Happy Birthday Smeagol
of the raptor you're the best
may your thong hang low
I was a little saddened that Jason's lovely daughter (congrats, man!) did not wait to be born on Smeagol's birthday, but then again who wants to share a girthday with a raptor? Anyway, I am going to hold off on the product review, as I have a special treat: I am going to try to get Smeagol to review the first product, Boulevard Wheat Beer.
I figured I would post a couple of blurbs about my few years at Burger King today, with more following this evening or early tomorrow if I am too lazy.
Life was rough at Smeagol's house. Food was hard to come by, much as success and prestige were. Self respect was a long gone luxury that none of us could afford. I needed a job.
In the ghetto (47th and Paseo area) there were not many job prospects for a fat guy with glasses on. Due to my corrective lenses being gangsta was out of the question, and I was too lazy to deal drugs, as it apparently warranted a lot of running fro the authorities and salesmanship skills, which anyone who has known me for more than a year knows I do not have. That left jizz-mopper at the Tiger's Den, a nudie bar on 46th and Troost, or one of the fast food restaurants on that same block. I opted for fast food, though jizzmopper would have been a better career choice in the long run.
I for some unknown reason chose Burger King, as the KFC would have required crossing another street and I was apparently too fat and lazy to do that. They must have been hard up for workers, because the manager came out and gave me the basic Burger King interview: "So, you gone show up on time nigga? Cool, cool, you got a job son!" (say thi in your head with a faux Brooklyn accent). My pay was 4.75 an hour, and there I was.
So I started down the career path toward greatness, and my trainer and mentor, a young lad named Jason. Jason was a drug dealer who, I assume, worked at Burger King because he could attain free food and ply his trade more easilly there, picking up contacts and allowing people to sample his wares by sprinkling marijuana on their food, most awesome.
I feel like I have told this story before, and if I have my bad, but Jason has done some pretty awesome things to people's food. He has jammed his middle finger up his own ass, getting shit and blood on it, and wiped it on people's burgers before, he has rubbed cock-cap paste (I know I called it a different name before, consistency is not my strong point), that oily stuff behind the head of a circumcised cock that builds up if you do not wash it enough, all over someone's burger because they were rude to him once, and once on a dare shit in the little stall where we squeegeed water after hosing the floors down.
I hate to say it, but this gentleman was my hero. I was not brave enough to do a tenth of the things he did, and so was completely content to live my life vicariously through him. He was awesome, if someone made the mistake of trying to peek through the fry hood to see what he was doing, they would get s little spit in their burger, unless he was feeling gamey enough to rub his "shit-finger" all over their sandwich, good times.
"Why didn't you tell on him, Stevester?" You might be asking aloud. Well I can't hear you, the tube that your internets is delivered on is not connected to the one I am sending this out on, if you do not understand that ask Senator Stevens. The reason why is because:
1. Jason was humping the shift manager, Stephanie. Turtle, the token Older Black Guy Who Thought This Was A Career Guy, was also humping her, I think. I think I was the only one who was not fornicating with her, and that was because she was a little large for my tastes, plus I was going out with Camel, and there was that stupid "faithfulness" thing, which I know sounds lame but shaddup.
2. I was pretty sure Jason carried a gun, one clue was that Jason had a gun handle sticking out of his work pants on many occasions, another was he pulled out a gun and showed it to me once. Other than those two instances I was not sure though.
3. Jason was cool as hell, and I did not want Turtle being my manager.
Anyway, we soon learned Jason would do literally anything we dared him to do, either because he was high or because he just didn't give a shit. Either way our favorite days on the job was when he was dubbed manager for the day due to his seniority when Stephanie took the day off to get her nails done or whatever, because he would shut the lobby down and we would trade food with either Dairy Queen or KFC and eat int he lobby while people came up to the door confused and stand outside the windows, lonely Smeagols watching sadly as we all had fun jack-assing around and usually drinking Hurricane on the job. Good times.
Anyway, congrats again to Jason (not the one in today's story) who had a baby girlenhausen, as they say in Germany, and to Smeagol for raptoring it up yet another year.
On a side note, does admitting I absolutely hate the taste of Guinness make me a terrorist? I am going to get one of those Guinness surger thingies, but as it stands I do not even plan on doing a product review on that crap, it tastes like tree bark that had been fermented in a tub of firty bathwater that was also used to launder 3 or 4 of Smeagol's thongs, gently squished between Mystery's toes as she stomped on the clothes to simulate a washing machine agitator.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Monday, March 10, 2008
Product reviews, Smeagol
Hardcore butt pleasures
turns delicate pink blossom
into brown sinkhole
So I am going to post my first review either this evening or tomorrow morning, it's a beer, the reason I am not posting now is I would like to post photos and the like to go along, and I have not worked up the bravery to even contemplate some of the things I promised myself I would do to make these reviews more memorable. On a completely unrelated note, if I ever do do anything that involves my anus, a tube and a funnel I will have the good graces to not post the photos.
I am really excite about this, guys! I am thinking maybe Consumer Reports, GQ, something like that. I mean, how many consumer reviews tell you whether one kind of beer or another tase good drunk out of dirty carpeting or sucked out of a baby's shirt because the little turd made you spill it? No one that's who!
Anyway, on to the story of the day.
No doubt a bunch of you are sitting at home right now, fantasizing about Mystery's luscious curves, how her leggings, stained with "brown", entice you oh so much, and wondering how any Smeagol could ever leave something like that, especially a North American Smeagol. Well, I'll tell you.
We all have a sexiness ratio, a ratio that each person automatically calculates to see if he/she/Smeagol would be compatible with said person and how they should act toward them. Take my wife, for instance. Her sexiness ratio, or SR, was and is much higher than mine, due to my fatness and strange smell. She knew she could ignore my advances for as long as she felt like it because I was much too fat and ugly to go elsewhere. Little did she know that I also had bad credit and a gap in my teeth, 2 signs of abject sexiness! (Think before you laugh: Anthony Anderson, Michael Strahan, Mike Tyson, Lawrence Fishburn, Chewbacca: even dudes would gladly bed any of them, though you don't know why)
Anyway, Smeagol's sexiness ratio was pretty low. I mean, many women would rather bed a random homeless person than allow a raptor into their life/bed/bank account, and many probably followed through on that promise. Mystery was one of the few people I knew who was able to command a negative SR without having a communicable disease or being dead. This was an OK arrangement though, because due to his massive aura of failure Smeagol was not able to attract anyone with his SR either.
Well after hanging out with the Stevester and JJ for awhile, and getting the brushoffs from both of us (the selection of ladies available was both more plentiful and had much lower standards due to JJ's SR, which is - I must admit, even though he has no job, doesn't bathe, and once wore the same pair of red Nike shorts for more than a year - is almost 5 times higher than the Stevester's) began to inflate his sense of his own SR. This led to the fights with Mystery, usually ending with him throwing her out, her calling her mom, her mom coming over and trying to bribe Smeagol into keeping her in the house, and then taking Mystery with her until payday, when Smeagol realized he could not cash her check without her and had to let her back into the house. He also claimed it was because she had some kind of infection or fungus or something (I usually blanked Smeagol out when he starts talking about Mystery so I cannot be sure about this) that she could not or would not accept the little Smeagolette he was trying to infiltrate her with.
Ugh I will never read that paragraph again, every time I do I get a flash of her bare chested, which I tried to erase from my mind the instant I saw it and have yet to be able to, though it helps if I am in a public place and need to quickly calm a raging boner down (try it!).
The arguments were always hilarious, with Smeagol Raptor stoming into the living room, gingerly stepping over Bailey's dog shit that had been sitting there for weeks, and calling her all kinds of names while she sat there looking blankly at the wall, me nonchalantly playing the Sega Saturn and trying to stay out of it, the kitten in Mystery's arm praying for sweet, sweet death while slowly choking on the toxic combination of Mystery's breath and her football grip on his neck.
The funniest time was when Smeagol would yell at her while holding his thong up, as these times he would only be wearing his thong and his 2 pairs of thich cotton socks, he looked so obscene wearing that with his lopsided perm dangling precariously toward oblivion, especially the time or two he pushed her outside, well TRIED to, it's pretty hard to push someone who is a foot taller, 50 pounds heavier and with rubber soled shoes on while you are a raptor, holding your baggy thong in one hand, grunting angrily from the effort, kim chi fermenting on the couch.
More tomorrow.
turns delicate pink blossom
into brown sinkhole
So I am going to post my first review either this evening or tomorrow morning, it's a beer, the reason I am not posting now is I would like to post photos and the like to go along, and I have not worked up the bravery to even contemplate some of the things I promised myself I would do to make these reviews more memorable. On a completely unrelated note, if I ever do do anything that involves my anus, a tube and a funnel I will have the good graces to not post the photos.
I am really excite about this, guys! I am thinking maybe Consumer Reports, GQ, something like that. I mean, how many consumer reviews tell you whether one kind of beer or another tase good drunk out of dirty carpeting or sucked out of a baby's shirt because the little turd made you spill it? No one that's who!
Anyway, on to the story of the day.
No doubt a bunch of you are sitting at home right now, fantasizing about Mystery's luscious curves, how her leggings, stained with "brown", entice you oh so much, and wondering how any Smeagol could ever leave something like that, especially a North American Smeagol. Well, I'll tell you.
We all have a sexiness ratio, a ratio that each person automatically calculates to see if he/she/Smeagol would be compatible with said person and how they should act toward them. Take my wife, for instance. Her sexiness ratio, or SR, was and is much higher than mine, due to my fatness and strange smell. She knew she could ignore my advances for as long as she felt like it because I was much too fat and ugly to go elsewhere. Little did she know that I also had bad credit and a gap in my teeth, 2 signs of abject sexiness! (Think before you laugh: Anthony Anderson, Michael Strahan, Mike Tyson, Lawrence Fishburn, Chewbacca: even dudes would gladly bed any of them, though you don't know why)
Anyway, Smeagol's sexiness ratio was pretty low. I mean, many women would rather bed a random homeless person than allow a raptor into their life/bed/bank account, and many probably followed through on that promise. Mystery was one of the few people I knew who was able to command a negative SR without having a communicable disease or being dead. This was an OK arrangement though, because due to his massive aura of failure Smeagol was not able to attract anyone with his SR either.
Well after hanging out with the Stevester and JJ for awhile, and getting the brushoffs from both of us (the selection of ladies available was both more plentiful and had much lower standards due to JJ's SR, which is - I must admit, even though he has no job, doesn't bathe, and once wore the same pair of red Nike shorts for more than a year - is almost 5 times higher than the Stevester's) began to inflate his sense of his own SR. This led to the fights with Mystery, usually ending with him throwing her out, her calling her mom, her mom coming over and trying to bribe Smeagol into keeping her in the house, and then taking Mystery with her until payday, when Smeagol realized he could not cash her check without her and had to let her back into the house. He also claimed it was because she had some kind of infection or fungus or something (I usually blanked Smeagol out when he starts talking about Mystery so I cannot be sure about this) that she could not or would not accept the little Smeagolette he was trying to infiltrate her with.
Ugh I will never read that paragraph again, every time I do I get a flash of her bare chested, which I tried to erase from my mind the instant I saw it and have yet to be able to, though it helps if I am in a public place and need to quickly calm a raging boner down (try it!).
The arguments were always hilarious, with Smeagol Raptor stoming into the living room, gingerly stepping over Bailey's dog shit that had been sitting there for weeks, and calling her all kinds of names while she sat there looking blankly at the wall, me nonchalantly playing the Sega Saturn and trying to stay out of it, the kitten in Mystery's arm praying for sweet, sweet death while slowly choking on the toxic combination of Mystery's breath and her football grip on his neck.
The funniest time was when Smeagol would yell at her while holding his thong up, as these times he would only be wearing his thong and his 2 pairs of thich cotton socks, he looked so obscene wearing that with his lopsided perm dangling precariously toward oblivion, especially the time or two he pushed her outside, well TRIED to, it's pretty hard to push someone who is a foot taller, 50 pounds heavier and with rubber soled shoes on while you are a raptor, holding your baggy thong in one hand, grunting angrily from the effort, kim chi fermenting on the couch.
More tomorrow.
Friday, March 7, 2008
My milkshake makes all the boys....wait a minute
A gentle caress
empty pint on the table
How I was conceived
I don't know if any of you knew this, but I have a strange family. There's some crack that's been smoked, some horses pounded, and then there's Smeagol, who needs no introduction and defies categorization. There was Matthew Conneroy, the young lad who would come over and allow our dog to molest him, and my dad's boss, who looked almost exactly like the principal in Billy Madison and kept trying to rescue me at the company pool party.
There was that crazy uncle we all have, you know, the one who shits in plastic bags and hangs them from a tree less than 10 feet from the toilet?
Anyway, I was feeling a little nostalgic today, and figured I would share a slightly older tale. Way back in the day, JJ was living with my mom on 35th and Bales with Jeff the Buttfucking Shitstain. Dad and Janet were living in the worst neighborhood in the greater metropolitan area, and Smeagol and I had just moved into our abode on Woodland. My grandma, under some kind of retard spell, believed my dad when he told her he was done with them crack rocks, and had just purchased him a cherry 1985 dunmetal grey ford thunderbird, which he would end up selling to me numerous times.
Back to JJ and my mom, their neighborhood was pretty fun to be around. There was Billy Bill, who was apparently in training to become my mom and dad's new crack dealer, who was training under V, who lived a few blocks down the street. There was Jenkins, the lovable homeless guy who would drop trou no matter where he was and shit if he had to, and I feel sorry for you if your foot was in the way! There was Chadwick, the token white guy who JJ and all of his friends robbed on a near daily basis in order to train for the more lucrative opportunities for B&E in the neighborhood, and then of course there was the rest of the alphabet crew, whose job it was to kidnap my dad and make him smoke crack for free at their house in beautiful South Kansas City.
Riding the bus down there was always fun as well, because you could sit by a crackhead, a homeless person, a prostitute and a mental patient and only be sitting by one physical person! Mypersonal favorites were the Bargainers: those intrepid souls who could not affort the 1 dollar fare and always asked questions like "How far will 68 cents get me?" their funk penetrating everyone on the bus in a most foul manner, totally hot. I always wondered how those people went to job interview after being almost physically smeagoled on, as they smelled like they had allowed Smeagol to rub his saggy balls most vigorously on their legs. It was also funny how well the Smeags blended in with the homeless and the vagrants, and yet how much he grunted angrilly when he was reduced to riding in public transit (which he liked to call "pubic transit" which usually illicited a little raptor giggle) with the common folk.
On this particular evening, we were on our way back from JJ's house, and were waiting on the bus. Jenkins moseys by, asks us for change, and then walks about 10 paces down the street and drops trou to take a dump. I ain't gonna lie, I watched, giggling like a schoolgirl in the process, and another vagrant moseyed by. He saw Smeagol, got a good look at the lopsided perm, and I guess was mesmerized. "Damn bitch you is fine" THis is not his exact words, I am paraphrasing as I was busy watching Jenkins shit and had not turned to see what was going on yet. Smeagol grunted angrilly, and tried to turn the other way, as if not looking at the vagrant would dissuade him from pounding him some green thonged north american raptor taint. It didn't work.
"What's yo name, girlie?"
"I'm a guy" Smeagol whined, sounding very much like a girl.
Monday, the conclusion, and my first product review.
empty pint on the table
How I was conceived
I don't know if any of you knew this, but I have a strange family. There's some crack that's been smoked, some horses pounded, and then there's Smeagol, who needs no introduction and defies categorization. There was Matthew Conneroy, the young lad who would come over and allow our dog to molest him, and my dad's boss, who looked almost exactly like the principal in Billy Madison and kept trying to rescue me at the company pool party.
There was that crazy uncle we all have, you know, the one who shits in plastic bags and hangs them from a tree less than 10 feet from the toilet?
Anyway, I was feeling a little nostalgic today, and figured I would share a slightly older tale. Way back in the day, JJ was living with my mom on 35th and Bales with Jeff the Buttfucking Shitstain. Dad and Janet were living in the worst neighborhood in the greater metropolitan area, and Smeagol and I had just moved into our abode on Woodland. My grandma, under some kind of retard spell, believed my dad when he told her he was done with them crack rocks, and had just purchased him a cherry 1985 dunmetal grey ford thunderbird, which he would end up selling to me numerous times.
Back to JJ and my mom, their neighborhood was pretty fun to be around. There was Billy Bill, who was apparently in training to become my mom and dad's new crack dealer, who was training under V, who lived a few blocks down the street. There was Jenkins, the lovable homeless guy who would drop trou no matter where he was and shit if he had to, and I feel sorry for you if your foot was in the way! There was Chadwick, the token white guy who JJ and all of his friends robbed on a near daily basis in order to train for the more lucrative opportunities for B&E in the neighborhood, and then of course there was the rest of the alphabet crew, whose job it was to kidnap my dad and make him smoke crack for free at their house in beautiful South Kansas City.
Riding the bus down there was always fun as well, because you could sit by a crackhead, a homeless person, a prostitute and a mental patient and only be sitting by one physical person! Mypersonal favorites were the Bargainers: those intrepid souls who could not affort the 1 dollar fare and always asked questions like "How far will 68 cents get me?" their funk penetrating everyone on the bus in a most foul manner, totally hot. I always wondered how those people went to job interview after being almost physically smeagoled on, as they smelled like they had allowed Smeagol to rub his saggy balls most vigorously on their legs. It was also funny how well the Smeags blended in with the homeless and the vagrants, and yet how much he grunted angrilly when he was reduced to riding in public transit (which he liked to call "pubic transit" which usually illicited a little raptor giggle) with the common folk.
On this particular evening, we were on our way back from JJ's house, and were waiting on the bus. Jenkins moseys by, asks us for change, and then walks about 10 paces down the street and drops trou to take a dump. I ain't gonna lie, I watched, giggling like a schoolgirl in the process, and another vagrant moseyed by. He saw Smeagol, got a good look at the lopsided perm, and I guess was mesmerized. "Damn bitch you is fine" THis is not his exact words, I am paraphrasing as I was busy watching Jenkins shit and had not turned to see what was going on yet. Smeagol grunted angrilly, and tried to turn the other way, as if not looking at the vagrant would dissuade him from pounding him some green thonged north american raptor taint. It didn't work.
"What's yo name, girlie?"
"I'm a guy" Smeagol whined, sounding very much like a girl.
Monday, the conclusion, and my first product review.
Thursday, March 6, 2008
A pilot
there's nobody here
we're hidden in the doldrums
it's gray, it's dark, fuck.
Some things going on
I am thinking about starting a product review section on this site, not anything important or boring, mostly video games, beers and various products used in the act of snootch pounding (sorry, I watched South Park last night). It will also give me a chance to use my new camera a little more. I felt like a jerk in that little email thread that I did not actually have another blog set up for product reviews.
So far I have a few different criteria, here is the sample for video games:
Home Console:
Awesomeness (or lack thereof)
Smeagolness (would Smeagol play this game?)
Difficulty (how many times Smeagol would call around for help)
Price (is this damn game worth it?)
Portable:
The portable console will be the far more in depth, as I play video games whilst shitting a lot more than I do sitting in a chair or anything.
Smeagolness
Portability (can I finish an iteration of a game in one toilet shopping instance?)
saves (how hard is it to save the game and get out of the crapper when I want to, rather than sit there and develop butt crust trying to find a save point or turning the damn thing off in frustration)
Music (is it something that I would turn off to avoid embarrassment, or something that I could not bear to turn off even though I know I would be found out?)
Beer:
This one will have to wait a while, I cannot drink for like 2 months due to alcohol constricting your eyes or some shit the doctor told me no for a couple of months after Lasik.
Price: If I have to think twice about it, it's too high. On the other hand, points can be taken away fi you can purchase a six pack for less than 50 cents a beer (I'm looking at you, Camo and Night Train)
Hoppiness: Does this beer have pizzazz?
guzziliness: Can the Stevester chug one without having to bother tasting it, or is it a beer so good chugging seems like a crime? (For instance, I chug Guinness, I hate that crap but if that's all thats there, fuck it. With Foster's, however, gentle sips until the pint is extinguished is the order of the day)
Drunkenness: How long does it take before Brown bear either passes out or starts attempting to molest whomever is nearest? (I found out with Sam Adam's for instance, after only 5 cans of the crap I was attempting to molest random passersby)
I dunno, I might demo other things too. I will post pix of me using the product (and since this is a family blog, that leaves a lot of products out) and the aftermath of imbibing said product. Let me know what you think in the vote box.
we're hidden in the doldrums
it's gray, it's dark, fuck.
Some things going on
I am thinking about starting a product review section on this site, not anything important or boring, mostly video games, beers and various products used in the act of snootch pounding (sorry, I watched South Park last night). It will also give me a chance to use my new camera a little more. I felt like a jerk in that little email thread that I did not actually have another blog set up for product reviews.
So far I have a few different criteria, here is the sample for video games:
Home Console:
Awesomeness (or lack thereof)
Smeagolness (would Smeagol play this game?)
Difficulty (how many times Smeagol would call around for help)
Price (is this damn game worth it?)
Portable:
The portable console will be the far more in depth, as I play video games whilst shitting a lot more than I do sitting in a chair or anything.
Smeagolness
Portability (can I finish an iteration of a game in one toilet shopping instance?)
saves (how hard is it to save the game and get out of the crapper when I want to, rather than sit there and develop butt crust trying to find a save point or turning the damn thing off in frustration)
Music (is it something that I would turn off to avoid embarrassment, or something that I could not bear to turn off even though I know I would be found out?)
Beer:
This one will have to wait a while, I cannot drink for like 2 months due to alcohol constricting your eyes or some shit the doctor told me no for a couple of months after Lasik.
Price: If I have to think twice about it, it's too high. On the other hand, points can be taken away fi you can purchase a six pack for less than 50 cents a beer (I'm looking at you, Camo and Night Train)
Hoppiness: Does this beer have pizzazz?
guzziliness: Can the Stevester chug one without having to bother tasting it, or is it a beer so good chugging seems like a crime? (For instance, I chug Guinness, I hate that crap but if that's all thats there, fuck it. With Foster's, however, gentle sips until the pint is extinguished is the order of the day)
Drunkenness: How long does it take before Brown bear either passes out or starts attempting to molest whomever is nearest? (I found out with Sam Adam's for instance, after only 5 cans of the crap I was attempting to molest random passersby)
I dunno, I might demo other things too. I will post pix of me using the product (and since this is a family blog, that leaves a lot of products out) and the aftermath of imbibing said product. Let me know what you think in the vote box.
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Weigh in
A feeling once lost
cherry blossom, the crack pipe
addiction suits you
Rare political rant
I have to ask, and I know I risk losing some of my 4 readers here but I have to wonder: what retards voted for John McCain? It seems like the Republican Party of lat (and by "of late" I mean "the last 8 years") seems to really have gone down the shitter, with scandals such as the gentleman who was in charge of a group that combatted sexual exploitation of minors who then got caught sending lewd and lacivious emails to pages (Foley) to some asshole who was a manager of a damn stable completely fucking up a disaster his new job was created to combat (Brown) to the senator telling us that the internet "is a series of tubes, it's not a truck" (Stevens) To a senator totally against gay anything getting caught attempting to get some black mamba in his anus in a Minneapolis shithouse (Craig). These are not even a small indicator of all the crap that has gone on ein the last almost decade, yet it astounds me to know that there are people out there who still vote for that party.
Let me put this into context: If you come over to my house to borrow a cup of sugar, and every time I opened the door I committed sodomy on you, how many times would you keep coming back before you learn your lesson and go somewhere else to get sugar? (If your answer was longer than a week, send me an email, I would like you to come by my house)
The economy is in the fucking shitter, Iraq had absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with 911 or terror, we are losing the war in afghanistan as well as Iraq, and yet almost half of the country seems to think our new leadership should come from the same party. My dad is a huge McCain supporter, and I asked him why, since like me he is poor and it is well known that the last couple of Republican presidents have shit on the poor, I am willing to bet if they had the time they would drive by each poor person and do it personally. His answer started out with the same stereotype: that Dems are all limp wristed liberals who would surrender to the terrorists and blah blah blah, I stopped listening because my brains were leaking out of my ear.
I like how all people who would vote Democrat are automatically limp wristed effimate either full-blown homo or on the cusp of gaydom. I so wish I could be a senator so I could go on some of these shows and when they start that crap about me being a wimp and shit I could kill them with my superb prowess in unarmed physical combat, then shit in their tacos to boot.
I also like those books by Ann "I am a piece of human feces" Coulter, calling all liberals homos and the like, I would like to publish a book entitled: "All Republicans Eat Babies After Raping Them"... catchy, no?
Anyway, I think I will get to a couple of scams tomorrow, they are backing up, I also have a few more Mystical Retard stories as well as some Dad and Janet, so good times.
Sorry about the rant, but whenever I try to bring it up with my Conservative friends, they usually resort to the "Win by Volume" method, which usually wins. I like how all they can bring up about Bill Clinton is how he lied about shooting Lewinski a little man-gravy, hell if every person in office got in trouble for that terms would only be about an hour or so.
cherry blossom, the crack pipe
addiction suits you
Rare political rant
I have to ask, and I know I risk losing some of my 4 readers here but I have to wonder: what retards voted for John McCain? It seems like the Republican Party of lat (and by "of late" I mean "the last 8 years") seems to really have gone down the shitter, with scandals such as the gentleman who was in charge of a group that combatted sexual exploitation of minors who then got caught sending lewd and lacivious emails to pages (Foley) to some asshole who was a manager of a damn stable completely fucking up a disaster his new job was created to combat (Brown) to the senator telling us that the internet "is a series of tubes, it's not a truck" (Stevens) To a senator totally against gay anything getting caught attempting to get some black mamba in his anus in a Minneapolis shithouse (Craig). These are not even a small indicator of all the crap that has gone on ein the last almost decade, yet it astounds me to know that there are people out there who still vote for that party.
Let me put this into context: If you come over to my house to borrow a cup of sugar, and every time I opened the door I committed sodomy on you, how many times would you keep coming back before you learn your lesson and go somewhere else to get sugar? (If your answer was longer than a week, send me an email, I would like you to come by my house)
The economy is in the fucking shitter, Iraq had absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with 911 or terror, we are losing the war in afghanistan as well as Iraq, and yet almost half of the country seems to think our new leadership should come from the same party. My dad is a huge McCain supporter, and I asked him why, since like me he is poor and it is well known that the last couple of Republican presidents have shit on the poor, I am willing to bet if they had the time they would drive by each poor person and do it personally. His answer started out with the same stereotype: that Dems are all limp wristed liberals who would surrender to the terrorists and blah blah blah, I stopped listening because my brains were leaking out of my ear.
I like how all people who would vote Democrat are automatically limp wristed effimate either full-blown homo or on the cusp of gaydom. I so wish I could be a senator so I could go on some of these shows and when they start that crap about me being a wimp and shit I could kill them with my superb prowess in unarmed physical combat, then shit in their tacos to boot.
I also like those books by Ann "I am a piece of human feces" Coulter, calling all liberals homos and the like, I would like to publish a book entitled: "All Republicans Eat Babies After Raping Them"... catchy, no?
Anyway, I think I will get to a couple of scams tomorrow, they are backing up, I also have a few more Mystical Retard stories as well as some Dad and Janet, so good times.
Sorry about the rant, but whenever I try to bring it up with my Conservative friends, they usually resort to the "Win by Volume" method, which usually wins. I like how all they can bring up about Bill Clinton is how he lied about shooting Lewinski a little man-gravy, hell if every person in office got in trouble for that terms would only be about an hour or so.
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
More Assorted goodness
Classy film? Or crap
The Guy With Secret Kung Fu
Eyeball masterpiece
The above title is my DVD tester for the courthouse where I work. It's awesomeness is underappreciated. One of the judges here has borrowed this film not once, but twice. Hey, when a man uses his secret kung fu to take out a zombie, you gotta watch twice!
The Douchebag
When I worked at GE, we had a couple of superb douchebags working there. No one came even close to a couple of the ass blemishes who worked at Da Firm, but still, some no talent ass clowns nevertheless. One of those asswipes was The Douche.
The Douche was an engineer turned management pencil pusher. He had an overinflated sense of self worth due to the fact that he was assigned some big operation in Brazil, and had a few unlucky patrons working under him. He was a complete douche for many reasons:
1. He was a racist. He had a bunch of civil war memorabilia in his office, and being a total Civil War history nerd I got real enjoyment in looking around his office while I was working on his many, MANY issues. I did notice a strange trend, though, in that he had no photos or memorabilia from the Union army. Maybe he had it in a place of honor at his home? I assumed. It was not until I spoke with one of our chocolatier complexioned employees that it dawned on me: He was a Southern Sympathizer. Nothing wrong with that, but then I started noticing other little things: I was not allowed in his office unless his secretary announced me. He always walked me to the door, I assumed because he was a good host or wanted to check out the goods, but was told and later saw because he wanted to make sure "that spook don't steal nothin". Various other things.
"So what's funny about racism, Stevester?" you may be asking. Shut up, cracka! Sorry. Anyway, the funny thing about this is I was at one point told to clean off his computer, as it was running very slowly. He was out of the office, and I went ahead and remoted into his machine and started with the usual crap, until I got to his cookies. You see, I usually just go ahead and delete them, as I generally do not have time to look at any of that crap and I hate doing extra work. But something caught my eye. There was a cookie from Blackknobs.com, or something like that, I mean it sounded like a gay porn site. I snickered to myself, but maybe I was wrong. I finished cleaning his cookies, and just to make sure, took a look at some of his pictures.
Holy hell. This man had some issues. Apparently he enjoyed seeing large black men ramdangle old fat white guys in the buttocks. Some of the photos were so disgusting I almost couldn't copy them to my blackmail folder in my documents for later usage. I tell you, it was a little awkward to go into his office after that and turn my back on him.
SMEAGOL
OK, I just wanted to put in a blurb about work, but I thought I would share another Smeagol tale with you. It was autumn, and I was still going to school (I usually quit showing up for school regularly after football season was over) and love was in the air. Well, not so much love, but I was on the rebound from being dumpified by Cameltoe, so I decided to go out with this little chick from school. She was not all that attractive, but I had nothing better I am ashamed to say, so when she asked me to go out I could do nothing but accept.
So I am getting ready for our little date, we are going to go see "Cruel Intentions" at the ghetto movie theater. I had already seen that same film with a much more attractive young lady, but I figured if I could get her to fall for the dick-in-the-popcorn box gag the night would not be a total bust. I start to head out, and Smeagol is laying on the couch, polluting the air with his trifecta of funk: thong, slightly open sphincter and open mouth as he cooed while Mystery rubbed his feet.
"Hey wait up niggie I wanna go!" Smeagol exclaimed, and started his Get Up Movement. For those of you who are uninitiated, you can check this video out here . He rubbed his perm down with one claw as he moaned agreeably, scratching his almost naked ass with his other claw. Mystery started getting ready too, squeezing some smelly vag juice out of her leggings or whatever it is she did to get ready.
"Not you, bitch! I am going to pick up a lady and I don't need you there fucking it up!" Smeagol cawed angrilly. Mystery did this kind of shoulder shrug and sat back down on the couch, dejected. Then the plain white wall caught her eye and she disappeared into her own magical world, where she was a watermelon flying amongst the trees, eating sticks made of brown.
Smeagol got his freshest NWO jersey on, the one he spent last pay period's grocery money to purchase (he even had the gall to drive up to my grandmother's house and try to bum the 85 dollars to purchase this jersey, saying it was for his car payment), splashed on some of my cologne, which sizzled as it contacted his cloak of failure, and off we went. After getting that asshole Marvin to move his damn truck and listen to him whine about how we need to find some other way to get out of the driveway, we were interrupting his show, we took out, the windows down to hopefully dissipate the concentrated stench of Raptor.
Part II later.
The Guy With Secret Kung Fu
Eyeball masterpiece
The above title is my DVD tester for the courthouse where I work. It's awesomeness is underappreciated. One of the judges here has borrowed this film not once, but twice. Hey, when a man uses his secret kung fu to take out a zombie, you gotta watch twice!
The Douchebag
When I worked at GE, we had a couple of superb douchebags working there. No one came even close to a couple of the ass blemishes who worked at Da Firm, but still, some no talent ass clowns nevertheless. One of those asswipes was The Douche.
The Douche was an engineer turned management pencil pusher. He had an overinflated sense of self worth due to the fact that he was assigned some big operation in Brazil, and had a few unlucky patrons working under him. He was a complete douche for many reasons:
1. He was a racist. He had a bunch of civil war memorabilia in his office, and being a total Civil War history nerd I got real enjoyment in looking around his office while I was working on his many, MANY issues. I did notice a strange trend, though, in that he had no photos or memorabilia from the Union army. Maybe he had it in a place of honor at his home? I assumed. It was not until I spoke with one of our chocolatier complexioned employees that it dawned on me: He was a Southern Sympathizer. Nothing wrong with that, but then I started noticing other little things: I was not allowed in his office unless his secretary announced me. He always walked me to the door, I assumed because he was a good host or wanted to check out the goods, but was told and later saw because he wanted to make sure "that spook don't steal nothin". Various other things.
"So what's funny about racism, Stevester?" you may be asking. Shut up, cracka! Sorry. Anyway, the funny thing about this is I was at one point told to clean off his computer, as it was running very slowly. He was out of the office, and I went ahead and remoted into his machine and started with the usual crap, until I got to his cookies. You see, I usually just go ahead and delete them, as I generally do not have time to look at any of that crap and I hate doing extra work. But something caught my eye. There was a cookie from Blackknobs.com, or something like that, I mean it sounded like a gay porn site. I snickered to myself, but maybe I was wrong. I finished cleaning his cookies, and just to make sure, took a look at some of his pictures.
Holy hell. This man had some issues. Apparently he enjoyed seeing large black men ramdangle old fat white guys in the buttocks. Some of the photos were so disgusting I almost couldn't copy them to my blackmail folder in my documents for later usage. I tell you, it was a little awkward to go into his office after that and turn my back on him.
SMEAGOL
OK, I just wanted to put in a blurb about work, but I thought I would share another Smeagol tale with you. It was autumn, and I was still going to school (I usually quit showing up for school regularly after football season was over) and love was in the air. Well, not so much love, but I was on the rebound from being dumpified by Cameltoe, so I decided to go out with this little chick from school. She was not all that attractive, but I had nothing better I am ashamed to say, so when she asked me to go out I could do nothing but accept.
So I am getting ready for our little date, we are going to go see "Cruel Intentions" at the ghetto movie theater. I had already seen that same film with a much more attractive young lady, but I figured if I could get her to fall for the dick-in-the-popcorn box gag the night would not be a total bust. I start to head out, and Smeagol is laying on the couch, polluting the air with his trifecta of funk: thong, slightly open sphincter and open mouth as he cooed while Mystery rubbed his feet.
"Hey wait up niggie I wanna go!" Smeagol exclaimed, and started his Get Up Movement. For those of you who are uninitiated, you can check this video out here . He rubbed his perm down with one claw as he moaned agreeably, scratching his almost naked ass with his other claw. Mystery started getting ready too, squeezing some smelly vag juice out of her leggings or whatever it is she did to get ready.
"Not you, bitch! I am going to pick up a lady and I don't need you there fucking it up!" Smeagol cawed angrilly. Mystery did this kind of shoulder shrug and sat back down on the couch, dejected. Then the plain white wall caught her eye and she disappeared into her own magical world, where she was a watermelon flying amongst the trees, eating sticks made of brown.
Smeagol got his freshest NWO jersey on, the one he spent last pay period's grocery money to purchase (he even had the gall to drive up to my grandmother's house and try to bum the 85 dollars to purchase this jersey, saying it was for his car payment), splashed on some of my cologne, which sizzled as it contacted his cloak of failure, and off we went. After getting that asshole Marvin to move his damn truck and listen to him whine about how we need to find some other way to get out of the driveway, we were interrupting his show, we took out, the windows down to hopefully dissipate the concentrated stench of Raptor.
Part II later.
Monday, March 3, 2008
Smeagol facts
Michael Bolton, Wham!
grace electric avenue
bands made of awesome
So I thought I would post some fun facts about Smeagol, since it has been awhile since I had posted anything on him. I know it is wrong to make fun of others, even raptors have feelings, and yet I cannot seem to stop.
1. Smeagol must wear at least 2 pairs of mismatched socks to go outside or across wooden floors. This is due to his complete lack of care of said feet. He must also have them rubbed, no matter how sweaty and smelly, by Mystery every evening.
2. Smeagol once spent a full quarter of his paycheck on a date with a good looking girl who ended up giving herself to JJ for free. This all happened while Smeagol was sitting outside JJ's bedroom, presumably masturbating while crying softly, tears and failure streaking down his sad sad raptor face.
3. A Smeagol shit will 7 times out of 10 completely clog any toilet. Also due to his lack of usable fingers, Smeagol never flushes, prefering nature to evaporate his dropings.
4. Smeagol's wardrobe was cool once. But then 1986 came along, and he never looked back.
5. I know I have told you, but this is for those new to the site: Smeagol has been knocked the fuck out, multiple times, by men over the age of 80 in various nursing homes.
6. Smeagol works as much "booty ass overtime" as he possibly can, for what no one knows. On a side note, how is it that Smeagol and Mystery work, yet they never have any money, drive a POS that is always one second from being remotely shut off or breaking down, never has all of his utilities on unless they are on when he moves in, and is generally a complete failure? You might counter with "Maybe he spends all his check when he goes out" to which I would like to point out that you are wrong. Smeagol works, and hibernates. In between he plays the same 3 video games, Castlevania, Devil May Cry and Gran Turismo.
7. Smeagol calls JJ all the time for tips on the most mundane of video game tasks. A common call goes like this: "Hey JJ how are thingswell enough with the small talk on Devil May Cry it says 'collect 4 orbs to beat game' and there are 4 orbs next to me. Can you come over and get me to where I only have to hit one button to beat the game? Just wake me up when that time comes."
8. WHen Smeagol wants to borrow money and is forced to call you he starts the entire conversation with "You can't say No!" This is usually followed by us saying no and him grunting angrilly and hanging up.
9. Never, NEVER ask Smeagol for money.
10. Smeagol's thong holds within it the cure for AIDS. WHy, you may ask, has no one harvested this cure? Because it involves sucking the Raptor juice out of it, and no one has been able to do that yet.
11. Smeagol's perm-a-fail must be replaced every 2 weeks, as he still has not figured out that you have to wash your hair after you get it permed.
12. Smeagol wears nail polish. No word yet on whether he paints his balls with the same fingernail paint. 5 dollars to the person who figures that riddle out.
13. Though Smeagol lives like a homeless person, he hates homeless people with a passion rivaled only by his love of hotwheels and Failure's love for him.
14. Smeagol grunts angrilly when you make fun of him. I have never heard him grunt so often or so many times in a row as when my friend Anthony used to make fun of him. He sounded like he was dropping a deuce.
15. If Smeagol ever asks you to help him move, save yourself some trouble - don't.
grace electric avenue
bands made of awesome
So I thought I would post some fun facts about Smeagol, since it has been awhile since I had posted anything on him. I know it is wrong to make fun of others, even raptors have feelings, and yet I cannot seem to stop.
1. Smeagol must wear at least 2 pairs of mismatched socks to go outside or across wooden floors. This is due to his complete lack of care of said feet. He must also have them rubbed, no matter how sweaty and smelly, by Mystery every evening.
2. Smeagol once spent a full quarter of his paycheck on a date with a good looking girl who ended up giving herself to JJ for free. This all happened while Smeagol was sitting outside JJ's bedroom, presumably masturbating while crying softly, tears and failure streaking down his sad sad raptor face.
3. A Smeagol shit will 7 times out of 10 completely clog any toilet. Also due to his lack of usable fingers, Smeagol never flushes, prefering nature to evaporate his dropings.
4. Smeagol's wardrobe was cool once. But then 1986 came along, and he never looked back.
5. I know I have told you, but this is for those new to the site: Smeagol has been knocked the fuck out, multiple times, by men over the age of 80 in various nursing homes.
6. Smeagol works as much "booty ass overtime" as he possibly can, for what no one knows. On a side note, how is it that Smeagol and Mystery work, yet they never have any money, drive a POS that is always one second from being remotely shut off or breaking down, never has all of his utilities on unless they are on when he moves in, and is generally a complete failure? You might counter with "Maybe he spends all his check when he goes out" to which I would like to point out that you are wrong. Smeagol works, and hibernates. In between he plays the same 3 video games, Castlevania, Devil May Cry and Gran Turismo.
7. Smeagol calls JJ all the time for tips on the most mundane of video game tasks. A common call goes like this: "Hey JJ how are thingswell enough with the small talk on Devil May Cry it says 'collect 4 orbs to beat game' and there are 4 orbs next to me. Can you come over and get me to where I only have to hit one button to beat the game? Just wake me up when that time comes."
8. WHen Smeagol wants to borrow money and is forced to call you he starts the entire conversation with "You can't say No!" This is usually followed by us saying no and him grunting angrilly and hanging up.
9. Never, NEVER ask Smeagol for money.
10. Smeagol's thong holds within it the cure for AIDS. WHy, you may ask, has no one harvested this cure? Because it involves sucking the Raptor juice out of it, and no one has been able to do that yet.
11. Smeagol's perm-a-fail must be replaced every 2 weeks, as he still has not figured out that you have to wash your hair after you get it permed.
12. Smeagol wears nail polish. No word yet on whether he paints his balls with the same fingernail paint. 5 dollars to the person who figures that riddle out.
13. Though Smeagol lives like a homeless person, he hates homeless people with a passion rivaled only by his love of hotwheels and Failure's love for him.
14. Smeagol grunts angrilly when you make fun of him. I have never heard him grunt so often or so many times in a row as when my friend Anthony used to make fun of him. He sounded like he was dropping a deuce.
15. If Smeagol ever asks you to help him move, save yourself some trouble - don't.
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