If you go to downtown Frederick, don't forget me!
I got pre-faded jeans and a "Tap Out" tee.
Yeah that's my 'Stang sittin' next to the curb
On the way here it was crankin Disturbed.
My jeans have a tear, But I don't care,
I have twenty seven scoops of gel in my hair
Muscle milk for breakfast, beer for lunch
Drink a whole lot, hungover a bunch
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Pond Chunt
Yeah those twats with the bumper stickers that say
"In Loving Memory of Chuck Jenkins 1956-2008"
What is in loving memory? The car?
"I humbly dedicate this Honda CR-V to Chuck's life. He was such a CR-V type of guy. I mean, to have an automatic car that comes with windshield wipers...it is such a Chuck-Mobile."
Yeah I got a Chuck-Mobile for you. (I am holding up both middle fingers 1/2 a deciliter from my monitor). Fuck Chuck. Chuck it up your ass. Who wants to see this? If a loved one of mine ate it the last thing I'd want to see when I looked in my rear mirror is some pseudo-heartfelt plaque dedicated to them. What the crust?
Come to think about it the people that do this might be smart. It takes determination to ride someone's ass that has a loving memory sticker. But it's not like the people with these stickers are the only ones to have known someone that died so I say ride their ass!
Now if the lifespan reads 2000-2003 or some shit that's pretty rough. For the kid! They must have been terrible parents, so ride these peoples' ass too! No one gets off free! No free lunch! No free luncheon! It's almost like they're bragging.
Sometimes the ass riding is incidental because the years will be in fine print. I mean if I read that some fuck died I at least want to know how old he (or it) was. 48? Cool. 63? Even worse.
From a distance*I think it might be some cool OBX sticker! Or some anti-Bush shit! Eh, fuck. Someone died.
They should put the reason. They're starting a story and not finishing it.
"In Loving Memory of Chuck Jenkins 1956-2008. He was str8 stabbed. He played cards. He ate beef and pork. He didn't do lent. His middle name wasn't lent. He lent his neighbor a grass. He lentil soup. Chuck had no luck, Chuck did get stuck, Chuck what the fuck, Chuck in the muck."
Oh ok. Thank you. Now I know Chuck. Thank you his wife. Put your number on there too baby I know you can't be too busy these days! HEY! HO! Chuck-o!
These assholes are only rivaled by the people that put the squiggly outlines of their family holding hands. And the dog! And the cat! CUTE!
Are you just verifying that your existence is as predictable as your Tercel and its being parked outside of Target would have me believe? Yes. You left your coupons in the car, whore.
The two ideas should be combined. Just get the squiggly outline sticker and when someone takes the shaft, cross'em out! Big red X. That sounds like my 80's drug dealer name that correlates to my current Facebook profile picture photo.
There was an MS-DOS version of Facebook called Peergroup. It was sweet. You didn't know much but you knew who your friends were (Biff, Larry, and Sariah). Your profile consisted of a stock 8-bit photo of what you probably looked like. You picked a favorite number that had to be 1-9 but you could get the $42.00 Expansion Pak that extended that pantheon of digits to 17.5 but not 12.
*The comments on this are priceless. "God is still in controle"
"In Loving Memory of Chuck Jenkins 1956-2008"
What is in loving memory? The car?
"I humbly dedicate this Honda CR-V to Chuck's life. He was such a CR-V type of guy. I mean, to have an automatic car that comes with windshield wipers...it is such a Chuck-Mobile."
Yeah I got a Chuck-Mobile for you. (I am holding up both middle fingers 1/2 a deciliter from my monitor). Fuck Chuck. Chuck it up your ass. Who wants to see this? If a loved one of mine ate it the last thing I'd want to see when I looked in my rear mirror is some pseudo-heartfelt plaque dedicated to them. What the crust?
Come to think about it the people that do this might be smart. It takes determination to ride someone's ass that has a loving memory sticker. But it's not like the people with these stickers are the only ones to have known someone that died so I say ride their ass!
Now if the lifespan reads 2000-2003 or some shit that's pretty rough. For the kid! They must have been terrible parents, so ride these peoples' ass too! No one gets off free! No free lunch! No free luncheon! It's almost like they're bragging.
Sometimes the ass riding is incidental because the years will be in fine print. I mean if I read that some fuck died I at least want to know how old he (or it) was. 48? Cool. 63? Even worse.
From a distance*I think it might be some cool OBX sticker! Or some anti-Bush shit! Eh, fuck. Someone died.
They should put the reason. They're starting a story and not finishing it.
"In Loving Memory of Chuck Jenkins 1956-2008. He was str8 stabbed. He played cards. He ate beef and pork. He didn't do lent. His middle name wasn't lent. He lent his neighbor a grass. He lentil soup. Chuck had no luck, Chuck did get stuck, Chuck what the fuck, Chuck in the muck."
Oh ok. Thank you. Now I know Chuck. Thank you his wife. Put your number on there too baby I know you can't be too busy these days! HEY! HO! Chuck-o!
These assholes are only rivaled by the people that put the squiggly outlines of their family holding hands. And the dog! And the cat! CUTE!
Are you just verifying that your existence is as predictable as your Tercel and its being parked outside of Target would have me believe? Yes. You left your coupons in the car, whore.
The two ideas should be combined. Just get the squiggly outline sticker and when someone takes the shaft, cross'em out! Big red X. That sounds like my 80's drug dealer name that correlates to my current Facebook profile picture photo.
There was an MS-DOS version of Facebook called Peergroup. It was sweet. You didn't know much but you knew who your friends were (Biff, Larry, and Sariah). Your profile consisted of a stock 8-bit photo of what you probably looked like. You picked a favorite number that had to be 1-9 but you could get the $42.00 Expansion Pak that extended that pantheon of digits to 17.5 but not 12.
*The comments on this are priceless. "God is still in controle"
Friday, September 10, 2010
Ham Sandwich
Golf is a funny game. White people decided that MOWING down forests and throwing away the resources for cookie cutter row houses wasn't enough.
When this country began to develop, our founding father (Scott Johnson) realized that something else needed to occupy the space that trees and animals and other ANNOYING shit took up.
"There's got to be......something else..." he thought. And that is golf. It's what white people do.
Seriously I felt like I was walking on clouds when I was first eligible to play a round of golf with my father. It was like I was elevated to a whole new level of manhood. I was no longer that loser little kid just riding in the cart eating crackers and asking my dad what a handicap was. No. I was a man. I am a man I mean. I just mean to say I started to be a man then. Italics make things into little honorable whispers or something. Ssshh. Be quiet.
Old men have the biggest hard-on* for golf. It's as if they're doing a service for their country or something. They act all humble and follow rules like not standing behind another guy putting. They help find the other guy's balls (uh oh!). By that I mean rub the other guy's testicles while they give them a handjob at the halfway house! Oops! I mean they seperate the guy's ass cheeks and ram their firm dick in between them multiple times until they CUM into the ass. You know, guy shit. Guy crap.
I deviate. But it is a game taken very seriously. It's like Men of Honor when you step up to the tee box or let another fella putt first.
It's just funny. Having said all of this I can't get enough of the game and Brad if you're reading this ya devil you owe me two skins! Haha forgive but don't forget, right pal? Huh Brad? Huh? Hehehe I TOLD you I was on that day. Ahhhh, man. Good times. See you in the club house buddy get me a cold one we'll call it even.
It's how white people roll man. It's what we do.
*This means hard cock of your shaft of your penis and tight balls too.
When this country began to develop, our founding father (Scott Johnson) realized that something else needed to occupy the space that trees and animals and other ANNOYING shit took up.
"There's got to be......something else..." he thought. And that is golf. It's what white people do.
Seriously I felt like I was walking on clouds when I was first eligible to play a round of golf with my father. It was like I was elevated to a whole new level of manhood. I was no longer that loser little kid just riding in the cart eating crackers and asking my dad what a handicap was. No. I was a man. I am a man I mean. I just mean to say I started to be a man then. Italics make things into little honorable whispers or something. Ssshh. Be quiet.
Old men have the biggest hard-on* for golf. It's as if they're doing a service for their country or something. They act all humble and follow rules like not standing behind another guy putting. They help find the other guy's balls (uh oh!). By that I mean rub the other guy's testicles while they give them a handjob at the halfway house! Oops! I mean they seperate the guy's ass cheeks and ram their firm dick in between them multiple times until they CUM into the ass. You know, guy shit. Guy crap.
I deviate. But it is a game taken very seriously. It's like Men of Honor when you step up to the tee box or let another fella putt first.
It's just funny. Having said all of this I can't get enough of the game and Brad if you're reading this ya devil you owe me two skins! Haha forgive but don't forget, right pal? Huh Brad? Huh? Hehehe I TOLD you I was on that day. Ahhhh, man. Good times. See you in the club house buddy get me a cold one we'll call it even.
It's how white people roll man. It's what we do.
*This means hard cock of your shaft of your penis and tight balls too.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Read this post if you don't like my other posts
I feel, what seems to be about a couple inches above my genitals, the urge to pee. A fluid that I drank, the remainder of which seeks to be released. Since birth I learned that I don't want this fluid all over me and my clothing, so it waits. A part of me is annoyed that it is there. The same part of me knows that if history is an indicator of the present, relief will follow. I will release the fluid and a wave of calm will come through me...yes. This feels very good to do.
This fluid goes so far as to base its color on how hydrated I am. A dark yellow color says that I need more water. I probably shouldn't have to have my urine tell me this- being that water is the second most vital element to organic life. But it tells me nonetheless.
"Hey, Matt, the starches and proteins and salts and whateverelse's you ingest need water in order to go through the metabolic processes and be broken down. So let's...let's have some please. I can't fucking text you so use my color as an indicator."
I curl my brow in a concerned way when I see the color. This facial expression tells the urine that I have concern, I have noted the problem, and I will go drink some water. The urine goes on to tell the bath of water in which it now resides what I eat and what size penis I have, and I flush it because I do not want to hear the water's reaction to what the urine has to say. I think of the comebacks I could have had for the urine when it made those snide remarks to the water. Something about split pee soup.
I put my penis back where it belongs. It only follows logic that there is a blue cloth with a little metal gate that serves to zip up and cover this part of me. If I leave it out, if I let it stay outside of this gate then it will make other people feel uncomfortable and avoid me. This is a power that I do not exercise. It is wrong. In fact, it is illegal. They are called privates for a reason!
If I choose to leave this skin out for others to view, then that is something that is so wrong that I will have another human grab me, put my hands behind my back and lock them there, and drive me to a cement encompassment that will be my incarcerate for what I have done.
"A penis is not to be shown in public because it is used for sex, and it is inherently dirty by association," said the policeman. "You're to put it away after you pee, and then use it also for sex with one woman that you are married to in the privacy of a home. That's why it's there."
Yeah, for you maybe. But for me it has served many more functions than that. In elementary school I was very curious about it and I batted it around occasionally. In middle school I saw it develop a little bit and I was also a little worried for its capabilities if I were to engage a woman sexually. It kept getting excited about these random ideas in my head, so I did my best at giving it what it wanted. It grew very acclimated to my right hand. It rose happily to the occasion of hand attention, and on these occasions it took over my mind as much as it consumed my body which is why I was fascinated enough to do it daily.
Then I had sex. My penis was a little nervous, though excited for the first time to enter into those strange looking lips that make a vagina. I thought it would look a little more basic. I thought the point of entry would be a little higher on the body, kind of like where my penis is. "Shut up" my dick said, "just get it."
So at this point for the first time I am in this radical state of sexuality with someone else there. I have to think about the faces I'm making, if it's big enough, the faces she's making, what position to be in, how to go about thrusting it...it was a nervy affair. My penis eventually taught my body how to go about this in a smoother, more conscious fashion.
My penis(first speaker) tried describing to me(second speaker) what it was like to be inside a vagina.
"Heeeee heeee!!!! HAAA!!! Imagine just having your whole body covered in a wet, smooth, mucous skin, not unlike the inside of your cheeks. It contracts to your size after it gets stimulated. It rubs you all around and your outsides become real sensitive and enjoy this beautiful friction. Goo comes out of you in an overwhelming zenith of ecstasy."
"Hmm. Yeah I don't think that would translate to the human body."
"Fagget"
After high school I was single. My dick was under the assumption that those mucous walls would forever be there to stimulate it.
"This stroking gig was cool at first but you have to switch back to vaginae."
"There's none around right now just get by with this"
"Not the same"
"Yes I know but the more I do this the more likely we are to have another vagina."
"Thaaaaaat sounds like a crock of shit"
"And it is."
"Soooo...."
"What happens is I have to use interpersonal skills and compliment a girl at the right times and play these little flirty games like you see on TV and convince her that the sex I give her will be tied to other merry things. Basically that I'm an alright guy."
"Why not just fuck them?"
"Well, yeah. But they won't let you if you don't talk your way into it."
"That sounds like a crock of shit."
"And it is."
This fluid goes so far as to base its color on how hydrated I am. A dark yellow color says that I need more water. I probably shouldn't have to have my urine tell me this- being that water is the second most vital element to organic life. But it tells me nonetheless.
"Hey, Matt, the starches and proteins and salts and whateverelse's you ingest need water in order to go through the metabolic processes and be broken down. So let's...let's have some please. I can't fucking text you so use my color as an indicator."
I curl my brow in a concerned way when I see the color. This facial expression tells the urine that I have concern, I have noted the problem, and I will go drink some water. The urine goes on to tell the bath of water in which it now resides what I eat and what size penis I have, and I flush it because I do not want to hear the water's reaction to what the urine has to say. I think of the comebacks I could have had for the urine when it made those snide remarks to the water. Something about split pee soup.
I put my penis back where it belongs. It only follows logic that there is a blue cloth with a little metal gate that serves to zip up and cover this part of me. If I leave it out, if I let it stay outside of this gate then it will make other people feel uncomfortable and avoid me. This is a power that I do not exercise. It is wrong. In fact, it is illegal. They are called privates for a reason!
If I choose to leave this skin out for others to view, then that is something that is so wrong that I will have another human grab me, put my hands behind my back and lock them there, and drive me to a cement encompassment that will be my incarcerate for what I have done.
"A penis is not to be shown in public because it is used for sex, and it is inherently dirty by association," said the policeman. "You're to put it away after you pee, and then use it also for sex with one woman that you are married to in the privacy of a home. That's why it's there."
Yeah, for you maybe. But for me it has served many more functions than that. In elementary school I was very curious about it and I batted it around occasionally. In middle school I saw it develop a little bit and I was also a little worried for its capabilities if I were to engage a woman sexually. It kept getting excited about these random ideas in my head, so I did my best at giving it what it wanted. It grew very acclimated to my right hand. It rose happily to the occasion of hand attention, and on these occasions it took over my mind as much as it consumed my body which is why I was fascinated enough to do it daily.
Then I had sex. My penis was a little nervous, though excited for the first time to enter into those strange looking lips that make a vagina. I thought it would look a little more basic. I thought the point of entry would be a little higher on the body, kind of like where my penis is. "Shut up" my dick said, "just get it."
So at this point for the first time I am in this radical state of sexuality with someone else there. I have to think about the faces I'm making, if it's big enough, the faces she's making, what position to be in, how to go about thrusting it...it was a nervy affair. My penis eventually taught my body how to go about this in a smoother, more conscious fashion.
My penis(first speaker) tried describing to me(second speaker) what it was like to be inside a vagina.
"Heeeee heeee!!!! HAAA!!! Imagine just having your whole body covered in a wet, smooth, mucous skin, not unlike the inside of your cheeks. It contracts to your size after it gets stimulated. It rubs you all around and your outsides become real sensitive and enjoy this beautiful friction. Goo comes out of you in an overwhelming zenith of ecstasy."
"Hmm. Yeah I don't think that would translate to the human body."
"Fagget"
After high school I was single. My dick was under the assumption that those mucous walls would forever be there to stimulate it.
"This stroking gig was cool at first but you have to switch back to vaginae."
"There's none around right now just get by with this"
"Not the same"
"Yes I know but the more I do this the more likely we are to have another vagina."
"Thaaaaaat sounds like a crock of shit"
"And it is."
"Soooo...."
"What happens is I have to use interpersonal skills and compliment a girl at the right times and play these little flirty games like you see on TV and convince her that the sex I give her will be tied to other merry things. Basically that I'm an alright guy."
"Why not just fuck them?"
"Well, yeah. But they won't let you if you don't talk your way into it."
"That sounds like a crock of shit."
"And it is."
Thursday, March 11, 2010
suck me
.
Oh, suck me, little bang-o-lash
Suck me like a succotash
I've seen a shovel in the road
I pointed it where other shovels go
Little racist camels in the sand
little bits of centavos in my hand.
I want a crumb resting on her ass
She pays the rent and smokes some grass
She was one time a mighty dame
She was on a clock that stayed the same
Time is a rotation, a circular sensation
Earth and all it's bounty from a higher incarnation
Meat for eat, what a treat
We stuff ourselves-like a smeet
Take for granted, take for fun
Taking affects everyone
Doctors, patients, maybe all other types of things. One sees mightily through their own mind but is then just as blind as they are omniscient. Putting good or bad forth and judging others upon their ability to do so- it was fated.
Nothing is not real, divided bits of care in a garden of ambiguity.
Oh, suck me, little bang-o-lash
Suck me like a succotash
I've seen a shovel in the road
I pointed it where other shovels go
Little racist camels in the sand
little bits of centavos in my hand.
I want a crumb resting on her ass
She pays the rent and smokes some grass
She was one time a mighty dame
She was on a clock that stayed the same
Time is a rotation, a circular sensation
Earth and all it's bounty from a higher incarnation
Meat for eat, what a treat
We stuff ourselves-like a smeet
Take for granted, take for fun
Taking affects everyone
Doctors, patients, maybe all other types of things. One sees mightily through their own mind but is then just as blind as they are omniscient. Putting good or bad forth and judging others upon their ability to do so- it was fated.
Nothing is not real, divided bits of care in a garden of ambiguity.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Guess what? Women are fucking zombies
...meaning that women are zombies, fucking represents emphasis - NOT that women are having sex with zombies. The text following explains:
They're all like:
"Oh, men...we know your little games. I know why you did that. You mere mortals cannot comprehend how much we know about what you are going to do, what you've done, and what you are currently doing, and thinking."
And then a good many guys assume that this is true. However these are the same guys that are just dumb-asses when it comes to reading a girl's feelings;
"She got all mad and shit....I was like 'babe come on'...she told me to leave so I did and then she got upset at me for leaving...I was like damn..."
Usually there's just some sort of trade off- it's really not that hard to wrap ya mind around. For instance, a guy gets to watch a football game if he buys his wife flowers.
But there becomes this gap between belief and reality when guys just get the flowers, just buy the dinner, just get the chocolates/necklace/wine, etc... BUFFOON! It's kind of depressing, it's like "here, I spent money on you," when in reality a gift is always only as good as the thought that was put behind it. A good measure of knowing how much thought goes into a gift is the difference between:
1) Going into a store unaware of what gift you're going to get someone, picking something randomly.
and
2) Knowing the gift someone will like, then going to a store/making it
...wherein a gift itself may not be bad but you at have to make dinner fun, do something creative afterward, or use the roses as an intro to sex. Something.
Most of the population of men from the baby-booming generation seem to be a lot more emotionally inept. I'm not saying this to empathize with the female viewpoint, I have seen it to be true. It's why stand-up comics that cater to that generation usually have a "women are from mars" theme as part of the backbone of their set...and why these guys just get the dinner.
But these same baby-boomer guys work. A lot. They put in 50-60 hour weeks, or more - so they don't have time to really make the cognitive investment that a good gift entails, or they would. In the least, these guys know the consequence of a bad gift, or no gift at all. The women they're married to get upset. They think of the 70's or 80's when times were easier. Just listenin' to Springsteen, dating a younger version of the chump they're still with, fallin' in love...
...Now women are zombies.
My generation sees the dawn of a new era of female. The ones seeking brains! And well paying jobs! The type of women that would see this statement and say 'I don't know what the hell you talkin' bout women been smart for years you men think you know it all you got another thing comin!'
AND they have this idea instilled in their head about men being dolts on the love scene because of their mothers! Fuck!
So my generation is the recipient of smart women taking jobs from men, and then also treating these men like they are assholes.
Me and all other men must unite. Even if we cannot all get along, we can put our differences aside: the enemy of my enemy is my friend. The global society needs converted into a scenario of 1-month love affairs. No marriage. No long term. Just one month of good sex, sweetness, having fun, and being genuinely interested in the other person.
It's all you need. Everything's downhill after a month. You bicker, grow old, go through the same routines. Why not just cut it off at a month?
This poses the question: what about pregnant women? Huh Matt? What about them??
They will be hung. No I'm just kidding. These pregnant femmes will be entered into an ultimate society. The highest of the caste! Being as they cannot play the market as fairly as everyone else, they will have men that pamper them, and help them in their time of need, so they can have their child! The men that father these children will pamper all day too, and not work. Both parents will receive tax breaks.
The only people allowed to have children will be attractive folks. And none of this "awwwww every baby is cute" horse shit nonsense. Every baby is NOT. Don't believe me? Go to Hagerstown (although I was born into this hellhole, I represent a glaring exception).
Take a guy like me, for example: attractive, chiseled, good jawline, works out, smart, plays guitar, good hair. The only thing going against me is having a tiny dick*, and that can be compensated by the mild definition I have on my abs, in addition to my good complexion, as well as the aforementioned criteria. I can therefore have kids.
I have deviated from the point a little. Women are zombies. They are seeking to expand there minds, and their role in society will change as well. They are quite adept at learning, so this is scary.
It's not fair because their fertile minds have been made so by GENERATIONS of men laboring while they got to sit at home and creatively think. That ease of living for such a long period of time does wonders for a brain. Yeah, they cleaned and shit, BUT THEY'VE HAD A PRETTY FUCKING EASY RUN OF IT GOD DAMN IT. And so have their minds! So now they're all ready to learn, and all men can do is build shit and drive well.
So we (men) are fucked if we don't start getting together in some sort of not-gay macho way (no faggets allowed btw). Then we can sex women at our discretion, for a month, and both sexes will be happier for it.
I guess that is all.
*I ONLY said the tiny dick thing as a joke to emphasize my point, and add in some hyperbole. The opposite of this statement is true, I have a monster dong. It is huge. I definitely DO NOT have a tiny dick and the reason I made this joke is because of how secure I am with the size of my penis. It is certainly not because I want to put the idea out as a joke when it is really true and I have some insecurity about it. Because it is not true. My dick is not tiny, by any stretch of the imagination. It is not short, stumpy, or anything like that, and it doesn't itch when I pee. I CAN PEE JUST FINE AND THAT IS ALL. MY DICK IS FINE, AND AT LEAST NORMAL SIZE IF NOT LARGE.
They're all like:
"Oh, men...we know your little games. I know why you did that. You mere mortals cannot comprehend how much we know about what you are going to do, what you've done, and what you are currently doing, and thinking."
And then a good many guys assume that this is true. However these are the same guys that are just dumb-asses when it comes to reading a girl's feelings;
"She got all mad and shit....I was like 'babe come on'...she told me to leave so I did and then she got upset at me for leaving...I was like damn..."
Usually there's just some sort of trade off- it's really not that hard to wrap ya mind around. For instance, a guy gets to watch a football game if he buys his wife flowers.
But there becomes this gap between belief and reality when guys just get the flowers, just buy the dinner, just get the chocolates/necklace/wine, etc... BUFFOON! It's kind of depressing, it's like "here, I spent money on you," when in reality a gift is always only as good as the thought that was put behind it. A good measure of knowing how much thought goes into a gift is the difference between:
1) Going into a store unaware of what gift you're going to get someone, picking something randomly.
and
2) Knowing the gift someone will like, then going to a store/making it
...wherein a gift itself may not be bad but you at have to make dinner fun, do something creative afterward, or use the roses as an intro to sex. Something.
Most of the population of men from the baby-booming generation seem to be a lot more emotionally inept. I'm not saying this to empathize with the female viewpoint, I have seen it to be true. It's why stand-up comics that cater to that generation usually have a "women are from mars" theme as part of the backbone of their set...and why these guys just get the dinner.
But these same baby-boomer guys work. A lot. They put in 50-60 hour weeks, or more - so they don't have time to really make the cognitive investment that a good gift entails, or they would. In the least, these guys know the consequence of a bad gift, or no gift at all. The women they're married to get upset. They think of the 70's or 80's when times were easier. Just listenin' to Springsteen, dating a younger version of the chump they're still with, fallin' in love...
...Now women are zombies.
My generation sees the dawn of a new era of female. The ones seeking brains! And well paying jobs! The type of women that would see this statement and say 'I don't know what the hell you talkin' bout women been smart for years you men think you know it all you got another thing comin!'
AND they have this idea instilled in their head about men being dolts on the love scene because of their mothers! Fuck!
So my generation is the recipient of smart women taking jobs from men, and then also treating these men like they are assholes.
Me and all other men must unite. Even if we cannot all get along, we can put our differences aside: the enemy of my enemy is my friend. The global society needs converted into a scenario of 1-month love affairs. No marriage. No long term. Just one month of good sex, sweetness, having fun, and being genuinely interested in the other person.
It's all you need. Everything's downhill after a month. You bicker, grow old, go through the same routines. Why not just cut it off at a month?
This poses the question: what about pregnant women? Huh Matt? What about them??
They will be hung. No I'm just kidding. These pregnant femmes will be entered into an ultimate society. The highest of the caste! Being as they cannot play the market as fairly as everyone else, they will have men that pamper them, and help them in their time of need, so they can have their child! The men that father these children will pamper all day too, and not work. Both parents will receive tax breaks.
The only people allowed to have children will be attractive folks. And none of this "awwwww every baby is cute" horse shit nonsense. Every baby is NOT. Don't believe me? Go to Hagerstown (although I was born into this hellhole, I represent a glaring exception).
Take a guy like me, for example: attractive, chiseled, good jawline, works out, smart, plays guitar, good hair. The only thing going against me is having a tiny dick*, and that can be compensated by the mild definition I have on my abs, in addition to my good complexion, as well as the aforementioned criteria. I can therefore have kids.
I have deviated from the point a little. Women are zombies. They are seeking to expand there minds, and their role in society will change as well. They are quite adept at learning, so this is scary.
It's not fair because their fertile minds have been made so by GENERATIONS of men laboring while they got to sit at home and creatively think. That ease of living for such a long period of time does wonders for a brain. Yeah, they cleaned and shit, BUT THEY'VE HAD A PRETTY FUCKING EASY RUN OF IT GOD DAMN IT. And so have their minds! So now they're all ready to learn, and all men can do is build shit and drive well.
So we (men) are fucked if we don't start getting together in some sort of not-gay macho way (no faggets allowed btw). Then we can sex women at our discretion, for a month, and both sexes will be happier for it.
I guess that is all.
*I ONLY said the tiny dick thing as a joke to emphasize my point, and add in some hyperbole. The opposite of this statement is true, I have a monster dong. It is huge. I definitely DO NOT have a tiny dick and the reason I made this joke is because of how secure I am with the size of my penis. It is certainly not because I want to put the idea out as a joke when it is really true and I have some insecurity about it. Because it is not true. My dick is not tiny, by any stretch of the imagination. It is not short, stumpy, or anything like that, and it doesn't itch when I pee. I CAN PEE JUST FINE AND THAT IS ALL. MY DICK IS FINE, AND AT LEAST NORMAL SIZE IF NOT LARGE.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Yeah, HEY
Everyone stop bugging me.
"when's the next post coming?"
"Oh, I've been busy"
"Come on, man."
"Oh, uhm.....nah,"
and then that's it.
This is that post. These are the words of a generation. This is the post in the fence line that divides some obscure piece of property with a small home from the barren, dry land that it is ensconced in. Fruitless now, perhaps once providing a living for a small town farmer. But now to Bruce. His name didn't matter........he didn't have a name. He looked over the crackled, hot land that was what he imagined a leather wallet might look like under a microscope. The sun shone down. He chewed a piece of straw, trite an action as he knew it was, and it secreted a scarcity of bland tones onto the meager saliva that rested upon his tongue and teeth, what few he had.
His tongue had one of those little cracks in it. In the center. Where you see someone has it and you're like "what the fuck? .....Do I have that? What did he eat too many sour patch kids or something? What a thing to have." Don't look at people's tongues. They're for licking, not looking.
Anyhow Bruce is standing there all like "Man it's a notch over warm, god damn it."
He's wearing some tattered white shirt with the sleeves ending at his shoulder. He sectioned them off with a machete. One might even say......he macheted them off.
His son pulls around the horse. The horse is all like
"Hey uhm....HEY BRUCE...I'm a horse"
"I reckoned that before ya spake it"
"Still...I'm a horse"
"Well....of course"
"Don't fluck with me right now"
His son, Amanda, interjected;
"Hey guys, it's not like there's some flipping contest about shit that you're winning by saying more words"
I think this story is a classic.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
This is a post.
Butt holes like to say the following things:
1: "Yeah man I don't eat fast food anymore. It's seriously been like...I don't know how long since I ate at Mcdonald's or Burger King or whatever."
And then either:
"I mean you just feel like crap after you go there it's like...why? You know? I mean I just start thinking like...this stuff is crap and it's crappy for me and like what the hell."
OR:
"I mean there's guys making money off of feeding these people shit. Seriously have you seen super size me I was like 'fuck that.' Am I right?"
Yeah, you are right! And let me guess, you don't drink soda either? It's just too sweet, right? You are a patron saint of health! Is there a fucking congressional medal of honor that you can get for not eating things?!?! HAND IT OUT IMMEDIATELY.
It's not like I'm inhaling Mcflurry's and five layer burritos either, but I don't throw this little 'gem' out there to:
A) Start up some pseudo-scientific health conversation with another idiot
B) Make someone who does eat fast food feel guilty (even though anyone who does eat fast food should be incinerated)
-
2. "Nah I haven't seen that one, hehe...uhm, to be honest I don't really watch a whole lot of T.V. I just don't. I don't even know any shows."
This is an all too common one. Followed by some sort of guilt-inducing mini-rant about how reading, hiking, or doing community service occupies their time.
Hey guy - give it a rest. We all know you're a trail hiker and you shop at Mountain Hard Wear. We see the bike rack on your Subaru. And your reusable Whole Foods bags.
Why snub it? Just because it has this guilt-by-association laziness and gluttony - 'if you watch t.v. at all, then that is all you do in your free time.'
People like to revel in putting something like "none/go outside/tv is for morons" on their Facebook profile under TV shows, but...
...I for one carry the burden of guilt that comes with watching TV. I learn about cooking on the food network, I laugh at Tim and Eric, and I enjoy some trashy MTV/VH1 reality (in the same way I enjoy the movie Kickboxing Academy/Air Bud). And even though I find the time to do outdoor activities, I am just another TV zombie piece of dirt.
-
1: "Yeah man I don't eat fast food anymore. It's seriously been like...I don't know how long since I ate at Mcdonald's or Burger King or whatever."
And then either:
"I mean you just feel like crap after you go there it's like...why? You know? I mean I just start thinking like...this stuff is crap and it's crappy for me and like what the hell."
OR:
"I mean there's guys making money off of feeding these people shit. Seriously have you seen super size me I was like 'fuck that.' Am I right?"
Yeah, you are right! And let me guess, you don't drink soda either? It's just too sweet, right? You are a patron saint of health! Is there a fucking congressional medal of honor that you can get for not eating things?!?! HAND IT OUT IMMEDIATELY.
It's not like I'm inhaling Mcflurry's and five layer burritos either, but I don't throw this little 'gem' out there to:
A) Start up some pseudo-scientific health conversation with another idiot
B) Make someone who does eat fast food feel guilty (even though anyone who does eat fast food should be incinerated)
-
2. "Nah I haven't seen that one, hehe...uhm, to be honest I don't really watch a whole lot of T.V. I just don't. I don't even know any shows."
This is an all too common one. Followed by some sort of guilt-inducing mini-rant about how reading, hiking, or doing community service occupies their time.
Hey guy - give it a rest. We all know you're a trail hiker and you shop at Mountain Hard Wear. We see the bike rack on your Subaru. And your reusable Whole Foods bags.
Why snub it? Just because it has this guilt-by-association laziness and gluttony - 'if you watch t.v. at all, then that is all you do in your free time.'
People like to revel in putting something like "none/go outside/tv is for morons" on their Facebook profile under TV shows, but...
...I for one carry the burden of guilt that comes with watching TV. I learn about cooking on the food network, I laugh at Tim and Eric, and I enjoy some trashy MTV/VH1 reality (in the same way I enjoy the movie Kickboxing Academy/Air Bud). And even though I find the time to do outdoor activities, I am just another TV zombie piece of dirt.
-
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
My First Blog!
Where to start? I think I'll go with that tacky question to make myself sound self-aware. Lol. I am mainly making this post so I don't have to encounter the inevitable miasma of never starting to write because I don't know how or where to begin...
I hope to have pretty interesting entries, and they'll probably be directed to an audience. I'm pretty sure that's how this website works, but I'm not trying to pretend that I don't know about this website to come off all cool. Like when people know exactly what something is but they're afraid to acknowledge it.
"Uhhmm I think the show is like....uhhh....something like 'sing your best' or uhm...like american singer...or something I don't really watch it."
Clearly, asswipe, you know what american idol is. Same thing happens with pokemon. My vet pretended not to know pokemon. I take my cat Pikachu (the most popular breed of pokemon that everyone knows) in there and this older woman in there was like
"Pikachu huh? That's an interesting name...isn't that from something?"
"yeah...that is..."
"yeah...like a....like a poke man or something...right?"
"yeah......exactly right"
"Oh i'll stop being a fake ass punk about it then"
Pikachu: "That's rights.....minceee...."
Being a veterinarian would be nice. I wonder if they get paid as much as medical doctors. Likely not. But it'd be worth the 30K sacrificed to just be like "give it dry food...uhm...don't run it over.....give it these pills wrapped in a piece of cheese..."
I really don't think dogs should eat cheese, but that is traditionally how it's done where I'm from. I eat my pills with cheese too. I'm like "I have a migraine, AND I want to have trouble taking a shit..." Problem solved.
Hey if you're reading this and you write blogs here- do you ever notice the thing in the bottom right of this box when you're writing??? Hahaha it says
"Labels for this post:
e.g. scooters, vacation, fall"
Vacation? sure. Fall? absolutely. Scooters? ...Scooters. Scooters? Scooters: Scooters.......
Do I have to be the guy that calls out people who are blogging about seeing a scooter, buying a scooter, riding a scooter, liking scooters, naming a child scooter, nicknaming a loved one scooter, not seeing a scooter, subscribing to a scooter magazine, doing a scooter trick, being a scooter, bringing a scooter, watching a scooter movie, and/or scooting along?
Scooter?
Not bicycle. Not skateboard. Not even rollerblades. Scooters.
.....uhm....
...Having said that they were a pretty hot item about 9 years ago, I must say. I actually had a Razor scooter. I couldn't do any tricks but I could cruise pretty good. It was from the Sharper Image, which is wierd because it was a scooter, not a 2,600 dollar Deluxe Espresso Machine made out of mahogany and diamonds. Nor a table that you can plug in so it heats up at the surface for your food.
If I saw a kid on a scooter tomorrow I'd probably mow him down. There should be "DO NOT YIELD" signs for little tools on scooters. I would have gladly have had both my legs broken for the amusement that it would provide the hero that hit me with their vehicle. Hard.
I would be cruising with my hands on the dinky little handlebar like "yay," then I would just EAT the grill of a god damned Ford F-250 Diesel Double Truck Twin Axle Sports Edition.
That would be the way to go down.
Just kidding.
Yep, welp, this is my first blog ever so excuse any hipocricy, mispronunciations, misappropriations, lower casings, stipulations, staples, and presuppositions.
I hope to have pretty interesting entries, and they'll probably be directed to an audience. I'm pretty sure that's how this website works, but I'm not trying to pretend that I don't know about this website to come off all cool. Like when people know exactly what something is but they're afraid to acknowledge it.
"Uhhmm I think the show is like....uhhh....something like 'sing your best' or uhm...like american singer...or something I don't really watch it."
Clearly, asswipe, you know what american idol is. Same thing happens with pokemon. My vet pretended not to know pokemon. I take my cat Pikachu (the most popular breed of pokemon that everyone knows) in there and this older woman in there was like
"Pikachu huh? That's an interesting name...isn't that from something?"
"yeah...that is..."
"yeah...like a....like a poke man or something...right?"
"yeah......exactly right"
"Oh i'll stop being a fake ass punk about it then"
Pikachu: "That's rights.....minceee...."
Being a veterinarian would be nice. I wonder if they get paid as much as medical doctors. Likely not. But it'd be worth the 30K sacrificed to just be like "give it dry food...uhm...don't run it over.....give it these pills wrapped in a piece of cheese..."
I really don't think dogs should eat cheese, but that is traditionally how it's done where I'm from. I eat my pills with cheese too. I'm like "I have a migraine, AND I want to have trouble taking a shit..." Problem solved.
Hey if you're reading this and you write blogs here- do you ever notice the thing in the bottom right of this box when you're writing??? Hahaha it says
"Labels for this post:
e.g. scooters, vacation, fall"
Vacation? sure. Fall? absolutely. Scooters? ...Scooters. Scooters? Scooters: Scooters.......
Do I have to be the guy that calls out people who are blogging about seeing a scooter, buying a scooter, riding a scooter, liking scooters, naming a child scooter, nicknaming a loved one scooter, not seeing a scooter, subscribing to a scooter magazine, doing a scooter trick, being a scooter, bringing a scooter, watching a scooter movie, and/or scooting along?
Scooter?
Not bicycle. Not skateboard. Not even rollerblades. Scooters.
.....uhm....
...Having said that they were a pretty hot item about 9 years ago, I must say. I actually had a Razor scooter. I couldn't do any tricks but I could cruise pretty good. It was from the Sharper Image, which is wierd because it was a scooter, not a 2,600 dollar Deluxe Espresso Machine made out of mahogany and diamonds. Nor a table that you can plug in so it heats up at the surface for your food.
If I saw a kid on a scooter tomorrow I'd probably mow him down. There should be "DO NOT YIELD" signs for little tools on scooters. I would have gladly have had both my legs broken for the amusement that it would provide the hero that hit me with their vehicle. Hard.
I would be cruising with my hands on the dinky little handlebar like "yay," then I would just EAT the grill of a god damned Ford F-250 Diesel Double Truck Twin Axle Sports Edition.
That would be the way to go down.
Just kidding.
Yep, welp, this is my first blog ever so excuse any hipocricy, mispronunciations, misappropriations, lower casings, stipulations, staples, and presuppositions.
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