Che Guevara was here.

So begins a new year.

2008-03-03T01:57:00.002-06:00

Who gives a shit if I'm 3 months late for the new year? The last post on here was in November.

I'm not done blogging. Really, I'm not. There's no lame excuse of too much work, it's just...there's nothing really to blog about. What could I add about Paris Hilton's fortune being cut down considerably that nobody else hasn't already said? Oh yeah, it's about fucking time.

Even Bush got semi-smarter. Anyways. The point is, I'm moving. To my myspace. www.myspace.com/cherasputin That's where the new blogs are gonna be at.

Hope to see you there. And don't send me any bullshit porno ad spambots. It'll just make me angry, and I'll end up kicking your ass.

Fuck.

2007-11-01T02:07:00.000-05:00

So my efforts to rickroll the Internet were futile, to say the least. I kinda figured that by showing that bin Laden was dead, people would click and then go "fuck that blogger!"

But I was wrong. Answer me this: who the fuck is Kim Kardashian, why is she famous and am I supposed to care? Probably not. If she's famous for that fuck tape that got out, then let me say congrats. I bet mommy and daddy are super proud that the world has busted a fat one while listening to you moan, "I'm gonna cum!"

That alone was worth the admission price, my friends. Remember Paris's tape? Remember how she looked like a rubber fuck doll? Not Kim, oh no. She got on that nigga's dick and showed some enthusiasm. Just remember this: she has flava, that is, she will only fuck you if your ancestors spent time pickin' cotton.

She has a new "reality" series out, and all I want to know is: who the fuck said they wanted to see more of her clothed? She's good for 2 things: being used as a human sewage pipe, and being thought of as a human sewage pipe by me when I jack off.

Ask about the super cool t-shirts I have for anybody who promises to wear them.

You thought I was dead, but I sailed away, on a wave of mutilation.

2007-10-18T01:20:00.000-05:00

Holy shit, y'all. Bin Laden...the biggest pussy of them all...is dead. I can't even begin to describe how awesome this is. Check out the story, 'cause right now, I can't type out what I wanna say.

And I thought this year kicked ass at the cineplexes.

2007-09-13T13:38:00.001-05:00

In 2007, we had Spider-Man 3 and Fantastic 4: Rise of the Silver Surfer. 4 years before, it was Hulk, X2 and Daredevil.

In 2008, we have The Dark Knight. And Iron Man.

Comic book nerds, you may commence busting a nut...right now. (Two separate links.)

Faked or not...

2007-09-12T22:23:00.000-05:00

Holy shit, this is the funniest video I've ever seen since that douchebag posted the newstory about pedophiles using the Nintendo DS as a means to molesting the chill'ens of the world. Although, after looking at the other videos that this 'mo put out, I can think we can safely say, no, this video was not faked.

"If you have a problem with Britney, you have a problem with me!"

First of all, kicking your gay ass would be considered a hate crime in ANY place in the world, even where gay people are openly beaten and mocked for their gayness. Secondly, we all know that I personally have no problem with white trash single moms. God (and my dick) knows that they're my bread 'n' butter. And no fucking shit she's not well! The bitch shaved her head, and she wasn't in G.I. Jane or Alien 3. She was just in L.A., and even there, that shit ain't normal.

Oh well. It could be worse. I blogged about it.

A memorial for 9/11.

2007-09-12T12:48:00.000-05:00

Oh yeah, I missed the 11th. Well, not really. I fell asleep and didn't wake up until about 7 this morning.

Bin Laden is a pussy. A big, stinking, cow-lipped, dirty pussy. What he did is akin to a little brother picking a fight with somebody older and bigger than him, then letting you, the older brother, deal with the shit falling from the industrial sized fan.

He picked a fight with America, right after we elected Yosemite fuck Sam to be our leader, then hid like a little girl.

"OK, so, here's the deal: I'll train you to fly planes filled with Americans, oh, how I hate those fucks! Anyways, the planes will crash, killing you and those dastardly, assholish Americans. For your troubles, you shall be rewarded in Heaven with 73 women that Chuck Norris (fucker!!!) has already had sex with. Because, thanks to him, there are no more virgins on Earth.

What I will do is hide, and stay on the run from America's troops. Meanwhile, they will literally fuck the entire Middle East up. If you're brown, named Muhammed or have a hint of Middle Eastern in you, you'll end up dead. Sound good?"

Meanwhile, Ensign McRedShirt is nodding and agreeing because bin Laden has an AK-47 sitting in his lap, but in his head, he's thinking, "wait, you're gonna pull the biggest puss-out in human history, while I get blowed the fuck up? The more I say it, the more I like it. Mark me down for a yes."

I say this because, at least according to the rednecks who believe everything Bush tells them, this is exactly the type of discord that the terrorists thrive upon. I say this because awhile back, somebody called into "SpeakOut!" (something that appears in my dad's newspaper) because there was an editorial cartoon a few days before that made fun of Bush. Nobody at my dad's newspaper wrote or drew it, it was aquired through the use of the AP wire and Rutgers Wire. Or some other way.

They said, stupidly, that terrorists read the newspapers and saw us making fun of Bush and that the terrorists, sitting alone in their bunkers, realized that made us better targets. Bullshit. Terrorists hate us because of the simple fact that they have the mindset of a 13-year-old schoolyard bully in that if we don't like them, we must somehow be against them.

Also, because we like their enemies, and that somehow means we must also dislike them. And we do. We are literally the most advanced nation in terms of beer, porn, entertainment, the media, and useless gadgets. Any other country come up with the iPod or iPhone? But we dislike terrorists because we think we know better, and in all honesty, if we had just shut the fuck up and turned a blind eye to the horrors of third world countries and terrorist nations who think that the only answer is to kill your opposite while we pumped the oil, we'd probably be fine. Probably.

I started writing this almost 2 years ago. I'm just now getting it finished.

2007-09-10T01:50:00.000-05:00

*note: I started writing this back in May of '05. I tweaked it off and on since then, and today, while looking at what could be deleted and what-not, I decided to finish it half-assed, and then change the date that way, it ain't that difficult for you people to find it.

The rumble of the bike's engine came to a halt as Logan turned the bike off. According to the directions given to him by Professor X, this was the place. Camp Crystal Lake. Camp Blood. Forest Green. Whatever the fuck you want to call it. He looked around casually, sniffing for a hint of whatever it was he was sent to hunt down.
Nothing. Shit, he thought. "Another Banner assignment," he said to himself.

One Month Ago:

Charles Xavier sat in Westwood's office, listening for 10 minutes while the man explained himself.

"It's really quite simple. 4 months ago, we tried to hold a simple training exercise. When the recruits didn't return, we thought perhaps they were broken down on the side of the road. Getting a signal that high up in the mountains of Vermont is no easy feat."

Charles looked at the general. "And what did you find?"

"Mutilation, for lack of a better word. Massacre. Not a single survivor, and what's more, whoever killed them apparently believes in overkill. One young man was sliced in half."

"We've seen that before, General. Remember, one of my X-Men is a known soldier."

"Sliced in half vertically. And had his head stomped on."

Xavier knew why the General had called him in today. "So you want Logan to hunt down some indestructible boogeyman that nobody has ever really seen? Except right before their untimely deaths?"

"Yes and no. If it is possible to put Jason Voorhees down, then by all means, have Logan kill him. I do remember he managed to bring down Banner once and for all. And if not, then I have an entire platoon of Special Ops that are a backup option."

"What is this backup option you speak of?"

"Capture. Cryogenic freezing, then put him at the bottom of the ocean, at the bottom of the Marinas Trench."

Present:

The cigar's pungent aroma filled the immediate area. Wolverine was getting pissed off. Where was this Voorhees kid? he thought to himself. And then, his question was answered. The machete cut him deep, almost severing Logan's body in two. The cigar fell out of his mouth, and rolled to a nearby mud puddle, where it sizzled out.

Jason pulled the machete out and walked away, certain of another job well done.

"Hey, bub, you ain't finished yet. In fact, this is just getting started."

Jason slowly turned. He had seen the knife go through the man. He saw the blood on his clothes and the massive gash down one side of the jacket. The blood was on his knife. He started walking towards Wolverine, wondering why he's still alive.

With a growl, Logan leapt at Jason, shoving his claws deep into Jason's chest. Jason slammed his machete into Wolverine's arm, trying to get the man away from him.

It didn't work. The man pulled out the knives and then shoved them into Jason's head, a set on each side. Jason felt something new, something he'd never felt before. Pain. The man was hurting him, and this annoyed Jason. He dropped his machete, and punched the man, sending the man into a tree, along with parts of Jason's skull. Jason picked up his knife and began to slowly make his way to the man.

Wolverine had expected Jason to go down fairly quickly. But a new development had occurred. Jason was still standing, even though his claws had Jason's brains all along them. Not only was he standing, he seemed to be on the offensive.

New game plan, then, Wolverine thought. Let him tire himself out, then get good and angry. And go berserk on his ass.

Jason brought the machete down more forcefully this time, embedding into the man's torso. But he wasn't going to take any chances. He grabbed the man and threw him across the field, slamming the man into a cabin. Jason needed something new to put into the man. He looked to his left and saw a jagged metal pipe. He grabbed it and started towards the man, who was still down. He kicked the man and then slammed his foot in between his legs, sending the man into a world of pain.

Jason brought the pipe high above his head and brought it down with all the force he could muster.
Again and again, until the pipe was a dark red, and had chunks of flesh on it. Jason began to bring it down again, when suddenly, he stopped. The man had grabbed Jason's arm and was holding it inches above his bloody body.

"You've had a good go, bub. Now, it's my turn," Wolverine said.

SNIKT! He popped out his claws and shoved them through Jason's arm. Jason looked down at the claws sticking in his arms. He already knew that he could hurt, but what was this midget going to accomplish with this move?

Wolverine sensed Jason's wonderment and decided to answer him. With one swift stroke, he twisted his arm and claws, slicing Jason's arm off. Jason dropped the pipe and went to pick up his arm.

"We can't have that," Wolverine growled, and sliced off Jason's other arm.

Jason looked down at his arms. Blood continued to spurt out of the stubs, as anger gave way to confusion.

"You look a little lost, kid," Wolverine growled. He could barely speak, with only two teeth left in his mouth. The healing factor was working, but he still looked like fuck-pie. The initial cut into his body was only now starting to be completely healed. His head resembled diseased fruit from the blows to it from the metal pipe. From where his back had made contact with the cabin wall, he had a massive bruise that was slowly, but surely, going away.

"Let me explain some things to you: one, you're the bad guy. No offense or anything, but you gotta go. Two, I heal. Very, very, very quickly. And three, you really pissed me off with the whole kicking-me-in-the-nuts thing.

Jason looked up in time to see three claws coming at his head.

WHAM!

With the force of 10 men, Wolverine slammed a fist, claws and all, through Jason's head. His elbow was the only thing that stopped him.

"Alright, Westwood. You can come out now."

"Is he...dead?" Westwood asked.

"No, but it'll take him awhile to come outta that world o' hurt."

And then slowly, without any preamble, Logan walked off.

"Maybe I can play a hooker!"

2007-07-27T23:08:00.000-05:00

So I'm perusing maximonline.com the other day, and I see there Girlfriend of the Day. It's some college chick with huge boobies, and apparently, a decent-sized IQ. I dunno, I was concussed by the sight of such wonderful mammaries. Anyways, my questions is this: what fucking parent would be happy, or proud, that their child, the fruit of their loins, is the masturbation fantasy of a million men? Most of whom, are, undeniably, the basement-dwelling kind. The kind that get turned on when you punch them in the face.

I mean, I can kinda see being happy that they're happy, but come on. Who the fuck are you kidding?! Your daughter is, essentially, a hooker. I may not give her money, but she is the jizz receptacle for a million other guys just like me.

But sex sells. I guess. I always thought it was the sophomoric humor and liberal use of the word "fuck" but then again, what the hell do I know? I once wrote a post using the word shitty about a thousand fuckin' times to describe John Tucker Must Die.

Just...wow.

2007-07-11T21:09:00.000-05:00

I just sat and listened to possibly the most rambling, incoherent diatribe ever in my short life. This black guy sitting next to me started talking, almost as if to nobody. Just talking to himself it seemed, until he turned and asked if somebody named "D" was also known by Darius or Damien or some other name that starts with the letter d.

He was wanting to know where the white girls were at. 'Cause he loves white girls.

Now he's holding some random baby that some lady brought in that doesn't live here. And this guy reeks of alcohol.

Welcome to Natchitoches, Louisiana.

Now you people see what I have to deal with on a regular basis.

A serious, critical look at the Archie comics.

2007-07-06T21:44:00.000-05:00

They suck more balls than Paris Hilton. Not only are they completely and totally full of bullshit, I can't even suspend my disbelief for one moment based solely on one character: Moose. You all know Moose. He's the schizo of the group. One minute he's playing some sport with Archie, Jughead and Reggie. And the next, somebody has said something as innocent as "hi!" to his girlfriend Midge, and then he's beating the living fuck out them, Tyler Durden-style.

It's because of this gigantic dumbass that I cannot enjoy these comics. First of all, let me say that I can enjoy fiction if I can believe that some, if not all, of the shit that's going down can actually happen. I mean, for superhero comics, I can suspend disbelief simply because it's supposed to be so fantastical that it doesn't matter if it's real or not. But Archie was based on the writer's own experiences as a teenager in Connecticut, so explain why I shouldn't be allowed to think that Jughead can eat a great deal, and a redheaded loser would wanna be smothered in lovin' from a sexy brunette and a smokin' blonde?

So that means that if'n I said hi to Midge, I can count on that big lumbering motherfucker to come out of some bush somewhere and kick my ass? Bullshit. I come from the South, motherfucker. Either I'll come back with about 3 more country-fed motherfuckers, or I'll do what my black friends do: roll 30 deep with a taillight out, you big son of a bitch. So you got a choice of me politely saying hi to your girlfriend, me and my country friends cracking your head to the white meat or you and her both getting shot in a drive-by. I'm rollin' through the hood, every nigger saying, "I'm supposed to die tonight." That's 50 Cent.

Seriously. One character has kept me from enjoying an agreeably decent comic. I remember reading one comic where Archie asked Midge for some homework assignment and Moose STILL kicked Archie's ass. If this were real life, Moose's ass would be in prison for all the assault and batteries he's committed.

Take Moose out, and the comic would be a decent toilet seat read.

Mr. Ebert. Welcome back. We missed you.

2007-07-02T21:04:00.000-05:00

That works better when you of Agent Smith saying it, like he told Neo at the climactic battle at the end of Matrix Revolutions.

Or when Hugo Weaving provides the voice of Megatron for the Transformers movie, and Roger Ebert, my absolute favorite movie critic, seems to return to be the one who reviews it for the Chicago Sun-Times. Not only is he my favorite, he's the only one I pay any attention too. Pauline Kael? Fuck that dead bitch. Rex Reed can shave that mustache of his and shut the fuck up. And don't even get me started on Ebert's current partner, Richard Roeper. Let me just say this: if I see that piggly looking son of a bitch on the street, I'm gonna leave him where I find him. There's gonna be some furniture moving in this motherfucker!!!

Anyways. Welcome back, Mr. Ebert. Welcome back.

Myspace.com sucks.

2007-06-22T12:21:00.000-05:00

That's right, I said it. And if you get upset over that, then you're what's wrong with this country.

This website, which I joined only to mock and ridicule Tila Tequila, is wholly without substance and is like the retarded child that is given attention just because. I don't know what's more pathetic: the fact that I stayed on the site so long, or the fact that Tom is your one default friend.

Let me explain why I hate myspace. For one, the bulletin board has become this place where spam email (that would've been deleted long ago) has now found a place to thrive, much like herpes and Paris Hilton's vagina. You never have people saying on their bulletins, "hey, there's a party happenin! Come join the fun!" No, no. Instead, you get people putting up crap like, "hey, if you agree with this stupid crap about being pro-God, repost this with the title 'Yay for God!'" Or 100 random facts about themselves that nobody gives a rat's hairy nutsack about. I got news for you: if any of you enjoy rock music or chinese food, I don't care. Nobody cares. Not even your significant other, who has been dating you, so they fucking know what you like and dislike.

That's a waste of bytes. Or something computer related. It's not really time-relevant to me, because I never read the fuckers to begin with. You could have it say, "Adam, read this bulletin and Halle Berry will magically appear right next to you! And she'll be happy to see you!" and I still wouldn't click. No, not because I know that for anything to Harry-fuck-Potter themselves to a location, we would need to exist in the confines of the actual books, but because it would mean that I would have to read some bullshit article on how some random biker was killed because a douchebag motorist didn't see him, or some such bullshit. First of all, it's not like bikers are as cool and awesome as pirates, so I say, "fuck bikers." Unless you're a Hell's Angel type of biker. In which case, I say it in my head.

Another bad thing is the fact that people still have private fuck profiles. Fucking why?! It's an online community! Make them public and shut the fuck up about how some stalker might see you and kill you. That is so self-centered and unlikely of happening on the 15th of "NEVER IN THIS FUCKING TIMELINE!!!" Let me explain how stalkers work: if you're famous. And that's about it. Don't think that just because Micheal J. Fox and Kevin Costner were stalked by crazy people, it's gonna happen to you. 'Cause it won't.

Speaking of profiles, you know what's annoying? When I try to reach out and touch (THANKS, AT&T!) old friends from high school and the sons-of-motherfucking-bitches never reply back. Let me clear something up: if your life is that fucking busy, explain why you have a myspace account to BEGIN WITH! What's the fucking point? It's so frustrating, it makes me want to headbutt a kitten.

But, and here's the M. Night Shamalamadingdong twist, I can't delete my personal myspace. My friend Jessica would have a cow that one of her only friends has bounced. And while normally I don't care, I do like her company and the two times we've bumped uglies. Yeah, boy!

And then, on the 8th day, God created Mel Gibson's temper. And it was fiery.

2007-06-18T10:07:00.000-05:00

So I was watching Braveheart the other day, and I gotta tell you, if this movie isn't based on complete and total historical fact, then I just don't ever wanna see it again.

Before I continue, let me apologize. I meant to blog the other day, but because the niggers who live around the apartment complex take over this place on the weekends (this place being the computer labs), I couldn't use a single computer. Let me also say that if you're offended by my use of that word, I say fuck you. Let's see you live in a place where they descend like locusts every weekend in a place they don't live, using facilities they don't pay for. It's like if they went to your house, and just made themselves at home.

Anyways. I'm watching Braveheart, and I just realized my favorite scene. It's not when William Wallace survey's the battleground and just screams, or when Longshanks pushes his son's gay lover (which really must've pissed him off, knowing that his son was the bottom) out of a window in a high-fuck-castle. It's when the English lord kills Wallace's wife and then says, "now let this scrapper come to me." Dude, that is a brave man. Brave, but stupid as all fuck. 'Cause then the scrapper does come. And fucks you and every Englishmen between Scotland and France up. I mean, he really fucks you up.

Look, all I'm saying is that when you kill a man's wife and then say, "now let him come to me" can be considered in the same ballpark as kicking Chuck Norris in the nuts as a way to start the greatest ass-kicking in the history of ass-kicking. Unless it was Laci Peterson you killed. Then I bet right about now, Scott would love you. Not love like the ass-fuckin' he's probably getting right now. Love like, "my new friend!"

Some dude in Japan is 111-years-old. His secret? Who fucking cares? He's a 111-years-old. He's just some old fucker who will do nothing but complain about how shit isn't the same, and then want his porridge. That's it. The picture they showed of him also made him look like an old mean bastard. That's probably his secret to longevity: being an asshole. If that's the case, hurray for me!

Anyways. Fat girl (Norm knows who I'm talking about) is playing loud, annoying ass rap music. So I'm gonna go.

This movie is so bad, it goes beyond bad, and right into the land of shitty shitty shitty.

2007-06-06T19:24:00.000-05:00

So I watched The Skulls. Again. For those of you who have never seen it, it's about a guy who joins a secret society, only to want to leave, after a cover-up. And a bad cover-up, too. Nothing like the JFK conspiracy or anything like, oh no. See, here's what happens: Luke McNamara (played by total 'mo Joshua Jackson) wants to join the secret society known as the Skulls, loosely based on real life secret society Skull and Bones, which our current president is/was a member of.

He wants to join the society because his mom died in a car accident (in a deleted scene, she abandoned him for unknown reasons, except that if she hadn't, there might not have been a movie. BITCH!!!), because if he does, they'll pay for law school, and that's what he really wants to be, but can pay for himself because he's constantly broke since his mom died/abandoned him! *takes deep breath like Ace Ventura when he solves a case*

Anyways. So his friends (played by Leslie Bibb and some black dude that's on CSI: New York) know that he wants to join the Skulls, and why he wants to join the Skulls. But herein lies the problem: because they're not true friends, when he joins, they act like dicks. Especially the black dude, who's name was Will Beckford. Will was doing an expose on the Skulls, and even broke into another Skull's car to steal his rule book and key to the ritual room. Unfortunately, that's when things go bad, and he ends up dead. How he ends up dead isn't really important, because it's all a cover up that's poorly written and thought out. Let's just say that he runs from Caleb Mandrake (Paul Walker), and accidentally falls down and is dying before Christopher Martin's character (we'll call him Shooter McGavin, in honor of the greatest movie villain of all time) comes in and finishes the job. 'Cause all that happens.

And I say, FUCK WILL BECKFORD! That son of a bitch knew what being a Skull meant to Luke. I got news for you: he was an asshole, not Luke's friend. For 3 years, that was Luke's fondest wish, to be a Skull. That, and to touch Leslie Bibb's boobie. After all, who doesn't enjoy touching boobies? And then Will, having to be all sneaky Mcjournalist, illegally breaks into a car and trespasses onto private property, all because he can't join a club for white kids.

Your so called best friend wants to join a secret society and you're initial reaction is to act like a little bitch and ruin his good time? Explain to me why Joshua Jackson spends even 5 minutes mourning the loss of this douchebag. Personally, I'd have been like, "you know what? You're right, this is bullshit. He broke into your pimpmobile, stole personal items, broke into here, and acted like a douchebag when something good had FINALLY come into my miserable existence I call a life. Fuck him, give me that check, and here: I wanna go to Harvard Law."

But no, instead of manning the fuck up and realizing that his "best friend" was acting like a little bitch, he cries and sets out to solve the murder. And then, he shows up, acting all bad-ass and they're like, "he came to pick up his check. Sweet." But still he picks fights.

Dude. Shut the fuck up, pour you some scotch, take a seat and RELAX! Solve the fucking murder, what's gonna happen? Nothing. He's dead and no longer ruining what friendship you did have by being a dickhead.

So to wrap this up: Paris Hilton is in jail, I enjoy strippers WAY too much and The Skulls is a horrible movie. Horrible, angry, young movie.

Every time black people call each other nigga, David Duke jacks off with glee and throws his poisoned semen all over the world.

2007-05-27T23:30:00.000-05:00

After living in Natchitoches for 3 months, I can see why the South lost the war. War is a snappy fuck event, and the South just doesn't move fast enough. Christ, the people of Natchitoches move so slow, I wouldn't be surprised to learn that the town was routed and we surrendered here instead of at Appomattox.

Or wherever the fuck we surrendered. I dunno. All I do know is: this town blows. In more ways than one, too. THREE!!!

Ha, ha, I made a numbers joke. Apparently, Natchitoches is the gay haven of Louisiana. Not only do I room with 2 fags, I also saw two guys making out when I came in the front gates. Now, I'm progressive, but seriously. Go someplace else with that shit. I don't even like seeing straight people make out.

Why do they call Lindsey Lohan "Firecrotch"? Is it because her vagina is magical and shoot fireballs like it's Flower-Power Mario? Does she have some nasty STD? I'd hope it's the former, because that'd be awesome. And make me wanna see her movies that much more, in the hopes that she shoots one out.

A review of Carrie Underwood's "Before He Cheats"

2007-05-22T19:17:00.000-05:00

Right now he's probably slow dancing with a bleach blonde tramp,and she's probably getting frisky...
Right now, he's probably buying her some fruity little drink cause she can't shoot whiskey...
Right now, he's probably up behind her with a pool-stick, showing her how to shoot a combo
And he don't know...
(dude, aren't you blonde too? I'm not saying that all blondes are tramps, but, fuck, isn't it slightly hypocritical of you to hate on blondes?)

That I dug my key into the side of his pretty little souped up 4 wheel drive, carved my name into his leather seats...
I took a Louisville slugger to both headlights, slashed a hole in all 4 tires...
Maybe next time he'll think before he cheats.
(hey, that's great. Now, not only does he absolutely know that you have vandalized his private property, he can prove it to the cops when he files a destruction of private property criminal charge on you. AND he can use it as proof that you're fucking nuts so now you'll have a restraining order against you.)

Right now, she's probably up singing somewhite-trash version of Shania karaoke...
Right now, she's probably saying "I'm drunk"and he's a thinking that he's gonna get lucky,
Right now, he's probably dabbing on 3 dollars worth of that bathroom Polo
And he don't know...
(that bathroom Polo is worth $3, but that ain't what you pay. And also, what fucking country jukebox dive bar in New fuckin' Orleans is gonna sell ANY cologne in their bathroom that ain't "Ode de Piss" or "Vomit"?! And if he was cheating on you with Shania fuck Twain, I say, "well played, old sport. You have truly moved up the ladder." And finally, if he was cheating on you already, I think his line of thinking was more along the road of "should I fuck her in the bathroom, my place, her place or my truck or all four?")

That I dug my key into the side of his pretty little souped up 4 wheel drive, carved my name into his leather seats, I took a Louisville slugger to both headlights, slashed a hole in all 4 tires...
Maybe next time he'll think before he cheats...
(once again, admitting to the crime ain't the smartest of things. Unless you're Al Qaida, the general rule of thumb for criminal masterminds is "never admit to guilt.")

I might've saved a little trouble for the next girl,
Cause the next time that he cheats...
Oh, you know it won't be on me!
Ohh... not on me...
(the only thing you did was give him proof of wrongdoing. While you're in jail, he'll not bang the blonde whore, he'll also fuck all your friends. And your mom. And your younger sister. And possibly your sexy, single aunt that divorced her douchebag husband years ago.)

Cause I dug my key into the side of his pretty little souped up 4 wheel drive, carved my name into his leather seats...
I took a Louisville slugger to both headlights, slashed a hole in all 4 tires...
Maybe next time he'll think before he cheats.
Ohh.. Maybe next time he'll think before he cheats...
Ohh... before he cheats...
(nope. Once again, he'll fuck all those other women while you sit in jail thinking, "the next time a boyfriend cheats on me, don't write my name into the leather. Perhaps I should take some anger management courses.")

"You have to ask yourself, how much more bad could it be? And the answer is none. None more bad."

2007-05-11T21:10:00.000-05:00

Sometimes, in the world of entertainment, ideas that may have sounded good on paper actually suck tons of Paris Hilton herpes-infested vagina. They blow oh, so bad. They're so bad, that whatever good intentions they may have had are overshadowed by the badness and they become known as "Ideas so Shitty, You Have to Wonder, 'What the Fuck Did They Do That For?!'"

So, because I make top whatever lists so awesome, and you love me for them, I present to you The Worst Ideas in Entertainment History.

Getting Life Lessons from TV Shows: I don't give two tugs of a dead dog's cock if Ward and the gang from the 50s knew their shit. It doesn't mean it's gonna work again. And in fact, Ward didn't know his shit. He just raised two of the biggest pussies for sons. Wally and the Beaver were pussy ass little bitches, and Ward knew it. He just kinda hoped that nobody would ever clue in to that fact. Look, I saw an episode of Pee-Wee's Playhouse awhile back, and the anti-smoking message they had was with a future sex pervert and a fucking marionette. If you honestly saw that and said, "smoking's not cool at all!" then you're what's wrong with America today. And having Kirk Cameron tell us that cocaine isn't cool is just wrong. First of all, coke is awesome. Viva coke. Secondly, he also later became one of the most psychotic celebrity religious nuts to come out. So take whatever he says with a grain of salt.

White Guys Acting Black: I would applaud this idea simply because they do it for money, but still. This is kind of akin to Milli fuck Vanilli. I know tons of black people and NONE of them act like that. Not even the most ghetto of the homeboys act like Eminem or Bubba Sparxx.

Video-Game Based Movies: Hey, let's take a game that about, oh, 10 years old, and make a shitty movie about it starring two no-name actors and Dennis Hopper. The more I say it, the more I like it. Mark me down for a yes. It didn't end, there, either. Oh, no. Even after Super Mario Bros. completely and totally bombed at the box office (and later it didn't even become a cult hit), movie studios have still continued to greenlight such awesome-o films like Street Fighter, Double Dragon and at least 3 Uwe Boll directed flicks. Speaking of that Hindenberg of a director, why the fuck do they even let him make movies anymore? Have they somehow missed House of the Dead?! Look, at this point, let's just assume that movies based on video games suck more than Paris on a Friday night.

Uwe Boll: Enough said. No, you want more? OK. You can't be taken seriously, if you want to pick a fight with every critic who denounces your films. Motherfucker, I denounce your films. Anytime you wanna rumble, come the fuck on down the Louisiana. I'll kick the living fuck out of you from one end of this shithole state the other.

Speedy Gonzales, the fastest mouse in ALLLLLLL of Mehico: When I was younger, my mom thought that Speedy Gonzales was a racist stereotype of Mexicans. To which I replied, "you mean you and meemaw and peepaw and your brother and sister are actually mice dressed up as humans? Should we get rid of the cat?" In actuality, the reason why this cartoon sucked is because Warner Bros. Cartoons only needed two or three sarcastic/funny animals that were the comedic foil to piss-poor plans of cartoon villains everywhere. One was Bugs Bunny, the other was Daffy Duck, and the third was Porky Pig. And none of them are you. Not even Wiley Coyote and his constant ass-kicking by his own hands was funny. Mostly because he was a mute.

Maxim Magazine: It's like Playboy, only they show no nudity, cuss a lot, and act like in order to be a man, you gotta eat red meat and potatoes at every meal, but dress up in Armani and shit. I got two things from reading Maxim for 3 years: one, metrosexuals get all the women, or think they do. And two, that magazine blows. The front 50 or so pages show men being all caveman-like in behavior and the way we're supposed to act. The back pages show men dressing up all dapper and debonair, to show that we can act like an asshole for a bit, but then we clean up nice. Not me. I'm an asshole day in and day out, motherfuckers.

Giving Talentless Celebrities Record Deals: Look, dickheads, you gave the wrong Osbourne a record deal! The Prince of Fucking Darkness, not his fat, bitchy daughter!

Crank Yankers: Prank phone calls were funny back when the phone first existed. And even then, just barely. They have gone the way of the dodo. So let's let them die gracefully.

Bob Saget is the greatest actor to ever live.

2007-04-30T17:30:00.000-05:00

That's right, I said it. And if you don't believe me, fuck you. Go watch Full House. Just one episode. It won't kill you. Personally, I prefer the episodes after Becky and Jesse got married and had the twins. That was when Michelle and Stephanie were always having those stupid pissing contests about how now that they were in 1st grade or 6th grade, they were "grown-up, mature women" now. Fuck that. You're a grown up when you're included in my spank bank, end of the fucking argument.

Now that you've spent 30 minutes in bad sitcom hell (I don't care what you fuckers say, Dave Coulier's Uncle Joey wasn't needed past season 3.), go and enjoy The Aristocrats. And watch that scene from Half-Baked, where he admits to sucking dick for coke.

Now tell me that he's not the greatest actor ever.

I spend a lot of time watching tv. I love tv. It's not that I think the shows are original or anything, it's that it's a great way to kill time. And you can judge where a society is by watching tv. But last night, I was flipping through the channels and came across some show where women compete to be a Coyote Ugly. And I wondered to myself, "what self respecting woman wants to be a Coyote Ugly?" It's like the myspace I read earlier by Lauren Hastings, where she said it's every young girl's dream to be a model.

Now call me crazy, but neither one of my sisters wanted to be models. One wanted to a doctor of medicine (she's about to graduate from U.T. with a degree in Art History), and the other is about to go to U.T. as a poli-sci major. And while I can't judge EVERY woman in the history of time on them, I will use them as the barometer.

I digress.

No, being a Coyote Ugly is a bad thing. For those of you who are retarded and saw the movie, Coyote Ugly, no explanation of what one is is necessary. For those of you who saw that trailer and said, "wow. That looks bad," here's an explanation: a coyote ugly is when you go to the bar and get so hammered, you hook up with somebody that is so grotesque that when you wake up from the drunken sex stupor, you'd rather chew off your own arm rather than risk waking them up and wanting another round.

Now, the reason why girls wanna be one is because they saw that movie and somehow missed the main points: A) that movie was so bad, NOBODY involved with it, save for Jerry Bruckheimer, has managed to salvage their careers from it. Not a single fucking one. Piper Perabo? Please. That bitch stole Leanne Rimes' man, and that's her biggest claim to fame since the movie. And point B) is that being a coyote ugly in real life, not the bartender kind, is a fucking insult. You never get with your friends and say proudly, "yeah, I hooked up with a coyote ugly last night!"

If you're a girl, and you want to be one of those bartenders, do us a favor and tell your step-daddy to stop fucking you, because it has severely damaged your ability to think rationally. It's kind of like...a specific movie scene come to life. Remember that movie, Adventures in Babysitting? Remember the part where Kris (Elisabeth Shue) catches her man cheating on her? And one of the kids she's babysitting, who also has a huge crush on her, tells him he should proud to be dating Kris? And the resident douchebag 80s boyfriend says, "don't waste your time, she's locked at the knees."?

The girl that was at the dinner kind of sniggers and laughs. Because years of her step-daddy busting a fat one on her has damaged her brain. He just called you a whore, in so many words! He has stated that he's willing to buy you an expensive dinner so he can fuck you, because he knows he can!

And that's what being a coyote is: having a guy buy you an expensive dinner because he knows you're a whore.

Fuckin' A, man.

2007-04-25T22:38:00.000-05:00

So I thought Jack Thompson was a boil on the ass of humanity with his "violent video games are what's wrong with the world today" bullshit. But then the WBC decided they needed to protest at the funerals of the kids who were at Virginia Tech.

Can anybody tell me why these people haven't had the ever-lovin' shit beaten out of them yet?! I mean, seriously. I say a bunch of us get in a car, drive up to wherever they live in Kansas, then beat them like Joe Pesci got beaten at the end of Casino. I mean, just lay a good, old-fashioned ass-whuppin' on them, redneck-meets-mob-boss-style. Then, at the end of all the bloody shenanigans, yell out, "AUSTIN 3:16, MOTHERFUCKERS!!!"

I bet not even Vince McMahon and his greedy ass would wanna sue.

Speaking of wrestling. I was watching some match between John Cena and Shawn Michaels. Apparently, I missed Cena getting hurt in his shoulder and Michaels getting hurt in his back. But, and here's where it gets funny, I realized that if you're too fucking stupid to realize that wrestling offers proof that it's fake, then you shouldn't be allowed to watch it. Cena has his shoulder so fucked up, that he is constantly grabbing it in pain, yet he can lift a man onto said shoulder, sans problems. Same for Michaels.

I'm watching it, mildly entertained because at 11 pm, anything is fucking entertaining. But as I watch it, the announcers are like, "I CAN'T BELIEVE HOW TOUGH THESE GUYS ARE!"

That's the magic of steroids. But it's the magic of faking injuries so that they can make this crap seem more dramatic than it really is.

And before you say it, yes, I know I went from thing to another without much of a segue.

2007-04-16T23:55:00.000-05:00

For those who spent today in bed, sleeping, there was a massive shooting at Virginia Tech. 32 are confirmed dead, and 12 are in the hospital listed under serious condition. There were 2 seperate shootings, 2 hours apart on opposite ends of the campus. Apparently, during the first shooting, located in a co-ed dormitory, the gunman (who may never be identified, as when he committed suicide, his face was too badly damaged to get a proper ID), lined people and then executed.

And very soon afterwards, Jack Thompson was on the news ranting and raving and railing against violent video games, saying that it's their fault somehow. Jack, I realize that you love it when shit like this goes down, but let me just say: shut the fuck up. It's too early. This shit just happened. Christ, Geraldo is covering this. We as responsible, intelligent gamers cannot have both you and him coming at us during all this. You went all batshit crazy trying to prove a man from an Amish fuck community shot up the school last year, and you were wrong. So before you start in here, why not, oh, I don't know, take a moment to reflect on that and perhaps get your facts in? I mean, I realize that as a young boy, a video game raped you, but seriously. Come on. Shut the fuck up.

At this point, what we need to focus on is why, after the first shooting, the campus wasn't shut right the fuck down. I mean, seriously. The gunman LINED PEOPLE UP! Then he fucking shot and killed them. Seriously, why wouldn't you shut the place down? I got news for you: even the Amish shut their school down and stopped building barns for a couple of days before they went back to their normal routine. Currently, I live in a college town (unhappily, but I do it for the children) in Louisiana. Louisiana, is a state, according to the Shreveport newspaper, that is number 10 on the Top 20 Most Dangerous States to Live In. And (and there's also no connection and you'd be a fool to make one) Louisiana is 49th or 50th, I forget which, in state-ranked education. So even if someone got all violent and whatnot here in Natchitoches, even if they got all violent, and because the state is made of retards and fuck ups, they'd still evacuate and close the place down.

2 hours in between rampages. Christ, you couldn't prevented a lot more shit if you'd just taken the time to say, "classes have been cancelled, please see the police officers in full SWAT gear to be taken to a safe haven."

I'm seriously wondering what you're thinking when you say, "no, no. We won't close the school down. This is an isolated incident. We don't need to close anything down."

Thank you, to Tim Buckley for not suing me for stealing his comic without his permission off his website. www.ctrlaltdel-online.com better than penny-arcade.com, and funnier, too.

Once again...SPARTANS!!! TONIGHT, WE DINE IN HELL!!!

2007-04-16T10:10:00.000-05:00

OK, this may seem slightly like overkill, but this is just funny as two rats sucking each other off.

SPARTANS!!! Enjoy your breakfast, and eat hearty! For tonight, WE DINE...IN HELL!!!

2007-04-14T21:26:00.000-05:00

Mighty Ducks and 300?! Emilio Estevez, an Iceland team that is reminiscent of Ivan "I Must Break You" Drago and the manliest man movie ever made since Fight Club?!

Yes, please.

Well, isn't this just the juiciest bit of a delicious steak.

2007-04-12T15:35:00.000-05:00

So you might've noticed that for awhile now, I haven't referenced the Westboro Baptist Church. That'd because that group is beyond fucking insane. They have gone around the bend and lapsed themselves.

And not only did they do that, they also did with the help of their children.

I saw a video today, and there's this Limey there, right? And he asks the 7-year-old holding a protest sign, "do you understand what that says?"

The kid looks at the sign, then shakes her fucking head NO. I cannot make this up. The kid doesn't understand what she's protesting against, even after her psychotic mother breaks it down for her in only a way that a member of the Phelps' clan could.

"Fags are bad." Or something like that. She can't even call them gays, which would help her child (and thus, her fucking CAUSE!) understand what the fuck is going on. No, she has to call them fags.

What I don't understand is why, after that video is shown, someone doesn't swoop in and take the child away for a little chat.

"Your parents are fucking nuts. Do you understand? No? OK, here, this should help you. Your parents are fucking retarded. You know what that means, right? You do? Excellent. Here, meet your new foster parents."

See, I haven't mentioned them because I feel that the reason why they keep doing what they're doing is because we keep giving them attention. They're like the annoying cousin that eventually, you just take out back and beat the living fuck out of. But until you do that, you ignore them for as long as you can.

Fuck you, Beverly Cleary!

2007-04-09T22:10:00.000-05:00

That's right, I said it. Fuck you, you make-believin' bitch! I've had it up to my eyeballs in your worlds that are completely and totally believable one minute, and the next, so hard to believe and follow up that I'm considering shooting myself so that I can escape the world in which Beverly Cleary exists to write books.

The irony here is that I find her books with Ralph S. Mouse completely plausible. It's her Ramona books I have a problem with, and because there are more Ramona books than Ralph S. Mouse books, I say, fuck you, Beverly Cleary. You read that right, folks. I have less of a problem believing a mouse can telepathically communicate with PEOPLE AND CAN MAKE VROOM-VROOM NOISES TO MAKE A TOY MOTORCYCLE MOVE!!! than I do that Ramona can come up with half the shit that happens in her life.

Take, for example, Ramona Forever. In that one book, the family cat, Picky-Picky dies, her aunt meets and marries a childhood crush, the babysitter for the girls (who is an old woman) blames Ramona for Willa Jean breaking an accordion, the mother has a baby. To which I say, fuck you. First of all, that's too much shit to throw at anybody in one book. Look at Lonesome Dove. 900+ pages, and they resolve every situation by the end of the book. Ramona has her adventures in like, a little over 100 pages. She could've condensed what all happened by cutting out, oh, most of that. Let's make the baby-havin' the priority of the book, and spend 5 chapters discussing that shit. Instead of focusing on her aunt getting married and moving to Alaska. Mostly because, it's the AUNT! Ain't no family on this planet that is that focused on the sibling of one of the parents. In fact, I'd wager that most of us don't give two tugs of a dead dog's cock about our aunt and uncles.

Secondly, the little spat with Ima Jean and the grandmother. Fucking edit that shit out. We don't need to have Ramona cry about how the grandmother of Willa Jean is unfair and doesn't like her. The bitch is old. If I had to guess, I'd say she was in her 80s or 90s. She doesn't like anybody or anything if it ain't Matlock. And of course she's not gonna blame her granddaughter for breaking shit. So you'd have to take matters into your own hands by taking Willa Jean out back and beating the living fuck out of her. She's 5, you're what, 8? 9? Take matters into your own hands.

See, if I had written that book, first of all, Ramona wouldn't be a little punk bitch. She'd be taking care of shit herself. But then, my target demographic isn't kids. It's adults.

This game* mocks me.

2007-04-02T22:13:00.000-05:00

I sat here for 30 minutes trying to think of something to blog about.

I got nothing.

*if I ever meet the inventor of solitaire, I'm kicking the living fuck out of him and the pissing on his broken, bleeding body.