Let me see you on the street, I'll leave you wherever I find you, you hillbilly-degenerate motherfucker.

Sometimes when I get bored, I go to wikipedia and look up random things. Like one time I spent the entire day looking up porn starlets. Sad, but true. Sad, but fucking true. Today I looked up the Dixie Chicks, 'cause if I were given half a chance, I'd fuck those three hotties 8 ways from Sunday. The Kama Sutra wouldn't have shit on me and them.

But in reading about them, you will inevitably read about their little spat with the rest of America who's so pro-Bush, they ignored the fact that when Natalie Maines said that they were ashamed of Bush being from Texas, they were enjoying "freedom of speech." And of course, when somebody insults the government, you can be damn sure that either Toby Keith or Larry the Cable Guy will involve themselves in it. But this is about Toby Keith.

Except for this paragraph, where I will rip Larry the Cable Guy. If you like this "comedian," and I use that word loosely, you're what's wrong this country. You might get mad about me saying that, but you're not focusing on a bigger issue: why do you like shitty comedians?! Whenever I hear people describing him, they always say how brilliant he is. Then why the fuck does he spend a goddamn hour-and-a-half talking like a hick that dropped out of high school so he could pick boogers and make fart jokes?! If he were as smart as they say he is, he'd have an act reminiscent of Lewis Black or David Cross, or even Ron White. But no, instead, we get fart jokes, booger jokes, lame wordplay jokes, and him constantly yelling out "git 'r done!"

Anyways. Natalie, the sexiest of the Chicks, decides that Toby Keith's song where he talks about putting a boot in somebody's ass makes country music look ignorant. I must say, though, Nat, that he's been doing that for years. It'd kind of hard not too, when you're a gigantic waterhead-lookin' motherfucker like he is. Anyways, his idea of fighting back was saying that she can't write songs, and that he's a songwriter. Well, that may be asshat, but you don't write a song about it being the American way to put a boot in somebody's ass. That's like being proud of being a redneck hillbilly motherfucker who beats the fuck out of people who disagree with him.

But in doing some more research, I find that the war the Dixie Chicks eventually protested against is also a war that Keith never supported. Wait, let me understand this: you don't support the war and yet you have the balls to get pissed at them?! What the fuck kind of logic are you using, you shit-kicking, cowboy motherfucker? Seriously. That is the dumbest fucking thing I've ever heard in my entire life. If you're gonna say some shit like that, then just stay quiet. Or, in an extreme case, fucking lie.


*remember the scene in Casino where Joe Pesci beats the fuck out of the country fucker for putting his feet up on the table? I wanted to link that, but couldn't find it.

My advice: speak softly and carry a big dick.

Men's magazines are some fucked up bullshit. Because of crap like Maxim and Stuff (the illegitimate offspring of Maxim for retards and fuck-ups), regular schlubs will actually think they have a chance to date a supermodel. From here on out, I'm reading Redbook and Woman's Day. Laugh all you want, I'm not the one who's gonna be getting denied by supermodels, I'm gonna have some kick-ass recipes for muffins, casseroles and what-not.

I bring this up because I was at Books-a-Million (that's a bookstore, Wendy. I realize that you're too fucking stupid to put 2 and 2 together and come up with a store that sells books. 'Cause books are like kryptonite to your fat, bulbous ass.) and saw one of those shitrags with tips from supermodels themselves on how to date supermodels.

Because we all know that the guys who read this blog are gonna be meeting Heidi Klum (who's married to Seal), Gisele Bundchen (who dated Leonardo DiCaprio for God knows how long), or Kate Moss' crack-addicted ass.

The first tip? "Tell the woman she's beautiful."

Why? They are a super-fuck-model. They know they're beautiful. You know why? Because at some point, they looked in a mirror and thought to themselves, "man, I'm so gorgeous. I should vogue on the catwalk." And then (if'n you believe all these fuckin' stories) they were at some place like a McDonalds or a fountain in Brazil and some random guy walked up to them and re-affirmed what they already had told themselves in a fucking mirror. So why tell them something they already know? It's not like I'm adverse to telling women they're beautiful, but if I see a supermodel at the bar, my first instinct is to draw her attention away from the pretty rich boy by doing something that nobody's ever done. Like, look into her eyes and not at her tits. Or just be my normal, funny self. Giving her the compliment of telling her that her parents did good by swimming in the deep end of the gene pool when you first meet seems like a lame come-on move.

See, this is why I hate that bullshit. What works for "normal" women should also work for supermodels, in terms of dating and treating them like a normal fucking person. I didn't read the rest of the article, because, to be honest, I didn't need too. First of all, I know my limitations as a man. I'm not ugly or anything, but I have been conditioned by the media and the supermodels themselves to know that my looks aren't high on the list of looks that women want their men to have. And that doesn't bother because I have a great personality, I'm funny, smart and have an 8.5 inch penis, and can last for as long as you need me too in the bedroom. Literally, I can go for as little as 30 minutes (Mary)* or as long as 4 hours (Linda). I don't need a 6-pack or a head full of hair when you're packing as a big a dick as I am and can fuck as well as I can.

I digress. Secondly, my limitations notwithstanding, I also that I'm never gonna meet/date a supermodel, even though I know two**. I live in East Texas, where the fuck am I gonna see a woman as hot as some of them, without paying them $20 for a private room dance at the Deja Vu Club in Shreveport?

So I propose this: instead of trying to ban Harry Potter for being entertaining, why not ban men's magazines for giving bad information? It's kind of like porn: I used to think that I was gonna have freaky, naughty, fun sexcapades with the nurse when I went to the hospital or get to bang my teacher on her desk in the ass while in college to bring my grades up. And neither happened. And I'd sue the porn industry, excepting that it's so fun to watch porn.



*Mary and I never had sex, but she told me that she doesn't do it for longer than 30 minutes

**Suhan from Myspace and I went to school together. Through her, I know Jody.

It's great to learn. 'CAUSE KNOWLEDGE IS POWER!

If you ever read this blog and wonder, "how can a raging dickhead alcoholic, with the kind of paranoid delusions a 7-year-old on acid locked in a closet would have, write so well?"

It's because I write in the AP style. If you don't know what the AP style is, go to your local newspaper, TV newsstation, high school or college newspaper, and ask someone who's in-the-know. But be sure to properly introduce yourself and make sure they know why you're there. If humans have taught me anything, it's that you cannot ask someone a random question and get the answer you're looking for. Just try it sometime.

"Do you like carrots?"

"I...what?"

Jody knows what AP style is, but then again, she's a supermodel, and she has superpowers. Like being super smart, and having the super power to stun you. How does she stun me? you inevitably ask. By flashing you. She's got the kind of chest that if she were in the woods, and a bear were attacking her, all she'd have to do is flash the bear some upper torso skin. And then the bear, even if it had rabies and was super pissed off because some jackass just waltzed into the woods and kicked the bear in the testicles, would stop on a fucking a dime and go, "damn. That's a titty."

Personally, if I go into the woods, and I see a bear, I throw him a fat kid. Then I run, because fat kids are mostly gristle, and the bear won't like that. Jody also knows what AP style is because she went to fucking journalism courses in order to become a reporter. If you see her on the news, you won't pay any attention to the story.

"Tonight's top story: the dead have risen from their graves and are eating the living. We go now live to Adam, supa-fly badass zombie killer out in the field. Adam, what's going on?"

"Jody, how about later on, you and I go get dinner and go dancing afterwards?"

"Adam, the dead are all around you, and that's all you have to say?"

"I...you're beautiful."

See, human nature. You can't just ask someone a question when their mind is somewhere else. That's why you need proper introductions.

I'm Ron Burgundy?

"Dammit! How many times have I told you people? Don't mess with the teleprompter! He will read whatever you put up there!"


I'll give Brad Hicks and the latest anti-gaming, anti-pedophile crusade this: at least he ain't saying that gamers are also VIOLENT pedophiles. I'll assume that you went and watched that bit of news journalism, instead of just skipping ahead and reading my rant. Let's go through why that is a great example of why Brad Hicks shouldn't be allowed to have a fucking job, let alone pro-create. Because oh my, God, are there flaws in this story.

1. The pedophile needs to have a Nintendo DS. Which, admittedly, ain't that hard. I checked at various websites, and the average cost of a DS is around $130 (US). But after buying a DS, they then need to carry theirs with them at all times, and have it perptually charged.

2. Next the victim also needs to have a Nintendo DS. And also carry it around with them at all times and keep it perpetually charged. This is kind of akin to walking down rows of houses, and looking to see which homes have windows, so that the pedophiles can molest them through the windows.

3. In order for the driving a car scenario to work (the one that was mentioned in the video; see, I'm referencing things that you didn't see and are confused about. Go check out the video), the pedophile needs to not be driving, that way, he doesn't get into an accident. 'Cause car wrecks will fuck with the way you molest the Catholics.

4. When you admit that the girls knew that it was you sending them messages, it kind of takes away from the power of showing what it can be used for. And let's be honest, you contacted them for the story, so they knew it was you doing it all for the sake of some hokey bullshit story.

5. Nintendo told, to numerous gaming magazines, that in order for Pictochat to work, you need a little something called friend codes. Your friend gives you their code, you can send them messages. No code, no message. This is called the transitive property, in algebraic terms, you fucknut.

6. This is the kind of news story I'd expect to see on the Daily Show, with Stephen Colbert doing the reporting. Including the "well, stop the music" line. I know Stephen Colbert, and you sir, are no Stephen Colbert.

You want to show a legitimate way for pedophiles to molest your kids, you show your kids hanging out, alone at the mall or at school or at church. You know, places where pedophiles have been known to hang out. They stopped doing the whole video game thing way back in the '80s when they realized the pickin's were quite low. You don't get sexy, supple pre-pubescent kids there. You get fat, zit covered teens and young adults arguing who fucked Princess Daisy first: Luigi or Mario. Unless Koopa got himself some of that top-shelf video game pussy, 'cause we all know that Daisy has that Stockholm Syndrome. How the fuck else would she keep allowing herself to be kidnapped!?!?

So long, you Kentucky fried hooker.

So Anna Nicole Smith has died. She was 39. Nobody cares.

Wait, let me rephrase that: I don't care. You know why I don't care? Because she's just another celebrity. Seriously, who gives a shit about her?

"You do, otherwise why would you blog about it?"

I'm blogging about her death, not her. When she was alive, she was the target of numerous jokes and tabloids, and now that she's dead, all of a sudden everybody loves her. That's some bullshit right there. It's like no matter how bad you got ripped in life, when you die, unless you're Hitler, then everybody loves you. Then again, he was a genocidal fuckhead, wasn't he?

In the past year, she's accomplished a lot. in 2006, I mean, not this year. She takes her case to the Supreme fuck Court and they ruled in her favor. She gives birth to a daughter, and her son dies in the same time span. And then two guys fight over who the baby's daddy is. That has happened to nobody else in the entire span of the human race.

Somewhere, J. Howard Marshall's sons are like, "well, fuck. This is good." Not that they ever had to worry. Anna Nicole would have never gotten any of that money. He spent enough on her when they were married, she wasn't getting jackshit when he died. Also somewhere, a woman who filed suit against Smith and Trimspa is all kinds of pissed off.

"Thank you, God, for this M. Night Shama-lama-ding-dong turn of events," she said sarcastically.

But I digress. Why do people get all nice when somebody dies? Like death automatically is supposed to make us nicer. Fuck you. When I die, people better tell the truth at my funeral.

"He was an asshole. A huge asshole. But he was a friend. And he wouldn't want us acting all sad and shit. In fact, he said that when he dies, there'd better be a keg and enough liquor to intoxicate a small army. So I suggest we move this wake to the bar."

Not some bullshit where I meant well or other crap like that. Fuck you, I might've meant well, but let's tell the truth. Let's not sugarcoat death or the dead. It's not like I'm gonna get up and kick your ass for saying mean things about me. I'm dead, you fucknut, what can I do?!

My only regret is that I didn't get a crack at that pussy. I'd have torn that shit UP, SON!

I thought you would like this. So I cut-n-pasted and brought it over here. I'd like to add something to that.


If you're fucking a serviceman's wife, or know somebody who is, vote Republican. 'Cause that shit ain't ever gonna get old. I get more married vagina than I know what to do with, and you know what? I'm not gonna apologize for that shit.

"But turnabout's fair play."

Fuck you and fuck turnabout and fuck fair play. This is turnabout. I've never had a girlfriend that DIDN'T cheat on me. So my dick is going to go to married vagina, and that's all there is too it. Unless you're a friend. In which case, I won't do that.





*edit: i didn't fuck the girl who's profile i linked, so don't think it was her. it was somebody else.

Dear Fast-Food Employees

I am sorry that you took offense to my commercial. For those who are offended, but have no fucking clue what the commercial was about, I play a fast food employee who was an aspiring rapper.

I know, I know, that's an amazing acting stretch for me. Especially since my sugah-momma/wife recently divorced me and took my entire fundage with her. I mean, I gotta do something.

Basically, what I'm saying is: all fast food employees fall into 4 groups: aspiring models, actors, actresses, musicians. High school kids working their first job. People in their mid-20s who are slackers living in the basements of their parents' homes and finally, old retirees who had the laughable thought that 12 years of Republican rule and a President who pissed away the entire budget surplus and social security funds would allow them to retire in moderate comfort. So don't get all pissy with me because I have the audacity to show what you really are. You serve a bunch of crap that people shouldn't eat, fucking ever. If an entire gaggle of you fuckers were to quit right now, the world economy wouldn't suffer some massive fuck blow.

In essence, I'm sorry that your jobs suck more than my wife on a Friday night, and I'm also sorry that you can't get past your own shitty existence.


Peace,
K.Fed



*edit Lyndsey Lohan's dad is prison. Any thoughts on how long before he was punked out by both the guards and his fellow prisoners?