Insert Egg-Related Pun Here

I’m sure that’s EGG-actly what you’re EGG-specting, isn’t it? Well, there. That’s all you get, so fuck off.

Oh, and happy Easter.

Anyway, today I’m going to have to do a shorter blog. Why? Because I just ate a ton and a half of jellybeans, and have what I call “Jellybetes”, which causes you to hate yourself for being such a disgusting slob, and the human race in general. Of course, I already hated the human race, so that part isn’t quite as noticeable for me.

So, it’s Easter. Zombie Jesus day as it’s known by most people. The day… something or another happened and Christians use it as an excuse to eat ham and see those family members they secretly hate but have to see every once and awhile to save face. Just like any Christian holiday, actually. Only this one has chocolate eggs!

Today’s blog is just going to be a short list of things that I have learned about Easter. Hopefully this’ll help you survive the holiday next year with less casualties and self-hatred. Anyway, here we go:

The Counter Culture Clown’s Zombie Jesus Day Basket Of Knowledge Eggs

1) Do not, under ANY circumstances, give up taking a shit for Lent: Gaining forty-seven pounds and losing it all at once is quite a tiring experience. It’s like giving birth, I’d imagine, if the baby was stretched out into a long, thin tube. Ever heard of the “Courtesy Flush”? Well, it takes roughly six of those if you’re being rather liberal about the use of water. And after losing that much weight, you tend to get dizzy. Just ask the Phantom Pooper!

2) Cadbury Eggs are fucking disgusting: I know, they’re delicious. But they’re also fucking disgusting. Candy in the shape of aborted chicken fetuses? That’s lovely, really. And I’m not a big fan of candy that basically ejaculates in your mouth when you eat it.

3) Fake Grass should be made illegal: Never in the history of wrapping up gifts has something so evil been crafted. I mean, it sticks to all the loose jellybeans that are on the bottom of the basket! And that’s after the thirty-two minutes of digging through all those clumps of it to FIND said jellybeans. Really, you’re going to make me go on an expedition for my candy? Fuck you. Just give me the bag and get the fuck out of my house, and fuck you Grandma! And then I have to clean up all the loose fake-grass that’s floated around my house like little ribbons of despair. To find in a few weeks under the couch as a reminder to the fact that I ate my weight in ham today! Double-fuck you, Grandma!

4) Pastel Colors are hideous: No other holiday consists of colors that look faded and worn out. Easter colors remind me that I should be careful when putting a load of colors in the wash, or my clothing will look ugly. All other holidays use bright, festive colors to get you cheery and in the spirit. It’s nauseating, but it makes sense. But Easter? Easter uses colors that make you tired, and kinda depressed. I suppose that could be a ploy to make you eat more chocolate to make up for the depression. Interesting marketing strategy, Jesus. You’re good!

5) Ham is awesome: Does this even need an explanation? I didn’t get any ham this holiday, and it feels like a part of my very soul is missing. I don’t even celebrate this stupid commercial holiday, but I’m willing to fake interest if it means getting to chow down on some honey-glazed pig corpse.

6) Catholics are out of their God damn mind: Easter Mass is insane. I have nothing funny to say on the matter, but it’s fucking out of control. I’m pretty sure it lasts until Mid-June.

7) Easter Egg Hunts are a way for parents to punish their kids for being pricks: That’s right kids! You get delicious candy… if you can find it! Now get your asses outside and wander the lawn for six hours like post-last call drunks looking for their homes! Oh, and when you finally do find one of those horrible plastic eggs, have fun trying to pry the fucking thing apart. We super-glued them together. Oh, and three of them have venomous scorpions in them, and one of them has three jellybeans and a mashed-up chocolate bunny. There is one in the rain gutter, but you have to get all the wet leaves left over from winter out of there to get to it. Also, make sure you find all of them, last year you missed one and your father ran over it with a lawn mower and got plastic shrapnel in his face and now he’s ugly and deformed, you little shits ruined his life. HAPPY FUCKING EASTER!

8 ) Easter Bunny costumes are weird: They make you look like a furry. If you’re into kinky fake-animal sex, so be it, but please keep the children out of this. Christ wouldn’t have wanted it that way. He was more into that whole “feet-washing” fetish. Weird…

9) Grocery stores should be open on Easter: Great, now I need toilet paper after that whole Lent thing, and nothing’s open. Oh well, there IS this Bible here…

Alright, I’d go for a nice, round number with another item, but where is the fun in that? It’s not like I’m Christian, making up an extra commandment or two just to round off the list and make it look better. I go for content, not packaging. So suck it, Moses.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to return to my jellybeans. I haven’t eaten one in like… ten minutes, and I’m going through withdrawls.

And Happy Zombie Jesus Day, I guess.

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.

St. Valentine Thinks You’re Ugly

Throughout the history of existence, mankind has evolved. We’ve crawled out of the ocean, became upright, learned to communicate. Fire. Food. The wheel. Society, law, religion. Architecture, art, structure. We’ve moved to advanced language. Became able to build up, out. Industrial revolution, space age, technology. Advanced robots, advanced medicine, advanced everything.

Then we get to Valentine’s Day and POOF all fuckin’ GONE!

All those years upon years of human evolution, all the advancements in mankind’s mind, and it’s all undone by one of the biggest displays of fucktardedness that we could possible show.

Valentine’s Day is constructed around one thing and one thing only: making single people suicidal.

For the other 364 days of the year, we can deal with being alone. The opposite sex sucks usually, so we’re fine with it. And then comes Valentine’s Day. A day built for couples to do vomit-inducing cute shit in broad daylight. Things that should be kept to the privacy of… the 9th layer of hell.

It is, of course, one of, if not THE, most commercialized holiday out there. Hallmark has the equivalent of a creative wet dream every time they think of the obscene amounts of sentimental crap they can sell unsuspecting pussy-whipped men across America. Cards, flowers, candy, diamonds. Come on corporate America, let’s see love!

And let’s get some tail while we’re at it.

Let’s start at the top, let’s start with flowers.

“Here honey, I killed otherwise beautiful plants, uprooted them, and stuck them in an ugly mass-produced ‘vase’ for you to put on the kitchen table and watch slowly wilt away like your hopes and dreams. Eventually, you’ll have to throw the sorry corpses of these once lovely flowers away, just like you had to throw away your self-esteem and high expectations and standards when you started fucking a total dimwit like me.”

Despite popular belief, flowers are not the key that unlocks the doors to a girls lady-parts. You’re going to have to do better.

So, why not throw in some of that ever-delicious chocolate. The aphrodisiac that can be filled with caramel and put in a heart shaped box. It’s supposed to be like ExLax for your crotch. Not so much. Once again, it’s another trick. Over-priced unhealthy boxes of cheap ass fake chocolate wrapped up in obnoxiously large, shiny pink boxes. I got a cherry filled one, and you seem to have taken the one that’s filled with what’s left of my SOUL!

And if you’re not giving out chocolate, you’re going more simple. My personal favorite: those little Necco hearts. OM NOM NOM.

Remember when they were simple? “I love you!” “Hugs & Kisses”. Oh yes, they were simple and straight forward at one point. BUT NO MORE. Just like everything else, we as a society took it too far.

“Text Me!” “Email Me!”

And it got worse from there:

“Fax Me”

I shit you not I ate one that said Fax Me. SON OF A BITCH! As if THAT’S a common form of communication between lovers!

That raises an interesting thought though: Fax-Sex anyone?

“Hey baby, did you get that picture I faxed you?”

“…no, I got some insurance information?”

“What, oh yeah, I was faxing in my information too, but if you got that then who got the picture of my tain… OH FUCK!”

But it got even worse. Just this last year, I discovered one that made me actually contemplate genocide.

“Tweet Me”

Mother fuckin’ God damn shitty REALLY?! Are you shitting giant quantities of ME?! Unless “Tweet Me” is some kind of perverse sexual act involving cramming a canary in your rectum, I just can’t believe this one exists. Any and all romance has been sucked out of our pretty little statements.

It used to be “Hold me”. An intimate, physical bond. Being together, bodies intertwined. She, resting her head upon his chest, enjoying one another’s warmth. Hopefully, it leading to a hand job or something down the line. Soft, deep, intimate.

Now? I Luv U, Text Me or Fax Me or send me a fuckin’ smoke signal.

At least we can all go down to the local Spencer Gifts and get the naughty candy hearts with the slightly more straight forward sayings. Like “Blow Me”. Which, of course, can also be used year-round for other reasons.

You know what would go great with that diabetes-causing chocolate and allergen filled plant life? A piece of cardboard with some overly sappy mass-produced slogan about love written on it. That’ll be $3.50 please. Five dollars if you also want an envelope to put it in.

Poems, written by under-paid Cube Farmers who couldn’t quite make it to the level of respectable work that comes with writing shitty jokes for late night tv show hosts. Yeah, that’ll trick her into touching your penis.

That’s what this whole thing is about, really. Guys trying to get women to think they’re worthwhile. Ladies: They aren’t. Guys: No amount of flowers and candy and cards is going to win her heart, You gotta be smart about it. You have to prove in a more unique and interesting way that you’re not a total piece of crap.

So, of course, let’s move on to giving her shiny shit.

Diamonds. The ultimate bullshit sales ploy. Every holiday it seems they tell you to buy her diamonds.

It’s Valentine’s Day, buy her diamonds. It’s Christmas, buy her diamonds. It’s fuckin’ Arbor Day, buy her diamonds!

Look, Diamonds are like anything else: The more you have, the less special they are. You give her one diamond ring, a really damn expensive nice one, on your twenty year anniversary, she’ll cherish if forever. You give her thirteen different pieces of diamond jewelry a year, you’re an over-zealous fuck face.

Random side thought: While I was typing this in Microsoft Works Word Processor, the word “fuck face”, when spelled as one-word, was auto-corrected to read “muckrake”. What the fuckin’ fuck is a muckrake?

Anyway, back to my point. You just can’t buy love. This holiday is stupid. It causes people to become total, utter morons. So let this be my final call for sanity. Please, stop this nonsense of Valentine’s Day. Love her and give her gifts everyday and spare me the sentimental crap. Also: If you want to buy me a box of Valentine’s Day cupcakes, I’m all for it.

So I shall leave you with a heart-candy:

“Comment Me!”

‘Tis The Season (For Mental Anguish)

Ah yes, Christmas. A season for giving. For spending time with those you love as you reflect on the year and pay tribute to all the wonders the world can provide. A season to enjoy the beauty of white snow as it dusts the world outside. A season to eat, drink and be merry.

Oh who the fuck am I kidding. FUCK Christmas. And fuck Christmas music! I have no idea who the hell thought that “All Christmas Music-All The Time” radio stations during the winter were a good idea, but that person should be dragged out into the streets and have his head stomped in by a stampede of angry mall Santa’s.

Someone has been turning it on here at work. I don’t know who, but someone is doing it. At least I hope so. I hope the radio hasn’t gone sentient. That could be it. This could all be part of the first part of the robot takeover. First, they take over your entertainment mediums and drown out your sanity with Christmas cheer. It’s the same six songs, just sang by different people. Over and over and over.

Seriously, I’ve had so much jolly blown up my ass that if they took an x-ray they’d probably find tinsel in my colon. So much joy is being crammed into my head via my ear ducts, that I’m convinced it’s replacing more relevant information. I don’t know if a brain can reach capacity, but Christmas music has now replaced the names of my family and loved ones. All three of them. Do I have a mom? I don’t know, but I do know that I saw her kissing Santa at some point. Or did I? FUCK.

Let’s discuss that song, shall we? “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus”. I don’t know if you’ve ever actually paid attention to that song, but something is amiss here. It starts out bizarre, but innocent enough. I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus. Alright, weird, but that’s alright. It then leads to hugging. Alright, hugging and kissing. That’s a somewhat sweet sentiment I guess. Maybe she has a thing for fat, old guys? That’s her business, not mine. However, the onlooker slowly takes on a voyeuristic view of this whole scene. And then it takes a turn for the worst.

Wouldn’t it be something if daddy found out mommy was kissing Santa Claus. Oh snap! We got us a fuckin’ Jerry Springer moment brewing now. Nothing says Christmas cheer quite like flying chairs. The image of a drunk daddy getting his ass kicked by a bigger, stronger Santa Claus while mommy yells and looks on with terror. It’s really starting to sound like the holiday season, ain’t it? Now, I’d assume that this “Santa Claus” is actually daddy in a costume. If not, Mommy has some ‘splainin’ to do.

But then it gets creepier. The next line actually goes like this: “I saw mommy TOUCHING Santa Claus. And he was touching mommy back.”. HOLY CRAP?! Where is this going?! It’s starting to sound like one of those grocery store love novels! If the song starts over-using the words “pulsating” and “throbbing” I’m going to be forced to kill myself. “I saw Mommy doing something to Santa that involved beads and two of his reindeer”. But hey, the song comes to an end just then. They’re going to spare me the details, I guess.

But don’t fret, more Christmas music is about to pour out of the speakers and straight into my fuckin’ head-holes. One of my managers at work was making fun of one of the songs earlier today. Apparently, the word “Joy” was being used… quite a bit. And he had to point it out. And my co-workers response was: “Well, at least it’s not White Christmas again”.

Not five seconds later, what words floated through the air? Why yes: “I’m dreaming of a white Christmas”. FUCK! Are you KIDDING ME?! That shit actually HAPPENED. This is a true story. At least I think it is. Because shortly after that happened, my brain actually killed itself. I lost everything. A total slate-clean wipe. All my information I’ve stored up about my own identity, erased. I forgot my name. I forgot where I lived. And for a second, I actually forgot how to keep my bowels from emptying. It was, without a doubt, the scariest moment in my entire life. Even scarier than that time I saw mommy blowing Santa Claus.

Good, “White Christmas” is over. Next is… WHITE CHRISTMAS?! AHHHHHH! At this point my hand was gripping my box cutter. I don’t remember pulling it out of my pocket, or even bringing out the blade, but it was out, and it was held to my own wrist in anticipation for the moment I finally snap and finish myself off. What a terrible song anyway. A white Christmas? Sure, that’s cute in theory, but I live in Minnesota. I’d like a fuckin’ green Christmas. With 75 degree weather, sun, maybe a nice breeze. I’m tired of white. Everything’s white. I’ve got plenty of white. Well, I guess really it’s more of a “Gray Christmas” because all the car exhaust has turned the snow into something just short of a living entity. I’m actually starting to get convinced this song may be racially motivated! That’s how much time I’ve had to think about it. I need professional help at this point. Like an assassin!

But it just keeps getting worse. At one point, a song by Alvin and the Chipmunks came on. Because, as you all know, people actually listen to that. It’s a serious thing. People apparently think it’s music. It’s a freak accident! One day, in a studio, someone accidentally slipped and hit a button on the production console, and the voices turned high pitched.

“OH FUCK that’s AWFUL oh man what happe…. we could market this…”

And market it they have. CDs, a cartoon show, and a terrible movie (TWO terrible movies. “Squeakual”. Someone needs to be given a wedgie for that one. And by wedgie, I mean vasectomy so they don’t reproduce.). And somehow, it was taken seriously enough to be added to the docket of horror that’s being blasted at me from every side.

How can it possibly get worse? It can’t. It just can’t. Not in this dimension. They’d have to get an alien race to travel into our time-space and bring some crazy alien Christmas music, something SO full of “cheer” that it actually causes our eyes to erupt out of our heads like ping-pong balls out of the vagina of some USO Showgirl. That’s the only way this could possibly get worse.

That, or they could put on Mariah Carey’s Christmas music. At least six times a day, I have to hear that lunatic spew her nonsense at me. At this point, I’ve completely abandoned any hope of a future. She not only recorded one song, apparently she has a whole Christmas album. How does something like that exist? It’s basically proof there is no God, but there is indeed a Satan. And he’s Mariah Carey’s producer.

I’m actually now looking forward to Christmas. Me, Mr. Sin Season is actually looking forward to Christmas. Just because it means the END of Christmas music for the year.

It’s seriously the only holiday that does this. A radio station that plays an entire month of Christmas music and nothing but Christmas music. You don’t hear a station present you with “All Monster-Mash, All-October” Halloween music. If you did, there would be riots in the streets. It’d be like “Thriller”, only with Molotov Cocktails and 2×4′s with nails sticking out of them.

And you can’t escape it. Don’t think you’re safe. You’ll have to leave your house at some point. It’s in every department store. It’s playing in every car. It’s coming out of fucking Christmas cards. IT’S IN THE FUCKING CARDS!!! We actually invented cards, tiny pieces of fuck-paper, that have little, tiny radios in them that cause music to spew out of the card when you open it. As if I was disappointed enough when money didn’t fall out, now you’ve got Frosty the Snow-bastard hitting me straight in the face. Fuck you!

I know what I’m going to get. I’m going to get the “BA HUMBUG, Bob” response. Everyone’s going to get on me for not getting into the spirit of the Holidays. The spirit, as I understand it, is that of a dead sales rep from Macy’s. It’s a consumerism holiday, and I’m piss-broke. So fuck your spirit of Christmas. Fuck him right in his frosty white ass.

The music keeps coming. Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer? Wow, that song teaches me a lot. Like bigotry. The other reindeer wouldn’t let him play ANY of their reindeer games, did you know that! That, and they gave him his own special “Red Nosed Only” drinking fountains! Those mother fuckers. The poor dude was handed a birth defect, and those pieces of crap won’t let him play games. GAMES?! Happy Holidays. But guess what, by the end of the song: They like him. Because they found out he can do a job they don’t want to do. That’s right. And apparently, he works cheap. So all of the sudden it’s ok to let him in. Of course, now Blitzen is going off on some rant about how Rudolph “Took his job”. It never ends! If I was Rudolph, I’d go Sigfried and Roy’s white tiger on their asses, and start tearing out throats. He’s seeing red, but it has nothing to do with that nose…

“All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth.”

That one sentence. That ONE fucking sentence, has done me in. It’s actually caused the pot to boil over. The most flat-out stupid song ever fuckin’ written. I can’t even rant about it, because I’m afraid if I think too much about it, my head will actually roll off my shoulders.

Can’t any other holidays get a song? Just ONE. Perhaps a nice Ramadan song? “All I Want For Ramadan is the Infidels Heads”? Or here’s one: “I’m Dreaming Of A Black Kwanzaa”.

I understand what Christmas music is supposed to do. It’s supposed to put you in the spirit of Christmas. But you don’t need to be in that spirit in mid-November, do you? You and I both have other shit to do, we don’t have time to be thinking about bounds of holly and peace on Earth and useless things like that. Here’s an idea: Keep the Christmas music to Christmas. And let the REST of the music have the other 364 days of the year. Just a thought. Of course, Christmas isn’t just one day anymore. It’s about three months. So I guess I’m lucky this shit doesn’t start in fuckin’ August!

Now, if you’ll excuse me. I’m going to go lay down. And probably ACTUALLY dream of a white Christmas.

The Big 5-0 (In Hindsight…)

It’s been 22 years and some change since I popped out of my mum’s uterus and onto this cold, dark blue-green ball of crap.

Today marks a milestone. A fictional one I invented just for myself, but fuck you it’s a milestone now! That’s right: This is the 50th blog. 50 times now I’ve managed to sit down, type up a bunch of really angry shit, and not have to be commited to an institution.

I’m going to attempt a little retrospective of all the shit that’s gone down. Really, this whole thing is just an example of a miracle. A miracle that I have yet to murder someone. A minor miracle, perhaps. But it’s still a miracle. This little collection of rants to keep me stable has hopefully been amusing in the last few months, and as long as someone laughs, it’s worth the time. Well, sorta. I guess. Not really, but I have nothing better to do.

This whole thing started on Facebook. Where I, much like the rest of the mindless lemmings that occupy the collective that calls itself the “World Wide Web”, have gone to waste time that could be spent doing something more productive. Like putting paper clips together to make a chain, for example. I managed to load up the “Notes” section with various levels of rants. Some funny, some dead serious, some just about shit that happened that day.

You’ll notice in May, a series of blogs appeared. That’s when I realized some of them were kinda funny. So I stripped the ones off Facebook people had laughed at, and slapped them on a blog site. A blog site I hoped to fill with funny blogs and build a little website for myself. This, as you can see by the next few months: Didn’t happen overnight. I did an average of ONE blog a month for the following few months. Things moved slow.

Eventually, I was letting someone read the blogs, and their positive reaction sparked something in me. I began to feel that writing it may be worthwhile. Not having readers sorta leaves you unmotivated to write stuff that drains this much out of you, ya know?

So, in the last few months, I’ve managed to churn out quite a few blogs. Most of which make me look like a narcissistic, over-zealous, out of control douchebag. But fuck if they’re not somewhat funny.

The development of a blog roll helped actually get me readers. Which to me, is a huge-fuck-shock. People are willinging reading this crap?! That’s simply astonishing. That seriously baffles me. Why… fuckin’ WHY do you put yourself through it. Other than the fact half these opinions probably make you wish you could bitch-slap someone through means of email, it’s just a bunch of angry jibberish anyway! Ok, occasionally I stumble upon a point, but most of the time it’s just me complaining about shit that’s barely relevant to you or to ME even! It’s not even well-written most of the time. Perhaps the occasional “LOL” justifies it, but probably fuckin’ NOT!

You know what “Funny In Shadows” is supposed to mean? It’s a representation of me as a person. I use comedy as a coping mechanism. To keep me from doing serious harm to society. The world is loaded to the brim with total, undiluted shit. And it’s difficult for someone like me to deal with. So, I crack jokes about anything and everything. I find humor in dark places, and use it to get by. Hence, being funny in the shadows.

Has it been fun? Certainly. I enjoy doing this, and someday hope to take this to the stage. I’ve only done stand up four times on stage, but have written for many years. Some of this stuff is material I wrote for the stage, while other stuff is either on-the-fly ranting, or brought up during the day and molded into something tangible to put up here. Either way, anything that’s funny here has a chance of being refined and puked out into a microphone in front of a room full of drunks who don’t give a damn what I have to say. This is the hobby I choose for myself! Ain’t it fuckin’ glorius.

With that said, recently the activity has picked up here. I’ve gotten a lot of hits and readers, and a little random publicity as well. My last blog, about homeless people sparked another blogger to write a blog that seems completely dedicated to what I had to say. If you want to see what I’m talking about, check it out Here. Cristina Cordova apparently liked what I had to say. And thank her for it. Even if it proved one thing: When an opinion is stated on the Interwebs, assholes will crawl on up outta the fuggin’ woodwork and piss and moan and bitch about what you had to say. Sometimes they won’t even READ what you said and bitch about it anyway. Staggering level of douchebaggery. More so when they bitch about things I wasn’t even talking about. But hey, that’s what the interwebs is, and I’m hollerin’ about shit I’m ignorant to just as they are. Only I’m fuckin’ funnier.

The other obvious crossover came at the expensive of not only my tastebuds and stomach, but perhaps my sanity as well. It also happened to be the most-read and most talked about blog I’ve written yet. I’m of course talking about Chapter 2 in the Vegemite Saga. When I finished writing that blog, I actually didn’t think it was that funny. I thought it was mediocre at best. I wasn’t happy with it, really. You could say it “left a bad taste in my mouth”. Ha ha. However, it got rave reviews, and I guess that’s something.

One thing I’ve done little of since starting, is talked about actual stories in my life. I don’t lead an exciting life, so very few stories do I have. However, the few I’ve come across have really seemed popular. Perhaps I’ll have to go out and suffer more so I can have entertaining shit to whine about. I’ll die for your amusement. How very Christ-like of me. Except for the me being a douchebag thing. Perhaps the most popular of my stories was this one, which is about everyone’s favorite subject: POOPIE!

Now, some of the humor in here is obviously from a dark place. I use sarcasm (ZOMG really?!?!), and a lot of tongue-in-cheek jokes. Such as the fact that in this blog, it really sounds like I’m asking people to hurt kids. I do not, in any way, actually condone the abuse of children. Now, beating the fuckballs out of adults? I’m a-okay with that. In fact, if a dude mouths off on his 18th birthday, feel free to kick him straight in the spine. Twice! Just make sure he’s really 18 first. If you have to check ID, do so.

Also, in this blog I actually started things out by saying “Hitler Did Something Right”. Now, don’t think I like Hitler. I don’t. I’m 100% on the “Hitler was a douche” bandwagon. I have nothing more to say on that matter. Just wanted to make my Jew buddies clear on that. Hitler = Bad. Jews = Awesome. Ok? Ok…

Did you also notice I actually suggested kicking a women in the uterus in this blog? Yeah, uh… don’t actually do that. That’s just not cool. I was being facetious. In fact, if anyone kicks a woman in the uterus, I’m gonna have to kill you. Women deserve better than that. After all guys, they’re smarter than us. Way the fuck better than us too. Now ladies, don’t get ahead of me, you’re doing all you can to catch up in the “shithead” race that is life. And I’m proud of you, really. Way to fight for equality by also fucking up sometimes. It does make us feel a little better about being useless sacks of testosterone.

I’ve written various blogs about news stories too, in a desperate attempt to be topical. I’ve taken shots at NASA, Global Warming, something about some big-ass kid playing football? Granted, you don’t care about these stories, and neither do I. But at least it’s funny to whine about!

I’ve also attempted several recurring segments in the short time I’ve done this. Pretty much none of which have reaccured. Like my Weird Things Found On eBay and Complaint Department pieces. I do, however, have things planned for both of these in the future. Once I get my computer back, the eBay one should return. And I have list of minor things to complain about for the CD as well. So, shut the fuck up and WAIT, dammit.

I’ve managed to write down a pretty decent list of things that I’d like to cover in the next 50 blogs. Various ideas and things that’ll eventually be up here. I’ll also continue to search for weird products, such as the Subtle Butt, High-Heeled Sneakers, or the Krispy Kreme Bacon Cheeseburger. And will continue to find bizarre stories, like this delightful one about a Food Processor. I’ve got a few new segment ideas as well, so I can have more non-recurring recurring things to whine about. Fun shit.

Looking over the blog, I guess I gotta talk about my blog roll as well. I love you all (‘cept the Friggin’ Loon for the whole “Sending me fuckin’ vegemite” thing! I want my soul back, dammit!). The first two real peeps I’ve had on here were Oma over at Blurt and the dood who’s over there Shoutin’ from the damn abyss , you two have been faithful readers since I really started working on promoting this place, and I’m happy for it. Of course, I also kinda hate you guys. Seriously. But it’s good hate, not hate hate. Ok? Ok. And of course there is the possible red-headed love of my life and maybe future Miss Counter Culture Clown Shiny, the Unabridged Girl . You still make this bitter, cynical asshole smile sometimes. Oh yeah, the rest of you are cool too I guess. But you gotta lot of catching up to do before I love you more than these four (yes, that includes “teh loon”.)

Also, Alex, I know you’re reading this inbetween nerd-treks to the fuggin’ WoW website, but I suppose I owe you a bit too. For being the only one to find the ChocoRat blog as funny as I do. The only one. Fuck it, that’s damn funny bloggin’ boi. However, I do owe you a major ass punting for being party to stumbling upon the whole Muskrat thing. Fuckin’ hell, my life would be better knowing that that didn’t exist. I.O.U. one mentally-crippling fact that’ll leave you weeping like that did to me. You’ll get it someday.

But hey, this fuckin’ thing has gone on a bit too long now, so it’s time to let it slide. Just know that some crazy shit is still there, I’m never dry when it comes to things to bitch about. I promise to attempt to maybe try to keep it up sorta. And if you guys keep reading, fuckin’ good for you. I’d love it if you promoted. Tell your friends. Pimp me like a Blog-whore. I want readers dammit!

Either way people, thanks for an interesting first 50. And here’s to maybe… 6 more before I snap and call it quits. Naw, I’ll stick around. See ya’ll at the 100th Aniversary! I’ll probably be blogging from prison at that point. Or hell. I bet they use dial-up in hell. And AOL. Fuck, that’s gonna suck…Anyway, thanks. Seriously. Thanks. I do appreciate it.

Now go do something productive, fuckers!

Thank THIS!

It can’t all be negative here at FiS. Well, it can, and it probably will be, but I can attempt making something positive here, right?

In the spirit of Thanksgiving, I believe I will let you all in on what I am thankful for this holiday season.

I Am Thankful…

• For Gummy Worms! Or bears, or fruits, or anything in the gummy family, really. Hell, you could throw a bag of gummy penis’ in front of me and I’d probably be willing to nom on them.
• That I Am Not One Of John And Kate Gosselin’s Shitty Children! I’m not kidding. If I was I’d be forced to shoot myself. Not only because my childhood would have been stolen by my over-zealous attention hungry shit-for-brains parents, but also because I’d have a chance of growing up to look like THIS GUY:

Can you say stupid looking Goober?

• That I Have Gone 22-Plus Years On This Planet Without Being Fully Engulfed In Flame. I can’t even begin to express my thankfulness for this one. If there is one thing I’d like to avoid being for the duration of my time on this planet, it’s a human inferno.
• They Can’t Censor The Internet. Because if they did, I’d have no vessel for my colorful language. Where else can I put words such as “Fucktardation” and “Fuckilution” into the public eye? I do, however, believe that BECAUSE the internet isn’t censored, we have a lot of fuckilution clouding it up. But that’s what you get when you have a bunch of people running around screwing things up with all their fucktardation.
• My Radio Has An Off Button: I mainly feel this way because Sheryl Crow exists. I’d be REALLY thankful if gravity reversed in the small patch of land she occupies and then she flies away into the sky and burns up in the atmosphere on her way out. I swear, I didn’t hate the word “Sun” until she started writing music. Sheryl, babe, do you have to use it in EVERY damn song?! No one is that happy all the time. And if you are, you need medication. Also, I call you babe simply to be facetious, because you are hideous to look at as well as listen. Something is seriously wrong with your face. It’s too fake to be fake. 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. This stopped making sense a few sentances ago, but it’s still making sense. Does that make sense? Sheryl Crow ruins all sense. “IIIIII  wanna soak up the sun!” Fine, then get in a rocket and shoot yourself at it, you obnoxious lunatic.
• I Don’t Have Barophobia. That’s fear of Gravity, in case you’re wondering. Wouldn’t that be a bitch!
• We Made A Holiday That Celebrates The Wonders Of Pie. That’s something we can all be thankful for this Thanksgiving. Pie. And usually multiple kinds of it. In fact, someone brought pie into work today. Which means in a little bit, I’ll be shoving pie in my face. Be jealous, fuckers! The only way it could be better is if it was pie with gummy worms on it. MMM Gummy Worm Pie! OM NOM NOM.
• I Haven’t Gotten Anyone Pregnant Yet. If only because I’m not that big a fan of watching a girl fall down the stairs…
• I Haven’t Had To Kill Someone Yet. Basically, it’s somewhat of a minor miracle that I haven’t. I mean, everyday the thought crosses my mind. Guy on the bus tries to “Axe” the bus driver a question. I want to murder him. With an axe even. Several co-workers simply open their mouths and it makes homicide seem like a viable option. One time, I actually just SAW a person on the street and wanted to push them in front of a SUV. Why? ’cause they kinda looked like a douche, that’s why. I’m also thankful I haven’t killed someone ’cause then I’d go to prison. And for those of you who don’t know, I’m a tiny fucker. Which would make me a wonderful candidate for wife.
• I Was Born A White, Male In America. It’s like winning the fuckin’ universe PowerBall man. I’m not saying White Men are BETTER, we’re just not ever on the shit end of bigotry. Unless we’re gay. Or fat. Or non-Christian… FUCK! Nevermind…
• “Touched By An Angel” Was Taken Off The Air. BEFORE the priest molestation scandals.
• Women Dig Guys With A Sense Of Humor. Oh wait, that’s completely bullshit. Nevermind that one either…
• The Nintendo Wii Has A Wrist Strap. ‘else there would be a pretty fair chance I’d have flung the controller through the TV while pwning bitch-ass goblins in Legend of Zelda. That, and there is also a good chance I’d have thrown it through the TV just trying to keep up with how quickly it tears through batteries. What the fuck, Nintendo, you don’t even SELL batteries so this doesn’t benefit you one bit! Does Mario and the Energizer Bunny have some kind of pact I don’t know about.

Ultimately, these are obviously meant to be a bit on the oddball side, so I figured I’d end this with some serious things I’m thankful for.

I’m thankful I’m still here, despite the fact that I sometimes wish I wasn’t. This place is fun, Earth I mean. It’s like one giant ball of things to make fun of. It’s wonderful in it’s total and utter shitty-ness. I’m also thankful that this blog has given me a medium not only to vent this shit out before I explode, but also to use it to make a couple people laugh. Which brings me to you, you crazy bastards, who are reading this. I’m thankful you fuckers are still around, reading my ranting and raving and considering it mildly amusing. Without your constant ego-boosting compliments, I wouldn’t be the ego-maniacle son of a bitch I am right now. In all seriousness, the last couple of months I’ve managed to become more active, and have also managed to read a ton of hillarious shit. I love you guys, all of you. You’re a bunch of lunatics and weirdos, and it makes my day better. Thanks for putting yourselves out there and saying what needs to be said. And hey, let’s keep  it up. Maybe someday we’ll become so well known that a few pre-teens will occasionaly leave horribly written comments on our blogs with shitty grammar and terrible spelling! We can always dream.

Anyway, now that I got all that positive bullshit out of the way. I’d like to end it with one more thing I’m thankful for:

• I’m Thankful That I’m STILL Not Engulfed In Fire.

Thank you, and enjoy your Day of Over-Eating And Sleeping For Extended Periods Of Time While Not Working.

~Bob

Back In Black (Friday)

Sin Season is in full swing now, my friends. And the turkey-shit is about to hit the fan.

This Thursday, Thanksgiving will cause a good majority of us to completely lose feeling in a few of our extremities. This may either be the result of over-consumption of foodstuffs, or perhaps a relative will get sick of your shit and kick you in the spine. Either way, Turkey Day is coming, and it’s lookin’ for blood.

Then, just shortly after Thanksgiving, comes Black Friday. A day named after the color of darkness for a very good reason: It’s pure fucking evil.

For those of you who don’t have the need to shop for Christmas, perhaps you don’t know what Black Friday is. Maybe you’re a non-believing heathen like me, or maybe you’re a Jew and don’t get cool shit during the holidays.

Or perhaps your family believes in giving out those “We Just Donated Money To A Charity In YOUR NAME!” gifts. If you know people that do that, do the world a favor would you: Kill them. Please? If you’re going to donate money to charity, just do it please. Don’t involve me. I don’t want my name to be associated with charity work. Next thing you know people will be thanking me for being a good person. And that’ll just muck up my reputation for being a total douchebag.

Anyway, I digress, the topic of this is shopping on Black (African American?) Friday. For some reason, Black Friday is starting to take the form of a legitimate holiday. And by that I mean it starts a few weeks before it actually starts. Halloween starts in July. Christmas starts in October. And Black Friday starts just shortly after it fuckin’ ENDS!

I understand the appeal. Who doesn’t want to go to the local electronics store and buy a battery-operated potato peeler for half price? Who doesn’t want to get sucker punched in the spleen by a mother of three who wants the last “Isn’t It Cool To Get Pregnant And Have A Baby” doll? Who doesn’t want to head over to the discount DVD bin at the store and sift through forty-three copies of “Made Of Honor” staring Patrick Dumb-sey?

Only TWENTY FIVE CENTS! I would have payed THIRTY for this! What a deal!!!

It starts out much like a scene in Braveheart does. The store manager hops up on a cash register and starts moving back and forth in front of an army of his best minimum-wage paid cashiers and customer service “experts”. He gives them a pep talk about the end of the world most likely falling on a Black Friday. He tells them of the horrors of Black Friday 1996, when Susan from Shoes was killed in a tragic accident involving a cheap pair of pumps. They then pray. Even those that don’t believe in a higher power figure “What the hell, might as well cover all my bases…”

Meanwhile, on the other side of town, a collection of people is gathering, giving a very similar speech. These people are called…

…I have to pause for a second to let out a HUGE over-exagerated sigh…

…Bargain Hunters.

Let it be known that anyone that claims to be a “Bargain Hunter” is no longer allowed to breath the same air as me.

These BH’s are standing in the living room, strapping on elbow and knee pads, as if they were heading to the roller derby. For you see, it is this day that they have trained all year for. Clearance-Rack jumping is nothing compared to the wonders they are about to discover at the local Wal-Mart. The room smells of sex, probably a result of the various advertisements on tv and in the news papers that they have pinned up to the walls like naked lady posters.

They walk out to the lawn, their ugly-ass Mini Van already cleared of it’s back seats for extra room for crap, and they let out one last Braveheart-esque battlecry:

“They may take our paychecks… but they can never… take… OUR FREE COUPONS FOR HALF OFF NINTENDO WII GAMES FOR OUR ANNOYING COUSINS!!!!!!!!!”

And then, they are off.

This, of course, is actually taking place Thursday after dinner. Not on Black Friday itself. You obviously have to camp out in front of the local stores for twelve hours so you can get in first. You see them on the news, lined up outside Best Buy and Target, in sleeping bags. Tents. Hell, I’ve even seen one guy actually air-lift his house into the parking lot to avoid the drive home. They wait, like vultures over the corpse of a poor fuck who wandered into the desert, and they scheme.

“First, I’m going to have this latte. Then, I’ll go buy one of those TV’s that’s marked down from $1300 to $26 dollars. Then, I’m going to have a latte. And then it’s off to the clothing section to buy my husband a really ugly sweater, before they’re all sold out. Then, I’ll drink a latte. And then… ooo I should get Maggie that new Jonas Brothers vibrator, that’s the big seller this year! And then it’s time for a latte!”

It continues like this, all the way up until the guy who drew the short straw heads out to open the doors for the day. People set up their starting blocks and await for the Gun… er… lock to click. And when it does, no one is safe.

Elbows and hair pulling, punches and man-splitting swords being driven through people. It’s chaos. In fact, I believe Black Friday was the third layer of Hell in The Divine Comedy, wasn’t it?

I’m not knocking the deals, I’m really not. It’s cool and all that I can get shit for cheap, but like all good things inevitably do, it’s gotten the FUCK out of hand!

Every news paper, magazine, website, news program, and fuckin’ morning tv program have put out some kind of “Black Friday Survival Guide”. They actually USE the fuckin’ word SURVIVAL! Does that scare anyone else! They’re actually TELLING YOU that your life may actually be in danger when you go to the store. Well, fuck that. I’m staying in. I’m going online. I’m paying the difference in shipping and handling, like a SMART person!

Let me back up again, and explain that I am not buying SHIT this Friday. Not because I don’t want great deals. Not because I hate going to the stampede that is a shopping mall. I’m not buying anything because everyone else can blow me.

That, and I’m really, really broke. Really broke. Seriously. Anyone want to bum me like… five bucks?

It’ll just get worse. Because after Black Friday, people will just keep spending. Money they saved. Money they earned. Money they stole. Fuck, money that doesn’t even EXIST in a physical form will be spent this holiday season. And for what? The illusion of happiness that Christmas morning brings? I don’t buy it.

A solution is necessary to this problem. And I believe I’m just the guy for the job. Alright, I’m probably the LAST guy for the job, but I’m going to provide my answer anyway.

Let’s go old school, folks. Let’s ALL build Christmas presents. For one year, let’s have EVERYONE in the entire nation BUILD their presents. From scratch. Just household items and shit you find in the trash. That way, when the stores make ZERO dollars on Black Friday, maybe they’ll see it as a sign. A sign that the people are tired of the crazy bullshit that comes with getting 25% off edible underwear and a BOGO coupon for summer sausage shaped like the Statue of Liberty (real product, saw it at a store once, almost killed myself right then and there.).

So here is my list, of the things I will be giving my family and friends this holiday season:

For My Mom: I have made a… blanket. Yeah sure, it’s a blanket… out of the lint I’ve pulled from the little basket in the dryer. It’s warm and fuzzy and smells like moutain rain. Also, if you touch it… it’ll probably fall apart and make the room dusty. So uh… it’s a SHOW blanket…

For My Sister: Look it’s… it’s… a dollhouse. Made of old cereal boxes stuck together with what I REALLY hope is chewing gum.

For My Roomie: Remember that squirrel that got in our wall? Well, I found it. Or what’s left of it. So here, from the bottom of my heart, I have given to you a Stuffed Squirrel Torso. It’s soft (if you pet around the rot), and you can put pencils and stuff in the holes the maggots ate in it’s face.

To All My Friends: I cut down a tree in a backyard of some house down the street, and have cut it up into firewood. Now you can all stay warm. Also, if anyone in a police uniform shows up at the door asking for me, you can throw them in the fire! It’s the gift that keeps on giving!

For those of you that sounds like this is just a way for me to be a cheap-ass, you’re missing the whole point of the holiday seasons.

“It’s the thought that counts”

And it’s wonderful to know that the thought is “Hey, I love my Wife enough to buy her the necklace she always wanted… as long as it’s 70% off!”. This whole thing feels fake. Our economy is in the shitter, and we just keep getting more and more greedy. Shopping is a game to us now. And Black Friday is the sum of it all. The means to a bargain and to an end.

This all is a bit cynical, bitter if you will. But it’s a point that needs to be made: The more this escalates, the harder it’ll get for anyone to enjoy it. I urge you to go out, enjoy the sales, save a bundle. But just consider one thing while you do: There are a LOT of other people out there doing the same thing. Don’t fuck it up for them. Just get in, get your shit, and get out.

Also: I want a Playstation 3.

OOO, and one of those Jonas Brothers Vibrators! Those are supposed to be really big this year.

Sign Of Things To Come (aka Ho-Ho-Holy Retribution)

A sign, with detachable letters that can be interchanged to fit the situation and time. One of those easy inventions that has bettered businesses for years. However, this simple invention can also convey messages too bizarre to keep as a permanent sign.

This is what struck my eye-pits on my way to work this morning:

“The End Is Here.
X-Mas Is Coming.”

Alright, I’m not a huge fan of Christmas myself, but even I haven’t attached my disliking for the holiday to an apocalyptic statement like ”The End Is Here”.

Perhaps that’s not what they meant, maybe they were simply refuring to the end of the year, but for the sake of a joke, I’ll pretend it’s meant as a statement of the world’s demise. Why? Because the idea of the end of the world is something I’m quite fond of.

And perhaps they are on to something. Christmas could very well be the end of all we know. On a Biblical level, it would make sense. We took something as important to religion as Christ’s fuckin’ birthday, and turned it into a holiday basked with the 7 deadly sins.

It really all started on Saturday, with Halloween. The begining of what I shall now call the Sin Season.

Allow me to break it down, one holiday at a time.

Halloween

•  Lust: Halloween is a holiday where people are allowed to dress up in costumes. And lately, those costumes are less and less costume, and more tits and ass. Anything and everything has become fair game to the Sexy Costume epidemic that is sweeping this nation. The classics include Sexy Police Officer, and Sexy Nurse. However, those just weren’t enough for some of our ladies. They’ve escalated. Sexy Soldier. Sexy Little Bo Peep. Sexy Taxi Driver? I’m also working on some Sexy Costumes of my own: Sexy Investment Banker. Sexy Professional Bowler. Sexy Sex Worker. Anything to take in some extra cash during this holiday. These costumes are all about the sex appeal, and hence are all about the sin of Lust.
•  Gluttony: This one’s a no-brainer. Stuff your face with chocolate, fruit-candies, and gum. Eat until your blood-sugar shifts in favor of sugar. Stuff your child’s little pudgy fat-fuck face with processed crap until he practically shits skittles. Hell, Halloween is a harvest festival originally. A celebration of FOOD!
• Envy: That mother fucker has more candy than me! I must out trick-or-treat him!

Halloween Sin Count: 3

Thanksgiving

• Gluttony: They have actually managed to make a holiday centered around eating too much. That’s all it is. And then you get to say how thankful you are that God provided you with enough food to actually make your obese ass FULL for once. Then, once you’re done stuffing your face with turkey, fourteen different kinds of potato dishes, and whatever food you managed to stuff inside other food, you get pie. And lots of pie. And then, to top it off, we get to dive from one sin straight into the next! That’s right, gluttony straight into…
• Sloth: Sure, go ahead you lazy fuck, blame the tryptophan, but the truth is: You’re a lazy bastard. You eat so much your body actually has to go into a state of temporary hibernation just to catch up. You actually BEAT your own metabolism, and get punished with a forced nap in an uncomfortable recliner while you watch a football game. And guess what that football game represents? That’s right, it represents…
• Wrath: Go Cowboys! I’m not even from Dallas, or Texas, or the fucking United States. Hell I don’t even like football. Or sports at all. But I really want the Cowboys to murder whoever they’re playing. I want them to absolutely CRUSH the other team. Also, whoever is playing the Lions is most likely implimenting their wrath hardcore style. It’s alright though, the football games are a distraction so you don’t have to talk to your family. Why don’t you like your family, ’cause you’re implimenting the sin of…
• Envy: Everyone has that member of their family, the one who is just BETTER than you are. Better job.  Better wife. Better teeth. Shit, he probably has a better cock than you too. And you spend most of Thanksgiving dinner wishing you were them. Or that they were dead. Of course, it doesn’t help that they won’t shut up about their new solid gold house or super model girlfriend who owns a happiness factory. Which of course brings us to our next sin…
• Pride: That mother fucker is SO proud of the shit he or she has “achieved”, ain’t they. Just on and on and on about how wonderful their life is. Pride is a sin when you get right down to it, so if you’re the over-achiever in the family, heed my words: Don’t be such a douchebag, douchebag!

Thanksgiving Sin Count: 5

Black Friday (While not an actual holiday, we’ll put it here simply because it fits the theory in progress)

• Wrath: That’s my playstation 17 mother fucker! I need that so…
• Greed: …I can put it on eBay and turn a profit like some kind of demented entrepreneur, or I can give it to my kid so they…
• Pride: …think I’m the greatest dad ever! I have to beat that stupid John Smith down the street…
• Envy: …’cause he always gets his kids space ships and hookers and all that shit for Christmas, ’cause he’s rich, and his wife…
• Lust: …has bigger tits than mine does and that pisses me off!

Black Friday Sin Count: 5

Christmas

• Gluttony: Anyone else starting to see a trend here? Gluttony is a HUGE one for us here in the states. It’s like our National Sin. Like the National Bird is the Eagle. And if we could, we’d kill that eagle, stuff it with StoveTop Stuffing and eat that bald son of a bitch! But we can’t, so we settle on turkey and ham and pork and whatever other helpless creature accidently wanders into the slaughterhouse. I bet if a person fell into the oven, we’d smother him in a honey glaze and eat him.
• Greed: Imagine, a holiday that is centered around giving people shit. That’s all we do to celebrate it, we just give each other a ton of crap we don’t need. “I want a Remote-Controlled, State Of The Art, High Tech, MP3 Playing, Sparkly, Limited-Time-Only dildo/toaster oven this Christmas!” Why just one?! Why not get THREE! They say that it’s better to give than it is to recieve. That’s just something people say when no one loves them enough to give them a present.
• Envy/Wrath/Pride: I’m just gonna tie these three together this time, because when it comes to Christmas decorations in the neighborhood, things can get ugly. ”That bastard John Smith’s fuckin’ Snowman is bright enough to see from outer-fucking-space, we need to make sure we get something that’ll top it. I know already that my Santa decoration has a bigger dick than his Santa decoration, ’cause my Santa’s a fuckin’ African American Santa! Political Correction FTW, bitch! I bet if I went over in the middle of the night with a bat and smashed in Baby Jesus’ head, it’d fuck up the whole three-acre wide Manger scene he has set up! That’d teach that stupid piece of human trash what the true meaning of Christmas is: me kickin’ his ASS at life. “
• Sloth: I’m so glad I have Christmas off. And Christmas eve. And the day after. Hell, I might as well just take the whole week off, plus the weekends, what is that… 9 days off? That’s just not enough, I mean it is the TWELVE days of Christmas. Maybe I’ll take the whole week before off too, to finish up shopping and plus the family is in town early. Hell, nothing is going on at work since the year is almost over, let’s just take off until the second of next year too. Man, imagine all the sleeping I can do with all that time off! I love Christmas.
• Lust: People spend upwards to 3 days sculpting out a deep, intricate plan to get that gorgeous secretary under the mistletoe. The Ocean’s-Eleven style layout to this grand scheme is all in the name of getting a little taste of that forbidden fruit. That’ll show John Smith!

Christmas Sin Count: 7!?!

There you have it folks, it starts out bad and just keeps on gettin’ worse. So it would make since that if the higher powers decide that they should end this existance we call Planet Earth, that they do it right after the Sin Season. I mean, if you really think about it, isn’t Santa and his Sleigh of Reindeer eerily similar to the Four Horseman riding down from the skies showering us in fireballs and blood-sucking devils (like your mom! BURN!)?

I guess the sign was right, folks. The End Is Here. X-Mas Is Coming. Indeed. So this holiday season, you might as well enjoy your sinful lifestyle, ’cause we may be meeting our makers anyday now. And since we’re basically fucked… might as well sin away! Hell, take it a step further. Steal shit this holiday season, don’t buy it. Kill someone, just for poops and chuckles. Make this Sin Season the best ever!

And for fuck sake, leave me a slice of Pumpkin Pie!

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…