway patrol officer helped bring the vehicle to a safe stop. Though no one was injured, dramatic footage of the incident captured by local television stations captivated the nation, quickly becoming a high-profile headache for Toyota, which like NHTSA sent in an engineering team to investigate.”

94? Am I the only one that thinks that that is oddly pathetic? The car is going out of control, and it can’t even muster triple digits? Fuckin’ pussy car. Also, am I the only one that has an odd suspicion that Mr. Sikes is playing us? He was out for a fun joyride, and decided to play the “Sentient Car” card that all those speed junkies like to play. I’m on to you, you bastard!

Or perhaps I’m wrong. Perhaps the car did develop a mind of it’s own. And, if I had to guess, it would be a pretentious Green-Peace A.I. that would make you want to punch it. Much like the people who drive it. Maybe we got it all wrong, maybe Skynet starts out as a series of ugly cars? With that in mind, perhaps next time you see a Prius, it might be best for the safety of mankind if you were to slash all it’s tires and smash it with a baseball bat and/or lead pipe until it’s a pile of scrap. Just a suggestion. I’m always looking out for what’s best for the people.

But of course, like all good stories, we have our doubters:

“But Rep. Darrell Issa, R-Calif., suggested the failure to duplicate the stuck accelerator, along with a vehicle design to prevent such occurrences, raises questions about Sikes’ story.

” ‘It doesn’t mean it didn’t happen, but let’s understand, it doesn’t mean it did happen,’ Issa said on CBS’ ‘Early Show.’ “

You mean the failure to replicate something breaking raises questions. So could I apply that to the court of law? What if I took a microwave oven and hit you in the skull with it until it cracked. How could you prove that it actually happened if you can’t recreate the break perfectly on purpose? Sure we can just take someone else, beat THEM in the head with a microwave, and if the injuries aren’t identical to your own, I can be let go on reasonable doubt. It’s only fair, douchenuts.

Apparently, there are over 60 cases of this happening that have been reported. Why haven’t you heard about them? Because no one caught THOSE incidents on camera. This one was broadcasted, so it makes for a better story. Everyone loves visual aid when exploiting someones near-death experience! I know I do!

They proceed to talk about the wonderfully exciting experiments they did to prove that this can’t happen. You know, despite the 60+ people saying it has. That method: STEP ON IT! Sure, the engine turns off when you slam the break, but of course, that’s if everything works.

“Toyota has recalled millions of cars because of floor mats that can snag gas pedals or accelerators that can sometimes stick. Sikes’ car was covered by the floor mat recall but not the one for sticky accelerators. He later told reporters that he tried to pull on the gas pedal during his harrowing ride, but it didn’t ‘move at all.’ “

Well, this guy is obviously full of shit. His car had a totally DIFFERENT life-endangering defect. Why didn’t you say so to begin with, that makes things so much better. Sorry, Sikes, but you just ran out of luck. No, wait, I’m pretty sure ANY life-threatening defect recall is probably a reason to doubt the car company and side with the guy who almost Dale Earnhardt’ed his way out of this mortal coil.

Also, can I just stop for a second and say: FUCK YOU news reporters. “His HARROWING ride” This isn’t a summer blockbuster, it’s a whiny green-peace liberal fucker almost smashing into something at high speeds. Actually, that sounds better than most summer blockbusters now that I think about it. Maybe “harrowing” isn’t too lofty a term after all.

They get into some bullshit about how the thing works, computers and engines and boring things like that. Basically, I don’t care about the mechanical aspect unless you tell me that the Prius can also turn into Optimus Prime. It can’t? Then we’ll skip over that part.

But then we get to this:

“The congressional memo said both the front and rear brakes were worn and damaged by heat, consistent with Sikes saying that he stood on the brake pedal with both feet and was unable to stop the car. But if the fail-safe system worked properly, the brakes wouldn’t have been damaged because power would have been cut to the wheels. “

He must have tiny feet to put both of them on the brake pedal. They fail to mention what you’re using doing when you’ve come to the conclusion you have to use BOTH feet on the brake pedal: Screaming. And pooping yourself. Maybe while he was going green, he was also “going green” in his hemp under-alls.

“Gomez said the best evidence that his client was frantically slamming the brakes is that a California Highway Patrol officer who was giving Sikes instructions over a loudspeaker smelled burning brakes and saw the lights on. “

Oh to be a fly on that police cruiser. I would pay to listen to what that cop was yelling.

“Sir, sir! You need to hit the brakes sir! Oh, those don’t work. Um… don’t hit any children? No, that’s a given. Um… shit, not exactly sure where to go from here. Maybe try to run into a marshmallow factory. Or a pillow warehouse? Naw, that’ll still cause a fire. Here’s an idea… how about you bend on over and kiss your ass goodbye buddy.”

So, the investigation will continue. They’ll find nothing. This will all be forgotten about. And in three more weeks, Toyota will have to issue another recall. Maybe one of their trucks randomly bursts into lime jello. Or perhaps their new cars contain lead paint in the cup holders that could contaminate your Big Gulp. Or maybe the iPod hook up will cause a magnetic storm that will draw space debris from orbit to crash down onto your vehicle. Who knows? With Toyota, at least the fuck-ups are interesting.

And that should count for something.

Bob’s Strategy Guide For Small Talk

Greetings, fellow, well, angry bitter anti-social bastard (and bitches!). Today, I present to you my official strategy guide for day-to-day small talk. You know the type, when someone you don’t know/don’t like/don’t want to be caught dead in public with comes up to you and starts “THAT” kind of conversation. The kind of conversation that feels as if your voice box is taking a shit every time you talk.

We’ll begin with the first type of small talk: People you don’t know.

Sometimes, you find yourself stuck in a position where you must talk to a complete stranger. Perhaps you’re at the grocery store. Maybe they’re in a rubber raft with you after your cruise ship is destroyed by Somalian pirates. Either way, they are there, so you should probably say something.

There are two types of these situations.

1) The “You’re doing me a service, so I must acknowledge you’re breathing” stranger conversation

Here’s the scenario: You’re in a gas station buying some Diet Dr. Pepper (which in no way tastes like regular Dr. Pepper, you fuckin’ liars!) and some Mentos (the fresh maker… whatever that means) , the fruity ones. You reach the check-out line, and the girl behind the counter is about to ring up your items. Time for us to make small talk!

Unfortunately, you, an upstanding worthwhile human being, has nothing in common with this person. She’s some white-trash high school drop out reaching her early twenties on a wave of drugs and Red Bull. But you have one minute of time-space to fill up with talking to this waste of flesh. So, here are your options:

-Go for the ol’ weather standby - This works for all human beings, everywhere. Well, except maybe agoraphobics. They give less than a fuck if it’s raining outside. And they’re probably too busy freaked the hell out that you’re in their house to begin with.

-Discuss cigarettes. Even if you don’t smoke, just say “Hey, that Cigarette tax is bullshit”. She smokes, believe me, and she can’t afford the tax, so this is an instant win. She’ll proceed to give you a five minute schpeal about how she has to switch to Lights because of the tax, and because she has to buy food for her little Gas-Station-Attendant-In-Training. Or at least on her weekends with the little shit.

That’s it. Those are your only choices. Cigarettes and weather. Unfortunately, these people hate your very existence, so starting up conversation with them is kind of like trying to cuddle a very angry puma – Someone’s going to lose a limb.

Now, on to the second Complete Stranger conversation.

2) The “Help, I’m trapped in a confined space with someone who makes me uncomfortable” stranger conversation

Be it bus or elevator, you’ll occasionally have to suffer upwards to 34 seconds of conversation with complete strangers without any form of exit. There are four types of people that this can happen with:

-Hot People - Highly unlikely. They’ll usually ignore your existence like you’re a leper. So you’ll very rarely ever have to say anything to them. However, it is highly advised you take a few moments to stare at them, bass-mouthed and wide eyed until they get rather uncomfortable. Drool if necessary.

- Crazy People – Highly likely. If you’re on a bus, this is almost a certainty. And let me tell you, “crazy” is a vast understatement.

You’d think the best way to avoid crazy people is to avoid eye contact and ignore them completely. However, this leads to much more uncomfortable moments. They have a tendency to begin touching you. Grabbing your shoulder. Poking you in the face. Pulling out their penis and slapping you on the knee with it. Things like that. An empathic “you know what I mean?!” or “WAFFLES!” tends to accompany their physical contact. Believe me, these are moments you’re better off avoiding.

So, instead, I suggest you act MORE crazy. If there is one thing crazy people don’t like – it’s crazy people. Haven’t you ever heard a crazy person arguing with themselves? Now you know why. I’ll give you an example conversation to demonstrate the “Act Like A Bigger Whackoala” theory at work.

“ ’ey man, check out my invisible watch. It can tell time in thirty four different chicken tenders! I bet you wish you could fly like an Eskimo!”

“…BASEBALL BAT SALAD SHOOTER CLAM CHOWDER NAZI’S ARE HAVING SEX WITH MY SPLEEN!”

“…ok then, I’m going to go over here and talk to this used paper towel now… freak.”

Let’s go right on to person type number three:

-Boring People – And boy do they love to talk. The person is usually wearing one of two types of outfits. A business suit, or something very hippy-y.

The business suit fucker will usually mention a news story. Or Barrack Obama. The latter is mentioned just to remind you that even though they’re a rich white business man, they are not a racist republican rich white business man. Well, they are, but they want to make sure you don’t THINK they are. At this rate, rich white business men who want to avoid looking like they’re racist are about the only people that actually like Obama anymore. The best way to deal with them is to throw a five dollar bill over their head and jump out the window. Or, if that’s not an option, tell them that it’s cool that they think that. It makes them feel like they’re still connected with the people. The younger you are, the happier they’ll feel about this. It’s a total falsehood, but at least they have a smile on their face when they go back to screwing minorities of money and fucking up our economy.

The hippy is even more uninteresting. They’ll usually tell you about a Wes Anderson film, or a co-op grocery store, or about their new hemp backpack which is now 40% less totally disgusting smelling. Your best bet is to start quoting Death Cab For Cutie lyrics until they swoon themselves to death. Then burn their body and get high off the fumes.

And finally, we move on to the fourth type of stranger.

-Over-Zealous Friendly Black People – While annoying, they are the easiest to deal with. They never breath, ever. Therefore, they don’t ever stop talking. Which means: You never have to do more than smile and look interested, and occasionally do a quick one-grunt laugh and head nod to let them know you “get what they’re saying”. You don’t. No one does. But you can make-pretend they’re saying something that is in an actual realm of worthwhilehood.

Now, the next type of conversation overlaps with the first one on some occasions. I’m talking about those moments when you’re stuck in conversation with someone you do not like. The chance of this being a co-worker or family member is pretty high.

Co-Workers are the biggest source of shitty small talk on this planet. They don’t talk about anything you like to talk about. Not ever. Not even if you bring it up! You could bring up something you want to talk about, and within 13 milliseconds you’ll notice the conversation somehow shifted into something not-that.

However, they will bring up the following stuff ad nauseam:

-Work – Which is, without a shadow of a doubt, the LAST thing you want to talk about/think about while at work.

-Sports – Or even worse: FANTASY sports.

And easily the worst of all:

-THEIR CHILDREN?! – OH DEAR SWEET MERCIFUL MOTHER OF ALL THAT IS HOLY, SHUT THE FUCK UP ABOUT YOUR STUPID CHILDREN!

The first one is easy to fight through. Just talk about how your boss is a douche bag. Everyone’s boss is a douche bag. What’s that? Your boss is cool? Probably ‘cause you’re a douche bag too. Every co-worker on the planet is willing to discuss how much their boss sucks total scrotum.

The second one, a LITTLE harder to avoid if you don’t know anything about sports. However, the best way to shut them up is to say “I don’t actually watch sports”. They’ll look at you like you just stuck one of your fingers in their rectum, and then proceed to change to one of the other standbys. I’m also a big fan of talking about how much I love the Yankees. That makes any sports fan never talk to you again.

‘cause FUCK THE YANKEES.

Anyway, the third one is the hardest to get out of. It’s sorta like stopping pissing half way through. Once children story urine starts coming out of their tongue-bladders, it’s impossible to stop until they’ve documented every second of the child’s mundane and uninteresting life. At this point, you may need to pull the nearest fire alarm.

But perhaps the hardest people to small talk with if you don’t like them, members of your own family tree. They’re related to you by blood, so you can’t sneak crack into their desk drawer and get them fired to avoid it like you can co-workers.

Most likely, these conversations will come up at family gatherings. Holiday dinners, funerals, family reunions, parole hearings, that kind of thing.

These conversations vary depending on the family member. The older the family member, the more likely it’ll be about health problems.

“I have this boil on my vagina that is shaped like President Hoover. I met President Hoover once, before he was President. He was a lovely guy. Anyway, what we ended up doing is installing an artificial skull to replace my old one…”

The other variant in annoying family member conversation comes in the form of how successful they are compared to you. If they are doing more with their life than you, they will proceed to talk about things that are too expensive for you to own. They’ll talk about their new twelve-story home. Or their prized fern.

They also talk about kids. How their kids have 4.0 grade point averages in their private Preschool. Or how little Johnny is the captain of the football… cheerleading squad. Or how Susie-Ashley-Brittany-Frank isn’t pregnant at 15. Sure, brag brag brag. I hope your kids get AIDs.

They’ll also tell you about their lovely vacations. To places you can’t locate on a map, let alone afford to fly to. Brazil. France. Outer ‘fuckin’ SPACE!

They’ll go on and on and make you feel less important to the world than Welsh people. Your self-esteem and pride will actually nullify itself. You’ll eventually just burst into flames and burn away into a pile of failure ashes.

But, this is a guide to offer solutions. So I will tell you how to deal with Captain Overachiever. Successful people hate when you talk about failures. So, time to dive right into the “My Life Blows” box and fish out a real depressing, possibly disgusting story.

“Yeah? Your kid is an honor student? Mine accidentally blew out his knee running away from bullies after Chess class last week. Yeah, we have to drain the puss out with a straw and a bobby pin because we’re too poor to afford the medical tools necessary. You know, not having insurance is hard. The puss is fuckin’ GREEN. It’s kinda cool… smells a lot like those mixed nuts you’re eating…”

This, of course, makes you into that other type of family member: The black sheep. The one no one likes, but shows up to the get-togethers anyway. If they start talking to you, be prepared for the most awkward stories ever. Usually involving metal plates in their head or their dog eating something it shouldn’t. Poor people always have dogs, And they always eat something weird.

“Mr. Spike Earnhardt Jr. accidentally ate one of the lug nuts off the back wheel of our half-wide trailer last week. The grease on it caused his shit to be oily. I actually lit it on fire and heated the kids bedroom/the kitchen for a week. The dog is an oil factory!”

Might as well just pull out your keys and use them to slit your wrists. You’ve probably lost all faith in humanity and will to live during this conversation. Because don’t forget: These people vote.

Well, there you have it. A beginners guide to awkward small talk. Hopefully this’ll help you get out of some of the rather unsettling conversations you may accidentally have on a day to day basis. By the way, if you’re one of the people providing these conversations: I hope you get hit by a flying turd today.

That is all. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to break into an agoraphobics house and start up a conversation while they scream and cower in the corner.